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When Mr. Charles Bingley rode into Hertfordshire to acquaint himself with Netherfield Park it was on a purely accidental recommendation. Bingley was the sort of open, easy young man whom people would not scruple to share their opinions with, and the solicitor who took it upon himself to advocate for Netherfield could certainly not be blamed for seeing a very desirable tenant in him. Bingley was at that time not yet of age two years and unmarried, and he had the sort of good-humoured and generous character that must recommend him to almost anybody. It certainly recommended him to the owner of Netherfield Park, who was more than happy to accompany Bingley when he came to look at the house. He did look at it, and into it for half an hour, was pleased with the situation and the principal rooms, satisfied with what the owner said in its praise, and took it immediately.

Such was the way Bingley was generally used to dispatch his business, with good sense and greater enthusiasm. It was an aspect of his character that had often served him well, even if it frequently led him to amend plans that he had previously proclaimed fixed.

Because in truth, it had not been Bingley’s intent to take a house at this time, it had been his object to purchase. Mr. Bingley belonged to a respectable family in the north of England, the eldest son of a man who had had all the advantage of good breeding and an even better sense of business. As such Bingley had inherited property to the amount of nearly a hundred thousand pounds from his father, who had intended to purchase an estate, but did not live to do it. Bingley intended it likewise, and sometimes made choice of his county, but had yet to find a place that suited him exactly. For all his quickness of action, he was not a thoughtless man, the choice of the future family home he regarded as a very serious matter. It is certainly possible therefore that Netherfield, despite its undeniable virtues, was particularly suitable precisely because it was not to be purchased. In becoming its tenant Bingley was unchecked and unreserved in its praise, where as its potential buyer he might have been forced into being more critical than his temper generally led him to be.

“Really, Charles,” his sister said to him upon his return to London, in an accent containing all the criticism her brother lacked. “I had hoped you were serious in your desire to purchase this time. To purchase an estate, brother. I would so much like to see you settled.”

“Dear Caroline,” he said in a tone of cheerful contradiction. “Not one fortnight ago you found fault with Hertfordshire as a place to settle at all. But here is a fine house with a good park from which we may get to know the place, as easy as we like. And if it is not to our liking, we are free to move where we are better pleased. But you shall like it, I am sure. It is so very pleasantly situated, and such an easy distance from town.”

Caroline Bingley rearranged her shawl and sighed. She was most anxious for her brother to have an estate of his own. This was born partly from genuine affection, and partly because a family estate would supply a lack that had been an increasing vexation to Caroline ever since her coming out. Having always been rather handsome, her education in one of the first private seminaries in town and her fortune of twenty thousand pounds had allowed Miss Bingley to develop a habit of spending more than she ought, and of associating with people of rank. She was therefore in every respect entitled to think well of herself and her own, and meanly of others and frequently did so. “Oh well,” she relented. “I shall take great pleasure in fitting up your rooms. These out of date country houses provide a good canvas if nothing else. Who is it you are writing to?”

“To Darcy,” her brother replied readily, once again bent over his writing desk. “He is forever inviting us to stay with him and I am at last in a position to return the favour! If I have my way he will be of the party when you and Louisa come down in November.”

“Mr. Darcy!” his sister exclaimed, her spirits increased almost to her brother’s heights. “Charles, how delightful. We shall be a merry party indeed.”

The friend who had the distinction of being such a favourite of both brother and sister was a Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy of Derbyshire and distinction was the exact word for their friendship in his particular case. For while Mr. Darcy had many admirers, he had, by his own admission, only few friends.

This is generally not considered something to boast of, but there is of course a considerable difference between a person whose lack of friends springs forth from an unpleasant manner in dealing with others, or from a reluctance to call one a friend without very serious attachment. Darcy possessed a character that, in a proof of its complexity, united both. His nicety in regards to what a friend must be was great, but so was the intimidating effect his manner had on any new acquaintance he happened to make. His birth, fortune and respectability must recommend him to anyone, but his stiffness and formality with anyone he considered a stranger did much to counteract them.

It should be regarded without any surprise therefore that Darcy, on receiving a letter from one he considered in every sense of the word a friend, readily postponed his intended business to read it.

The letter was to this effect:

Dear Darcy,

I have taken a house! It is a fine house in a pleasant country neighbourhood and I mean to be in it by Michaelmas.

Caroline has agreed to keep house for me and I am certain she will approve my choice. You may recall her wanting me to purchase an estate, but as I have not quite made choice of my county this place will do famously for the present time.

The house is called Netherfield and it is full of every comfort. Save a few adjustments it suits my taste in every way. Do not ask me whether it is elegant, I do not pretend to know. I daresay Caroline will take it upon herself to make it so.

The nearby town is charming. So small one could know everyone by sight. It is a delight to me.

You will be pleased with the grounds especially I am sure. They are nothing to Pemberly, but they are very pretty. If you would come to me you could judge for yourself. Indeed I wish you would! Join me when Caroline does and we shall be a merry party. Louisa says she has half a mind to come down also, if her husband might be persuaded. I do hope she does, for then we will be five altogether and just the number for comfortable evenings at home. Netherfield has the pleasantest drawing room.

I remain, etc.

C. Bingley

Darcy must shake his head at such a letter, but it drew a smile from him as well. Ever since their friendship was formed, Darcy could not but note in all their intercourse, how different Bingley was to himself. However pleased with his own character, Darcy was not so ungenerous to regard it as the only character worth having and he valued Bingley very highly. They had met at university, and despite Bingley being five years his junior and the great opposition of character between them, had formed a very steady friendship. Bingley was endeared to Darcy by the easiness, openness, and ductility of his temper, though no disposition could offer a greater contrast to his own, and though with his own he never appeared dissatisfied. Darcy was endeared to Bingley despite his fastidiousness and reserve, for while nothing could sway Darcy from the former, it proved extremely difficult for even the most unsociable of men to long hold out against Charles Bingley’s tireless good humour. This barrier once worn down, Bingley had uncovered in Darcy’s character a cleverness which he greatly admired, and a degree of loyalty and moral conviction that he found most reassuring. They were not fast friends, but once they were, Bingley had the firmest reliance on the strength of Darcy’s regard, and of his judgment the highest opinion.

Darcy was aware of this and took care to return these sentiments with perhaps not always equal strength, but certainly all the affection they deserved. Had he not already resolved to pay his sister a surprise visit on her seaside holiday in Ramsgate, he would gladly have accepted Bingley’s invitation early that summer to accompany him as he went off to look into some country houses which had caught his fancy. They had had much talk upon the advantages and disadvantages one must encounter in purchasing an estate or taking a lease, and Darcy was flattered, though not surprised, that Bingley would value his direct involvement in his choice. His sister’s happiness, of course, must take precedent, but the excuse was made with a sincerity that Darcy knew Bingley would know how to value.

When he left Bingley, however, Darcy was fairly sure his friend would soon settle on one of the houses he had then tentatively selected. If not for purchase then to let. For Bingley had a lively disposition and was in the habit of acting quickly and worrying little, once he had taken a liking to a place or a person.

This quickness of manner translated almost directly to the style of his letters and when Darcy turned the paper over he was not at all surprised to find a postscript, even more hastily written than the letter itself:

It is a good thing I forgot to send this letter when I finished it for I have just had word that Mr and Mrs. Hurst will come down when Caroline does, so you certainly must come. Indeed you must, because I remember very well that I made you promise me at the beginning of the year to visit me as soon as I had secured a place for you to come to. Do not say I did no such thing, for if I did not I certainly meant to do it and that must be enough. So do come with me when I come to town in October, or you will be sorely missed. Adieu!

This postscript was quite unnecessary, Darcy had already made up his mind to go. He was not very fond of new society, but he was very fond of Bingley, and as it was his friend had made him promise to visit him and Darcy had always intended to. It had always seemed likely to him that Caroline Bingley would be keeping house for her brother and Darcy had therefore already calculated that spending time with Bingley would mean spending time with Caroline also.

Caroline Bingley, as far as Darcy was concerned, was one of those complicated people that united good company with frequent embarrassing circumstances. Darcy had always been quite fond of Caroline. She was a pleasing, accomplished young woman and being his good friend’s sister he had been predisposed to like her. During their last meeting in town however Darcy had made the rather mortifying discovery that however fond he might be of Caroline, her fondness for him was excessively greater. Darcy did not quite know how to deal with this and rather hoped that Miss Bingley’s designs on him would fade with the absence of encouragement. He had certainly taken care to give her no encouragement thus far, so Darcy felt no real uneasiness in the prospect of going to stay with the Bingley’s for a month or two.

The only reservations he had was that it would mean leaving his sister at home by her own, save the company of her companion Mrs. Annersly, at a time when he was most unsure of leaving her. Georgiana was not so disappointed as he had feared, however, when he told her that evening that his friend Charles Bingley had taken a house and that he had asked him to come and stay with him for a month or two.

“I am glad Mr. Bingley has found an estate that is to his liking,” she said sincerely. “It must have been so hard on him to have been without a home.”

Home, where the Darcys were concerned, even when they could not be there, was Pemberley; a noble estate in a fine part of Derbyshire. On this estate both Darcy and his sister Georgiana, who was more than ten years his junior, had been brought up with all the advantages of rank and prosperity. The death of their father some 5 years earlier had made Darcy its sole proprietor, but in losing its original master Pemberley had also ceased to be the Darcys’ only home. Georgiana, now under the careful guardianship of her brother and her cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam, son of the Earl of -------, had at first been placed at an excellent school, while her brother adjusted to his new responsibilities. Last spring, however, Darcy had taken her from school and formed an establishment for her in London, where her education could be forwarded with the most expedience. She had always come down to Pemberley for the summer months, but his intention had been for the both of them to be more steadily fixed in town.

That she was currently residing at Pemberley once more was not by choice, but by necessity. Just as his continued accompaniment of her was, while of course motivated by affection, equally born from anxiety. The last time they had been apart she had been made to suffer in a most cruel way under circumstances they both wished to forget. Darcy had at once removed her from Ramsgate and returned her to the comfort of their family home, but he knew Pemberley could be a lonely place. And although he knew he could rely on Mrs. Annersly, who was an intelligent, well-bred woman with a real affection for his sister, he was still reluctant to leave Georgiana alone and anxious not to bring her any fresh pain. Up until now this had been accomplished by not quitting her longer than the two or three days it might take to settle his business in London. Accepting Bingley’s inviation, however, would break this resolution, and he was relieved to hear no distress in Georgiana’s voice when he introduced the idea to her.

“Bingley is such a man that might feel at home anywhere,” Darcy observed. “So to be without a fixed home is not so great an evil to him as it would be to many others. Still, he writes me that he is very pleased with the house and I own that I am quite curious to see it.”

“Then you shall enjoy your visit,” Georgiana said with tolerable cheerfulness. “And Mrs. Annersly and I will be quite comfortable here. At any rate,” she added, brightening considerably. “There shall be no need to host any dinners or parties while you are away.”

Darcy laughed softly. His sister, though now sixteen years old, had always been exceedingly shy. Many attempts had been made to teach her to take pleasure in the duties that befall a lady that is the head of a household, but so far her progress was endearingly slow. Endearing to Darcy especially, who while grown into a rather gracious host, was still frequently an extremely reluctant guest.

“I shall speak to Mrs. Annersly,” Darcy smiled. “And tell her that there is no need to force you into company for the time being, there shall be enough social engagements in town this winter.”

Georgiana looked relieved and expressed her resolution of practising her drawing a great deal while he was away, so that he might see her improvement when they met again. Darcy praised her industriousness, but was not easy before he had questioned her some more, wanting to be really assured that she would not mind staying behind. She had been but eleven years old when their father died and, their mother having died some years before, he had taken up the role of her primary caregiver. He had always been a most careful guardian and her recent mistreatment had made him an apprehensive one.

Presently, however, the events of early this summer seemed far from Georgiana’s mind, as she assured her brother it would be very agreeable to her to spend some time quietly at home with Mrs. Annersly, whom she liked and respected very much.

His sister’s comforts so secured Darcy wrote back to Bingley that he was to go to town on business anyway early in October and that he was quite willing to afterwards join him at Netherfield instead of returning to Pemberly. He received an answer by return of post that this was exactly according to Bingley’s wishes and everything was therefore quite settled to their mutual satisfaction.

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Darcy’s business in London was taken care of with his usual expedience and his stay at his townhouse was as comfortable as ever. Having only his own wishes to consult he admitted no company to the house until the arrival of Bingley and his sisters the following Saturday, whom he naturally all invited to dine with him. Binley’s brother-in-lawMr. Hurst, Darcy had to own, had too little of both conversation and information for him to take any real pleasure in his company. But to see Bingley never failed to lift his spirits and his two sisters made for very pleasant company. Miss Bingley especially, when his thoughts did not run too much upon the origin of her attentiveness towards himself, was very agreeable. She was moreover in very good humour that night, and eagerly inquiring after the house she was to be mistress of.

“I trust, Charles, that it has a pleasant drawing room,” she pressed. “You know I would be perfectly miserable without one. A comfortless drawing room destroys all hope of quiet domestic happiness.”

“I daresay, Caroline, it is pleasant enough,” her brother laughed. “And you shall have it fitted up however you like it.”

Miss Bingley smiled a little wider.

“And we shall not be made to sit in it alone, I am sure!” Bingley continued cheerfully. “Several of the gentlemen of the neighbourhood have called on me already and all of them with families. It is a most attentive neighbourhood. And lively too! Why this Tuesday there is to be a dance in Meryton! It will be a nice introduction into the neighbourhood for us all.”

Darcy heard him, but his dismay led him to inquire with decided incredulity. “A ball? The very day following our arrival?” There would scarcely be time to collect oneself.

“Yes, isn’t that lucky!” Bingley beamed. “As soon as I heard of it I was determined to go and bring you all. What could be more delightful?”

Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley, expressed composed agreement, but Darcy could not shake the unpleasantness of this surprise quite so easily. “We shall not be acquainted with any of the principle attendants.”

“So we shall become acquainted with them!” Bingley exclaimed. “That is the delight of a ball, one can meet and observe all one’s neighbours and never be thought too forward. And those that do not talk well, one can get acquainted with through their dancing. There is a great deal of a person’s spirit in their dancing, don’t you think?”

Darcy did not answer this piece of philosophy, and he had evidently not checked his expression as much as he ought, for Miss Bingley leaned towards him smilingly and said in a quiet voice:

“Come now, Mr. Darcy. You know my brother is quite incorrigible when it comes to such entertainments. And it is not true, is it, that you shall not be acquainted with anyone there. I shall be there too.”

Darcy replied, not untruthfully, that this was indeed a relief, and resolved to be resigned to the scheme.

That Monday they all travelled into Hertfordshire and Bingley took great pleasure in driving them round Netherfield Park and showing them the house. Darcy readily owned that he liked it. His friend had good taste, and Netherfield suited Bingley in every regard. His sisters pronounced the park very pleasant and the house quite charming, but expressed sincere disappointment at the selections of shops that nearby Meryton had to offer. And while their brother smilingly reminded them that London was not so far off as to render them quite cut off from all the trimmings of fashion, Miss Bingley took the opportunity to press Darcy most earnestly:

“I hope you’ll stay with us for a while, Mr. Darcy. Comfortable as dear Netherfield clearly is, this part of the world cannot furnish much good company. Truly, I am very glad you as well as my sister and brother-in-law have come down with me. I rather dread spending much time alone here.”

“I can well believe it,” Darcy said compassionately. “And I assure you I have always intended to stay at least two months.”

“I am glad to hear it,” said Bingley, rejoining the conversation at that last speech after having called for a servant. “That shall give me plenty of time to hear your opinion on my improvements. Come, Darcy, I must show you the stables.”

Darcy accompanied him, listening to Bingley’s effusions with the amiable attention of established friendship, and replied but sparingly. He knew Bingley needed very little encouragement when his heart was full of a subject, and as long as Darcy’s few interjections were sincere, as they could never fail to be, he was very capable of creating a cheerful, comfortable absence of silence all on his own. So it had been since their university days and Darcy wished it would never change. At last he said heartily:

“It is good to see you so well pleased and well settled.”

“I thank you, I do believe Netherfield suits me exceedingly well. I am glad you approve of it.”

“Wholeheartedly.” Darcy smiled. “I am not so selfish as to wish you nearer to Derbyshire merely on my account.”

Bingley laughed and assured him no amount of distance would keep him from Pemberly as long as his friend resided there. “And it is not too far to make the journey too disagreeable to yourself, I hope,” he added. “You said you left your sister well, do you plan to join her again directly when you take your leave?”

“Unless business prevents me,” Darcy replied, earnestly gratified by Bingley’s interest in Georgiana. “She has been too much without company, I fear. I must make amends for it.” He smiled. “I hope you will come to Pemberly again this summer.”

“Nay, this is too much,” laughed Bingley. “Here I am finally in a position to return your hospitality and you are returning the invitation while the visit has hardly begun!” He smiled. “I shall be sure to extend my following invitation to Miss Darcy also, so you will not be forced to choose on her account.”

Darcy smiled, and allowed himself to be guided once more around Bingley’s favourite features of the garden, so pleased with his friend’s attentiveness that at present he was even willing to forget the dreaded public assembly.

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Bingley was very much aware of his friend’s discomfort among strangers and he likewise knew that, even if they did not share his discomfort, his sisters shared Darcy’s doubts of finding their new neighbours pleasant company. This did not deter him in the slightest, however, and that Tuesday he conveyed them all to the Meryton assembly in very high spirits. To Bingley’s mind there was no firmer self-defence a neighbourhood might mount than a pleasant ball, and he was confident enough in her merits to let her speak for herself. Indeed, Bingley had been genuinely delighted by the number of visitors he had had the pleasure to receive upon joining the neighbourhood. It had made him feel truly welcome and when he entered the assembly room he found already quite a few familiar faces there, and made it his business to acquaint himself with all the principal people in the room. It brought him great pleasure to see both his sisters and his friend greatly admired, and even Mr. Hurst pronounced the refreshments to be very decent. He himself was most cordially welcomed by Sir William Lucas in particular, who introduced him to his lady and his eldest daughter.

“It is an excellent thing, is it not Mr. Bingley, to have gatherings such as these where young people can meet and enjoy themselves,” Sir William said cheerfully.

“I am quite of your opinion, Sir,” Bingley replied, and, because he was more than ready to play the part that was so clearly expected of him, added warmly: “And, if Miss Lucas would favour me with her company for these first two dances, I would be glad to show my appreciation of it in full.”

This was smiled on kindly by both mother and daughter and most heartily approved of by the father, such that Bingley felt that, had he not returned to escort Miss Lucas quite promptly when the dancing was to begin, Sir William might well have delivered her to him personally.

Miss Lucas was a very pleasant young woman and Bingley was pleased to stand up with her, and even more so to see his sister join the same set.

That she was less pleased with her partner, a Mr. William Goulding, was in no way decipherable from her graceful smiles and it did not much impede her enjoyment in knowing herself the most fashionable woman in the set. Mr. Goulding was a creditable dance partner, suffering chiefly from not being her first choice, had the privilege of choice been hers. Mr. Darcy chose not to dance, however, standing silently by to watch instead.

Miss Bingley was not the only one to observe this with a degree of displeasure, her brother was quite disappointed by it too. Darcy was an excellent dancer and gentlemen were sadly so scarce at this ball that his friend might secure any introduction he liked merely to ask the young lady to dance and be met with gratitude. Bingley had rather hoped that this would help Darcy overcome his scruples in conversing with strangers, especially since Darcy had so much to recommend himself that he could not fail to please, if he but took the trouble to apply himself. Whatever his considerable personal charms and graces could not supply, his having ten thousand a year by way of his estate in Derbyshire would amply make up for. And yet he seemed determined to be withdrawn.

Even so, Bingley would not allow his concerns over his friend’s behaviour to make him inattentive to his partner, and Miss Lucas, who generally had very moderate expectations of young men, was quite pleased with him. She was not surprised, however, when his attention was soon diverted after all. For in taking in his surroundings and their whole set with the good-humour of a man ready to be pleased by everyone and everything, he was so struck by the young woman currently going down the dance that his admiration was very clearly displayed on his face. She was undoubtedly the most beautiful woman he had ever beheld, both in figure and face, and with such a lovely, sweet-tempered countenance that it very nearly overshadowed these former virtues.

“Miss Bennet, Sir,” his partner said smilingly. “A great friend.”

“Is she indeed!” cried Bingley, too enraptured by Miss Bennet’s loveliness to feel any embarrassment on account of his being so distracted.

He was in luck, there was no need to feel embarrassed, for his partner was all forthcoming helpfulness.

“There was a Mr. Bennet who called on me when I first took possession of my house,” he remembered.

“Her father, Sir,” Miss Lucas confirmed. “Miss Bennet is his eldest daughter.”

This was a happy revelation. The Miss Bennets, Bingley had found upon his arrival, were spoken of quite proudly as a set of local beauties. When he had returned Mr. Bennet’s visit, however, he had been received in the gentleman’s library and he had not been admitted to a sight of the daughters.

Now he was able to judge that even the neighbourhood praise had not done Miss Bennet justice, and after returning the smiling Miss Lucas to her party, he eagerly sought out the master of ceremonies to secure an introduction.

Miss Bennet seemed surprised by the attention, and so modestly pleased as to make her appear even lovelier. Indeed, Bingley could not recall ever having been met with such loveliness as when Miss Bennet consented to stand up with him. Her address was as kind as her countenance, and every further expression was proof of her sweetness of temperament. And without considering himself a great judge of character in general, Bingley had not danced with Miss Bennet five minutes before deciding that even if he was granted the pleasure of her conversation and company for a whole season, he could not be more thoroughly convinced of her general superiority than he was at present. And he recalled with genuine pleasure that it had been Mrs. Bennet who had so kindly sent him an invitation to dinner after he had returned her husband’s call.

His sister’s reflections were at present less enjoyable. She had been gently smiling at Darcy from the moment Mr. Ghoulding had returned her to her seat, but was engaged for the following dance by another gentleman with such rapidity, that she failed to gain her point. She accepted with all the grace of a young lady deeply gratified to be so admired, while still disappointed at the particular source of the admiration. Still, she took her place in the set beside her sister and brother-in-law, who prepared for this piece of marital affection with all the enthusiasm of a man meaning to make for the card tables as soon as it had been performed, with very good grace.

Darcy had not overlooked her glance in his direction however, and he was thinking rather gravely on what to do. He greatly disliked dancing at public assemblies, where he was all but exclusively among strangers. Had he only had his own feelings to consult, he would not have danced at all. He was aware, however, that this would be considered peculiar, and likely taken as an affront by Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley. They, from their particular acquaintance with him, were entitled to his attention. Not only because he was a gentleman belonging to their party, but more so because this assembly was most unfortunate in its scarcity of gentlemen.

All this Darcy knew very well, but he was likewise aware that Miss Bingley would place great importance on his dancing with her. This, he thought, he must not encourage, and he had just resolved that it would be most proper to ask Mrs. Hurst to dance first and then engage Miss Bingley, when he became aware he was being looked at.

He was immediately sorry for standing so close to the set, because they were Bingley’s eyes that were turned towards him. He was evidently displeased to see Darcy standing by himself and Bingley was always rather inclined to try and mend what he felt to be wrong as soon as may be. Knowing this, Darcy doubted whether to remove to the other end of the room, but he stood his ground, counting on his partner’s smiles to call his friend’s attention away from him.

They seemed to do so for a while, but then – as they had reached the end of the row and joined the standing couples – Bingley suddenly leaned towards her to say something and quickly made his way past the set, towards him. There was no time now to remove himself and Darcy prepared himself for his friend’s attack with more than usual stiffness.

"Come, Darcy," Bingley said instantly, "I must have you dance. I hate to see you standing about by yourself in this stupid manner. You had much better dance."

"I certainly shall not. You know how I detest it, unless I am particularly acquainted with my partner. At such an assembly as this it would be insupportable. Your sisters are engaged, and there is not another woman in the room whom it would not be a punishment to me to stand up with."

"I would not be so fastidious as you are," cried Bingley, "for a kingdom! Upon my honour, I never met with so many pleasant girls in my life as I have this evening; and there are several of them you see uncommonly pretty."

"You are dancing with the only handsome girl in the room," said Mr. Darcy, looking at Bingley’s partner. She was, despite the large number of ladies, by far the prettiest woman present. To the detriment of her company perhaps, because he had seen very little else to admire.

"Oh! She is the most beautiful creature I ever beheld!” Bingley exclaimed passionately. “But there is one of her sisters sitting down just behind you, who is very pretty, and I dare say very agreeable. Do let me ask my partner to introduce you."

"Which do you mean?" He followed Bingley’s gesture and turned round to look at the young lady seated some distance away. He looked at her long enough to discern she was not equal to her sister, and then, inadvertently catching her eye, he withdrew his own and coldly said: "She is tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt me; I am in no humour at present to give consequence to young ladies who are slighted by other men. You had better return to your partner and enjoy her smiles, for you are wasting your time with me."

Bingley made no attempt to mask his disappointment, but followed his advice, and Darcy walked off to escape his further notice. He could not help but see the young lady leave her seat almost instantly, however, and the troubling though that she might have overheard their conversation plagued him for a short moment. Evidently this was not the case, for he saw her join Bingley’s first partner, a Miss Lucas, and two other young ladies soon after, and heard her laugh quite heartily.

When the dance concluded Mr. Hurst excused himself to join one of the card tables, but his lady was inclined to follow him thither to make her protestations, waylaying Darcy’s plan of asking her to dance. When Miss Bingley joined him, he was therefore once again the object of her pointed attention. And when Bingley was almost instantly off again to be introduced to yet another stranger, Darcy conceded and engaged Miss Bingley for the two third dances.

Miss Bingley was excessively pleased and Darcy readily assured her, after being desired to do so, of the pleasure he took in standing up with her. Thankfully she expressed a great desire to sit down after the two dances were over and Darcy accompanied her with only minimal irritation at Bingley’s continual absence. He was then standing up with a younger sister of his first partner, Miss Bingley informed him.

“They have a most affectionate father,” she smiled. “Were you not by when he took it upon himself to welcome us?”

“I do not think I was,” replied Darcy.

“How unfortunate,” Miss Bingley simpered behind her fan. “You have been most cruelly deprived of the gentleman’s enthusiastic commendation of both Meryton and St James’.”

Miss Bingley laughed warmly at his expression and took up the much more gratifying subject of their mutual acquaintances in London. Neither of them had a view of Bingley from where they were seated and it was not until the dance had ended and Darcy had left his seat to fetch refreshments for himself and Miss Bingley, that he found his friend again. He was in conversation with a gentleman Darcy had no wish to be acquainted with at present, so he hung back, waiting impatiently for him to move on. It could not be long, for their conversation was of no substance whatsoever.

“And how do you like our Meryton assemblies, Mr. Bingley! There are a great many pretty women in the room, are there not?”

“There are indeed! Most excellent company, I have to say.”

“Certainly, certainly, we are fortunate fellows. Who do you think the prettiest?”

“Oh!” exclaimed Bingley. “The eldest Miss Bennet, beyond a doubt; there cannot be two opinions on that point."

This was agreed on immediately by the other and while Darcy had previously confirmed for himself that it was so, Bingley’s particular expressions of admiration made him fear that his friend had resolved to be in love again. He did not begrudge Bingley his happy disposition, but his habit of bestowing friendship and admiration ten minutes after an introduction was bewildering to Darcy.

His fear seemed justified, for not long after he had rejoined Miss Bingley, now also accompanied by Mrs. Hurst, they all saw Bingley lead Miss Bennet to the dance a second time.

“Why, is that not the girl he was standing up with before?” Mrs. Hurst inquired.

“A Miss Bennet,” her sister replied. “One of many, I understand. They are supposed to be quite accomplished.”

“Well, we are in the country,” Darcy put forth.

This was smiled on by both ladies, but for once he could not claim their full attention. They watched their brother dance with increasing interest and when he returned, they charged him to introduce them to his charming partner during the course of the evening.

Bingley, who was already in high spirits and was most gratified by their request, resolved to do so at once. He had only just returned Miss Bennet to her mother and sisters, but he was certain of her being engaged again soon. He had already seen one of her younger sisters walk off on the arm of the young man who had previously danced with his sister.

Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst were quite prepared to join him, and rose from their seats, but Darcy protested that he would take a turn about the room instead.

“Darcy,” Bingley began in exasperation, but Miss Bingley took his arm and said:

“Come, Charles, surely not all introductions must take place at once?” And she met Darcy’s gaze just long enough to see his subdued gratitude, before urging her brother on, one sister on each arm.

Bingley was pleased to find Miss Bennet where he left her, now only accompanied by one of her sisters. “Pardon me, Miss Bennet,” he began, but upon the lady turning round and smiling at him he temporarily forgot what he had meant to say and merely smiled back.

In a moment he recovered, and exclaimed: “Miss Bennet! Miss Elizabeth! Allow me to introduce my sisters!” The introduction was made with warmth in place of ceremony, and the ladies’ exchanges were most cordial.

Bingley was excessively pleased to hear his sister profess she longed to sit out the following dance and to have her answered by Miss Bennet expressing a similar wish. Mrs. Hurst wholeheartedly agreed and Miss Bennet immediately offered them the seats her mother and younger sisters had vacated.

“I declare, there is no relief like being able to sit down at a ball,” Miss Bingley sighed, seating herself beside Miss Bennet.

Miss Elizabeth answered this with a smile a shade more expressive than her sister’s. “You are happy in your choice of comforts, for it will ensure you shall pass your time pleasantly even at an assembly with such an uneven company as this one.”

If Miss Bingley was not entirely pleased with this interpretation of her statement, she did not have the opportunity to express this. Because her brother’s thoughts were likewise led to the unfortunate occurrence of a lady being forced by circumstance to sit out a dance, and remembering Darcy’s particular way of phrasing the predicament with some displeasure, he said with a smile:

“You see, Miss Elizabeth, that my sister’s disposition is far more agreeable than my own. I am positively determined to dance every dance! Might I engage you for the two next?”

Miss Elizabeth instantly proved that her smile, while not as sweet as her sister’s, could certainly equal its warmth. “You certainly may, Sir. It would be a pleasure.”

And Miss Bennet’s expression held such delight that it was very clear that, he had endeared himself even further to one sister through his attention to the other. And all of this quite without design. Bingley could therefore lead Miss Elizabeth away to join the newly formed set in complete, unblemished enjoyment, leaving his sisters and Miss Bennet to their mutual pleasantries. He did not look about for Darcy, instead presuming that he had walked as far away as possible simply because he intended to be obstinate. Bingley did lament it, but he did not dwell on it. There was no occasion to, Miss Elizabeth was a very lively dancer and he happily allowed her to command all his attention.

But although Bingley did not perceive him, Darcy happened to have an excellent view of both him and his new partner. They danced well, but Darcy looked at the lady with a critical eye and not much admiration. He watched them almost the entirety of the dance, occasionally moving to ascertain whether Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst were still engaged in conversation with Miss Bennet. When he found this no longer to be the case he rejoined them, and promptly engaged Mrs. Hurst for the Boulanger, reassured in the knowledge that he could afterwards sit down to dinner with no further obligation to dance.

Dinner, and the rest of the assembly, passed much as it began. Bingley spoke to everyone with great pleasure, his sisters to a select few with interest, and Darcy to hardly anyone and with very little of either. This was felt by the Meryton company. When the Netherfield party took their leave everyone was much more cordial towards Bingley than they were towards Darcy, and he was not at all inclined to agree with Bingley when he exclaimed in the carriage:

“We truly could not have asked for a better introduction to the neighbourhood! I have never met with pleasanter people or prettier girls in my life!”

“You amaze me, Bingley,” said Darcy and the two sisters exchanged knowing smiles.

“As you amaze me, Darcy,” Bingley laughed. “Be a bit more charitable. Everybody has been so kind and attentive, no stiffness, no formality. Everyone was so easy I felt acquainted with all the room before the dancing had even begun.”

But Darcy had seen a collection of people for none of whom he had felt the smallest interest and from none he had received either attention or pleasure. “No formality, I am sure,” he replied wryly. “Nor any fashion, and very little beauty.”

“Take care, Mr. Darcy,” Miss Bingley smiled. “You may only mean to convey your preference for your own set, but my brother will take it as a personal insult to sweet little Jane Bennet.”

“Miss Bennet,” Bingley declared firmly, “is the most amiable young lady I ever ever had the pleasure of speaking to, and I for one could not conceive an angel more beautiful.”

“I do not quarrel with your preferences, Bingley,” Darcy said, smiling slightly. “Miss Bennet is undeniably pretty.” He peered out of the carriage windows in search of some familiar marker on the as yet unfamiliar road that might tell him how soon they would arrive back at Netherfield. “But she would appear a great deal more elegant if she did not smile so much.”

Bingley expressed his incredulity at this statement rather loudly, but even so his sisters drowned him out. They agreed with both gentlemen at once, first assuring Darcy that he was of course correct, but admitting that they were able to admire and like Miss Bennet in spite of it.

“She is a sweet girl,” Miss Bingley proclaimed. “And I would not object to know more of her.”

“Nor I,” Mrs. Hurst agreed. “And we must have someone to visit, mustn’t we?”

Bingley looked satisfied, feeling authorized by this commendation to think of Miss Bennet as he chose. “We shall have very charming neighbours in the Bennets. Their father is a very well informed gentleman, and his lady seems exceptionally hospitable.”

His sisters expressed a wish that it might be so, and Darcy, grateful to have at last discovered the first trees of Netherfield park, contented himself with philosophical silence.

Chapter Text

Whatever the many and varied wishes and expectation of the company at Netherfield, several families of the neighbourhood were indeed intent on being charming neighbours. There seemed to Darcy to be no end to the morning calls and eager invitations.

Of course Bingley’s sentiment on the matter were very different. He cheerfully teased his friend into accompanying whenever there would be an opportunity to introduce him to an acquaintance he expected Darcy to approve of, and he was extremely pleased when the ladies’ of Longbourn waited on those of Netherfield while they were all at home. He gladly accepted all compliments to his new house and park and spent the whole visit being carefully attentive to all six ladies at once.

The visit was returned in due form and Bingley was most eager in questioning his sisters on their enjoyment in it when they returned.

“Mrs. Bennet,” Miss Bingley spoke, reclining on her favourite spot on the sofa, “Is the most trying woman I have ever had the misfortune of being in conversation with. I am sorry to have to tell you so, Charles, but she is absolutely intolerable.”

“Why, Caroline,” her brother protested.

“Nay, Charles, it is no more than the truth,” Mrs. Hurst spoke in her defence. “You have assured us Mr. Bennet is a most agreeable gentlemen, and I dare say his eldest daughters received their instruction from him.”

“I am glad, at least, that your opinion there has not altered,” he said sincerely.

“Oh, no,” Miss Bingley assured him. “The younger ones are not worth speaking to, but the eldest Miss Bennets are very pleasant. I should like to become better acquainted with them.”

“Well!” Bingley said, his good-humour restored already. “We shall invite them to dinner!”

“Certainly,” his sister yawned. “Better have the Ghouldings and the Thrupps too, with the reverend that should make us an even party.”

“How easily you arrange these things,” he said affectionately, and Miss Bingley smiled.

The dinner was a very commonplace affair, but the Bingleys kept an excellent cook, and Darcy had the enjoyment of seeing his friend joyously taking up the mantle of the most good humoured host that ever lived. He flattered himself that every dinner and party he had ever hosted at Pemberly, had not lacked a single comfort, but Darcy could not help but admire Bingely for the sheer pleasure he took in making others comfortable and the ease with which he seemed to do it. It was a far cry from his own talents in that quarter. They were talents he despaired of availing himself of. Seeing Miss Bingley do the honours of the house, moreover, he was keenly aware that his dear Georgiana, was unlikely to ever perform the duties of a hostess with such grace.

She was particularly attentive to his personal comfort, seating him near enough to herself at table that they were frequently part of the same conversation. She proceeded to deftly direct this conversation towards those commonplace subjects that the proficient may navigate without effort and even the uninformed and the vulgar were likely to follow without being too tiresome.

It was an excellent way to recommend herself to the gentleman. Darcy was sincere in his appreciation, and this in turn was very gratifying to Miss Bingley. She was aware, through careful questioning of her brother and very keen observation, that Mr. Darcy never spoke of marriage, unless it was to discuss his sister’s prospects. He was a most affectionate brother and attentive guardian, and it was not unreasonable to suppose that he would not think of marrying himself before his sister was safely settled. This was not the discouragement to Miss Bingley, however, that it might have been to many other ladies. She had taken a great liking to Miss Darcy when they had become further acquainted last spring and she was very willing to include her happiness in her current ambitions for her own.

Bingley’s present happiness, was of course secured by seating him as near as could be to Miss Bennet, whom he engaged in conversation for most of the evening. When the guest had all departed, and the gentlemen and ladies of Netherfield were gathered in their once more private drawing room, he would not be easy until he had expressed that Miss Bennet spoke with such sense and feeling that it would be a pleasure to hear her speak on any subject.

His sisters teased him very pleasantly that this was praise indeed, as he was a much better talker than he was a listener. Their brother defended his honour valiantly, proclaiming that the mark of a good conversationalist was to speak and listen at once, and closing with another reflection on Miss Bennet’s undoubted proficiency in both.

“Miss Elizabeth Bennet certainly has a great deal of conversation,” Mrs. Hurst yawned. “It is all one can do to keep up with her. Such an unceasing change of subjects, I am quite fatigued.”

“Ah,” Miss Bingley smiled expressively, who likewise preferred the eldest Miss Bennet’s sweet disposition the second’s lively one. “But she must distinguish herself through cleverness, of course, being a famous local beauty.”

“She a beauty?” Darcy interjected. “I would as soon call her mother a wit.”

Miss Bingley and the Hursts laughed, Bingley did not, and soon afterwards rose and left the room. Darcy did a tolerable job of repressing his sigh when he saw Bingley do so, but he did venture to follow him. He caught up with his friend in the billiard room.

“Come now, Bingley,” said he. “I do not know any person so easily offended on behalf of another as you, there is no need to be cross with me.”

Bingley made no immediate answer, but took up a cue. Darcy supposed that a joke at the expense of one sister had once again been taken as a slight against another. It was evident that Bingley admired Jane Bennet and this was hardly remarkable, but the necessity to include her family in the distinction seemed to Darcy rather preposterous.

“You may laugh at whomever you wish, Darcy, certainly,” Bingley said at length. “I only hope the lady is a little more charitable in speaking of you.”

Charitable. Darcy looked at him with some indignation. “I have not said anything I believe to be untrue. Surely you do not accuse me of applying cruelty for mere entertainment.”

Bingley laughed, free of wryness and with genuine amusement. “Oh! Never for entertainment.”

“Bingley,” Darcy said urgently, and his friend drew himself upright to meet his eye.

“My dear fellow, you are incapable of deliberate cruelty, but you need not call a girl plain purely because you have previously refused to dance with her.” He bent over the billiard-table again. “I shall never attempt to force you into a dance again, you have my word.”

Darcy watched him for a moment, considering. “Perhaps my sentiments were phrased indelicately,” he finally said stiffly. “But they were in themselves truthful.”

Bingley was smiling again, always quick to forgive, and most easily when Darcy seemed affected by a disagreement. “Truthful sentiments? That is a novel approach to the subject.” He rounded the table and nudged his friend. “See if you can shoot yourself out of this one, eh?”

Darcy obliged, happy to have the subject dropped, but privately the conversation remained much on his mind. He resolved to take more care in choosing his words, especially when worn out after the day’s engagements, but he likewise sought to confirm his judgment and justify his opinion. He had not spoken dismissively of Miss Elizabeth’s reputation as a beauty because he begrudged her the description, but because he found her plain.

In an effort to shore up this assertion, he resolved to observe Miss Elizabeth more closely the next time they were in company together. But in his efforts to confirm that she had hardly a good feature in her face, he began to find it was rendered uncommonly intelligent by the beautiful expression of her dark eyes. Whether in conversation or silent attendance to others, there was an archness and a wit to her expressiveness that took him quite by surprise.

To this discovery succeeded some others equally mortifying, during the course of two further dinner parties. Though he had detected with a critical eye more than one failure of perfect symmetry in her form, he was forced to acknowledge her figure to be light and pleasing; and in spite of his asserting that her manners were not those of the fashionable world, he was caught by their easy playfulness. After only a fortnight's acquaintance he was discomfited to find himself wishing to know more of her.

As a step towards conversing with her himself, he resolved to attended to her conversation with others, if there should be a plausible opportunity to do so, and it was not long before one presented itself. The recent arrival of a militia regiment had quite suddenly enlarged the society in the neighbourhood. It was to remain the whole winter, and Meryton was the head-quarters. Naturally most everyone was eager to make the gentlemen’s acquaintance, and Sir William Lucas took it upon himself to invite the Colonel and his principal officers to a large evening party at Lucas Lodge.

All the inhabitants of Netherfield were in attendance, and so, as Darcy had correctly expected, were the Bennet's. Miss Elizabeth was in very good looks, and she moved through the drawing rooms with the comfort and ease of a frequent guest who knew herself welcome. It was very becoming on her, as was the cheerful playfulness with which she urged the Colonel that for a proper entry into Meryton society, he would do very well to give a ball.

Darcy had no doubt the Colonel would take her advice, he was very clearly quite charmed by her. Miss Elizabeth conversed with him with great spirit, but the conversation necessarily lacked the depth and understanding of full acquaintance. When he spied her in conversation with Miss Lucas some time later, therefore, Darcy moved in their direction with renewed curiosity. For he had learned from Bingley that Miss Lucas was a particular friend to the two eldest Miss Bennets, and he was interested to know whether her charm increased or subsided in the easy conversation between friends.

She surprised him, however, by turning towards him almost as soon as he was near enough to do so, and saying, with a laughing aspect:

“Did not you think, Mr. Darcy, that I expressed myself uncommonly well just now, when I was teasing Colonel Forster to give us a ball at Meryton?”

“With great energy,” said he honestly, masking his surprise most creditably with a quick response. “But it is a subject which always makes a lady energetic.”

Miss Elizabeth looked amused by this. “You are severe on us.”

Darcy was unsure whether this was spoken in jest or in earnest, and he was not given the time to form a reply.

“It will be her turn soon to be teased,” said Miss Lucas. “I am going to open the instrument, Eliza, and you know what follows.”

“You are a very strange creature by way of a friend!—always wanting me to play and sing before anybody and everybody! If my vanity had taken a musical turn, you would have been invaluable; but as it is, I would really rather not sit down before those who must be in the habit of hearing the very best performers.” On Miss Lucas’s persevering, however, she added, “Very well; if it must be so, it must.” And gravely glancing at Mr. Darcy, “There is a very fine old saying, which everybody here is of course familiar with—‘Keep your breath to cool your porridge,’—and I shall keep mine to swell my song.”

Darcy bowed as she allowed Miss Lucas to lead her to the pianoforte, choosing a seat near Bingley and Miss Bennet to listen to her performance with great interest. He had not known she played.

Her performance was by no means capital, but pleasing nonetheless. Darcy had always been most anxious to promote his sister’s musical ability, and his knowledge on music was considerable. Of the technicalities of singing, however, he knew much less than of the pianoforte. No one in his family sang, and Miss Elizabeth singing, as easy and unaffected as her playing, he listened to with an enjoyment unalloyed by critical understanding.

After two songs she was succeeded by one of her younger sisters and, seeing her place herself at the instrument with far more deliberate attention, Darcy was prepared to listen to her with equal interest. He was soon disappointed. Miss Mary had neither genius nor taste, yet played with a pedantic air and conceited manner, which would have injured a higher degree of excellence than she would likely ever reach. The piece she chose was well-known to him, one of Georgina’s favourites, and her execution did not do it justice.

The thoughts of the rest of the company, though possibly not quite so severe, we not much different. Miss Elizabeth, easy and unaffected, had been listened to with much more pleasure, though not playing half so well; and Miss Mary, at the end of a long concerto, was glad to purchase praise and gratitude by Scotch and Irish airs, at the request of her younger sisters, who with some of the Lucases, and two or three officers, joined eagerly in dancing at one end of the room.

Darcy watched them in amazement. Miss Lydia especially was so boisterous as she took her place in the row of young ladies, that he wondered why her mother had not prevented her from partaking in such an exhibition. She was a very young woman, no more than sixteen, he was certain, but this was imperceptible in both her air and her conduct. He watched in quiet indignation how the two Miss Bennets and their companions hurried laughingly down the dance, crying out to their partners and laughing all the while.

Engrossed as he was in his own thoughts, he did not perceive that Sir William Lucas was his neighbour, till Sir William thus began:

“What a charming amusement for young people this is, Mr. Darcy! There is nothing like dancing, after all. I consider it as one of the first refinements of polished societies.”

“Certainly, sir,” Darcy replied, with a wryness that was too subtle by far for a man like Sir William to perceive, “and it has the advantage also of being in vogue amongst the less polished societies of the world: every savage can dance.”

Sir William smiled and Darcy, to his surprise and exasperation, saw Bingley rise suddenly from his seat and lead a smiling Miss Bennet to the dance. Her sisters exclaimed joyfully and they each joined in a row.

“Your friend performs delightfully,” Sir William said approvingly; “and I doubt not that you are an adept in the science yourself, Mr. Darcy.”

“You saw me dance at Meryton, I believe, sir,” said he, always rather short on patience for flattery.

“Yes, indeed, and received no inconsiderable pleasure from the sight. Do you often dance at St. James’s?”

“Never, sir.”

“Do you not think it would be a proper compliment to the place?”

“It is a compliment which I never pay to any place if I can avoid it.”

“You have a house in town, I conclude?”

Darcy bowed.

“I had once some thoughts of fixing in town myself, for I am fond of superior society; but I did not feel quite certain that the air of London would agree with Lady Lucas.”

No reply presented itself to Darcy that would wish to give within the gentleman's hearing, so he remained silent. His silence was poorly timed, for it was at that very instant that Miss Elizabeth happened to move towards them and Sir William, struck with the notion of doing a very gallant thing, called out to her:

“My dear Miss Eliza, why are not you dancing? Mr. Darcy, you must allow me to present this young lady to you as a very desirable partner. You cannot refuse to dance, I am sure, when so much beauty is before you.” And, taking her hand, he would have given it to Mr. Darcy, who, though extremely surprised, was not unwilling to receive it, when she instantly drew back, and said with some discomposure to Sir William:

“Indeed, sir, I have not the least intention of dancing. I entreat you not to suppose that I moved this way in order to beg for a partner.”

Darcy was embarrassed for her, and for his own evolvement in Sir William’s scheme. He bowed, and addressed her with grave propriety: “It would be a great pleasure, Miss Elizabeth, if you were to allow me the honour of your hand.”

The lady repeated her disinclination, however, and while Sir William once again tried to move her, she would not yield.

“You excel so much in the dance, Miss Eliza, that it is cruel to deny me the happiness of seeing you; and though this gentleman dislikes the amusement in general, he can have no objection, I am sure, to oblige us for one half hour.”

“Mr. Darcy is all politeness,” said Miss Elizabeth, smiling.

“He is, indeed: but considering the inducement, my dear Miss Eliza, we cannot wonder at his complaisance; for who would object to such a partner?”

Miss Elizabeth looked archly, and took her leave with such a particular expression that Darcy concluded her to be pleased with her escape. He did not blame her, rather wondering at Bingley’s eagerness to stand up with her sister in such a setting than at her disinclination to. It would have been Bingley, he considered gravely, who had persuaded Miss Bennet to do so. Her sweetness of temper likely made her more persuadable than her sister. Miss Elizabeth had a self-assurance about her, likely born from the same keen intelligence that lent such an attractive light to her eyes.

Her resistance, then, had far from injured her with the gentleman, and he was still thinking of her with complacency, when thus accosted by Miss Bingley:

“I can guess the subject of your reverie.”

“I should imagine not.”

“You are considering how insupportable it would be to pass many evenings in this manner,—in such society; and, indeed, I am quite of your opinion. I was never more annoyed! The insipidity, and yet the noise—the nothingness, and yet the self-importance, of all these people! What would I give to hear your strictures on them!”

It was not lost on Darcy that the sister now sought to encourage what the brother had blamed him for. In a more quiet moment this would inspire further reflection, but at present he merely answered with deliberate candour:

“Your conjecture is totally wrong, I assure you. My mind was more agreeably engaged. I have been meditating on the very great pleasure which a pair of fine eyes in the face of a pretty woman can bestow.”

Miss Bingley immediately fixed her eyes on his face, and desired he would tell her what lady had the credit of inspiring such reflections. Darcy knew that only one answer would please her, but he likewise knew that both deception and evasion were beneath him.

“Miss Elizabeth Bennet,” he replied, with great intrepidity, and prepared very sanguinely for the attack that was sure to follow.

“Miss Elizabeth Bennet!” repeated Miss Bingley. “I am all astonishment. How long has she been such a favourite? and pray when am I to wish you joy?”

“That is exactly the question which I expected you to ask. A lady’s imagination is very rapid; it jumps from admiration to love, from love to matrimony, in a moment. I knew you would be wishing me joy.” The thought of his entertaining a wish to marry a girl so wholly unknown to him and so completely removed from him in society was laughable.

“Nay, if you are so serious about it, I shall consider the matter as absolutely settled. You will have a charming mother-in-law, indeed, and of course she will be always at Pemberley with you.”

To Darcy there was no sting to such a grotesque invention, and he listened to Miss Bingley with perfect indifference for as long as she chose to entertain herself in this manner. His composure soon convinced her that all was safe, and consequently her wit flowed along.

Chapter Text

The arrival of the Militia was most naturally of interest to Bingley and Darcy alike. The former was delighted to have such an unexpected addition to the neighbourhood, which would necessarily give rise to an increase in social engagements, and to the latter this was not such an evil when these engagements were for shooting and riding.

Darcy was no avid marksman, but he enjoyed the outdoors and a company of men must always be less taxing than a mixed one. Their first invitation to a shooting party was therefore heartily accepted by all of the Netherfield gentlemen. The engagement was secured by Bingley, of course, but in the happy knowledge that his friend and his brother-in-law would both be pleased to attend. It was to take them from Netherfield the better part of the day, including the evening.

This last part of the arrangement was an unwelcome surprise to Miss Bingley that morning.

“You are dining out?” said she, trying to mask her displeasure with a forced smile. “I thought you were merely going for a shoot.”

“Did not I mention it to you?” Bingley asked distractedly. “I am sorry, Caroline, indeed I am.”

“It is inconvenient is all,” his sister replied. “You were counted on for dinner, all three of you, and now you tell me Louisa and I are to dine alone?”

“Oh but we cannot have been,” Bingley said. “For I told Byrne we would not dine here.”

“If you had the presence of mind to tell the housekeeper, you might have told me,” she scolded. “I am the lady of the house, Charles.”

Her brother apologised again and promised her that in future he would give her notice of all of his plans, in writing if she so wished. Darcy made sure to offer no interjections, he made it a point not to interfere in his friend’s disputes with his sister, and they soon left the ladies to their own entertainments and set off with Mr. Hurst.

Exactly how eventful those entertainments had been they did not find out until their return that evening.

Bingley was pleased to see his sisters still up. It made coming home from a pleasant day that much more pleasant to have someone to inform of the excellent time one had had.

“Well Caroline, Louisa,” he said cheerfully. “I hope you have enjoyed as good a day as we have. It was an excellent day, was it not?”

Darcy bowed and Mr. Hurst readily agreed that there had been some very good sport.

Bingley’s appraisal of the day was in a different style, involving a spirited account of the different officers they had kept company with and of the dinner at the camp, which had been absolutely delightful.

Charles,” Miss Bingley interrupted him. “Charles, be still for a moment and listen. When Miss Bennet came this morning-”

“What?” cried her brother. “You invited Miss Bennet? Why did you not tell me so?”

“You did not tell me your plans,” Miss Bennet retorted, neglecting to tell him her engagement had only been formed after she had heard of the gentlemen’s dining out.

“I have apologised for that once before,” he said. “My thoughts are too quick to remember what they are about.”

“At any rate,” she carried on. “If you were sorry for missing her, you have been preserved, for she arrived on horseback and as she cannot possibly go home with all this rain I have invited her to stay the night.”

“On horseback?” Bingley repeated, and if he was distracted for a moment by the thought of Jane Bennet riding across the country he must be forgiven. His absence of mind did not outlast this one moment however and soon he was inquiring anxiously after Miss Bennet’s wellbeing:

“But was she not caught out in the rain? For it rained all morning! I am sure it did for I remarked upon it when we were in the carriage to Meryton.”

“It rained half the morning,” Darcy corrected him, but this remark was lost in Mrs. Hurst’s description of poor Miss Bennet who had arrived wet through, with her gown quite ruined.

Bingley was positively alarmed and Miss Bingley attempted to quiet his fears by saying:

“I daresay she will not suffer for it. Having grown up in the country she must have a strong constitution. She very wisely decided to take an early night and I am sure you will be able to enjoy her smiles at breakfast next morning.”

Bingley was clearly not quite easy yet and Darcy wondered – not for the first time during their friendship – how his friend could possibly support his own spirits when he continually felt such concern for every one of his acquaintances.

“Now Charles, be easy,” Miss Bingley entreated. “Miss Bennet was only a little tired when she retired earlier this evening and I ordered Nicholls to make one of her hot drinks and send it up to her.”

“That was a good thought of you,” Bingley said, brightening up a little. “That is sure to do her good.”

“My thoughts exactly,” she said with a smile. “So you see there is really no cause for concern. Now please let us all go to bed, for we only waited up to see you safe returned from the hunt.”

This last speech was spoken with humour and as she happened to look round at Darcy as she spoke he smiled at her. He was pleased they had not come home any later. If they had, they might not have heard about Miss Bennet’s stay until morning and that would have given him very little time to prepare for her presence at breakfast. As it was he was quite ready to be pleased to see her the following morning.

That morning, however, the report which Miss Bingley imparted to them all at breakfast was not as favourable as they had all hoped. Miss Bennet had slept ill, and though up, was feverish, and not well enough to leave her room.

“She is at present writing a note to be carried to Longbourn,” Miss Bingley spoke with a sigh. “But I do think we had better send for the apothecary if she has not improved by the end of the morning. I have assured her there is no thought of her leaving us now, with her in such a state.”

“Of course,” Bingley said uneasily. “Had we not better send for him now?”

“Whether we send for him now or after breakfast will make very little difference, I am sure,” Mrs. Hurst opined. “Who knows where a country apothecary is to be found at this hour.”

So it was decided to wait and breakfast was rather sober. The Hursts were silent, but Miss Bingley talked of illness and her brother was nervous. Darcy could give his friend no counsel other than to wait and not to distress himself further.

They were all still assembled in the breakfast-parlour, when a servant appeared to inform them of a visitor.

“Miss Elizabeth Bennet,” the footman announced.

They were all surprised, but the gentlemen rose and the ladies prepared to smile and Miss Elizabeth was shown into the room.

“Miss Elizabeth!” Bingley cried cordially. “What a pleasant surprise, how do you do?”

The rest of the party joined him in equally polite, though perhaps not quite so warm a reception of her and Elizabeth curtsied to them all and bid them a good morning.

“You have come to inquire after your sister, no doubt,” Bingley said with great kindness in his voice.

“Indeed I have,” Miss Elizabeth replied. “The note my sister sent me was such that I did not wish to wait to see her.”

“Evidently,” Miss Bingley smiled. She glanced at Darcy and was pleased to see that he was regarding Miss Elizabeth with a definite frown on his face.

Darcy was not aware of this, he was trying to remember how far Longbourn must be from Netherfield. At least three miles, he thought. Likely closer to four. Miss Elizabeth had clearly walked the whole way by herself. The exercise had given her complexion a brilliance that truly struck him, and there was something unassuming and honest about her as she dwelt on the affection for her sister, which had been the sole cause of her exertion. Still, it surprised Darcy exceedingly she should have come so far alone and even if he had believed Miss Elizabeth capable of it, he had not expected her father and mother to allow it. Surely it was not necessary. Had Miss Bennet been dangerously ill it would have been a different matter, but as it was she had only a trifling cold and would in all probability be back home tomorrow.

The Bingleys, meanwhile, were answering Elizabeth’s inquiries after her sister’s health. As these answers were not particularly favourable, Miss Elizabeth’s anxiety seemed rather to increase during the interview. Miss Bingley promptly offered to take her to see Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth gratefully accepted.

As soon as the two ladies had left, Bingley turned to Darcy with a look of concern.

“I do hope Miss Bennet benefits from her sister’s company.”

“She must,” Darcy replied. “I can only imagine that to be Miss Elizabeth’s reason for coming.”

“Is breakfast to be served, what?” Mr. Hurst spoke up. “Are we to wait for her?”

“Never fear, Mr. Hurst,” said his lady placatingly. “I am sure Caroline shall be back shortly.”

She was indeed, and breakfast was served punctually after all. The gentlemen had made plans to go out shooting in their own park that day and Caroline said that she and Mrs. Hurst would go to sit with the two Miss Bennets. Bingley was pleased with this and both Darcy and Mr. Hurst found that no matter how good their sport that day, none of it was quite sufficient to put Miss Bennet fully out of his mind. When they returned to the house to dress for dinner, they were informed that a servant had been sent to Longbourn to bring back a supply of clothes for both the Miss Bennets, as Miss Elizabeth was to stay the night.

“Miss Bennet would not have her go,” Miss Bingley explained.

“She is not any worse, is she?” Bingley asked. “What did the apothecary say?”

“It is merely a cold,” his sister assured him. “He shall send her some draughts and told her to keep her bed. When I left her room only fifteen minutes ago she was resting well. Miss Elizabeth is with her still. Really, Charles, you must not alarm yourself.”

When her brother was at last somewhat satisfied she turned to Mr. Darcy.

“I do apologise,” she said. “I know very well you cannot abide a house filled with strangers, but under the circumstances there was nothing else to be done.”

“You acted very properly,” he said. “And you have done no injury to me by doing so, I assure you.” On the contrary, Darcy thought the addition of Miss Elizabeth Bennet might be a welcome variation to their dinner conversation. The liveliness of her mind must make her a pleasing addition to any party.

Gracious and complimentary as this reply was, considering what had previously passed between them at Sir William Lucas’s, it was not quite satisfactory to Miss Bingley, and when the party convened for dinner at half-past six she was less than pleased to see how materially a fresh gown and half an hour at her toilette had elevated Miss Elizabeth’s appearance.

It had not escaped Darcy’s notice either, yet her natural ease, which would have done still more, was still absent. “I hope your sister is on the mend?” he said sincerely.

The Hursts and Miss Bingley offered similar wishes, but Bingley drowned out whatever they had to say. “Have you left your sister in comfort?” he asked. “I do hope her situation has not given you any further cause for distress?”

Miss Elizabeth smiled at him, sensing true solicitude in his words, but could not give him a very favourable answer. “I am afraid she is by no means better,” she said.

“Oh I am grieved to hear it,” Miss Bingley exclaimed.

“As am I!” Mrs. Hurst joined in. “It is so shocking to have a bad cold.”

“Indeed it is, whenever I am ill I am perfectly miserable.”

“As am I,” Mrs. Hurst repeated. “You know I always am, Mr. Hurst.”

Her husband did not reply however, he was urging the party to take their seats. Darcy thought there was real anxiety in Miss Elizabeth’s looks and he remembered his own feelings some years ago, when Georgiana had been taken suddenly ill. He would have attended to Miss Elizabeth had it been necessary, but it certainly was not. Bingley bestowed on her every comfort that warmth and friendliness could bestow and when dinner was over she immediately begged to be excused and returned to her sister.

Miss Bingley gave her a most gracious smile, but as soon as she was out of the room, she turned to her sister with an exasperated expression. “How ever did two sisters come to be so different? I really have no patience with Eliza Bennet.”

“Nor I,” Mrs. Hurst shook her head.

Bingley looked dismayed, but said nothing as his sisters gave way to abusing their guest’s manners, character and person.

“Upon my honour I have never seen so little refinement in someone who is supposed to possess so much,” Miss Elizabeth said. “She behaves in the most revolting manner. Such a scathing mixture of pride and impertinence there is no enduring her. Indeed, had her conversation quality as well as quantity, she might have been tolerable for at least a while, but her speeches can neither amuse nor inform.”

Darcy waited impatiently for them to have done. Their current censure of Miss Elizabeth was not only unjust, their enjoyment in it was unseemly. He glanced at his friend, but Bingley was staring intently out of the nearest window as if determined not to belong to the conversation.

“I am quite of your opinion,” Mrs. Hurst said. "She has nothing, in short, to recommend her, but being an excellent walker. I shall never forget her appearance this morning. She really looked almost wild."

"She did, indeed, Louisa. I could hardly keep my countenance. Very nonsensical to come at all! Why must she be scampering about the country, because her sister had a cold?”

Darcy was slightly disconcerted to hear Miss Bingley voice an opinion that he himself had entertained at the time in so harsh a way. Particularly because it seemed to lead her most naturally towards further abuse:

“Her hair, so untidy, so blowsy!"

"Yes, and her petticoat,” Mrs. Hurst joined in. “I hope you saw her petticoat, six inches deep in mud, I am absolutely certain; and the gown which had been let down to hide it not doing its office."

"Your picture may be very exact, Louisa," said Bingley; "but this was all lost upon me. I thought Miss Elizabeth Bennet looked remarkably well when she came into the room this morning. Her dirty petticoat quite escaped my notice.”

He hereby proved what many an exasperated lady must have often suspected: that young men by no means place the necessary importance on a lady’s attire. Mrs. Hurst gave her brother an incredulous look, but Miss Bingley turned confidently to Darcy and said:

"You observed it, Mr. Darcy, I am sure, and I am inclined to think that you would not wish to see your sister make such an exhibition."

"Certainly not," he replied, but privately it occurred to him that it was far easier to imagine himself in Miss Elizabeth’ s position when he placed his dear Georgiana in Miss Bennet’s.

"To walk three miles, or four miles, or five miles, or whatever it is, above her ankles in dirt, and alone, quite alone!” Miss Bingley carried on. “What could she mean by it? It seems to me to show an abominable sort of conceited independence, a most country-town indifference to decorum."

"It shows an affection for her sister that is very pleasing," said Bingley, and Darcy was about to offer a reflection on the degree in which affection and decorum must sometimes encroach on one another when Miss Bingley leaned towards him and said in a half whisper:

"I am afraid, Mr. Darcy, that this adventure has rather affected your admiration of her fine eyes."

Darcy gave her a cool smile. It was all too common among ladies, to equate admiration with approbation. "Not at all," he replied; "they were brightened by the exercise." A short, pointed pause followed this speech, and Mrs. Hurst began again:

"I have an excessive regard for Jane Bennet, she is really a very sweet girl, and I wish with all my heart she were well settled. But with such a father and mother, and such low connections, I am afraid there is no chance of it."

"I think I have heard you say that their uncle is an attorney in Meryton," said Miss Bingley, turning back to her sister with alacrity.

"Yes; and they have another, who lives somewhere near Cheapside."

"That is capital," added her sister, and they both laughed heartily.

"If they had uncles enough to fill all Cheapside," cried Bingley, "it would not make them one jot less agreeable."

"But it must very materially lessen their chance of marrying men of any consideration in the world," replied Darcy seriously.

“Very true,” Miss Bingley agreed with a sympathetic shake of the head.

“Life is so often unfair,” Mrs. Hurst said with the complacent smile of one who has heard of unfairness but experienced very little of it.

Bingley sank into a decided silence while his sisters indulged a little longer in laughing at their dear friend Jane’s vulgar relations. Darcy saw his friend grow increasingly impatient, until he rose to his feet with sudden energy and said:

“How about a game of billiards, Darcy? I have not forgotten my defeat three days ago and I am determined to revenge myself.”

“By all means,” Darcy said in a joking aspect. “If you think your skill has improved between then and now.”

“Not at all,” Bingley said lightheartedly. “But I am certain my luck will have.”

Darcy was very willing to enter into his friends scheme of cutting off the present conversation and he rose, making a slight bow to Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst and following him out of the room.

As it happened Bingley’s luck had not improved and Darcy won again. Bingley made great cries of injustice and demanded once again that he be given an opportunity to better himself.

“I will indulge you,” Darcy smiled. “If only because we neither of us wish to return to the ladies at present.”

“I ask you kindly to leave our motives out of this,” Bingley said with affected indignation. “You have wronged me and I demand satisfaction.”

Darcy laughed and offered him the first turn.

This time Bingley made good on his threats. It was a narrow victory, but it brought Bingley in high enough spirits to declare loudly that he would quit while he was ahead, and that he meant to leave the billiard table immediately to prevent himself from going back on his resolve.

They found the drawing room empty.

“Your sisters must have gone to sit with Miss Bennet,” Darcy observed.

Bingley sat down without answering, but he seemed uncommonly pleased with this notion. They sat and talked together until Mr. Stokes, the butler, came to ask the gentlemen if they would take coffee.

“I think we will, Stokes,” Bingley said with a smile. “Do bring a summons to the ladies and if either of the Miss Bennets do not wish to come down, please supply them with whatever refreshments they wish.”

“Yes, sir,” Mr. Stokes said with a bow and retreated.

By the time the coffee and cake had arrived Bingley’s sisters joined them also. Elizabeth Bennet was not with them and Darcy had to own that he did not quite know his feelings at that moment. Certainly he was not disappointed. He almost settled on surprise, but really it was not very surprising that Miss Elizabeth should not want to leave her sister.

Bingley did not reflect on his feelings at all, they were plain and simple: he was concerned. “Did Miss Elizabeth think her sister too ill to be left alone?” he inquired.

“Oh she is not so very ill,” Mrs. Hurst said, sitting down by her husband.

“But Miss Eliza is a very eager nurse,” Caroline said with a smile. “She is particularly suited for the employment, I think.”

“That is greatly to her credit I am sure,” Bingley said, disregarding the slight edge to Caroline’s voice that Darcy too had not failed to pick up on. “But I hope she will not over-exert herself.”

He had half a mind to call for a servant and bid them to go assist the Miss Bennets, but Miss Bingley told him this was not only unnecessary, it would probably be most unwelcome. Bingley submitted to the probable better understanding his sister had of a lady’s feelings and contented himself with forming a resolution to send a servant to inquire after Miss Bennet’s health later in the evening.

Mr. Hurst, who had slept as the other gentlemen played at billiards and who had now indulged so fully in muffins and coffee that he voluntarily turned away from them, was now in the mood for entertainment. His wife recognised his restlessness and said pleasantly:

“Shall we have some cards tonight?”

“Of course!” Miss Bingley said cheerfully. “What shall we play?” She addressed this question to the whole party, but her eyes were immediately turned towards Mr. Darcy.

Darcy declined to give his opinion however and in the end the whole party settled down at a loo table.

It was rather late, both in the evening and in the second game, when they heard footsteps approach the drawing room and Miss Elizabeth entered.

“Miss Elizabeth!” Bingley exclaimed. “Do come and join us.”

“Yes, do,” Caroline smiled, who was seated beside Darcy and in very good spirits. “You will at last make this an even party, for the men have been carrying high discourse all the evening.”

“I thank you,” Miss Elizabeth said with a smile. “But I do not wish to leave Jane for too long.”

“You do not think she is improving?” Bingley asked anxiously, his cards entirely forgotten for the moment.

“She is asleep at present, sir, that will surely do her good,” Miss Elizabeth replied. “I will return to her shortly and in the meantime I shall amuse myself very well with a book.”

Mr. Hurst looked at her with astonishment. "Do you prefer reading to cards?" said he; "that is rather singular."

"Miss Eliza Bennet," said Miss Bingley, "despises cards. She is a great reader, and has no pleasure in anything else."

"I deserve neither such praise nor such censure," cried Miss Elizabeth; "I am not a great reader, and I have pleasure in many things."

"In nursing your sister I am sure you have pleasure," said Bingley; "and I hope it will be soon increased by seeing her quite well."

Miss Elizabeth thanked him from her heart, and then walked towards the table where a few books were lying.

“Shall I fetch you some other volumes?” Bingley immediately offered, dropping his cards once again. “It would be my pleasure, I assure you, you shall have your pick of everything my library can afford.” He grinned apologetically at her. “I wish my collection were larger for your benefit and my own credit; but I am an idle fellow, and though I have not many, I have more than I ever looked into."

Miss Elizabeth assured him that she could suit herself perfectly with those in the room and chose a seat from which she could still observe the ir table .

"I am astonished," said Miss Bingley, "that my father should have left so small a collection of books. What a delightful library you have at Pemberley, Mr. Darcy!"

"It ought to be good," he replied, "it has been the work of many generations."

"And then you have added so much to it yourself, you are always buying books."

"I cannot comprehend the neglect of a family library in such days as these."

"Neglect! I am sure you neglect nothing that can add to the beauties of that noble place. Charles, when you build your house, I wish it may be half as delightful as Pemberley."

"I wish it may," Bingley replied to his sister.

Darcy was aware of Miss Elizabeth lowering her book and looking over it with an expression of decided amusement. Her eyes seemed a good deal darker in the candle light.

"But I would really advise you,” Miss Bingley continued. “To make your purchase in that neighbourhood, and take Pemberley for a kind of model. There is not a finer county in England than Derbyshire."

"With all my heart; I will buy Pemberley itself if Darcy will sell it."

"I am talking of possibilities, Charles," his sister protested, once again turning her expressive smile towards Darcy.

"Upon my word, Caroline, I should think it more possible to get Pemberley by purchase than by imitation."

He spoke what he believed to be true, but without any gravity and he smiled cheerfully at Miss Elizabeth when she lay her book aside and drew near the card-table. He indicated she was very welcome to herself between himself and Mrs. Hurst so she could observe the game and she did so. This placed her exactly opposite Darcy and he looked up at her for a moment before fixing his attention on his cards again.

"Is Miss Darcy much grown since the spring?" said Miss Bingley; "will she be as tall as I am?"

"I think she will. She is now about Miss Elizabeth Bennet's height,” he said, glancing at her again. “Or rather taller."

"How I long to see her again! I never met with anybody who delighted me so much. Such a countenance, such manners! And so extremely accomplished for her age! Her performance on the pianoforte is exquisite."

"It is amazing to me," said Bingley, "how young ladies can have patience to be so very accomplished as they all are."

"All young ladies accomplished! My dear Charles, what do you mean?"

"Yes, all of them, I think. They all paint tables, cover screens, and net purses. I scarcely know anyone who cannot do all this, and I am sure I never heard a young lady spoken of for the first time, without being informed that she was very accomplished."

"Your list of the common extent of accomplishments has too much truth,” said Darcy, who had too much affection for his sister, and had too heavily invested in her instruction, to see her accomplishments reduced to the commonplace. “The word is applied to many a woman who deserves it no otherwise than by netting a purse or covering a screen. But I am very far from agreeing with you in your estimation of ladies in general. I cannot boast of knowing more than half-a-dozen, in the whole range of my acquaintance, that are really accomplished."

"Nor I, I am sure," said Miss Bingley.

"Then," observed Miss Elizabeth, "you must comprehend a great deal in your idea of an accomplished woman."

This was directed at Darcy more than Miss Bingley and he met her eyes before replying seriously:

"Yes, I do comprehend a great deal in it."

"Oh! certainly," Miss Bingley said with energy , "no one can be really esteemed accomplished who does not greatly surpass what is usually met with. A woman must have a thorough knowledge of music, singing, drawing, dancing, and the modern languages, to deserve the word; and besides all this, she must possess a certain something in her air and manner of walking, the tone of her voice, her address and expressions, or the word will be but half-deserved."

"All this she must possess," added Darcy when she ended her speech to a smile directed at all the company , "and to all this she must yet add something more substantial, in the improvement of her mind by extensive reading."

To his surprise, Miss Elizabeth laughed. "I am no longer surprised at your knowing only six accomplished women. I rather wonder now at your knowing any."

"Are you so severe upon your own sex as to doubt the possibility of all this?" Darcy asked, not quite certain if she meant to speak in jest or in earnest.

"I never saw such a woman,” she said decidedly . “I never saw such capacity, and taste, and application, and elegance, as you describe united."

Darcy could see Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst were rather offended. He did not feel Miss Elizabeth spoke to offend however, for she herself was included in the censure. He could respect her speaking her opinion so frankly and honestly. In this neighbourhood it was perhaps not surprising she had not met with any models of female excellence and he was quite aware that their present company was not entirely suited to provide it either. Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst were well-educated and charming, but this could not quite conceal the flaws that, though slight, were present in their respective characters.

Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley both cried out against the injustice of her implied doubt, and were both protesting that they knew many women who answered this description, when Mr. Hurst called them to order, with bitter complaints of their inattention to what was going forward. The players then all dutifully returned to the game and for a time all conversation was at an end. It was evident it had been their conversation and not the ir play that Elizabeth had been interested in, for not long after she excused herself and left the room.

"Elizabeth Bennet," said Miss Bingley, when the door was closed on her, "is one of those young ladies who seek to recommend themselves to the other sex by undervaluing their own; and with many men, I dare say, it succeeds. But, in my opinion, it is a paltry device, a very mean art."

"Undoubtedly," replied Darcy, as he felt she was chiefly addressing him, but he could not resist adding calmly: "there is a meanness in all the arts which ladies sometimes condescend to employ for captivation. Whatever bears affinity to cunning is despicable."

Miss Bingley was not so entirely satisfied with this reply as to continue the subject. Darcy was pleased he had brought her to drop the subject, especially so because not soon after Miss Elizabeth was come back again.

“Excuse me,” she said, looking decidedly more worried than she had done before. “I am afraid my sister is worse, I shall not leave her again. Good night to you all.”

“Miss Elizabeth, wait,” Bingley pleaded, getting to his feet and leaving the loo table. “Shall I not send for Mr. Jones?”

Elizabeth turned back towards him. There was an anxious uncertainty in her manner that was most uncharacteristic and it made the whole party take notice.

“But this morning she did not appear truly unwell,” Mrs. Hurst said worriedly.

“If she is truly ill,” Miss Bingely said, rising from her seat also. “We must send an express to town and get doctor Yves to come down immediately.”

“No,” Elizabeth said, regaining some of her composure. “That is by no means necessary, things are not quite as bad as that.”

“But you will let me call for Mr. Jones?” Bingley pleaded.

Elizabeth managed an unsteady smile. “I am sure it is just a bad cold. I have high hopes of her being on the mend by morning.”

“But if she is not,” Bingley pressed. “If she is not decidedly better next morning, will you let me send for the apothecary then?”

“Yes,” she gratefully relented. “I thank you, yes.”

“Then go to your sister,” Bingley said warmly. “And I shall have some supper sent up for you both.”

Miss Elizabeth thanked him again and repeated her goodnight to the rest of the company and hastily left the room, without waiting for any of them to reply.

“Well,” Bingley said, pacing the room after standing quite still for a moment. “This is a very bad turn of events.”

“It is shocking,” Miss Bingley said.

“Very shocking,” her sister agreed.

“I admit I am quite miserable, poor Miss Bennet.”

“Ring for the servant,” Darcy advised Bingley. “So that you may give your instructions.” He suspected his friend would feel better after he had done his duty as a host.

“Yes,” Bingley said, but even after he had seen to it that every possible delicacy his kitchens might hold that would be particularly appetising to an invalid would be sent up to Miss Bennet’s room, he only felt a very little better.

During supper he had not his usual appetite and afterwards he would not attend either to Darcy’s conversation or his sister’s entertainment, even though they sang some of his favourite duets. Eventually all he could think to do was to summon Mrs. Byrne and gave her the most emphatic directions that every attention possible should be paid to the sick lady and her sister.

Chapter Text

The following morning brought no improvement, Darcy heard from his friend. Bingley had taken the very earliest opportunity to send a housemaid in search of intelligence and to his distress Miss Bennet seemed not at all recovered.

“Miss Elizabeth has written to her mother,” said Bingley, quite fretful. “What must she think of us? And her daughter paying so dearly for answering Caroline’s invitation.”

“I am sure she will think you a most kind and considerate host,” Darcy replied patiently. “Just like I am sure she appreciated the compliment that your sister’s invitation was to her daughter.”

Bingley was not convinced, but Darcy was pleased to be proven correct, when Mrs. Bennet, accompanied by her two youngest girls, reached Netherfield soon after the family breakfast.

After spending some time at Miss Bennet’s bedside and speaking with the apothecary, who arrived about the same time, she and her three daughters joined the others in the breakfast parlour, on Miss Bingley’s invitation.

“I hope,” Bingley spoke anxiously, “you have not found Miss Bennet worse than you expected.”

"Indeed I have, sir," was her answer. "She is a great deal too ill to be moved. Mr. Jones says we must not think of moving her. We must trespass a little longer on your kindness."

"Removed!" cried Bingley. "It must not be thought of. My sister, I am sure, will not hear of her removal."

"You may depend upon it, Madam," said Miss Bingley, with cold civility, "that Miss Bennet will receive every possible attention while she remains with us."

Mrs. Bennet was profuse in her acknowledgments and Darcy was convinced that her alarm at her eldest daughter’s indisposition was nothing to her delight at her being so kindly treated by the Bingleys.

"I am sure," she added, "if it was not for such good friends I do not know what would become of her, for she is very ill indeed, and suffers a vast deal, though with the greatest patience in the world, which is always the way with her, for she has, without exception, the sweetest temper I have ever met with. I often tell my other girls they are nothing to her. You have a sweet room here, Mr. Bingley, and a charming prospect over the gravel walk. I do not know a place in the country that is equal to Netherfield. You will not think of quitting it in a hurry, I hope, though you have but a short lease."

"Whatever I do is done in a hurry," replied he; "and therefore if I should resolve to quit Netherfield, I should probably be off in five minutes. At present, however, I consider myself as quite fixed here."

Darcy looked at him with amused disagreement, but Miss Elizabeth smiled and said:

"That is exactly what I should have supposed of you.”

"You begin to comprehend me, do you?" cried he, turning towards her.

Her smile had by then reached her eyes. "Oh! yes—I understand you perfectly."

"I wish I might take this for a compliment; but to be so easily seen through I am afraid is pitiful,” laughed he.

"That is as it happens. It does not follow that a deep, intricate character is more or less estimable than such a one as yours."

"Lizzy," cried her mother, "remember where you are, and do not run on in the wild manner that you are suffered to do at home."

"I did not know before," continued Bingley immediately, "that you were a studier of character. It must be an amusing study."

"Yes, but intricate characters are the most amusing. They have at least that advantage."

Bingley smiled and as Miss Elizabeth returned it, Darcy could not help but imagine her manoeuvring the London Common Room, her eyes darting round in delight, eager to find a new subject of study.

"The country," observed he, "can in general supply but a few subjects for such a study. In a country neighbourhood you move in a very confined and unvarying society."

"But people themselves alter so much, that there is something new to be observed in them for ever."

"Yes, indeed," cried Mrs. Bennet, offended by his manner of mentioning a country neighbourhood. "I assure you there is quite as much of that going on in the country as in town."

Darcy regarded her silently, astonished by both her tone and her ignorance. There was no reply he could possibly make that would reflect well on either of them in this moment, so he chose to turn away. This, however, did not induce the lady to do the same. Quite the opposite.

"I cannot see that London has any great advantage over the country, for my part, except the shops and public places. The country is a vast deal pleasanter, is it not, Mr. Bingley?" she spoke firmly.

Bingley’s reply was all affability, determined to give slight to none. "When I am in the country," he replied, "I never wish to leave it; and when I am in town it is pretty much the same. They have each their advantages, and I can be equally happy in either."

"Aye—that is because you have the right disposition. But that gentleman," and Darcy felt her eyes on him, "seemed to think the country was nothing at all."

Darcy, determined not to let himself be angered by such a foolish display, cast his eyes through the room with firm disinterest. Unfortunately this led him to just catch the countenance of Miss Elizabeth, whose cheeks were flushed with shame and whose dark eyes were animated with the keenest concern.

"Indeed, Mamma, you are mistaken," said she. "You quite mistook Mr. Darcy. He only meant that there was not such a variety of people to be met with in the country as in the town, which you must acknowledge to be true."

"Certainly, my dear, nobody said there were; but as to not meeting with many people in this neighbourhood, I believe there are few neighbourhoods larger. I know we dine with four-and-twenty families."

Nothing but concern for Elizabeth could enable Bingley to keep his countenance. Darcy, torn between contempt for the mother and sympathy for the daughter, contented himself by soberly meeting Miss Bingley gaze, who directed her eyes towards him most expressively. He would not permit himself a smile that Miss Elizabeth might see. For the desperation in her voice was quite audible when she hastily enquired of her mother if her friend Charlotte Lucas had been at Longbourn since her coming away.

"Yes, she called yesterday with her father. What an agreeable man Sir William is, Mr. Bingley, is not he? So much the man of fashion! So genteel and easy! He has always something to say to everybody. That is my idea of good breeding; and those persons who fancy themselves very important, and never open their mouths, quite mistake the matter."

"Did Charlotte dine with you?" Miss Elizabeth pressed on, with a fortitude Darcy was forced to admire as well as pity.

"No, she would go home. I fancy she was wanted about the mince-pies. For my part, Mr. Bingley, I always keep servants that can do their own work; my daughters are brought up very differently. But everybody is to judge for themselves, and the Lucases are a very good sort of girls, I assure you. It is a pity they are not handsome! Not that I think Charlotte so very plain—but then she is our particular friend."

"She seems a very pleasant young woman."

"Oh! dear, yes; but you must own she is very plain. Lady Lucas herself has often said so, and envied me Jane's beauty. I do not like to boast of my own child, but to be sure, Jane—one does not often see anybody better looking. It is what everybody says. I do not trust my own partiality. When she was only fifteen, there was a man at my brother Gardiner's in town so much in love with her that my sister-in-law was sure he would make her an offer before we came away. But, however, he did not. Perhaps he thought her too young. However, he wrote some verses on her, and very pretty they were."

"And so ended his affection," said Miss Elizabeth impatiently. "There has been many a one, I fancy, overcome in the same way. I wonder who first discovered the efficacy of poetry in driving away love!"

This speech was scarcely heard by Bingley, who was thinking earnestly on the superiority of Jane Bennet’s character. Which she must undoubtedly possess to have lost none of her sweetness to vanity, in spite of being so generally admired. Darcy heard it, however, and he was rather surprised by it.

"I have been used to consider poetry as the food of love," said he.

"Of a fine, stout, healthy love it may. Everything nourishes what is strong already. But if it be only a slight, thin sort of inclination, I am convinced that one good sonnet will starve it entirely away."

Darcy smiled. It was not quite clear to him whether Elizabeth Bennet always spoke what she thought to be true. He rather suspected she often spoken in a satirical manner, and expressed opinions to amuse rather than to inform. This was not at all a style of conversation he had come to expect from ladies, but it interested and diverted him a great deal more than he had expected. He was sure that he would enjoy it even more if he were so well acquainted with her character that he would be able to distinguish with certainty between the wit and the conviction in her speeches.

There was a short pause, after which Mrs. Bennet began repeating her thanks to Bingley for his kindness to Miss Bennet, with an apology for troubling him also with Elizabeth. Bingley was unaffectedly civil in his answer, and his sister joined him very graciously, despite all previous offences. To everyone’s relief Mrs. Bennet was soon satisfied, and at last ordered her carriage.

This was apparently the signal the youngest of her daughters had been waiting for. The two girls had been whispering to each other during the whole visit, but now Miss Lydia put herself forward to give Bingley a very loud reminder that he had promised on his first coming into the country to give a ball at Netherfield.

Lydia Bennet, Darcy had learned since the evening at the Lucas’s, was but fifteen years old. He wondered sincerely at her being out at this age, more so as the youngest of five, and he witnessed her style of address with increasing surprise, as she very emphatically assured his friend that it would be the most shameful thing in the world if he did not keep his promise.

"I am perfectly ready, I assure you, to keep my engagement;” Bingley replied good humouredly to this sudden attack. “And when your sister is recovered, you shall, if you please, name the very day of the ball. But you would not wish to be dancing when she is ill."

Miss Lydia declared herself satisfied. "Oh! yes—it would be much better to wait till Jane was well, and by that time most likely Captain Carter would be at Meryton again. And when you have given your ball," she added, "I shall insist on their giving one also. I shall tell Colonel Forster it will be quite a shame if he does not."

Mrs. Bennet and her daughters then departed, and Miss Elizabeth, with her face most uncharacteristically turned away, at once excused herself to return to her sister.

“Four and twenty families!” Miss Bingley exclaimed as soon as she had left them.

Mrs. Hurst laughed heartily and Darcy indulged in a mocking smile. Bingley muttered something indistinct and left the room, leaving his sisters to continue their censure.

“Such a woman,” Miss Bingley declared. “No wonder her daughters are without fashion or decorum.” Her admiration of Miss Bennet was temporarily forgot in her contempt for all the rest of the family.

“It only goes to show,” Mrs. Hurst said. “What one can get away with in the country.”

“Some parts of the country,” Miss Bingley said expressively. “I am sure Mr. Darcy will testify to the very superior society that is to be had in other country neighbourhoods.”

“Pemberly and Longbourn,” Darcy said. “May both be called ‘the country’, just as Grosvenor and Gracechurch may both be said to be in town.”

This was simpered at by both sisters, but Mrs. Hurst added benevolently:

“It is amazing to me that Jane Bennet turned out as well as she did.”

“It is extraordinary indeed,” Darcy agreed. “That the two eldest out a family of five should so far exceed the others. I can only attribute it to a natural superiority of character, and find both Mr. and Mrs. Bennet very neglectful in the instruction of their children. From Mrs. Bennet, one might not have reason to expect better, but Mr. Bennet must be an indolent man, for he does not seem to lack abilities.”

This reflection on a parent’s duty, whatever the justness of it may have been, did not interest Miss Bingley at present; instead she replied:

“Jane Bennet is a sweet, gentle creature. I feel for her exceedingly. But Elizabeth Bennet’s character is exactly what I would expect form someone who has been allowed to run wild all her life. Even her mother owns it! In her the defects of the family are particularly odious, because they are hidden behind a thin veil of pretended sense and affected gentility. I have never been so sorely disappointed at a person’s true character on becoming acquainted with them as I was with her.”

Mrs. Hurst laughed, but made no further reply. Mostly because she had no very strong opinion on the matter, as the greatest inducement to disparage their second guest could not have an equal hold on her as it did on her sister.

Darcy said nothing at all. Despite of all that had passed he was now quite convinced of Elizabeth Bennet’s being quite equal to her eldest sister, and could not be prevailed on to join in their censure of her.

“I see how it is,” Miss Bingley said archly, after waiting in vain for his reply. “I do declare, I shall never again underestimate the power of a pair of fine eyes in softening every defect.”

Chapter Text

The remainder of the day passed much as the day before had done. Bingley envied his sisters’ the freedom to witness Miss Bennet’s recovery personally, but was forced to content himself with their assurance that she continued, though slowly, to mend. When he and the other gentlemen joined them after dinner, Miss Elizabeth was not with them. Bingley, who had began to look forward to her lively conversation, felt some degree of guilt in wishing for her presence, as her absence invariably meant she was tending to her sister, and anything that could possibly hasten Miss Bennet’s recovery was not to be encroached on.

There was little to distract him from this rather sober line of thought, for almost as soon as they entered the drawing room, Darcy settled at the writing desk to pen a letter to his sister, and Caroline, proclaiming she had household matters to pore over, seated herself near him. There she took up a household bill, only to lower it mere moments later to declare that she had never seen such an elegant hand.

“It is a skill that may be honed like any other,” Darcy replied placidly.

“For some it may,” smiled she. “I hope you will tell your dear sister how much I long to see her again.”

“I shall, if you wish it.”

Bingley cast his eye about the room in search of entertainment. This was immediately seized upon by Mr. Hurst, who suggested a game of piquet. Bingley accepted, and Mr. Hurst drew near a chair for his wife, who very contentedly settled in to observe their game and admire her husband’s deals and declarations.

Each of them was occupied in the same manner when Miss Elizabeth joined them.

“What say you, Miss Bennet?” Bingley called out eagerly. “Are Mr. Jones’s draughts performing? Is your sister feeling any better?”

“I believe they are, sir,” she smiled warmly. “I thank you.”

He most sincerely expressed his happiness at hearing her say so and resumed the game in much better spirits. Miss Elizabeth took up some needlework, and Mr. Hurst’s fast pace left him no opportunity to speak of anything but the game.

Miss Bingley was the only one breaking the silence whenever the players considered their hands. Though Bingley could not attend to their conversation, he concluded that his sister never afforded Darcy more than a few minutes together to write, before offering another new commendation. Her praises, however, were received by him with a perfect unconcern that Bingley believed to at once sincere and most intentional. Of course not a word had ever been uttered between them on the subject, but he knew very well that Darcy’s regard for his sister did not equal the regard she had for him. It made their exchange rather uncomfortable to witness.

"How delighted Miss Darcy will be to receive such a letter!"

He made no answer.

"You write uncommonly fast."

"You are mistaken. I write rather slowly."

Bingley thought, from the corner of his eye, that he perceived Miss Elizabeth smiling to herself, and he was glad to find that she was well amused in their company. He hoped most sincerely that his sister's more marked opinions on her character would never reach her, and that, as they became more acquainted, they would be forgotten.

"How many letters you must have occasion to write in the course of a year! Letters of business, too! How odious I should think them!"

"It is fortunate, then, that they fall to my lot instead of yours."

"Pray tell your sister that I long to see her."

"I have already told her so once, by your desire."

"I am afraid you do not like your pen. Let me mend it for you. I mend pens remarkably well."

"Thank you—but I always mend my own."

"How can you contrive to write so even?"

He was silent.

"Tell your sister I am delighted to hear of her improvement on the harp; and pray let her know that I am quite in raptures with her beautiful little design for a table, and I think it infinitely superior to Miss Grantley's."

"Will you give me leave to defer your raptures till I write again? At present I have not room to do them justice."

"Oh! it is of no consequence. I shall see her in January. But do you always write such charming long letters to her, Mr. Darcy?"

"They are generally long; but whether always charming it is not for me to determine."

"It is a rule with me, that a person who can write a long letter with ease, cannot write ill."

"That will not do for a compliment to Darcy, Caroline," cried Bingley, turning away from a game he had thoroughly lost, "because he does not write with ease. He studies too much for words of four syllables. Do not you, Darcy?"

Darcy, whose patience had begun to wear rather thin, managed a faint smile. "My style of writing is very different from yours."

"Oh!" cried Miss Bingley, "Charles writes in the most careless way imaginable. He leaves out half his words, and blots the rest."

"My ideas flow so rapidly that I have not time to express them—by which means my letters sometimes convey no ideas at all to my correspondents."

Miss Elizabeth had looked up from her needlework. "Your humility, Mr. Bingley," said she, "must disarm reproof."

Darcy smiled. If she was a studier of character, surely there was something he could add to her knowledge here. "Nothing is more deceitful," said he, "than the appearance of humility. It is often only carelessness of opinion, and sometimes an indirect boast."

Bingley lifted up his eyebrows in affected alarm. "And which of the two do you call my little recent piece of modesty?"

"The indirect boast; for you are really proud of your defects in writing, because you consider them as proceeding from a rapidity of thought and carelessness of execution, which, if not estimable, you think at least highly interesting. The power of doing anything with quickness is always prized much by the possessor, and often without any attention to the imperfection of the performance. When you told Mrs. Bennet this morning that if you ever resolved upon quitting Netherfield you should be gone in five minutes, you meant it to be a sort of panegyric, of compliment to yourself—and yet what is there so very laudable in a precipitance which must leave very necessary business undone, and can be of no real advantage to yourself or anyone else?"

"Nay," cried Bingley, "this is too much, to remember at night all the foolish things that were said in the morning. And yet, upon my honour, I believe what I said of myself to be true, and I believe it at this moment. At least, therefore, I did not assume the character of needless precipitance merely to show off before the ladies."

"I dare say you believed it; but I am by no means convinced that you would be gone with such celerity. Your conduct would be quite as dependent on chance as that of any man I know; and if, as you were mounting your horse, a friend were to say, 'Bingley, you had better stay till next week,' you would probably do it, you would probably not go—and at another word, might stay a month."

"You have only proved by this," cried Miss Elizabeth, "that Mr. Bingley did not do justice to his own disposition.”

Darcy looked at her with some surprise and was genuinely taken aback by the expressiveness of her smile.

“You have shown him off now much more than he did himself."

"I am exceedingly gratified," said Bingley, "by your converting what my friend says into a compliment on the sweetness of my temper. But I am afraid you are giving it a turn which that gentleman did by no means intend; for he would certainly think better of me, if under such a circumstance I were to give a flat denial, and ride off as fast as I could."

It was Miss Elizabeth’s turn to look surprised, though it was a mild, smiling surprise, not extending much further than the raising of an eyebrow. "Would Mr. Darcy then consider the rashness of your original intentions as atoned for by your obstinacy in adhering to it?"

Bingley shook his head. "Upon my word, I cannot exactly explain the matter; Darcy must speak for himself."

Darcy had heard them in silence, but now he protested: "You expect me to account for opinions which you choose to call mine, but which I have never acknowledged.” Miss Elizabeth was looking at him as if he amused her, however, so he prepared a defence and continued: “Allowing the case, however, to stand according to your representation, you must remember, Miss Bennet, that the friend who is supposed to desire his return to the house, and the delay of his plan, has merely desired it, asked it without offering one argument in favour of its propriety."

"To yield readily—easily—to the persuasion of a friend is no merit with you."

Darcy laid down his pen. "To yield without conviction is no compliment to the understanding of either."

Miss Bingley was beginning to look quite uncomfortable, but Miss Elizabeth put aside her needlework and turned fully towards him.

"You appear to me, Mr. Darcy,” said she, “to allow nothing for the influence of friendship and affection. A regard for the requester would often make one readily yield to a request, without waiting for arguments to reason one into it. I am not particularly speaking of such a case as you have supposed about Mr. Bingley. We may as well wait, perhaps, till the circumstance occurs before we discuss the discretion of his behaviour thereupon. But in general and ordinary cases between friend and friend, where one of them is desired by the other to change a resolution of no very great moment, should you think ill of that person for complying with the desire, without waiting to be argued into it?"

Darcy looked at her with interest. "Will it not be advisable, before we proceed on this subject, to arrange with rather more precision the degree of importance which is to appertain to this request, as well as the degree of intimacy subsisting between the parties?"

"By all means," cried Bingley; "let us hear all the particulars, not forgetting their comparative height and size; for that will have more weight in the argument, Miss Bennet, than you may be aware of. I assure you, that if Darcy were not such a great tall fellow, in comparison with myself, I should not pay him half so much deference. I declare I do not know a more awful object than Darcy, on particular occasions, and in particular places; at his own house especially, and of a Sunday evening, when he has nothing to do."

Darcy forced a smile, as he must, but he was rather dismayed that his friend should give his character such a description, and Miss Elizabeth’s laughing eyes rather worsened the situation.

Miss Bingley warmly resented the indignity he had received, in an expostulation with her brother for talking such nonsense, but Darcy hit upon a better explanation for his peculiar remark.

"I see your design, Bingley. You dislike an argument, and want to silence this."

"Perhaps I do. Arguments are too much like disputes. If you and Miss Bennet will defer yours till I am out of the room, I shall be very thankful; and then you may say whatever you like of me."

"What you ask," said Miss Elizabeth, taking up her work again, "is no sacrifice on my side; and Mr. Darcy had much better finish his letter."

Darcy took her advice, but the conversation remained on his mind, or at the very least it would intrude. He did not dislike an argument; a disagreement with a well informed opponent would always be of more interest to him than an exchange of empty pleasantries. He was not sufficiently acquainted with Miss Elizabeth’s opinions, however, to know if such an exchange of ideas was equally pleasing to her, so when he had finished his letter, he very earnestly applied to both her and Miss Bingley for an indulgence of some music. Miss Bingley moved with some alacrity to the pianoforte; but Miss Elizabeth politely negatived her request for her to lead the way. Miss Bingley did not press her, but seated herself, and chose a song.

Miss Elizabeth’s refusal rather surprised Darcy, and he detected in himself a dissapointment that was rather more pronounced than he had expected. He had been quite eager to hear Miss Elizabeth play and sing again, but then he was by now used to Miss Bingley’s performance. There was necessarily less novelty there.

Miss Bingley sang with her sister, and both performed very well, but they could not command his full attention. His eyes were very frequently fixed on Miss Elizabeth. First to assure himself that her spirits were not affected by their exchange in the same way Bingley’s were. But once he had confirmed that this was not the case, the unsettled feeling that had come over him did not abate.

After playing some Italian songs, Miss Bingley varied the charm by a lively Scotch air, and Darcy, seeing Bingley’s spirits lifted by the music , considered that here was an opportunity to furnish his friend with some diversion, whilst at the same time joining in his continuous effort to make their guest feel at home. He drew near Miss Elizabeth and said to her:

"Do not you feel a great inclination, Miss Bennet, to seize such an opportunity of dancing a reel?"

She smiled, but to his surprise made no answer. He repeated the question.

"Oh!" said she, "I heard you before, but I could not immediately determine what to say in reply. You wanted me, I know, to say 'Yes,' that you might have the pleasure of despising my taste; but I always delight in overthrowing those kind of schemes, and cheating a person of their premeditated contempt. I have, therefore, made up my mind to tell you, that I do not want to dance a reel at all—and now despise me if you dare."

This was spoken with such a mixture of sweetness and archness in her manner that, taken aback as he was by her reply, Darcy smiled in spite of himself.

"Indeed I do not dare," he replied and he left the lady to take up her work again.

Bingley likewise seemed surprised when Darcy looked in his direction, but he met his eye with such a gladdened expression, that Darcy was assured that he at least had understood the intent of his efforts, even if Miss Elizabeth did not.

He regarded her with some thoughtfulness while Miss Bingley finished her piece. She had been being contrary by design, he was sure. It was not a sense of humour he was much accustomed to, but in one such as her it was uncommonly charming. Far too much of her, Darcy was forced to admit, was uncommonly charming to him. Were it not for the inferiority of her connections, he might genuinely have been in some danger. In truth, he had never been so taken with a woman as he was with her, and he suspected that the lady was beginning to be aware of it.

Chapter Text

Though Darcy was unable to say with tolerable certainty how much Miss Elizabeth suspected, it was all too clear that Miss Bingley had perceived enough to awaken her jealousy to such a degree that it begun to materially affect her conduct. While she no longer indulged in abusing her character directly, she often tried to provoke Darcy into disliking her guest, by talking of their supposed marriage, and planning his happiness in such an alliance.

"I hope," said she, as they were walking together in the shrubbery the next day, "you will give your mother-in-law a few hints, when this desirable event takes place, as to the advantage of holding her tongue; and if you can compass it, do cure the younger girls of running after officers. And, if I may mention so delicate a subject, endeavour to check that little something, bordering on conceit and impertinence, which your lady possesses."

Vexatious as Miss Bingley’s jokes were becoming to Darcy, they did at least preserve him from feeling any regret that Miss Elizabeth had been born into a family marked by such weak characters. They placed foremost in his mind that it was very good fortune that she had, for it saved him from the danger of entertaining a preference for a young lady with such inferior connections. As it was, any attachment between them was out of the question.

"Have you anything else to propose for my domestic felicity?" he asked placidly.

"Oh! yes. Do let the portraits of your uncle and aunt Phillips be placed in the gallery at Pemberley. Put them next to your great-uncle the judge. They are in the same profession, you know, only in different lines. As for your Elizabeth's picture, you must not have it taken, for what painter could do justice to those beautiful eyes?"

Darcy walked along side her in determined indifference. "It would not be easy, indeed, to catch their expression,” he spoke deliberately, “but their colour and shape, and the eyelashes, so remarkably fine, might be copied."

At that very moment, however, they were met from another walk by Mrs. Hurst and Miss Elizabeth herself, and Darcy was seized by an immediate, violent regret at his lack of propriety.

"I did not know that you intended to walk," said Miss Bingley, likewise in some confusion, lest they had been overheard.

"You used us abominably ill," answered her sister, "running away without telling us that you were coming out."

Then taking the disengaged arm of Mr. Darcy, she left Elizabeth to walk by herself. The path just admitted three. Mr. Darcy felt their rudeness, and immediately said:

"This walk is not wide enough for our party. We had better go into the avenue."

But Miss Elizabeth laughingly answered:

"No, no; stay where you are. You are charmingly grouped, and appear to uncommon advantage. The picturesque would be spoilt by admitting a fourth. Good-bye."

She then ran gaily off, leaving the two ladies to exclaim at her abominable impertinence. Miss Bingley looked up at Darcy’s face, eager to discover indignation, but the gentleman found himself so charmed that he could barely hide his smile. He had never before considered wit a particularly instrumental virtue, but never before had he found so much of it in one person. It was very nearly disconcerting to him.

The only one capable of freely enjoying Elizabeth Bennet’s company was Bingley. In their care and concern for her sister they were resolutely united and he, who attributed to her a tenfold of the fears that plagued him. These fears were soon to be somewhat quieted, however. For when he and the other gentlemen joined the ladies after dinner that evening, they found that, true to Mrs. Byrne’s information, Miss Bennet had indeed come down from her room.

Hurst and Darcy each bowed and said what was proper, but diffuseness and warmth remained for Bingley's salutation.

“Miss Bennet!” he exclaimed. “How good, how very excellent to see you looking so well.”

This was sure to both please and embarrass the lady, as Jane Bennet, while not so unwise as to venture into company before she was sufficiently recovered, was certainly not in her best looks, and feeling a good deal fatigued.

Bingley perceived this and, sparing her an initial reply, continued: “Are you quite comfortable, Miss Bennet? Are you not troubled by the draft?”

“I thank you, sir,” said she, with a very genuine smile. “I assure you, Lizzy has wrapped me up so well I am sure no draft could reach me.”

Her sister, who had been seated by her, observed that her hands had been idle for too long and rose in search of her needlework. Bingley gladly took her place, but could only keep still for a few moments, before proclaiming with real anxiety:

“Nay, it is not at all warm here, I do fear you will suffer from the change of room.”

Miss Bennet protested, but allowed herself one single expression of doubt on the subject, and Bingley subsequently spent the following half-hour in piling up the fire. He was all attention.

“I must entreat you to move to the other side of the fireplace, your current seat is far too near the door.”

She allowed him to convey her to this superior seat, and Bingley perceived with very real pleasure that she no longer had as pale an aspect as before. Having made sure she was well settled, he then saw to the placement of a screen, both shielding them from any draft and keeping in the warmth of the fire. He then sat down by her, urged her to drink her tea, and begged her to inform him at once if anything could be brought to her that would in any way augment her comfort.

“You are too kind.” Miss Bennet’s lovely face was all gladness and gratitude. “Really, Mr. Bingley, I cannot express to you how much I am obliged to you.”

He warmly protested against any expression of obligation, and assured her that it was his dearest wish to see her well again.

“I have sworn a very solemn vow to your youngest sister to host a ball at Netherfield once you are recovered,” said he laughingly, “and I am most anxious to honour it and preserve my good reputation.”

Miss Bennet smiled. “That shall be a delight to all the neighbourhood.”

“And will it be agreeable to you, Miss Bennet?”

Her dark eyes were filled with soft delight. “Nothing would please me more.”

When tea was over, Mr. Hurst reminded his sister-in-law of the card-table—but in vain. She had obtained private intelligence that Mr. Darcy did not wish for cards; and Mr. Hurst soon found even his open petition rejected. She assured him that no one intended to play, and the silence of the whole party on the subject seemed to justify her. Mr. Hurst had therefore nothing to do, but to stretch himself on one of the sofas and go to sleep. Darcy took up a book; Miss Bingley did the same; Miss Elizabeth was still at work; and Mrs. Hurst, principally occupied in playing with her bracelets and rings, joined now and then in her brother's conversation with Miss Bennet, as he scarcely thought to speak to anyone else.

“I am entirely of your opinion, Miss Bennet, nothing so delightful as a drawing room reading to learn to love a play. But tell, me are you fond of the theatre?”

“Very much, sir, my aunt and uncle Gardiner are kind enough to take us whenever we visit in town.”

“Ah! Your mother’s brother, is he not? I hope I shall get to meet them.”

Miss Bennet was warm in her commendation of his kindness and informed him that her uncle and aunt would come down from London for a visit at Christmas.

Darcy would at this time have been quite comfortable, engrossed in a good book, in good company, and with his friend’s continual distant conversation in the background, had Miss Bingley’s attention not been quite as much engaged in watching his progress through his book, as in reading her own. She was perpetually either making some inquiry, or looking at his page. He dutifully answered her questions, but did not relish the repeated interruption.

“You are a very fast reader.”

“When the subject is engaging.”

“Do you think I will find it equally so? Do you recommend I read it as well?”

“I presumed you had done so already. Your current choice being the second volume to this.”

Miss Bingley, resigned to the fact that she could not win him to any conversation; endeavoured to apply herself to reading but with little success. At length, quite exhausted by the attempt to be amused with a book whose preceding volume she did not know, she gave a great yawn and said:

"How pleasant it is to spend an evening in this way! I declare after all there is no enjoyment like reading! How much sooner one tires of anything than of a book! When I have a house of my own, I shall be miserable if I have not an excellent library."

No one made any reply. She then yawned again, threw aside her book, and cast her eyes round the room in quest for some amusement; when hearing her brother mentioning a ball to Miss Bennet, she turned suddenly towards him and said:

"By the bye, Charles, are you really serious in meditating a dance at Netherfield? I would advise you, before you determine on it, to consult the wishes of the present party; I am much mistaken if there are not some among us to whom a ball would be rather a punishment than a pleasure."

"If you mean Darcy," cried her brother, "he may go to bed, if he chooses, before it begins—but as for the ball, it is quite a settled thing; and as soon as Nicholls has made white soup enough, I shall send round my cards."

Darcy, who had long considered a ball at Netherfield an absolute inevitability, read on unperturbed.

"I should like balls infinitely better," Miss Bingley replied, "if they were carried on in a different manner; but there is something insufferably tedious in the usual process of such a meeting. It would surely be much more rational if conversation instead of dancing were made the order of the day."

"Much more rational, my dear Caroline, I dare say, but it would not be near so much like a ball."

Miss Bingley made no answer, and soon afterwards she got up and walked about the room.

With her silence the room was once more filled with only Miss Bennet and Bingley’s pleasant and unobtrusive conversation from behind the screen, and Darcy found his tranquillity restored, until, at quite a critical point in his novel, he heard Miss Bingley say:

"Miss Eliza Bennet, let me persuade you to follow my example, and take a turn about the room. I assure you it is very refreshing after sitting so long in one attitude."

Darcy looked up, too awake to the novelty of attention in that quarter to restrain the impulse, and unconsciously closed his book. Miss Bennet had then just taken Miss Elizabeth’s arm, and her eyes were instantly directed towards him.

“Do join us, Mr. Darcy.”

“I am much obliged, but feel compelled to decline the invitation. I can imagine but two motives for your choosing to walk up and down the room together, with either of which motives my joining you would interfere.”

“Why, what could you mean by that, sir?” Miss Bingley exclaimed. “I am dying to know what could be your meaning. Miss Eliza, can you at all understand him?”

"Not at all," was her answer, while briefly meeting Darcy’s eye; "but depend upon it, he means to be severe on us, and our surest way of disappointing him will be to ask nothing about it."

Miss Bingley, however, was incapable of disappointing Mr. Darcy in anything, and persevered therefore in requiring an explanation of his two motives.

"I have not the smallest objection to explaining them," said he, as soon as she allowed him to speak. "You either choose this method of passing the evening because you are in each other's confidence, and have secret affairs to discuss, or because you are conscious that your figures appear to the greatest advantage in walking; if the first, I would be completely in your way, and if the second, I can admire you much better as I sit by the fire."

He had the pleasure of seeing a decided change in Miss Elizabeth’s expression, and sat back as she discretely turned away her head.

"Oh! shocking!" cried Miss Bingley. "I never heard anything so abominable. How shall we punish him for such a speech?"

"Nothing so easy, if you have but the inclination," said her companion, with the same light-hearted archness that had often struck Darcy before. "We can all plague and punish one another. Tease him—laugh at him. Intimate as you are, you must know how it is to be done."

Darcy felt some discomfort, but Miss Bingley at once replied:

"But upon my honour, I do not. I do assure you that my intimacy has not yet taught me that. Tease calmness of manner and presence of mind! No, no; I feel he may defy us there. And as to laughter, we will not expose ourselves, if you please, by attempting to laugh without a subject. Mr. Darcy may hug himself."

"Mr. Darcy is not to be laughed at!" cried Miss Elizabeth. "That is an uncommon advantage, and uncommon I hope it will continue, for it would be a great loss to me to have many such acquaintances. I dearly love a laugh."

"Miss Bingley," said he severely, "has given me more credit than can be. The wisest and the best of men—nay, the wisest and best of their actions—may be rendered ridiculous by a person whose first object in life is a joke."

The lady met his gaze again, replying in a more serious manner. "Certainly, there are such people, but I hope I am not one of them. I hope I never ridicule what is wise and good. Follies and nonsense, whims and inconsistencies, do divert me, I own, and I laugh at them whenever I can.” Her smile returned. “But these, I suppose, are precisely what you are without."

Darcy believed he understood her object; she had clarified her personal convictions in defence of her amusements, and now she meant to laugh the subject away. He was not content to let the subject drop already, however, not on such a statement.

"Perhaps that is not possible for anyone,” he replied. “But it has been the study of my life to avoid those weaknesses which often expose a strong understanding to ridicule."

Miss Elizabeth walked with Miss Bingley in elegant unison without ever averting her eyes.

"Such as vanity and pride."

"Yes, vanity is a weakness indeed. But pride—where there is a real superiority of mind, pride will be always under good regulation."

Miss Elizabeth once more turned her head.

"Your examination of Mr. Darcy is over, I presume," said Miss Bingley; "and pray what is the result?"

"I am perfectly convinced by it that Mr. Darcy has no defect,” she spoke teasingly. “He owns it himself without disguise."

"No," said Darcy, sitting upright, "I have made no such pretension. I have faults enough, but they are not, I hope, of understanding.” He placed in his hands back on his book when she looked at him. “My temper I dare not vouch for. It is, I believe, too little yielding—certainly too little for the convenience of the world. I cannot forget the follies and vices of others so soon as I ought, nor their offenses against myself. My feelings are not puffed about with every attempt to move them. My temper would perhaps be called resentful. My good opinion once lost, is lost forever."

"That is a failing indeed! Implacable resentment is a shade in a character. But you have chosen your fault well. I really cannot laugh at it.” There was now a guarded expression on her face that could not but interest him. “You are safe from me."

"There is, I believe,” said he, “in every disposition a tendency to some particular evil—a natural defect, which not even the best education can overcome."

She nearly laughed. "And your defect is to hate everybody."

"And yours," he replied with a smile, "is willfully to misunderstand them."

"Do let us have a little music," cried Miss Bingley, tired of a conversation in which she had no share. "Louisa, you will not mind my waking Mr. Hurst?"

Her sister had not the smallest objection, and the pianoforte was opened; and Darcy, after a few moments' recollection, was not sorry for it. He began to feel the danger of paying Elizabeth too much attention. Of his passing admiration, he was sure, she was already aware, he could not allow himself to show her any real preference.

It was welcome intelligence to him when he heard the following day that the two Miss Bennets would be leaving the next morning. Elizabeth had been at Netherfield long enough. She attracted him more than he liked—and Miss Bingley was uncivil to her, and more teasing than usual to himself.

Bingley took no pleasure in it, and told Darcy as much when he made the communication. “I am not persuaded it will be safe for her to be moved, she is not enough recovered.”

“Miss Bennet must be the best judge of that,” Darcy replied placidly. “Moreover, her sister would counsel her against it, if she believed her to be in danger.”

“I am afraid she feels her presence a trespass upon our hospitality,” Bingley spoke unhappily.

“Then I am sure you assured her otherwise.”

“Oh yes, repeatedly, as did Caroline, but Miss Bennet would only be persuaded to stay but one more night. She insists on a departure on Sunday. That is just like a gentle character, is it not, to find firmness where one feels oneself to be right.”

Darcy made no reply, allowing his friend to vent his feelings a while longer, while he considered that the departure of Miss Elizabeth, however desirable, did present him with an obligation. He wisely resolved to be particularly careful that no sign of admiration should now escape him, nothing that could elevate her with the hope of influencing his felicity; sensible that if such an idea had been suggested, his behaviour during the last day must have material weight in confirming or crushing it.

Steady to his purpose, he scarcely spoke ten words to her through the whole of Saturday, and though they were at one time left by themselves for half-an-hour, he adhered most conscientiously to his book, and would not even look at her.

The lady did the same, and when Miss Bingley joined them she was most gratified to find such a dull company.

“No book for you, miss Eliza?” she inquired smilingly, sitting down by her with a volume of poetry.

Miss Elizabeth bowed over her needlepoint with an expressive smile. “As you can see, Miss Bingley.”

Darcy prevented himself from observing Miss Elizabeth had just finished her novel. He did not answer to himself how it was he knew this to be the case, rather than her laying it aside for any other reason, and his lack of a satisfactory explanation rather heightened his resolve.

On Sunday, after morning service, the separation, so agreeable to almost all, took place. Miss Bingley's civility to Miss Elizabeth increased at last very rapidly, as well as her affection for Miss Bennet; and when they parted, after assuring the latter of the pleasure it would always give her to see her either at Longbourn or Netherfield, and embracing her most tenderly, she even shook hands with the former. Miss Bennet expressed her gratitude repeatedly and feelingly, and earnestly enough to satisfy even Bingley, and Miss Elizabeth took leave of the whole party in the liveliest of sprits.

Darcy was both relieved and satisfied. Miss Bingley’s improved civility must be credited to his good self-command, and Miss Elizabeth’s spirits were not those of a woman much disappointed. No doubt she was sensible of her attractions, but likewise aware of her situation. When they saw each other next it would be in the comfort of increased acquaintance and mutual understanding. It was all very well done.

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Darcy was most grateful they had the house to themselves once more, although he took care not to show it quite as much as Miss Bingley. Mrs. Hurst celebrated the return of domestic peace by prevailing upon her husband to walk her to Meryton and when they returned she immediately related that the talk of all the village was that Colonel Forster from the Militia was to be married.

“Imagine that,” she laughed. “Quite the neighbourhood indeed. A single match is enough to excite them.” And, possibly to prove just how much gossip had been generated by such a simple piece of news, she spent the following ten minutes detailing the whole of it to her sister. Including the prevailing report that the future Mrs. Forster was only just turned seventeen last spring.

“Well,” Miss Bingley smiled wryly. “Such is a soldier’s taste. I have no doubt he finds he has done well for himself.”

Darcy, too aware of the fact that Georgiana would be turning seventeen all too soon, could not help observing that while Col. Forster was certainly a very respectable man, he could not be called a young one.

“No indeed,” Miss Bingley agreed. “But then we do not know the girl, likely she choose guided by different tastes.”

“Unions born from affection,” said Bingley, “are often unaccountable to those observing them from afar, but must, when said affection is truly requited, always lead to happiness.”

Darcy was silent, but Bingley caught his expression and said:

“I see you laugh, Darcy, but you shall not smirk me out of my opinion.”

“Your opinion,” Darcy said. “Must be more informed by your romantic sensibilities than your sense, but I shall not try to quarrel with your romanticism. I know better by now.”

“You enjoy being severe on me,” Bingley teased him. He shook his head thoughtfully .“I know very well there are many motives for marrying, but I should wish—”

Darcy waited, but Bingley did not continue, and, after gently resisting several attempts of the two sisters to include him in their conversation, Darcy moved closer to him, saying:

“You should wish what?”

Bingley looked at him, evidently startled out of some engrossing thought. “I should wish to marry for love and love alone.”

His solemn tone rather puzzled Darcy, who had not come to expect gravity on such subjects from him. He nodded, but observed: “Love alone might make a poor match, my friend.”

“I do not agree with you there,” Bingley said, with unusual firmness, “love does not err. I am not talking of attraction, or even affection; love, Darcy, is superior to them both.”

“You hold then that the strength of the feeling determines its worthiness?” he said doubtfully.

“Worthy of what?” Bingley said with sudden impatience. “Cannot love be allowed to have worth in and of itself?”

Darcy did not question him further. He merely thought privately that it was a very good thing the world in general did not think as Bingley did. Still, it was an attractive sentiment and Darcy was still thinking on it with some sincerity when his friend suddenly began speaking of a new dog he was planning to buy, seemingly having quite forgotten what they were speaking of before.

Whether this was truly the case, one cannot venture to confirm, but whatever thoughts might have occupied Bingley in the preceding time, on Thursday he resolved to pay a visit to Longbourn. He longed to know if Miss Bennet had recovered in full, and was reluctant to rely on Caroline for information, as she was at present not at all inclined to stir outdoors. As he had no appetite for solitude at present, he approached Darcy with a great wish to go out on horseback and, once Darcy had agreed to accompany him, pronounced Longbourn to be their destination. His friend showed far less opposition to the scheme than he had expected, and the gentlemen set off within the hour.

They were to pass though Meryton, and as they rode down its main street, Bingley’s eye was caught by a small group of ladies and gentlemen gathered on the pavement in front of one of the shops.

“There is Miss Bennet now!” Bingley exclaimed, and upon perceiving one of the three gentlemen to belong to the Bennet’s party: “Say, who is that young man standing by Miss Elizabeth?”

“What, which do you mean?”

In place of an answer, however, Bingley urged him to ride on, as he had already seen one smile of recognition from Miss Bennet in his direction, and he was eager to speak to her. They crossed the street to join them, and began the usual civilities. Bingley was the principal spokesman, and Miss Bennet the principal object.

“We were just on our way to Longbourn on purpose to inquire after you, Miss Bennet,” Bingley said after the first, cheerful greeting were exchanged.

Darcy corroborated it with a bow, but did not speak a word. There was little occasion for Bingley recognise this as he accepted Miss Bennet's warm gratitude for his solicitude and her earnest assurance that she was then quite recovered, but at length Darcy’s silence began to draw his notice. During their stay at Netherfield he had conversed with both Miss Bennet and her eldest sister quite readily, and the presence of the two youngest, Bingley thought, could not make so material a difference.

While Miss Bennet inquired after his sisters and introduced him to her cousin Mr. Collins, the unknown gentleman of their party, he could not divide his attention. Soon after, however, a glance at Darcy’s face showed him a rather alarming change in his friend’s complexion and a look which betrayed such a degree of uneasiness that he reluctantly resolved not to remain any longer.

“I am so very happy to see you well again, Miss Bennet,” said he smilingly. “Do give my compliments to your father and mother, oh, and Miss Mary too!”

She in turn begged to be remembered to his sisters, all present bowed and smiled, and Bingley took leave of the ladies and their cousin, nodding to the officer and the gentleman standing somewhat to the side, and sparing one last, admiring look for Jane Bennet.

Having removed Darcy from what must have been the source of his discomfort, Bingley expected he would soon recover, but it was not so. Darcy remained grave, silent, and excessively pale. Resolving then to choose the roundabout way back to Netherfield, Bingley ventured after some time:

“Shall we make another round of the park? The day is so fine.”

“If you wish.”

Bingley frowned, slowing his horse. “Darcy, what is the matter, what has disturbed you?”

He could see very clearly that his friend wished to give him a flat denial, but yet he did not. Darcy was silent for a moment longer and then, in a tone of real emotion, imparted to him that the stranger accompanying Mr. Denny was not unknown to him.

“His name,” he said gravely, “is George Whickham, and he was the son of my father’s steward.”

“Good God, Darcy!” cried Bingley. “This is the man who insisted you give him a living a year ago?”

“The very same.”

Bingley was greatly concerned. He did not remember the whole of what his friend had told him when this uncomfortable circumstance took place, but he recalled Darcy’s anger and frustration very clearly. George Wickham had been a favourite of Darcy’s late father, that much he had understood, but had sadly done very little to deserve it, and had badly disgraced the friendship later extended to him by the son. How very cruel a circumstance that they should happen upon him here.

“Whatever can he mean by coming here,” Bingley wondered aloud,“Meryton! Of all places!”

“I can only imagine,” Darcy said tersely, “he means to join the Militia.”

“Surely not!”

Darcy made no reply, and the gentlemen rode on in silence, in shared, thought not equal, discomfort. In Bingley there was a very keen concern for his friend’s peace of mind, mingled with a very understandable frustration. For just as they had been approaching a level of acquaintance with the general neighbourhood, that Darcy could no longer feel himself continually surrounded by strangers, here was this unwelcome addition to rob him of this prospective ease. His thoughts very naturally turned to the ball, the first preparations of which had already begun, and for which he had fully intended to invite all the officers.

Had such a thought even begun to enter Darcy’s head, he would not have entertained it even a moment. Of all the feelings currently at war in him, apprehension of being in company with Wickham was not among them. The man was a coward and Darcy was certain that he would avoid him. No, Darcy’s principle fear was for the loss of his composure, and temper. There was no one alive whom he detested more than George Wickham. The last time they spoke, it had been under most dire circumstances, and Darcy did not know on which part of it he looked back with more distress; Georgiana’s tears, or his own very nearly violent outburst. To see him here, in the neighbourhood Bingley had chose for his home, the very person he depended upon for Georgiana’s happiness, to see him ingratiate himself to the Miss Bennets—it was insupportable.

His mood was so severely affected, that Miss Bingley, who took note of it the moment they returned to Netherfield, did not even dare to question him. She instead went instantly to her brother, who informed her of what occurred in the village.

Miss Bingley exclaimed, wondered, and regretted by turns. Her tender feelings for Mr. Darcy naturally caused her considerable distress on his behalf, and she could not help but agree with her brother that this was a most unfortunate coincidence in light of the upcoming ball. Much as she had opposed the scheme before, to be seen as the most capable hostess of the neighbourhood was absolutely imperative, and it was only Bingley’s genuine passion on the subject that had prevented her from taking all arrangements into her own hands.

“If he truly is to take a commission in the corps, I cannot avoid extending the invitation to him also,” her brother said unhappily. “And if he should attend, I do not know how Darcy will bear it.”

“How disagreeable; what an insufferable notion of him to come here at all!”

“I daresay he had no more idea of Darcy’s being here than we had of him coming hither.”

“Well,” said she, “I hope with all my heart that he will have the decency to remove himself. Poor Mr. Darcy, how very distressing.”

Their concerns proved not to be unfounded, for the following day Darcy’s mood had not improved. Bingley now had no hope left of coaxing his friend into even a little joyful anticipation on account of the ball, and contented himself with the occasional, kind hint, that should he be indisposed on the evening of the 26^th, no one would press him to attend. Darcy, however, was adamant that he would. He observed the preparations within the home and the sending out of invitations with immovable gravity, but seemed as resolved on being present at the ball as ever. However, when Bingley, remembering the animated conversation Miss Elizabeth had on occasion been able to win him to, invited Darcy to join himself and his sisters in calling on the Bennets on purpose to their personal invitation for the ball, Darcy sternly declined. His friend must excuse him, for he had private matters to tend to, and did not mean to go out that day.

Bingely offered no opposition, and comforted himself that even if this morning call would not lift Darcy’s spirits, it could not fail to bring delight to the Miss Bennets.

In this assumption, of course, he was completely correct. Mrs. Bennet was overjoyed to receive them, and when Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth joined them, having been summoned from somewhere about the gardens, they were all smiles. Bingley found Miss Bennet’s joy in seeing him as sincere as he had found it during their latest meeting in Meryton, and observed the mutual delight that she and his sisters expressed upon seeing one another again with great satisfaction. Caroline pronounced it an age since they had met, and both repeatedly asked what Miss Bennet had been doing with herself since their separation.

To the rest of the family they paid little attention; avoiding Mrs. Bennet as much as possible, saying not much to Miss Elizabeth, and nothing at all to the others. This necessarily consigned Bingley to the attentions of the other ladies, and while he could smile at Miss Bennet nearly as often as he liked, it was impossible for him to do much more than to enquire after her health and express his happiness at her accepting his invitation. He was very ready, however, to enter into the concerns of her younger sisters; ensuring Miss Lydia that the officers of the ——shire were likewise invited, and answering all Mrs. Bennet’s heartfelt thanks with unwearying politeness.

Nevertheless, it had certainly been his intention to at length still join in Miss Bennet’s conversation, so it took him quite by surprise when his sisters soon thereafter rose from their seats with sudden activity. He was then exchanging happy expectations of the ball with Miss Elizabeth, who was in excellent sprits, and was forced to cut his humble commendation of his new ballroom short. The two ladies were in a hurry to be off, eager to escape from Mrs. Bennet's civilities, and left their brother scarcely enough time to assure all the ladies, but Miss Bennet in particular that he looked forward to seeing her at Netherfield again with great happiness.

Mrs. Bennet once more took it upon herself to answer, but her eldest daughter bestowed such a smile on him that Bingley left Longbourn looking forward that Tuesday evening with all the happy impatience of a man very much in love.

Chapter Text

If he had been allowed to do so, Bingley would have sought to restore his friend’s spirits through more reliable means than social engagements, namely the indulgence in air and exercise. He was prevented in his kind schemes, however, by such a succession of rain as to make stirring out of doors al but impossible from Friday to Monday. The relief Bingley felt, then, when the morning of the ball promised a day that, while cold, would most likely be dry, was profound. Even so, it was not equal to the relief he felt when, upon greeting the succession of officers that evening at the ball as they arrived, he perceived that the man he would now have known to be Mr. Wickham was not among them. Since their unfortunate meeting in Meryton, Bingley had obtained intelligence that Mr. Wickham had indeed taken a commission in the corps, and as such he had had no hope of him being absent. His absence was now confirmed, however, and Bingley had the joy of seeing Darcy’s gravity lessen as the officers dispersed throughout the room to give way to other guests. There was, perhaps, more of grim satisfaction about him than genuine ease, but, as the drawing-room became crowded with guests and Darcy’s serenity remained, Bingley could only rejoice in it.

This first joy very naturally gave way to the next; Mr. and Mrs. Bennet had entered the room, accompanied by all five of their daughters. Having already left his previous station by the door and currently engaged in conversation with Sir William Lucas, he was not immediately at liberty to greet them, but, as Sir William rarely required anyone’s full attention to be satisfied with a conversation, Bingley need not postpone his admiring Miss Bennet for even a moment. Even walking on the arm of her cousin, who attended to her with such a degree of composed formality that Bingley wondered if he harboured any clerical dislike of private balls, she was surrounded by such an air of ease and quiet delight that she elevated all the company around her.

“I can see, sir,” Sir William said smilingly, “that you are eager to speak to bestow your hospitable welcome upon another. Please, do not let me detain you another moment, for I was once a young man of equal impatience, and I would not delay you for the world, as I am sure the young lady in question, were she capable of impatience, would experience it quite as keenly.”

It had not been Sir William’s intention to embarrass his young host, and had he realised that this was the effect of his speech he would have been sorry indeed. He had, unwittingly, done him a great service however. For when Bingley, with a heightened colour and even higher spirits, did at last manage to excuse himself to approach Miss Bennet, he appeared to uncommon advantage. Miss Bennet certainly looked upon him as if there was ample fresh cause for admiration to be found in him. At first, in between exchanged the usual pleasantries and civilities with her family, and being subjected to the effusive thanks of her mother and cousin, Miss Bennet’s gentle speeches were scarce to be heard. But after Mr. Collins third emphatic expression of gratitude on the subject of receiving so gracious an invitation despite only just having entered his acquaintance, Miss Mary put herself forward, inquiring into her cousin’s opinion on the difference between grace and graciousness, and thereby necessarily drawing him somewhat away from her sister.

“Well, Miss Bennet!” Bingley exclaimed immediately. “I hope I have hereby proven myself a man of my word to Miss Lydia.”

Miss Bennet laughed, pronouncing his good honour to be quite safe from attacks by her youngest sister. “You see, she is delighted already,” said she, looking in the direction where her three remaining sisters were in conversation with one of the officers.

“I shall be sure to speak to her about it,” Bingley said cheerfully, his spirits rising even further when he saw Darcy cross the room to greet them. “Having two sisters myself I know how imperative it is to the happiness of everyone involved, to remain in their good graces.”

Miss Bennet warmly protested that his sisters were surely too generous to make any demands of him that might cause him concern, adding, most emphatically, that there was not a single member of her family that was not already quite convinced of his goodness.

These were compliments that would have moved a man much less fervently in love, and Bingley had no defence against them. “Miss Bennet,” said he warmly, unable to give relief to his feelings in any other manner, “would you do me the very great pleasure of standing up with me again, these first two dances?”

The surprise that overspread Miss Bennet’s features almost equalled her delight, and Bingley was momentarily overcome by the full extent of her modesty.

“I would be very happy to, sir, thank you.”

Bingley bestowed every smile on her it was in his power to bestow and assured her that the gratitude was all his in so many words that at last, fearful of repeating himself, he was forced to beg her pardon and excused himself to make the promised inquiries of her sister. He found Lydia and Catherine Bennet in excellent spirits, but Miss Elizabeth, it seemed, was not in possession in her usual liveliness.

Darcy, in speaking with her some moments before, had perceived the same, and had been quite surprised by it. Fond of society and inclined to dancing as she was, he had depended on seeing her quite in her element. However, as he led Miss Bingley to the floor to do the honours of the house and open the ball some time later, he perceived the likely cause of her discomposure. She was standing up with her cousin, the name of whom escaped him at present, and was very clearly mortified by his lack of abilities as a partner. The gentleman was awkward and solemn, often moving wrong without being aware of it,and frequently speaking when his attention ought to have been otherwise engaged. Darcy, who had understood from Bingley that this young man was Mr. Bennet’s nearest male relation and therefore had a very natural claim to her attention and civility, felt for her.

The demands of the dance and the duties of a partner were not too great for him to occasionally observe her, and, in seeing her so ill matched, he resolved to engage her for the following two dances. It was only proper after all, him being of the host’s party, and he had resolved to dance with her before, so why not carry his point now. Having thus made up his mind, he once more devoted his full attention to Miss Bingley, who was experiencing the full enjoyment of a young lady in possession of a new gown and gloves, standing up with the man of her choice.

Miss Bennet could boast only the latter of these blessings, and yet she had gained a glow of such happy expression that not one lady in the set could rival it. Had this been otherwise, Bingley would not have been in a position to ascertain it. Neither his thoughts nor his eyes ever wandered from his partner, save for those odious moments that the dance called him away from her.

“I can never determine,” he took the opportunity to say, when they had reached the bottom of the set, “whether the intricate or the straightforward dances have my preference, for in the one must give rise to an increase of energy and exercise, but the other invariably creates more ease, and much greater opportunity for conversation.”

“Do you not?” said she. “I would have expected you to find equal enjoyment in either.”

“That is exactly my experience!” cried he. “And exactly why my preference cannot be determined.”

“You may prefer both, sir,” Miss Bennet suggested smilingly.

“You give a very generous interpretation to the indecisiveness of my character.”

“When the decision serves only to elevate one good thing above another, what good can it do us? I hope you will always find equal enjoyment in all manner of different things.” She looked up at him merrily. “Is it not well to have as many holds upon happiness as possible?”

He looked at her in silent admiration for a considerable moment. “I couldn’t agree more, Miss Bennet. And it is certainly as great a source of happiness to me to converse with you as to dance with you.”

This was too much for even Miss Bennet’s sweet-tempered composure, and the delight Bingley felt upon seeing her blush was unlike any other. He did not press her for a response, and soon the progression of the dance acquitted her of any perceived responsibility to make one. To Bingley, however, it was at this time quite evident that the foremost hold on happiness would be to be secure of Miss Bennet’s affections. Their second dance concluded far too soon for either party, and Bingley was more than ready to delay returning Miss Bennet to her mother and younger sister, when she thus addressed him:

“Mr. Bingley, I hope you will not blame me for inquiring…”

“Blame you! Whatever intelligence it is in my power to give I will share with you without delay.” And, upon perceiving some concern in her expression: “What has been troubling you?”

“The other day when we met in Meryton, we had just formed the acquaintance of a Mr. Whickham, now a lieutenant under Col. Forster, and I have come to understand that there is some previous acquaintance between him and Mr. Darcy.”

The solicitude that had been visible to him in her face, was now equally present in her voice, and Bingley made no attempt to restrain his admiration of her sensitivity and general conduct. “That is correct,” he replied, in a low voice, matching her tone as closely as might be, “and a most unhappy acquaintance, I am afraid. Mr. Wickham is the son of the late Mr. Darcy’s steward, but from what I understand he does not share his father’s character. For I have heard Darcy speak well of the latter on several occasions, while the son, as far as I am able to judge, has neither his father’s industry, nor his respectability.”

Miss Bennet looked concerned and expressed her sorrow at this being the case, mentioning that the gentleman in question had such an air of amiability about him.

“If this is your estimation of him, I hope very much he has improved of late,” Bingley said seriously, “but as to his previous conduct, I can only conclude that he has been very imprudent, and has deserved to lose my friend’s regard.”

This seemed to bring Miss Bennet pain, which was necessarily a source of distress to him, but her gravity was so liberally accompanied with assurances of her reliance on his insight and information, that it must necessarily soften some of his discomfort. She then ventured to mention the circumstance of a certain living within Mr. Darcy’s estate, and Mr. Wickham’s possible claim to it.

This information, which could only have reached her via Mr. Wickham himself, caused Bingley some momentary discomposure. “I do not know what you have heard, Miss Bennet,” replied he with some urgency, “but I can vouch for the good conduct, the probity and honour, of my friend in this matter.”

Miss Bennet’s dark eyes were fixed on him with an earnest sincerity that quieted him at once and when he spoke again it was with more collectedness.

“I must admit that I do not exactly recollect the circumstances, though I have heard them from Mr. Darcy more than once, but I believes the living in question was left to Mr. Wickham conditionally only. And while I am ignorant of the circumstances which have principally offended Mr. Darcy, I know it has been Mr. Wickham’s own conduct, his pursuits and extravagances, which have lost him the privileges his father secured for him. I assure you, he has deserved much less attention from Mr. Darcy than he has received.”

“I am very sorry to hear it,” Miss Bennet said soberly. “And I can only hope, most earnestly, that he has indeed repented of his former ways, and is, in his current employment, determined to make a change.”

“I wish he might be so,” he said sincerely, “there has been many a man who came to regret the folly of his youth, and I would be sorry to think any person capable of improvement beyond its reach. For from what I have heard he does not want abilities.”

This was a happy speech, for it returned a smile to Miss Bennet’s face, and, upon offering some reflections on strength of character, growth and forgiveness, their conversation turned very naturally to their mutual good opinion of the world in general, and the accompanying expectation that their fellow men, while invariably flawed, could not fail to be in possession of some intrinsic goodness capable of correcting their course.

It was during the exploration of this happy philosophy that they happened upon his sister and Mr. Darcy, who had been divided from them in the set.

Caroline at once addressed her with an affectionate exclamation, and Bingley was moved to hear Miss Bennet speak with particular warmth to Darcy, before happily entering into conversation with his sister and allowing her to draw her away.

Bingley turned to Darcy, making a point of thanking him for opening the ball, and expressed the hope it would not be his last dance of the evening.

“If it would please you to know, I was intending to ask Miss Elizabeth Bennet for the two next.”

“Were you! That is a capital idea. I think I shall ask Miss Lucas, for I saw her sitting down during the first. We can go together, for I am certain I saw them together not a moment ago.”

When the gentlemen found Miss Lucas, however, Miss Elizabeth was not with her, and Darcy left Bingley to solicit her hand in private. Try as he might, he could not discover Miss Elizabeth, until he saw her in conversation with an officer who had very evidently engaged her for the following dances. Darcy’s feelings at that moment were closer to vexation than disappointment, but he did not let this change his plans. When those two dances were over, he observed how first Miss Lucas and then Miss Elizabeth returned to their former position, and, after waiting a suitable period of time, approached them.

“Miss Elizabeth,” he addressed her with a bow, “if you have not yet been engaged for the next two dances, would you do me the honour of standing up with me?”

“I have not been engaged, sir,” replied she, with a look of some astonishment, “that is, yes, I would be happy to.”

He bowed again, and instantly drew back again, leaving the lady to compose herself. Evidently his application had come as a surprise to her, and while this in turn surprised him, it could not fail to gratify his vanity to perceive Miss Lucas urging her friend to compose herself as he walked away.

When the dancing recommenced, and he approached the ladies once more to claim her hand, Miss Elizabeth had regained her composure, and, as she took her place in the set opposite him with a thoughtful, attentive expression, appeared to much advantage. It was to an admiration of her figure that Darcy attributed the glances that their neighbours bestowed on her at this point, and had they been as new to the neighbourhood as himself, he might have been correct. But as all delights, even beauty, cease to amaze under the steady pressure of familiarity, their fellow dancers were at present much more amazed at the dignity to which Elizabeth Bennet was arrived in being allowed to stand opposite to Mr. Darcy, than at her pleasing features.

They stood for some time without speaking a word; Darcy felt himself much looked at, and as his partner did not speak he was happy to preserve the silence. This was a particularly agreeable characteristic, he had found, of people who were fond of chat: when they wished to speak and be spoken to, they were sure to do so, and Miss Elizabeth had always been particularly candid with him. So when, after some time, she offered a slight observation on the dance, he readily agreed with her, and once again was silent.

After a pause of some minutes, she addressed him a second time with:—"It is your turn to say something now, Mr. Darcy. I talked about the dance, and you ought to make some sort of remark on the size of the room, or the number of couples."

He smiled, and assured her that whatever she wished him to say should be said.

"Very well,” replied she with something of affected gravity, “that reply will do for the present. Perhaps by and by I may observe that private balls are much pleasanter than public ones. But now we may be silent."

It was quite extraordinary, how she could have nothing to say and yet be amusing in her expression of it. "Do you talk by rule, then, while you are dancing?" he asked, attempting to emulate her tone.

"Sometimes. One must speak a little, you know. It would look odd to be entirely silent for half an hour together; and yet for the advantage of some, conversation ought to be so arranged, as that they may have the trouble of saying as little as possible."

This was said with so meaningful an expression that he inquired: "Are you consulting your own feelings in the present case, or do you imagine that you are gratifying mine?"

"Both," replied Miss Elizabeth archly; "for I have always seen a great similarity in the turn of our minds. We are each of an unsocial, taciturn disposition, unwilling to speak, unless we expect to say something that will amaze the whole room, and be handed down to posterity with all the eclat of a proverb."

There again was that very particular wit, which delighted in the contradictory and the hyperbolic. "This is no very striking resemblance of your own character, I am sure," said he. "How near it may be to mine, I cannot pretend to say. You think it a faithful portrait undoubtedly."

The ladies eyes were at once cast down, with only the hint of a smile. "I must not decide on my own performance."

Darcy made no answer, and they were again silent as he reflected on the likely meaning of her playful exaggeration. He would not have her think he was adverse to conversing with her, or more reprehensible still, incapable of supplying suitable conversation, so when they had gone down the dance he smiled at her and said:

“Your sisters and yourself very often walk to Meryton, do you not?”

“Indeed we do,” she said, and Darcy was about to inquire whether there was any particular destination therein that held her preference, when she added: "When you met us there the other day, we had just been forming a new acquaintance."

He stiffened, all the discomfort of unwelcome recollection accosting him at once. She had spoken so deliberately there was no doubt that she meant to refer to Wickham on purpose, and Darcy felt all the distress of it.

Upon perceiving his change in demeanour, however, the lady instantly fell silent, which did much to soften his feelings. Miss Elizabeth could not know how much even the acknowledgement of that gentleman’s existence pained him. It was possible she had heard they were acquaintances, if it was so it was only natural she should bring it up, if only to find out why he had deigned not to greet a man he was supposed to know. Darcy made an effort and spoke, in as constrained a manner as he could command:

"Mr. Wickham is blessed with such happy manners as may ensure his making friends—whether he may be equally capable of retaining them, is less certain."

This, he felt was not only a great concession, but also a very suitable hint to impress upon Miss Elizabeth that an acquaintance with George Wickham was not at all a desirable thing. Such a caution he naturally expected to be met with comprehension and concern; Miss Elizabeth’s answer therefore, really quite shocked him.

"He has been so unlucky as to lose your friendship," she replied with emphasis, "and in a manner which he is likely to suffer from all his life."

Until that moment it had not occurred to Darcy that Miss Elizabeth might have seen more of Wickham than the accidental introduction he had happened to witness. From the two eldest Miss Bennets he had not expected any propensity to keep company with the officers. Then again, and even at Netherfield the addition of the militia had been considered a welcome addition to their confined society. Even so, the notion that George Wickham had been able to ingratiate himself to an intelligent young lady such as herself within seven days of setting foot in the village absolutely revolted him. He gave her a stern, doubtful look, wanting to say something that would change the subject, but knew not what.

At that moment, Sir William Lucas appeared close to them, meaning to pass through the set to the other side of the room; but on perceiving Darcy, he stopped with a bow of superior courtesy to compliment him on his dancing and his partner.

"I have been most highly gratified indeed, my dear sir. Such very superior dancing is not often seen. It is evident that you belong to the first circles. Allow me to say, however, that your fair partner does not disgrace you, and that I must hope to have this pleasure often repeated, especially when a certain desirable event, my dear Eliza, shall take place.”

Darcy followed the direction of his gaze and noticed that it was directed towards Bingley, who was once more standing up with Miss Bennet. Before the full meaning of Sir William’s words and expression could impress itself upon Darcy, Sir William continued jovially:

“What congratulations will then flow in! I appeal to Mr. Darcy:—but let me not interrupt you, sir. You will not thank me for detaining you from the bewitching converse of that young lady, whose bright eyes are also upbraiding me."

The latter part of this address was scarcely heard by Darcy; he was too much struck by this wholly unexpected allusion to his friend and the very concerning expectations they revealed. His eyes were directed, with a very serious expression, towards Bingley and his partner; and it occurred to him that in a neighbourhood such as this, even the most passing attention might be taken as a sure sign of an impending match. Sir William’s apparent certainty in the matter must be completely unfounded, for had Bingley felt any serious attachment, Darcy was sure he would not have failed to discuss it with him. This would be immaterial, however, if Sir William’s opinions were already shared by the neighbourhood in general.

Darcy became aware of how intently his own partner’s eyes were fixed on him and, recovering himself, he turned towards her once more and said:

"Sir William's interruption has made me forget what we were talking of."

This was untrue and he was very sure Miss Elizabeth knew it, but she followed his lead and said light-heartedly:

"I do not think we were speaking at all. Sir William could not have interrupted two people in the room who had less to say for themselves. We have tried two or three subjects already without success, and what we are to talk of next I cannot imagine."

He smiled at her teasing manner and said:

"What think you of books?"

"Books—oh! no. I am sure we never read the same, or not with the same feelings."

"I am sorry you think so,” he said with some surprise, “but if that be the case, there can at least be no want of subject. We may compare our different opinions."

"No—I cannot talk of books in a ball-room; my head is always full of something else."

"The present always occupies you in such scenes—does it?" said he doubtfully.

"Yes, always," she replied, but her looks belied that statement, for her eyes seemed fixed on a point in her own memory and not at all focussed on either him or the dance, and she soon afterwards exclaimed quite suddenly:

"I remember hearing you once say, Mr. Darcy, that you hardly ever forgave, that your resentment once created was unappeasable. You are very cautious, I suppose, as to its being created."

"I am," said he, with firm voice, but this was a change of tone and subject quite unlooked for .

"And never allow yourself to be blinded by prejudice?"

"I hope not."

"It is particularly incumbent on those who never change their opinion, to be secure of judging properly at first."

There was a severity in her that led Darcy’s thoughts back to their earlier subject in a most unpleasant way. "May I ask to what these questions tend?"

"Merely to the illustration of your character," said she, with some return of her playful air. "I am trying to make it out."

"And what is your success?" he asked gravely.

She shook her head. "I do not get on at all. I hear such different accounts of you as puzzle me exceedingly."

This, to Darcy, seemed proof not only of her having heard Wickham speak of him, but moreover of her having taken his words in earnest.

"I can readily believe," answered he gravely, "that reports may vary greatly with respect to me; and I could wish, Miss Bennet, that you were not to sketch my character at the present moment, as there is reason to fear that the performance would reflect no credit on either."

For the first time he thought he perceived something of purposeful denial in her, as she said:

"But if I do not take your likeness now, I may never have another opportunity."

"I would by no means suspend any pleasure of yours," he replied stiffly.

She said no more, and they went down the other dance in silence; and he parted from her in dissatisfaction.

Chapter Text

Darcy’s feelings were very much disturbed. He had been mistaken, his attraction to MissElizabeth had not ceased; the degree of anger which he felt at present was sufficient proof of this. His disappointment in her actions was acute, but the same feelings which heightened the painfulness of her unwarranted reproach, soon began to procure her pardon. Elizabeth Bennet could bear no blame where George Wickham could be named the instigator of the mischief. Towards him Darcy’s anger was directed without the slightest moderation, and when Bingley joined him some moments later, the only accusation he would still have willingly placed at Miss Elizabeth’s feet was that of her being too easily taken in.

Upon Bingley’s appearance, however, his own concerns, thought they would intrude, could no longer engross him. Bingley must be cautioned, and made acquainted with the false expectations that his too lively behaviour had awakened in the local gossips. Darcy met his cheerful inquiry after the pleasantness of the previous dance with a pointed evasion, and was on the point of questioning Bingley on his choice to dance all of four dances with Miss Bennet in such quick succession, when this very Miss Bennet came once more in view by an accidental parting of the crowd. To Darcy’s great concern his friend’s attention was at once completely diverted. She was in conversation with her sister, and Darcy was not yet so much recovered that he could look upon her with tolerable composure, making the unpleasantness of his feelings twofold.

Bingley perceived none of this, for as was often the case the perturbation of Darcy’s spirits showed not a single outward symptom. To his friend’s entreaty that they should both remain where they were, he was therefore wholly unreceptive. Darcy could argue all he wished, Bingley would not be persuaded. As soon as Darcy ceased his protestations, he joined the two ladies; and while they were not near enough to hear, Darcy saw Miss Elizabeth withdraw soon after. He did not wonder at it, and he could not even be glad of it, for he observed, with growing alarm, that Bingley was conversing with Miss Bennet in a manner particularly suited to aggravate the rumours Sir William had so freely expressed. Darcy watched them both with rapidly increasing gravity, and just when the first doubt entered his mind as to whether the word rumour was ought even to be applied to what he was seeing before him, he found himself suddenly accosted by a gentleman he had never spoken to before.

“Mr. Darcy,” the gentleman in question spoke, with a deep and solemn bow, and Darcy, with some astonishment, now recognized him as the cousin who had attended the Bennets. “I must beg your pardon, sir,” he continued, “and most sincerely hope you will accept my apology, for not having paid my respects to you before. I am the reverend William Collins of the parish of Hunsford, to which I was most graciously preferred by the honourable Lady Catherine de Bourgh, with whom I have come to understand you share a most intimate connection. I assure you I was wholly ignorant of this circumstance until this very evening, or I would not have neglected to express my deference to you and your noble aunt, whom I had the pleasure of seeing in very good health only yesterday se’nnight.”

Through the whole of this speech Darcy heard Mr. Collins with unrestrained wonder; and when at last Mr. Collins allowed him to speak, replied with an air of distant civility:

“You do your profession credit, sir, I am sure. Indeed, Lady Catherine’s discernment is such that I am certain she could never bestow her favour unworthily.”

Mr. Collins smiled and Darcy, fully expecting him to take his leave, was much surprised and a good deal more displeased to find him doing quite the opposite.

“You are very kind to so sir, very kind, and you deference to that lady which I, of course, mean to pay compliment to in all my actions, is truly moving. But then, I am well aware of the particular regard which subsists between you, having heard her mention you on multiple occasions, during my visits as Rosings—”

He carried on in this manner for some time, and Darcy, dissatisfied at being so detained and not pleased by the officious attention he knew was always so acceptable to his aunt, listened to him with a degree of contempt which increased abundantly with the length of this second speech. When Mr. Collins finally had done, Darcy made him a slight bow, and resolutely moved another way.

It was at this moment that Miss Bingley, who had been meaning to speak to him for some time, finally found him alone and joined him. “Oh Mr. Darcy,” said she, “how glad I am we shall sit down to dinner soon. How tedious such an evening becomes, after the first couple of dances are over.”

“Do you think so?” he replied grimly, “I have found it productive of more excitement than I look for in an evening’s entertainment.”

Miss Bingley smiled most sympathetically. “After dinner we simply must have some music, something a little more refined.”

Darcy replied that it was always a pleasure to hear her play, but did so in such a distracted manner, that the lady once more assured him that the refreshment of a good dinner would soon be theirs. The dinner could bring Darcy no reprieve, however, for when he sat down to it, he found himself opposite Mrs. Bennet and her second daughter; the former of which was speaking to Lady Lucas on one singular subject: her immovable conviction that Mr. Bingley would soon be married to her eldest daughter.

“It will be such a blessing, Lady Lucas, to have my dear Jane so well married. I truly cannot tell you. And he is such a charming young man! So very amiable, so affable, and so rich! And to have him living only three miles from Longbourn, it is truly providential, and a great relief to a heart as affectionate as mine, I must say.”

Darcy heard her gratuitous self-congratulation with an embarrassment and astonishment that quickly turned to grave contempt. If this was the manner in which the lady’s mother expressed herself. It was evident that Miss Elizabeth, at least, was equally embarrassed by her mother’s conduct, but Mrs. Bennet was blind to her daughter’s discomfort.

“And then,” continued she, “it is such a comfort to think how fond Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst are of Jane. Indeed, she is such a dear creature that it is impossible they should not be, but there is truly a great deal of comfort in knowing that they must desire the connection as much as I could do. And such a promising thing for my younger girls! Jane’s marrying so greatly must certainly throw them in the way of other rich men.”

She continued by expounding upon the fact that it was so pleasant at her time of life to be able to consign her single daughters to the care of their sister, that she might not be obliged to go into company more than she liked, but to this Darcy could not attend. His dismay and consternation at this display of what seemed to him nothing but self-important ambition were too great. He endeavoured to fix his attention on his plate, but could not help perceive from the corner of his eye, Miss Elizabeth’s urgent application to her mother. He did not hear her speak, but Mrs. Bennet’s reply was given in tones impossible to ignore.

“Don’t talk nonsense, Lizzy! What is Mr. Darcy to me, pray, that I should be afraid of him? I am sure we owe him no such particular civility as to be obliged to say nothing he may not like to hear."

Darcy kept his countenance, but his indignation was so strong, that it could barely be penetrated by the brief pang of sympathy he felt as Miss Elizabeth pleaded:

"For heaven's sake, madam, speak lower. What advantage can it be for you to offend Mr. Darcy? You will never recommend yourself to his friend by so doing!"

Nothing that she could say, however, had any influence. Her mother would talk of her views in the same intelligible tone. The degree to which this mortified and vexed her daughter was evident; Darcy frequently felt her eyes upon him, and saw her blush more than once. He felt for her, but even as the indignant contempt first stirred in his breast had calmed to a composed and steady gravity, his sympathy for her could not soften his feelings towards her family.

And his gravity only increased, when he observed that Bingley once more sought out Miss Bennet as soon as supper was over. Singing was talked of, but already the two of them were standing to one side, and it was evident Bingley had attention for none but her. The fearful suspicion which had begun to intrude earlier in the evening now began to gain ground, and Darcy, to his distress, was forced to admit that he had never seen so much admiration in his friend. He blamed himself severely for not having seen it before, and even wondered at his overlooking the signs, but it was clear to him now that Bingley had formed a genuine attachment. Darcy had his own, private reasons to despair of this fact, but they were eclipsed by his immediate conviction that the charms of the lady, undeniable as they were, could not possibly outweigh the objections.

As if to impress upon him the severity of the circumstance his dear friend had found himself in, Darcy soon afterwards watched Miss Mary Bennet sit down at Miss Bingley’s instrument for a song. Her command of the instrument was acceptable, but her voice was weak, and her manner affected. Had she been a genius of taste and application, however, her performance could still not have held Darcy’s attention. He was watching Miss Bennet, who answered each and every eager question that Bingley directed at her with smiling composure. Her regard for his friend, Darcy suspected, was not equal to Bingley’s for her. If this was the case, there was yet a chance that Bingley might have an opportunity to bethink himself.

He was not roused from his grave reflections until, upon Miss Mary’s finishing her second song, Darcy heard Mr. Bennet speak up quite suddenly, and in rather too raised a tone:

"That will do extremely well, child. You have delighted us long enough. Let the other young ladies have time to exhibit."

Darcy lifted up his eyes in, looking at the gentleman in wonder, but he seemed by no means dissatisfied with his speech. Miss Mary left the instrument with some haste, and others of the party were now applied to for a performance. Several earnest entreaties were addressed to Miss Bingley, who was more than willing to oblige the company, when Mr. Collins put himself forward, saying:

"If I were so fortunate as to be able to sing, I should have great pleasure, I am sure, in obliging the company with an air; for I consider music as a very innocent diversion, and perfectly compatible with the profession of a clergyman. I do not mean, however, to assert that we can be justified in devoting too much of our time to music, for there are certainly other things to be attended to. The rector of a parish has much to do. In the first place, he must make such an agreement for tithes as may be beneficial to himself and not offensive to his patron. He must write his own sermons; and the time that remains will not be too much for his parish duties, and the care and improvement of his dwelling, which he cannot be excused from making as comfortable as possible. And I do not think it of light importance that he should have attentive and conciliatory manners towards everybody, especially towards those to whom he owes his preferment. I cannot acquit him of that duty; nor could I think well of the man who should omit an occasion of testifying his respect towards anybody connected with the family." And with a bow to Darcy, he concluded his speech, which had been spoken so loud as to be heard by half the room.

Many stared—many smiled; and Darcy, whose established contempt for Mr. Collins had increased severely upon being made part of this exhibition, did not fail to notice that Mr. Bennet looked excessively amused. Mrs. Bennet, meanwhile, commended Mr. Collins for having spoken so sensibly, and observed in a half-whisper to Lady Lucas, that he was a remarkably clever, good kind of young man.

It was a display of folly and lack of judgment particularly calculated to aid Darcy in reaching the conclusion towards he had been hastening: that the Bennets were the last family Bingley ought to be connected to. The rest of the evening Darcy watched with grim countenance how Bingley opted to sit down for several dances, in favour of conversing with Miss Bennet. The lady admitted his attentions with demure satisfaction, convincing Darcy that, despite her amiable temper, she had certainly not been so quick to love as his unfortunate friend. This being the case, there could be but one course of action; Bingley must be separated from Miss Bennet as soon as could possibly be. The lady would recover from her – or, Darcy thought grimly, her mother’s – disappointment before long, and Bingley, would be saved from a connection to a family who, with the exception of the two eldest daughters, seemed to lack all sense of propriety. That in admitting the virtue of those two eldest, Darcy was forced once more to think of Elizabeth Bennet, was inevitable; but there, too, were observations to be made that strengthened his resolve.

It did not escape his notice that her odious cousin hardly ever left her side. Neither Miss Elizabeth nor Mr. Collins danced another dance, but walked about, in almost constant conversation, frequently joined by Miss Lucas. Darcy had heard Miss Bingley mention more than once that the Longbourn estate was to be entailed, and it occurred to him that Mr. Collins must be its future recipient. The purpose of his very marked attentions to Miss Elizabeth, then, could not be wondered at.

Whatever feelings the thought of such a union stirred in Darcy’s heart, his reason repressed them in an instant. However unsuitable Mr. Collins character, his situation in life and his connection to the family made him a most suitable and prudent match. Darcy could discover no particular regard in Miss Elizabeth’s treatment of her cousin; once or twice he even recognized an expression on her face which he supposed to be exasperation, but he did not take any pleasure in it. The idea of meeting Elizabeth Bennet at Rosings as Mrs. Collins was a sobering thought, but a necessary one. It was likely it would come to pass, and it would be a good thing.

Such were the feelings of Fitzwilliam Darcy toward the close of the ball. Grave and silent he was while the guests started to take leave and grave and silent he remained when the Netherfield party found itself alone with the Bennets at the end of it all.

Mrs. Bennet apologized for their coachman being so late, but Darcy was convinced this tardiness was due to the contrivance of the mistress. Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst seemed appropriately vexed at this designed trespass on their hospitality, but Darcy saw with growing regret that his friend did not. He once more stood a little detached from the rest, with Miss Bennet, and their conversation – carried on in a hushed tone – was engaging enough to make him quite inattentive to everyone else.

Darcy reproached himself most severely for hitherto failing to perceiving how very much in love his friend was. His unnatural fixation on Elizabeth Bennet had thereby injured more than just himself. Had he been more observant, he might have prevented Bingley from forming such a strong attachment; but now his friend was necessarily going to be made unhappy. Still, Darcy was convinced that the pain Bingley must feel in giving up Jane Bennet would be far less than the pain of being married to a woman that did not love him, and whose family, through their want of connections as well as their want of decorum, were bound to sink his chances in society and ruin his chance at real happiness.

Miss Hurst and her sister were free of such painful reflections, their mind were occupied only by their wish to have the house to themselves. They scarcely opened their mouths, except to complain of fatigue, and repulsed every attempt of Mrs. Bennet at conversation. By so doing threw a languor over the whole party, which was very little relieved by the long speeches of Mr. Collins, who was complimenting Mr. Bingley and his sisters on the elegance of their entertainment, and the hospitality and politeness which had marked their behaviour to their guests. None of the others talked, excepting Miss Lydia, who merely uttered the occasional exclamation of "Lord, how tired I am!" accompanied by a violent yawn.

When at length they arose to take leave, Mrs. Bennet was most pressingly civil in her hope of seeing the whole family soon at Longbourn, and addressed herself especially to Bingley, to assure him how happy he would make them by eating a family dinner with them at any time, without the ceremony of a formal invitation. Bingley was all grateful pleasure, and he readily engaged for taking the earliest opportunity of waiting on her, after his return from London, whither he was obliged to go the next day for a short time.

Darcy turned away, and did not lift up his eyes until all the Bennets had taken their leave and the doors were closed behind them.

Chapter Text

Bingley departed very early the following morning and Darcy, though having awoken at nearly the same hour as him, decided not to leave his room in time to see him off. As Bingley had not at all expected the other members of his household to rise before ten o’clock, considering the lateness of the hour of retirement the day before, this did not injure him and Darcy rightfully expected it to be so.

As he expected the ladies to take breakfast in their rooms and there was no accounting for Mr. Hurst, he sent word to the housekeeper that the breakfast table need not be laid on his account and instead requested a tray be brought up. Over breakfast, instead of reading the newspaper that was brought up with it, he deliberated on how to acquaint Bingley’s sisters with his fears; and when he met them in the drawing room later that morning he was quick in broaching the subject.

It was the work of a moment to make Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley understand him and, as expected, they needed very little persuading to join in his way of thinking. Miss Bennet, they agreed, though a very sweet, good sort of girl, was not at all the sort of woman they envisioned as their brother’s wife. There was in these two fine ladies, much less of surprise and alarm than there had been in Darcy upon first realising the strength of Bingley’s feelings. They had perceived the growth in these feelings in their brother from a much earlier time. It might be wondered at, then, why their concern for his attaching himself to Jane Bennet had never been voiced before. But one must not forget that a friend might argue with a man on subjects a sister might never venture to approach. Or perhaps they felt that in expounding upon the unsuitability of a lady who had gentility, amiability, good sense, and great personal charm to recommend her, they might possibly do injury to more than just the lady in question.

Their general agreement was enough for Darcy, however, and when he proposed their all setting off after their brother, they most readily acquiesced.

“Nothing could be more natural,” Miss Bingley opined, “than us resolving to follow him. After all, his business might run long, and he had much better stay with Mr. and Mrs. Hurst while he is there.”

“The winter season is always better spent in London,” said Mrs. Hurst, with the decided air of those who, whatever their private inclination, have only a town house at their disposal.

“Why of course,” her sister smiled. “Charles will be eager to stay once we join him, and, if you intend to stay in town Mr. Darcy, he shall certainly wish to take a house of his own.”

“I most certainly do,” he replied, “I had always intended to spend Christmas with my sister, who has come down with Mrs. Annersly. But I do own that I think it would be wise to provide your brother with anything that might naturally weaken Miss Bennet’s influence over him, and support his spirits thereafter.”

“Spoken like a true friend,” said Miss Bingley. She smiled very expressively. “The prospect of meeting again with your sister a full month before our intended visit is a true comfort to my spirits in the midst of this sad affair, I can only imagine what it might do for dear Charles.”

Darcy smiled at this, but her expression of sadness did temporarily sway the course of his concern into a new direction. “I expect,” he said gravely, “that you wish to take leave of your friend.”

“It is really a very sad business,” was the doleful reply.

“It would be kind in you,” he said. “To impart whatever information it is possible to share with her, in order to counteract the expectations that Miss Bennet’s family, at least, seem to entertain, and thus to put her on her guard.”

“Oh!” cried Miss Bingley. “Certainly. I shall write her a letter directly, dear girl.”

“She will not be much affected,” Darcy said firmly. “And will, in any case, have your friendship to comfort her.”

Miss Bingley smiled at him and commended him for his good sense and feeling nature. She repaired to her room to write her letter and Darcy went to give orders concerning the packing of his trunk.

He expected the note to be dispatched at once, but Miss Bingley did not have it delivered until the following morning. The gentleman's expectation and the lady’s conduct sprang forth from the same consideration: that, were the note delivered at once, Miss Bennet would possibly be in a position to call on Netherfield before they left.

This Miss Bingley was most anxious to avoid, for though she had understood very well that Darcy was convinced of Miss Bennet’s comparative indifference towards her brother, and she had refrained from contradicting him, Miss Bingley certainly did not share in the conviction. Guided by this private understanding, and informed by the heights of her female delicacy, Miss Bingley penned the following letter, dated one day later than the date of its actual completion, which was carried to Longbourn almost as soon as they themselves departed from Netherfield that same morning:

“Netherfield, Nov. 28.

My dear friend,

I scarce have a moment’s quiet to take up my pen, but I would not leave without your good information. My sister and I have just resolved to follow our brother to town directly. We mean to dine at my brother’s house in Grosvenor Street this very evening and must make haste to be gone.

I do not pretend to regret anything I shall leave in Hertfordshire, except your society, my dearest friend; but we will hope, at some future period, to enjoy many returns of that delightful intercourse we have known, and in the meanwhile may lessen the pain of separation by a very frequent and most unreserved correspondence. I depend on you for that.

When my brother left us yesterday, he imagined that the business which took him to London might be concluded in three or four days; but as we are certain it cannot be so, and at the same time convinced that when Charles gets to town he will be in no hurry to leave it again, we have determined on following him thither, that he may not be obliged to spend his vacant hours in a comfortless hotel. Many of my acquaintances are already there for the winter; I wish that I could hear that you, my dearest friend, had any intention of making one of the crowd—but of that I despair. I sincerely hope your Christmas in Hertfordshire may abound in the gaieties which that season generally brings, and that your beaux will be so numerous as to prevent your feeling the loss of the three of whom we shall deprive you.

Mr. Darcy is impatient to see his sister; and, to confess the truth, we are scarcely less eager to meet her again. I really do not think Georgiana Darcy has her equal for beauty, elegance, and accomplishments; and the affection she inspires in Louisa and myself is heightened into something still more interesting, from the hope we dare entertain of her being hereafter our sister. I do not know whether I ever before mentioned to you my feelings on this subject; but I will not leave the country without confiding them, and I trust you will not esteem them unreasonable. My brother admires her greatly already; he will have frequent opportunity now of seeing her on the most intimate footing; her relations all wish the connection as much as his own; and a sister's partiality is not misleading me, I think, when I call Charles most capable of engaging any woman's heart. With all these circumstances to favour an attachment, and nothing to prevent it, am I wrong, my dearest Jane, in indulging the hope of an event which will secure the happiness of so many?

I know your generous heart will share in my wishes, and I hope we shall have the pleasure of exchanging nothing but the best of news when next we meet.

Yours, affectionately,

Caroline Bingley.”

Darcy was not in a position to know the contents of the missive, nor the pain that it brought the recipient, but had he had knowledge of both, it would no doubt have been the lines concerning his sister that would have caused him the most embarrassment. For Darcy, while undoubtedly very desirous to promote the intimacy between his dearest friend and his beloved sister, his imagination was not as rapid as Miss Bingley’s. He sincerely hoped, or wished, perhaps, that in time, a very natural and spontaneous growth of regard and attachment would take place. Of hurrying this attachment he had not once entertained a thought. If it was so that his judgment was somewhat clouded, when it came to the subject of his friend’s affections, this lapse in inner transparency had not yet given him any desire to resort to stratagems; and when he met Bingley in London he relied solely on what he firmly believed to be the truth.

Bingley’s pleasure on meeting his friend and family in town was quite equal to his surprise, and he was more than happy to accompany them to Grosvenor-street; but his sisters’ confident assertions that they had better remain there, and give up the plan to return to Netherfield at present, was met by him with sincere confusion. He laughed, doubted, argued, and questioned, until Darcy said gravely:

“Do you think it wise, Bingley, to remain at Netherfield where your increasing acquaintance with the Bennets can only serve to both raise expectations in others and disappoint your own.”

Bingley’s colour heightened rather abruptly, but this did not suppress his protests. “I am sure I do not know which expectations you speak of,” he began, “but as for disappointment, I have experienced none.”

Mrs. Hurst, who was seated opposite him on the sofa, lifted up her eyes. “Have you not?”

“There is no escaping disappointment,” Caroline said gently, “when one’s feelings are led in a direction where one’s good sense cannot follow. Charles, I am excessively fond of Jane Bennet, but you must see how unsuitable—”

“Unsuitable!” Bingley had risen from his seat. “Caroline!” he exclaimed, letting out an alarmed laugh. “You said yourself you never met with nicer manners or a sweeter temper! She is as accomplished a woman as I ever met. And the eldest daughter of a respectable family!”

“You needn’t raise your voice at me,” said Miss Bingley, looking away, and her brother had already begun a half-formed apology when she continued: “Really, I had not expected your admiration for one member of the family to cloud your discernment towards the remainder of them to such a degree.”

Bingley instantly fell silent and Darcy spoke up:

“You must agree, Bingley, that it would not be a good match for you.”

It was a rare thing to see all traces of the eager, conciliatory expression leave his friends face, but Darcy was made to witness it now.

“No,” Charles protested. “I do not agree. One’s fortune in life and the foibles of one’s family are things one cannot choose. I will admit that Miss Bennett is perhaps less fortunate in those respects than she deserves, but, as far as I am concerned, this only serves to makes her disposition and character more admirable!”

Miss Bingley exchanged a glance with her sister and Mrs. Hurst said:

“That is a very pretty thought, brother, but surely you can see the sense in choosing a wife of equal fortune to yourself.”

“I can see the sense,” her brother replied firmly, “in being profoundly grateful that that the fortune that was left to me enables me to make an offer to a woman like Miss Bennet.”

This particular piece of humility cut both sisters to the quick. Miss Bingley looked at Darcy for support, but he made no attempt at an argument. Never had he seen his gentle friend so steadfast in his conviction.

“You are far too trusting, Charles,” Miss Bingley reproached him, “if you had heard Mrs. Bennet speak—the family’s views on you are entirely mercenary.”

When Bingley spoke it was in a much more subdued voice than Darcy, who had seen the indignation rise into his face, had expected.

“I am surprised at you, Caroline. Excuse me.”

With this he abruptly left the room, nearly walking into Mr. Hurst. Darcy left it to the ladies to offer an explanation, and passed by him also, following Bingley into the hallway. He caught up with him at the foot of the stairs.

“Bingley—”

“Not once has Miss Bennet’s behaviour towards me spoken of even the slightest self-interest. Darcy, upon my honour, there isn’t a woman in England less capable of any form of disguise.”

Darcy bowed his head. “The designs of the mother are without question, I myself have heard her express them, but I do not think Miss Bennett shares them.”

“I should think not!” Bingley exclaimed, emboldened by Darcy’s admission. “Her conduct has never been anything but open and artless.”

“Undoubtedly,” agreed Darcy soberly, “and it is certainly to Miss Bennett’s credit that she never stooped to the behaviour I am certain her mother would have her display. However, is it not wise to consider that her reasons for not doing so may be twofold? I do believe her to be devoid of any calculating mercenary feelings, but neither have I seen in her the signs of particular attachment.”

There was a genuine hint of shock in Bingley’s face and Darcy felt a bitter pang of sympathy, softened only by the conviction that his current suffering must preserve his friend from future unhappiness.

Had Bingley spoken, he might have revealed to Darcy how very acute this current suffering was, but he had sunk into utter silence. The truth was that Charles Bingley, at twenty-two, had never loved anyone so well as he did Jane Bennet, and had, in the hours of solitude immediately succeeding the ball, made up his mind to offer her his hand as soon as the lady would give him an opportunity to do so. Bingley was, however, in contrast to his many virtues, deficient in both vanity and pride, and his confidence was sinking under Darcy’s grave speculations. The thought that he might have been deceived, might have deceived himself, into believing Miss Bennet felt more for him than she did, was more painful than any other he had ever experienced.

After a very long silence, Darcy at last ventured to break it.

“Miss Bennet is charming, but really, Bingley,” he spoke gently, “are you so intent on giving up any potential prospects for a girl who has shown you no encouragement beyond a very natural gratitude for your bestowed distinction?”

“Gratitude?” Bingley repeated helplessly. “I do own her feelings always seemed to me more tranquil than mine, but I have never believed them to be so very different from my own; and her behaviour to me, surely I am not mistaken in considering it modestly encouraging.”

“I think she offers encouragement where her mother wishes her to do so.”

Darcy saw the effect these words had on his friend's spirits and any satisfaction he might have felt in gaining his point must be robbed from him by the recognition of real pain in Bingley's expression.

After another long silence Bingley spoke: “If that is the case, it would be best for both our sakes if I removed myself from the neighbourhood.”

“Then stay in London," Darcy urged him, with a feeling of profound relief. “What could be more natural than wintering in town? Should you tire of this house, my own is quite as your disposal. We may spend the Christmas together. My sister has come down already, it would be a great pleasure to me not to have to leave you behind in joining her.”

Bingley only half met his eye. “Thank you, Darcy.”

If Darcy curtailed his answer to a nod, it was out of recognition to the pain he caused, not any feelings of regret. It had to be done; and one day Bingley would be grateful for it.

Chapter Text

In being reunited with his sister and once more surrounded by the various attractions of London, Darcy's endeavour to ban Hertfordshire from his mind was tolerably successful. It was not so for Bingley. He suffered from a dejection of spirits that was almost as distressing to those around him as to himself. It was not in his nature to dwell on sources of regret or pain that were beyond his influence, but part of him was yet persuaded that, should he return to Netherfield, he would be welcomed by his neighbours, and those neighbours, with nothing but congeniality. Had he been in a position to ascertain that his departure was a source of regret for them, he would have found it very hard to resist this scheme, but no such intelligence reached him, and without it he lacked the conviction to follow his inclination. In vain he inquired whether his sister had received any correspondence from her friends back in Hertfordshire, Caroline's reply was invariably a negative, and the names of their former companions never passes her or the Hursts's lips. Bingley, soberly following their example, preserved as steadfast a silence; but this did not alter his feelings. Miss Bennet, though her memory was now tinged with regret, was fixed in his mind as the most amiable young lady of his acquaintance.

Darcy, though he did not speak of it, saw his friends dejection and felt himself responsible for alleviating it. The pursuit of Bingley's amusement drew him oftener from home than any other duty, save that of the amusement of his sister. She, as ever, was prodigiously glad to see him, and responded to his suggestion of inviting Bingley to stay with them over Christmas with cheerful good-humour.

“I should like to get to know him better, for you talk about him a great deal.”

“Do I?”

Georgiana, who was only ever prevented from minding her brother’s every word by a preoccupation with her own manners, did not hear him, and continued: “Miss Bingley is very kind to me; next time she calls I shall not be so nervous, I am sure.”

“Caroline Bingley’s style of conversation is very different from yours,” he replied after a moment’s thought. “You need not match her rapidity of speech to be a pleasant companion to her. There can be great pleasure in conversing with someone whose observations and style of address differ from our own.”

His sister looked up at him in wonder at this sudden reflection, and Darcy quickly changed the subject to the proposed improvements of the house, which was in want of new furniture, and, so Darcy insisted, a more completely fitted music room. In these improvements Bingley’s advice was also solicited, and while he protested against any discussion on taste where Darcy’s own were involved, he was more than happy to approve his choices and accompany him in their selection.

Darcy watched Bingley and Georgiana whenever they were together, but his observations were not very encouraging. He had never voiced his hopes to anyone, even to miss Bingely he had only offered general statements of approbation whenever she spoke of the joy it would be to him to have a sister such as Georgiana, but privately the thought of a match between Bingley and his sister was a source of great comfort. To know his sister well-settled and well-loved, by a man of good character, sound mind, and tender feelings, would afford him more happiness than any other event could possibly secure.

Georgiana, however, was still shy in Bingley’s presence. When prompted, she would warmly express how glad she was that her brother had such a kind and loyal friend, but spoke not of any admiration on her own account. This, while not promising, Darcy had come to expect from her modest and timid character, which had only grown more withdrawn since her trip to Ramsgate, but that Bingley likewise felt no particular admiration for his sister was painfully clear to him.

His friend listened and attended to Georgiana with great good humour, but none of the rapture and admiration ever overspread his feature like Darcy had now frequently seen them do back in Hertfordshire. Painful as this realisation was, it was yet more distressing to find that, even though Bingley’s spirits seemed to somewhat recover over time, it was clear that Netherfield, Meryton and Longbourn still frequently occupied his mind. His most animated conversation with Georgiana by far was one which dwelt upon the pleasures of the ball, and its comparison to the Meryton assembly; and while he was just as disposed to approve of any new acquaintance as he had been before, there was not a single London beauty that secured his unprompted admiration.

This circumstance was aggravated by the mortifying realisation that, when he allowed himself to examine his own feelings, Darcy found them similarly unaffected by time and distance. The few young ladies of his acquaintance he had previously looked upon with admiration, suddenly suffered by comparison. A comparison he certainly did not mean to make, much less acknowledge, but which intruded time and time again.

The discomfort this caused was severe enough to affect him even during Miss Bingley’s occasional attempts at private commiseration on a subject they were not free to discuss with the principle party involved. Had she dared, Miss Bingley might have speculated that Miss Bennet was sure to comfort herself with the presence of the ——shire militia, as all her sisters seemed to do. But while Eliza Bennet’s evident preference for George Wickham had been amply discussed by her with her sister, she dared not hint at it to Darcy, whom she knew could not bear to hear him mentioned, and whom she was naturally very eager to put at ease.

"I have written to her again, of course,” said she, after thanking Darcy once again for his kindness towards her dear brother, “but it is only natural that the intimacy between us should sink, now we are restored to our respective circles.”

"Certainly," agreed Darcy, but his thoughts on the general reliability of the natural affects of separation were such as prevented him from saying more.

The contents of Miss Bingley’s letter betrayed that she herself suffered from the same unease. Its first object had been to assure Miss Bennet that they were all settled happily in London for the winter, its second to convey her excessive admiration of Miss Darcy. Her many attractions were again dwelt on, and Miss Bingley boasted joyfully of their increasing intimacy, and ventured to predict the accomplishment of the wishes which had been unfolded in her former letter. She did not neglect to mention her brother's being an inmate of Mr. Darcy's house, and not even the letter’s adieu, which included her brother’s regret at not having had time to pay his respects to his friends in Hertfordshire before he left the country, as well as her own effusive affections, did much to soften the blow she knew it would deliver to the recipient.

Her brother, who had requested the communication of these regrets when next she wrote again more than once, was likewise uncomfortably incessant in inquiring whether she had received any reply. There was no premeditation to his actions, he was too eager for news about Miss Bennet to resist inquiring, and too convinced that absence, would have likewise made his sister’s heart grow fonder, to suspect the true source of her regrets concerning the friendship with Miss Bennet.

In her impatience, Miss Bingley availed herself of every possible opportunity to speak to her brother about Miss Darcy.

“Georgiana is such a delightful creature,” she exclaimed the morning after their all dining at the Darcy residence together soon after Christmas, “and so prodigiously fond of you, Charles.”

“She is a very pleasing young lady,” Bingley acquiesced, “and certainly does much to raise Darcy’s spirits.”

“Of course,” Caroline said smilingly. “Such a wise and affectionate brother, I am sure he takes the greatest pleasure in seeing his sister in such good society.”

“I do not doubt it,” Bingley said absent-mindedly. “She must be often alone and that cannot be right for a girl her age.”

“Indeed,” Caroline prompted. “She would benefit from more lively company, it would be good if she were secure of such benefits in the future.”

“I am sure she will be once she has come out,” Bingley replied, rising from his seat and walking to a nearby window in search of some object to divert him.

Caroline, not wholly satisfied with his replies, was forced to resort to a more direct hint and said:

“She would benefit from your company more than any, I think.”

“Upon my word, Caroline,” Bingley exclaimed. “I pity any lady who must draw her society from any one person, much less my insufficient self.”

“I cannot agree with you there, Charles,” she contradicted him. “A woman can be very well satisfied with the society of a single person, provided he be the right one. Georgiana will certainly agree with me there, her admiration of you is evident.”

“Admiration?” Bingley started and at last Caroline had his full attention. “What are you talking of?”

“I am talking of your happiness, Charles,” Caroline said with conviction, slightly exasperated by her brother’s slowness. “And of how you might endeavour to make Georgiana attached to you, if you will act in your own interest.”

“My dear Caroline! Miss Darcy is sixteen and not yet out. As Darcy’s sister and your friend, she must always be dear to me, but the idea that she might ever be more to me that that has never once entered my head! And I daresay Darcy would have had something to say about it if it had!”

This last assertion, though very much mistaken, was not wholly without foundation. While Darcy had certainly been singing Georgiana’s praises to him, and Bingley had been nothing short of determined to find her nothing but amiable and pleasing when he finally made her acquaintance some time last year, Darcy, unbeknownst to himself, had been singing the praises of a child. His affection for his sister was so much that of an older brother that Bingley, upon meeting her, could not look upon her as a woman. And Miss Darcy, while her appearance womanly and graceful, was too bashful and too youthful in her manner to make him forget she was six years his junior.

Miss Bingley, who saw the strength of her brother's astonishment was genuine, was too much discouraged to press on.

“Come, Caroline,” said Bingley, “I know you always feel for me, regardless of our disagreements, but you are under no obligation to provide a cure for my present disappointment.” He smiled, with more determination than conviction. “I will mend.”

Miss Bingley said no more.

Chapter Text

The general cheer and frequent social engagements of the Christmas season did much to raise Bingley’s spirits, but their effects were not as expedient as his friend and sisters had hoped. Bingley was keenly aware of this, and privately formed a resolution to be fully recovered from his melancholy when they entered the new year. This resolution, while undoubtedly conducive to his good health, was insufficient to restore the tranquillity of his companions. For while his melancholy lessened, his affection did not follow. Even as his cheerfulness returned, he still cherished so tender an affection for Jane Bennet, that her remembrance cast a shadow over his countenance that could be witnessed by all who knew him. His suffering was of a peculiar kind, for Bingley was persuaded there was one remedy which would not fail to cure him from it: a swift return to Netherfield, to determine from Miss Bennet’s reception of him whether her regard for him might yet grow into love. Whatever its outcome, it would cure him from his doubts, and must thereby remove the worst sting from the regret.

Any mention of a return to Netherfield however, was met with equal concern and discouragement from all three people he was likely to apply to. Bingley concluded this to be on account of his well-being and, as his character united a very creditable humility with a yet stronger, and possibly overindulged inclination to conciliate, he refrained from making a choice which would have been his own to make had he wished it.

Darcy witnessed it all with with great unease. While he could not regret his actions, he sincerely regretted his not having acted sooner, as this would likely have spared Bingley the chief of his suffering. His own regard for Elizabeth, was nothing to that of his friend for her sister, this was made painfully evident. And more painful the circumstance would become, when Miss Bingley confessed to him soon afterwards that she had received a letter from the very same.

“She is to come to London. To stay with her beloved uncle in Gracechurch Street.” Miss Bingley’s composure, as she leaned on Darcy’s arm, was never broken, but her voice betrayed her discomfort. “Mr. Darcy, what are we to do? I cannot visit her, my poor brother!”

Darcy had listened to her in grave silence. He did not believe Bingley would be able to hear of Miss Bennet’s arrival, much less meet with her, without a danger of fully rekindling his feelings for her. And yet he could not suspect Miss Bennet of coming hither by design. Miss Bingley might meet with her without any ill consequence, provided her brother was not informed of her presence. This was a deception that caused Darcy considerable discomfort, but he saw no other solution, and so he advised Miss Bingley accordingly.

The date of Miss Bennet’s supposed arrival passed by and Darcy made a point not to inquire of Miss Bingley whether their visit had caused either party any distress. He was conscious that, in their mutual concern for her brother, Miss Bingley sought him out more than usual, and he was as eager to restore the former pattern of their friendship as he was to not dwell on any of the Bennets.

Early January, however, produced an attack upon the latter of these objects, in the form of a letter from his aunt, Lady Catherine. Darcy had opened it immediately, much more from a personal conviction of punctuality in correspondence, than from any particular affection for his aunt, and found, after the usual well-wishes appropriate at the beginning of a new year, the following information:

“Your visit this March is already a source of much pleasure to Anne, who truly possesses a strength of feeling and natural family partiality that is unequalled by her peers. I commended her for it only last Wednesday, when discussing the recent marriage of reverend Collins.”

To his acute mortification, Darcy found himself unable to read on; the conviction that somewhere in the following lines he would be confronted with the name ‘Miss Elizabeth Bennet’ prevented him. To read on was at present his only remedy against reflection, however, and as his current, uncomfortable state of mind could only be worsened by suspense, he forced himself to do so:

“Indeed, Anne’s innate appreciation for the institution of marriage could not be elevated by even the most solemn study; and Mr. Collin’s union has pleased us both considerably. It was I who urged him to procure himself a suitable wife. ‘Mr. Collins,’ I said, ‘you must marry. A clergyman like you must marry. Choose properly, choose a gentlewoman for my sake, and for your own; let her be an active, useful sort of person, not brought up high, but able to make a small income go a good way.’ He travelled into Hertfordshire, to visit the estate that is to be one day his own, for this very purpose, and selected a very pleasing young woman from the neighbourhood. She is the daughter of a knight, a Sir William Lucas, which must be gratifying to myself and Anne, and seems a diligent, good kind of woman. She will make a creditable parson’s wife.”

It was only after a full moment of quiet astonishment that Darcy comprehended his aunt must be referring to Miss Lucas, but even in his comprehension his surprise did not lessen. He could not have been deceived in Mr. Collin’s attention to Miss Elizabeth. Upon reflection he did remember that, during the ball at Netherfield, Miss Lucas had been frequently by her friend’s side and conversing with Mr. Collins with equal, or perhaps rather greater, animation. Mr. Collins must have changed his mind.

Darcy could not understand it. Mr. Collins must, in Elizabeth Bennet, have seen nothing more than a pretty woman in a suitable situation, or he could never have been persuaded to think of Charlotte Lucas instead. Darcy found himself struggling with feelings of contempt and relief he could neither fully ignore, nor explain away. These feelings might, perhaps, have been heightened into something greater, had the thought occurred to him that Mr. Collin’s change of heart might have been one of necessity, not choice; but it did not. For though Miss Elizabeth had not seemed, to his limited observation, very encouraging towards her cousin, it was not likely to Darcy that she would have refused him. There were familial obligations that were stronger than that of the heart, a fact of which he was ever cognisant.

It is appropriate to mention at this time that Fitzwilliam Darcy, very soon after his birth, had by his own mother been proclaimed the future husband of his newborn cousin, Miss de Bourgh. She, being born to Lady Catherine but a few months after her sister Lady Anne was delivered of her son, was looked upon by both sisters as the most suitable, if not the only, possible match for him. The union was planned with both children still in their cradles, and Darcy had grown up knowing it to be the particular wish of his mother for him to attach himself to her. Had it been in his power to admire her, his strong sense of duty would have made him gratified to do so, but this had not been the case. Darcy had never felt more than a common, familial regard for his cousin Anne, and had, one-and-twenty taken the kind caution of his father to heart, that a man ought not to marry where he did not admire.

This caution was given free from the influence of Lady Anne Darcy, who had not lived long past Georgiana’s birth, and Lady Catherine was quite ignorant of it. She was likewise ignorant of Darcy’s solemn resolution to resign himself to disappointing both her and the memory of his mother, and this ignorance had only been preserved by him never having met a woman he had seriously considered marrying. Lady Catherine, who had not married young herself, felt no urgency in bringing about the match, but her continued conviction that it would take place at an appropriate time weighed on Darcy rather strongly ever since his twenty-fifth birthday.

The remainder of his aunt’s letter, filled as it was with compliments to her daughter and congratulations to herself, did nothing to calm Darcy’s present feelings, and when Bingley joined him in his study some time later he found his friend in dire need of diversion. Luckily Bingley was in a very similar state of agitation and the gentlemen left Georgiana to her instrument and Mrs. Annersly to her netting box in favour of the club.

The remainder of January passed by rather rapidly, marked only by the usual dinners, card evenings, and morning excursions that make up a life in town. Bingley was beginning to talk of the end of his visit, and Miss Bingley privately assured Darcy that they need not be concerned any longer. She had, after having received a very prompt call from Miss Bennet, at length seen fit to call on her in Gracechurch Street in return. She had taken no pleasure in this visit and it was with some satisfaction that she reported to Darcy that she considered their acquaintance at an end, and was persuaded Miss Bennet felt much the same.

If Darcy wondered at this sudden development, he did not express it, any distance between the Bingleys and the Bennets should be beneficial to his peace of mind. Bingley was too dear to him to make his continued presence in his house a burden, but mindful of Bingley’s unwillingness to become one, and thus persuaded that Miss Bennet was not likely to be thrown in his way, he did not resist Bingley’s gentle wishes.

Miss Bingley did hint that, in pursuit of his independence, her brother might take a house of his own in town; a particularly fine house was said to be soon available in Harley Street. But Bingley had no desire of taking on a second house and teased his sister that she would lead him into extravagance. Her smiling reproach that there would be no extravagance if only he would give up Netherfield, was heard by Darcy with sober resignation. He was aware of his friend’s feelings on that particular subject and Bingley responded accordingly, in his usual light-hearted manner: he did not at all intend to give it up now, he would be loathe to dismiss the servants on such short notice, it did not signify whether he kept the house for a few months longer, and he would think of it no more at present.

Chapter Text

Once Bingley returned to Grosvenor Street the normal daily life returned to the Darcy residence, producing a tranquil, cheerful contentedness in both siblings. Bingley lived too nearby and was too often a guest to be missed, and Georgiana was quietly delighted to have her brother to herself once more. To her the Christmas season, with its many engagements and heightened importance, had lost much of its charm when it was no longer called upon to deliver her from the schoolroom, and February was now much more dear to her.

Darcy was aware of this and they spent the chief of their evenings quietly at home; reading, or playing at games they did not like to join in with any other person. Georgina had learned several new pieces of music during his absence and Darcy listened to them all with great enjoyment and expressed his encouragement twice as often as it was called for.

“I would urge you to ask Miss Darcy to favour us with a song,” Mrs. Annersly smiled, “if only she would allow me to do so.”

Georgiana coloured and protested vehemently against any exhibition of her singing. “Miss Bingley is forever asking me to sing with her,” she said unhappily. “But I could never hope to keep up with her.”

“Your excellence at the pianoforte has made you too critical of your voice,” said Darcy kindly. “But you must not forget that where music is concerned one’s taste and ones own enjoyment in the performance is, to the audience, almost of equal importance as skill and execution.”

Mrs. Annersly smiled warmly at this, but Georgiana, however far from disagreeing with her brother’s good judgment in general, still expressed some doubt on its applicability to herself.

“I assure you,” replied he. “That were I to rank the musical performances I have had the pleasure to witness according to my own enjoyment of them, this would not correspond directly with their excellence.”

“Really!” Georgiana exclaimed.

“Really,” Darcy smiled, and adding, upon perceiving her continued doubt: “Your performance was as charming to me as it is now when it was still executed with two fingers, seated on our father’s knee.”

This piece of brotherly encouragement produced a change of subject away from music, and towards their happy days at Pemberly with their father. It was in Darcy’s power to add to this several tender memories of their mother’s added presence, but Georgiana, while always appreciative of these additions, had no memory of Lady Anne herself. Neither sibling returned to the subject of song and performance when their affectionate reminiscing came to a natural end, but Darcy had the pleasure of seeing the effect of his words some days later, when Georgiana agreed to sing with Miss Bingley after a family dinner where only she and her brother were present to enlarge the Darcy party.

A more permanent addition to the household on Wimpole Street was expected in early March however, in the shape of their cousin Col. James Fitzwilliam, the younger son of their uncle Lord ——. He was, through circumstance and disposition, a great favourite with both Darcies. To Georgiana he was second only to her brother as recipient of her affection and regard; the guardianship which had been bestowed on her brother upon her father’s death had always been shared with Fitzwilliam, and his kindness to her, which had been a constant presence in her life since her infancy, had only increased since this time. To Darcy his cousin Fitzwilliam was not only the relation nearest to him in age, but likewise in taste and understanding. Since the death of his father there was no one whose council Darcy sought and attended to so frequently as his cousin’s.

No counsel was needed, however, on the day of Colonel Fitzwilliam’s arrival. It was a wet morning and the roads had suffered for it, but Fitzwilliam’s profession had taught him fortitude as well as punctuality, and he arrived in in good time and very good spirits. Darcy welcomed him with great satisfaction, and Georgiana, prevented only by rain from meeting him on the steps, was embraced by him as soon as he had shed his greatcoat.

“Why!” Fitzwilliam exclaimed. “Is this fashionable young lady my little Georgie? I see I should have brought silks, not sweets, for your present!”

He had brought her neither, as Georgiana well knew, and she was delighted with the set of watercolours he soon afterwards presented to her instead.

“I trust you left our aunt and uncle well?” Darcy inquired, once they had sat down to the cold meat and cake brought up upon his cousin’s arrival.

“Very well, yes, very well, they send their regards, of course. And so does Robert, I had a letter from him not five days ago.”

Darcy, who was well enough informed of Fitzwilliam’s everyday affairs through their regular correspondence to ask rather minute questions, spent some time inquiring into various particulars, while Georgiana sat by, smiling in silence and listening to their conversation. At last Fitzwilliam exclaimed: “Well! You have exhausted every piece of information I am capable of passing on, I have been well fed, and I am fully at your disposal. What are your designs for the evening?”

“Oh we have no engagement for tonight,” Georgiana assured him. “But won’t it be pleasant to dine all together again!”

Fitzwilliam expressed his complete agreement, but there was some thoughtfulness to his smile. He knew Darcy’s preference for family dinners and small evening parties over large social affairs, and while he knew this to be born from strong family affection and unease around strangers rather than anything more reprehensible, he had formed a wish to encourage at least a little more sociability in Georgiana before her first season out into society.

“I have secured a box for us at Covent Garden the evening after next.”

This absolutely delighted Georgiana, who was prodigiously fond of the theatre, which she might enjoy without any involuntary comparison to her own skill.

Fitzwilliam likewise expressed his delight in the scheme and refrained from observing that it was most considerate of Darcy to observe a whole two days of rest following his one day of travel, and if only the War Office would follow a similar doctrine. His cousin’s biggest failing, in Fitzwilliam’s affectionate opinion, was s general inability to laugh at himself. A skill which his visits, fairly frequent as they were, had never been long enough to teach him.

Darcy was not blind to his cousin’s knowing looks, however, and Fitzwilliam’s visit produced almost as much activity in him as Bingley’s. Fitzwilliam’s hints on Georgiana’s ease and well-being were taken to heart, and March was marked by musical evenings and dinners with various acquaintances, as well as the usual drives and walks. Fitzwilliam was pleased to observe Georgiana’s friendship with Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley, whom, unlike their brother, he had not met before.

“Her spirits are much improved,” Fitzwilliam observed to Darcy one evening after attending a concert with the Bingleys and the Hursts. “Are you pleased with Mrs. Annersly? Her influence seems a very positive one.”

“It does indeed,” said Darcy. “She has been instrumental in undoing the harm done to her.”

Fitzwilliam bowed his head. Darcy had informed him of his unfortunate meeting with Wickham in Hertfordshire and he admired his restraint in the matter. “It does one good to see her so cheerful,” he replied, “it is a comfort to know that even after our departure she shall not want for good company.”

This was a comfort to Darcy also, for the two cousins were to visit their aunt at Rosings towards the end of the month. They made such a visit at least once a year, though not always together, and usually accompanied also by Georgiana. At present, however, Darcy had determined his sister’s spirits not yet far enough recovered for several week’s exposure to their aunt, who had an overbearing character and was disposed to intimidate Georgiana. The visit therefore would include only the gentlemen.

The preparations for this visit were already well on their way when another letter arrived from Lady Catherine, whose correspondence paradoxically always grew rather more frequent whenever he was to come to her.

Darcy read the chief of her letter with very little interest; Lady Catherine generally had much to say, but very little to communicate. In one passage, however, there was a name that, if it did not make him colour, at least made him sit upright in his chair.

“The Rev. Collins whom, you will recall, was lately married on my particular recommendation, received a visit from his father-in-law, who has brought with him one of his younger daughters. They were accompanied by one of Mr. Collins’ cousins, a young woman by the name of Bennet. Sir William has returned home on Monday, but I expect the young ladies will not wish to leave before the end of April. Anne especially is an object of admiration to them both, and it is undeniable that they could both benefit greatly from her example.”

This time Darcy truly did change colour. Unwilling as he was to think meanly of the understanding of any of his relations, the idea that his cousin Anne could lend any sort of instruction to any of the Miss Bennets was absurd. The elder wanted no such instruction, the younger would never attend to it, and Anne, Darcy expected, would be too indifferent to bestow any on either. For the first time in his life he wished his aunt’s communications were more minute. The intimacy between the Lucas’s and the Bennets was such that any of the daughters might be a suitable companion for either Charlotte or Maria Lucas. During their acquaintance Miss Elizabeth had seemed the new Mrs. Collins particular friend, but her sister, who was quite some years younger, he had frequently seen with the two younger Miss Bennets. The uncertainty in the matter vexed him exceedingly, and it kept the letter so much on his mind that later that morning, when Fitzwilliam joined him in the drawing room he spoke:

“Here is something new, Fitzwilliam, there is company at the Rosings parsonage.”

“What?” Fitzwilliam replied cheerfully. “And here was I, already praising myself lucky with merely the new rector and his wife.”

“It seems the rector’s cousin and his wife’s sister have come to visit,” Darcy said, sounding tolerably unconcerned.

“How good of them,” his cousin laughed, “that is sure to liven up the conversation at Rosings, no matter how dull they are.”

Darcy found himself smiling. If it was Elizabeth Bennet who had come, there would be no question of that. Amusing as the notion of seeing her of all people seated at a quadrille table with his aunt was to him, Darcy was determined to speculate about her presence no more. Whichever member of the Bennet family it was that had come to stay at the parsonage, his plans would not be altered by it, it would not do to delay the visit now. And Fitzwilliam was right; it would, at any rate, be an enlivenment of the general confinement of Rosings society.

Both Darcy and Fitzwilliam were sorry to leave Georgiana, and she was likewise sorry to be staying behind, though this regret was softened by her relief not to be visiting Lady Catherine. The Bingleys, Hursts and some friends of Fitzwilliam’s were invited to dinner on the eve before their departure, and Darcy took leave of the former especially with very warm feelings, and withgratitude for their expressed intention to call on his sister again soon.

Chapter Text

The two cousins set off the following morning, as early as their affectionate and rather lengthy farewell to Georgiana would allow. The journey before them was expected to be completed within four hours and as such would be no great strain on either gentleman. After passing the first stage of the journey in companionable silence, Fitzwilliam observed thoughtfully:

“Judging from his latest letter, I do think my brother is on the point of marrying.”

“Indeed? Are you acquainted with the lady?”

“A little. The Honourable Miss Hartley.”

This, to Darcy, did not speak of a particularly warm endorsement on Fitzwilliam’s side; which his silence and the accompanying furtive glance in his direction communicated very clearly.

“She is a very elegant, accomplished young lady,” Fitzwilliam assured him, “I daresay Robert is by now far more acquainted with her character than myself.”

The subject of marriage was one that had of late been more frequently discussed between the cousins, with Fitzwilliam views on it, on the whole, being the more favourable of the two.

“Your brother has certainly chosen prudently,” Darcy said after a moment’s consideration. “Let us hope you are correct, and the lady is equally suitable in every other respect.” He shook his head. “An unsuitable match is too easily made. Even for men of sense and character. I myself have very lately had occasion to save a friend from the inconveniences of a most imprudent marriage, and the man in question, though not at all deficient in understanding, was quite blind to the severity of the objections against the lady.”

“Indeed!” exclaimed Fitzwilliam. “He is lucky to have benefited from your counsel, then.” He was sober for a quiet moment, adding: “It is a painful thing when affection leads one astray.”

“Admiration, I think, is more frequently the author of such mischief than affection.”

“They are not always distinguishable.”

“I cannot agree with you there,” said Darcy firmly, “one may often lead to the other, but they are by no means inextricably linked.”

“I can see I have hit upon one of your grand convictions,” Fitzwilliam said gravely, “we had better speak of something else or we shall have worn ourselves out with talk once we arrive at Rosings.”

Darcy gladly allowed Fitzwilliam to divert his attention to other subjects, and the gentlemen perceived the first trees of Rosings Park far before they were weary of their journey. Upon turning into the park, the coachman slowed the carriage, and Darcy recognized Mr. Collins stood dutifully by the side of the road, and bowing as they drove by. Darcy returned his civility with an inclination of the head, his feelings towards the gentleman rather more conciliatory than during their previous meeting.

The first sight of Rosings, a handsome modern building, well situated on rising ground, inspired a fondness in Darcy that was born chiefly from familiarity. His reception there was equally familiar; his aunt and cousin were seated in the drawing room, and Lady Catherine welcomed her nephews with such effusion that the demure expressions of her daughter were scarcely to be heard.

This mother and daughter, in keeping with the style of their address, shared very little resemblance. Lady Catherine was a tall, large woman, whose strongly-marked features were striking enough to have been handsome in her youth. Anne was small and slight, and shared neither her mother’s features nor her good constitution. While Lady Catherine inquired into the minutia of their journey hither, she said nothing at all, and only spoke once Darcy found himself placed beside her on the sofa.

“I am sorry to miss cousin Georgiana this spring.”

“She sends her most affectionate regards,” Darcy assured her, “and is very sorry to be absent, but I judged it unwise to interrupt her education at this time.”

Anne nodded. “She must find London very tiring. I would find such a style of living insupportable. But you are aware of my attachment to Rosings, and Kent.”

From such a speech it might be surmised that Miss de Bourgh, whether it be by habit or personal inclination, shared her mother’s expectations. The truth of the matter was that Anne , having been little from home and in possession of no very strong feelings, considered Darcy the most acceptable man of her acquaintance. She found his manners pleasing, and his silence, to which she was little used, even more so. He was, moreover, handsome, and the man her mother had intended for her since her birth. In short, while he was by no means the only man she might be able to think of, he was the only man worth thinking of in her situation, and she did not dislike him for it.

Darcy was spared from having to form a reply, by Lady Catherine likewise voicing her displeasure at Georgiana’s absence, albeit in a very different style. The received reply was adjusted accordingly and Darcy expounded upon Georgiana’s progress in French and Italian.

“Well!” his aunt exclaimed. “I am glad to hear this Mrs. Annersly has a tolerable command of the Roman languages. It is a subject in a lady’s education that simply cannot be neglected if she is to distinguish herself.”

“We were greeted by the new parson upon our arrival,” Fitzwilliam interjected. “I understand you are pleased with him?”

Her Ladyship was eloquent in her self-congratulation. “Quite pleased, indeed I am, yes—a very young man, but exactly the kind of rector most suitable for this parish. A strong sense of duty and humility are virtues which I am particularly adept at discerning. I daresay many would not have entrusted a living as valuable as Hunsford to a young man only just removed from the seminary, and indeed, Mr. Collins has mentioned to me on several occasions that were it not for my preferment, he would have been confined to a curacy for a decade at the least! But I have always been of the opinion that where the young are willing to learn , there is no reason for their being held back in life.”

Darcy, while not blind to his aunt’s shortcomings, found them comparatively insignificant compared to her generosity and sense of duty. There had to be some strong family partiality in this assessment, but it was very true that Lady Catherine felt her responsibility towards all those residing in the shadow of Rosings as strongly as Darcy did when it came to Pemberly, even if their mode of acting on this sense of responsibility could hardly be more different. It was evident that the new parson was an asset to her particular style of benefiting the neighbourhood, and that he was more than willing to carry the minutest concerns of the parish to her, and to aid her into scolding his parishioners into harmony and plenty.

“From all that Darcy has told me of him he sounds like a most amenable, susceptible gentleman,” said Fitzwilliam, who was rather entertained. “He was lately married, on your recommendation, was he not?”

His aunt confirmed that it was so and expressed her staunch belief that a clergyman’s being unmarried was a most undesirable thing for his parish, as it would give rise to too much speculation, and would necessarily make the affairs of the home too much of a strain on the gentleman himself. She then repeated some of her satisfaction in the new Mrs. Collins, that Darcy had already received by way of her letter.

“But I understand,” said she, looking somewhat displeased, “that Mrs. Collins and her sister are known to you already, Darcy. I wonder you did not mention it.”

“The letter in which you informed me of their marriage was sent so close to our departure that to send a response which might be given in person seemed frivolous.”

“I shall be glad to make their acquaintance also,” Fitzwilliam said cheerfully. “We shall soon see them here, I expect.”

Lady Catherine replied in the affirmative, but added to this a very maternal reproach for his interruption, and continued, once more addressing Darcy:

“And there is another lady of your acquaintance at the parsonage at present! A cousin to Mr. Collins, Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”

“Why Darcy, you have been making a great deal of acquaintances in Hertfordshire,” said Col. Fitzwilliam laughingly.

Darcy felt himself rather closely observed by both Lady Catherine and Miss De Bourgh, and chose not to reply to him , but to merely nod his acknowledgement at his aunt.

Lady Catherine seemed satisfied. “ Miss Bennet is a very genteel, pretty sort of girl,” she said condescendingly, “and I have taken it upon myself to offer her whatever instruction I can, so that she may benefit from her time at Rosings for the rest of her life. There is certainly potential in her and with the benefit of superior examples she might do very well.”

Fitzwilliam responded in his usual style when conversing with his aunt, all conciliatory tone and very little actual agreement, after inquiring more minutely into his cousin Anne’s health, and entreating her to tell him how the old pony they had ridden as children was faring since her retirement.

Darcy made no reply whatsoever and every part of his mind that was not currently occupied in wrestling with the inexplicable feeling of indignation his aunt’s speech on Elizabeth’s character had inspired in him, was suddenly struck with the looming prospect of having to keep his composure while being in company with both Anne and Miss Bennet.

Chapter Text

The following morning, at the earliest acceptable hour, Mr. Collins called on them to pay his respects. His joy at Darcy and Fitzwilliam’s arrival was obsequious and his gratitude for their notice of him tired the former and highly amused the latter. Lady Catherine was evidently pleased with his attention, but only in Fitzwilliam did Mr. Collins find a truly responsive conversationalist. He congratulated the reverend on his marriage, inquired after the health of his wife in particular and all his family in general, and finally proposed walking back with him to the parsonage to pay his respects to Mrs. Collins, whom he felt, as a woman so lately married, was more than deserving of such attention. If he meant, by this civility, to likewise secure himself a moment of respite from his aunt’s company, it does not at all tarnish the core of the sentiment.

Mr. Collins pronounced himself deeply honoured at this suggestion and Darcy, who had stood by in grateful silence at his cousin for taking upon him all the labour of conversing, condescendingly agreed to the scheme. He agreed with Fitzwilliam’s civil notion, and it had likewise occurred to him that he would rather not delay his meeting with Miss Bennet. Indeed, upon further reflection, from all Mr. Collins’s family her presence might far and away be the most pleasant addition to the company at Rosings Park. There was no reason for him to avoid her; they were acquaintances, nothing more. He would meet her with perfect indifference.

The half a mile walk across the park to reach the parsonage was particularly pleasant on this fine day and their arrival was only delayed by Fitzwilliam’s kind compliments to Mr. Collins’s garden, which had, Darcy was forced to admit, improved a great deal since the last time he had seen it.

They were shown into the drawing room, in which Mrs. Collins was seated with Miss Lucas and Miss Bennet. In the introductions made by Mr. Collins and in Mrs. Collins carefully placed interjections, Darcy detected with some slight amusement the deft hand of a skilful wife. He paid his compliments with with polite reserve and then addressed Miss Bennet and Miss Lucas in the same style. Miss Lucas, who looked rather nervous, provided a brief, breathless answer, but Miss Bennet curtseyed in silence, with the smiling composure Darcy particularly remembered her for. She was in very good looks and it was evident that Fitzwilliam took note of this as quickly as his cousin.

“I cannot tell you how pleased I was to hear of your presence,” said Fitzwilliam, addressing all the ladies. “For our visits to Rosings, dear as they are to me, are often in want of lively company. Between members of a family so frequently in correspondence, you understand, there can be very little new conversation to be had.”

The ladies replied in their various styles, all gratified by his gallantry and Fitzwilliam entered into conversation with the whole party with the readiness and ease of a well-bred man. Darcy complimented Mrs. Collins on her improvements to the house, and mentioned his notice of the garden, but found himself too much occupied in listening to Fitzwilliam, who was talking very pleasantly and most frequently to Elizabeth, to make much conversation himself.

His attending to their conversation, however, seemed to draw her notice, and he happened to meet her eye twice in short succession.

“I hope your family are in good health, Miss Bennet,” said he when this second time occurred.

“Very well, sir, I thank you,” was her tranquil reply, but then, after a moment’s pause, she added:

"My eldest sister has been in town these three months. Have you never happened to see her there?"

This surprised Darcy. Intimate as they were, he had fully expected the two eldest Miss Bennets to be in constant correspondence, and certainly to communicate any noteworthy meeting that had taken place. Did she perhaps mean to ascertain if he was aware of her sister’s being in town?

“No,” he answered. “Sadly I have never been so fortunate as to meet Miss Bennet.”

Elizabeth smiled and Fitzwilliam addressed them both with a change of subject, which occupied the conversation until the gentlemen took their leave.

Walking back Darcy felt a good deal of curiosity to know what his cousin thought of Elizabeth, but he was very unwilling to ask. Luckily Fitzwilliam did not need to be asked.

“You might have mentioned making such a charming acquaintance in Herefordshire, Darcy,” he said cheerfully. “It is not every day one can discuss such commonplace subject with such vivacity! She is also very pretty, but that is almost invariably the case with people of her disposition, is it not? It goes hand in hand with wit and good humour.”

Darcy was silent and Fitzwilliam looked at him. “Are we to have one of our famous quarrels on aesthetics now?” he asked laughingly.

“No indeed,” Darcy smiled. “I am quite of your opinion.”

“Are you?” Fitzwilliam cried. “I am glad of it. It gives me hope that we are both improving, I in understanding and you in good humour.”

“And since when do you doubt your own understanding, cousin?”

“Oh I do not,” Fitzwilliam said light heartedly. “But it is bad manners to fancy myself superior to my company and compared to yours my understanding is the easiest to criticize.”

Darcy smirked, knowing full well that his cousin spoke in jest. Still he did not laugh, because Fitzwilliam’s jokes on feelings of superiority had become rather frequent of late and sometimes Darcy was not at all sure whether they were aimed at their aunt or at himself.

The Wednesday and Thursday passed very tranquilly and Darcy was pleased to find that his mind did not run much upon Miss Bennet at all. He was occupied with the many everyday concerns of Rosings, and received a rather long, and anxious letter from Georgiana, which detailed all Mrs. Annersly’s lessons pertaining to Lady Day and her assurances that everything had been dealt with in the appropriate manner. When Fitzwilliam declared he would walk to the parsonage, Darcy declined to go with him. His reply was the same on the subsequent Saturday, despite Fitzwilliam’s gentle derision at his not stirring out of doors. Darcy in turn berated him for his inability to amuse himself for a few hours together.

“You cannot be so very starved of company, we have seen the Collinses at church only yesterday, and shall do so again tomorrow.”

“One cannot determine another’s hunger depending on one’s own appetite,” Fitzwilliam retorted, and he set off in perfect unconcern, leaving Darcy to make his excuses to Lady Catherine, who soon afterwards came in to inquire wherever her nephew might have gone.

That Sunday, upon leaving church after the Easter sermon, Lady Catherine extended an invitation to the Collinses entire party to join them at Rosings in the evening. This was done to give pleasure to Col. Fitzwilliam more than herself, and while she received her guests civilly when they entered the drawing room, she was too much engrossed by her nephews, Darcy in particular, to pay them much attention afterwards.

Fitzwilliam was genuinely glad to see them, however; anything was a welcome relief to him at Rosings; and Mrs. Collins's pretty friend had moreover caught his fancy very much. He now seated himself by her, and talked so agreeably of Kent and Hertfordshire, of travelling and staying at home, of new books and music, that Darcy found himself continually inclined to listen to their conversation. Miss Bennet’s laughter in particular, possessed a charm which he did not manage to steel himself against. She seemed much more at ease than she had seemed during their previous meeting at the Parsonage and she conversed with his cousin with so much spirit and flow, as to even draw the attention of Lady Catherine herself. She, at length sensible of the involuntary looks of curiosity that had Darcy’s eyes repeated turned towards then, at last called out:

"What is that you are saying, Fitzwilliam? What is it you are talking of? What are you telling Miss Bennet? Let me hear what it is."

"We are speaking of music, madam," said he, when no longer able to avoid a reply.

"Of music! Then pray speak aloud. It is of all subjects my delight. I must have my share in the conversation if you are speaking of music. There are few people in England, I suppose, who have more true enjoyment of music than myself, or a better natural taste. If I had ever learnt, I should have been a great proficient. And so would Anne, if her health had allowed her to apply. I am confident that she would have performed delightfully. How does Georgiana get on, Darcy?"

“Her proficiency is rapidly increasing of late, and she is beginning to add to the necessity of technical skill a very feeling execution,” he said affectionately. “Her performance of Pleyel’s sonatinas is delightful.”

"I am very glad to hear such a good account of her," said Lady Catherine; "and pray tell her from me, that she cannot expect to excel if she does not practice a good deal."

"I assure you, madam," he replied, "that she does not need such advice. She practises very constantly."

"So much the better. It cannot be done too much; and when I next write to her, I shall charge her not to neglect it on any account.”

Darcy forced a smile and looked eagerly towards Fitzwilliam for a change of subject or a renewal of his former conversation, but his aunt had not yet said her piece.

“I often tell young ladies that no excellence in music is to be acquired without constant practice,” she continued. “I have told Miss Bennet several times, that she will never play really well unless she practises more; and though Mrs. Collins has no instrument, she is very welcome, as I have often told her, to come to Rosings every day, and play on the pianoforte in Mrs. Jenkinson's room. She would be in nobody's way, you know, in that part of the house."

This was so ill-bred a speech as to make Darcy feel a sense of shame he was not at all in the habit of entertaining. While he was both willing and capable to make the allowances he considered necessary for a woman of her birth and situation, it had been too long since had seen his aunt in company at her own home, and he had formed a mistaken expectation that she would express herself differently than in private.

Fitzwilliam was similarly mortified, and as soon as coffee was over, reminded Miss Bennet with genuine warmth of having having promised to play to him. Darcy resolved that, should she refuse on account of having been embarrassed by his aunt, he would join his cousin in his entreaties. No such persuasion was necessary, Miss Bennet sat down to the instrument directly and cheerfully charged Fitzwilliam with the selection of her song. He drew a chair near her and chose an Irish air arranged by Beethoven that was particularly suited for Miss Benent’s voice.

All those assembled attended to the music; all but Lady Catherine, who listened to half a song and then talked to Darcy as before. He attempted to dissuade her by increasingly short replies, but such discouragement had no chance of succeeding with her ladyship, and at last he opted to walk away from her and clearly state his intention of enjoying the performance. He made his way towards the pianoforte with his usual deliberation and stationed himself so as to command a full view of the fair performer's countenance. Miss Bennet saw what he was doing, and at the first convenient pause, turned to him with an arch smile, and addressed him in the same playful style he had come to expect form her at Netherfield:

"You mean to frighten me, Mr. Darcy, by coming in all this state to hear me? I will not be alarmed though your sister does play so well. There is a stubbornness about me that never can bear to be frightened at the will of others. My courage always rises at every attempt to intimidate me."

"I shall not say you are mistaken," he replied, "because you could not really believe me to entertain any design of alarming you; and I have had the pleasure of your acquaintance long enough to know that you find great enjoyment in occasionally professing opinions which in fact are not your own."

To his gratification she laughed heartily at this picture of herself, and said to Colonel Fitzwilliam: "Your cousin will give you a very pretty notion of me, and teach you not to believe a word I say. I am particularly unlucky in meeting with a person so able to expose my real character, in a part of the world where I had hoped to pass myself off with some degree of credit. Indeed, Mr. Darcy, it is very ungenerous in you to mention all that you knew to my disadvantage in Hertfordshire—and, give me leave to say, very impolitic too—for it is provoking me to retaliate, and such things may come out as will shock your relations to hear."

"I am not afraid of you," said he, smilingly.

"Pray let me hear what you have to accuse him of," cried Fitzwilliam. "I should like to know how he behaves among strangers."

"You shall hear then—but prepare yourself for something very dreadful. The first time of my ever seeing him in Hertfordshire, you must know, was at a ball—and at this ball, what do you think he did? He danced only four dances, though gentlemen were scarce; and, to my certain knowledge, more than one young lady was sitting down in want of a partner. Mr. Darcy, you cannot deny the fact."

"I had not at that time the honour of knowing any lady in the assembly beyond my own party.”

"True; and nobody can ever be introduced in a ball-room,” she said light-heartedly, but Darcy felt the critique. Before he could reply however, Miss Bennet seemed embarrassed by her speech and said somewhat hastily: Well, Colonel Fitzwilliam, what do I play next? My fingers wait your orders."

But Darcy wished to show her he was not so ungracious as to resent her observations and replied, quite seriously: "Perhaps I should have judged better, had I sought an introduction; but I am ill-qualified to recommend myself to strangers."

This elicited from her a very slight smile. "Shall we ask your cousin the reason of this?" still addressing Colonel Fitzwilliam, “shall we ask him why a man of sense and education, and who has lived in the world, is ill qualified to recommend himself to strangers?"

"I can answer your question," said Fitzwilliam, "without applying to him. It is because he will not give himself the trouble."

"I certainly have not the talent which some people possess," said Darcy, defending himself with more conviction now that it was his cousin speaking, "of conversing easily with those I have never seen before. I cannot catch their tone of conversation, or appear interested in their concerns, as I often see done."

"My fingers," said Miss Bennet, "do not move over this instrument in the masterly manner which I see so many women's do. They have not the same force or rapidity, and do not produce the same expression. But then I have always supposed it to be my own fault—because I will not take the trouble of practising. It is not that I do not believe my fingers as capable as any other woman's of superior execution."

Darcy smiled and said, "You are perfectly right. You have employed your time much better. No one admitted to the privilege of hearing you can think anything wanting. We neither of us perform to strangers."

It was no premeditated compliment and it surprised the recipient almost as much as the gentleman bestowing it. Here they were interrupted by Lady Catherine, however, and Elizabeth immediately began playing again. Lady Catherine approached, and, after listening for a few minutes, said to Darcy:

"Miss Bennet would not play at all amiss if she practised more, and could have the advantage of a London master. She has a very good notion of fingering, though her taste is not equal to Anne's. Anne would have been a delightful performer, had her health allowed her to learn."

Darcy was aware that Miss Bennet’s eyes were suddenly upon him with more than usual attentiveness and, since he could only imagine her wishing to ascertain how easily he bore his aunt’s rudeness, he eagerly joined Fitzwilliam in his please to not divert their kind performer from her music.

Despite Lady Catherine continued her remarks on her performance, mixed with many instructions on execution and taste, Miss Bennet, at the request of the gentlemen, remained at the instrument. Darcy thoroughly enjoyed her performance, but felt persuaded that while Miss Bennet was by no means inattentive to her songs, she looked at him more often than usual. In particular whenever he spoke to Anne, and on the few occasions Anne herself did speak, her eyes seemed to be turned towards him. There was no jealousy in her looks, he thought, but certainly a sort of cautious curiosity; and when the carriage was ready to take the visitors home he bade Miss Bennet goodnight with his former notions of their mutual indifference steadily losing ground.

Chapter Text

The following morning Darcy woke with the previous evening still occupying his mind, but his considerations were very different than they had been the day before. They were centred, quite involuntarily, on Mr. Collins. For it occurred to Darcy, once he had been able to reflect without his personal feelings and inclinations posing quite so much a distraction, that Mr. Collins’s behaviour towards both his wife and Miss Bennet was rather particular. More than once Darcy had heard him pay a compliment to his wife or thank Lady Catherine for her continued generosity towards him with so pointed a look in his cousin’s direction that Darcy now wondered if he had not been mistaken. Was it possible that Mr. Collins had intended to marry Elizabeth? His actions belied feelings that were neither indifferent nor entirely cordial and the only explanation Darcy was able to produce was that Miss Bennet, surprising tough it was, must have refused him.

The surprise, of course, must arise completely from the gentlemen and lady’s comparative situations, any further investigation of their abilities rendered it completely comprehensible. At least where the lady was concerned. Regardless, even if Darcy had believed Elizabeth willing to give up such a chance at securing her future, it was almost unthinkable to him that her parents would allow her to do so. Unless, his heart did whisper, there had been feelings at play stronger than a mere disinclination for the suitor before her.

This was a very dangerous thought and Darcy refused to pursue it further. Instead his thoughts turned to Mrs. Collins and her friendship with Miss Bennet. In her behaviour he did not recall a single sign of resentment or regret. Neither towards her friend nor her husband. Darcy had not bestowed enough attention upon the former Miss Lucas back in Hertfordshire to be certain of the finer points of her character, but she seemed to him a very rational young woman.

All these reflections produced in him a desire to ascertain if his conjectures were correct and, having heard Mr. Collins mention some parish business that would take him from home the following morning, Darcy decided to call at the ladies of the Parsonage as part of a morning walk.

When he was shown into the sitting room some thirty minutes later, however, he was astonished to find Miss Bennet to be its only occupant. She herself looked almost equally surprised, only just turning away from her writing desk, hastily rising to greet him.

“I beg your pardon, I had understood all the ladies to be within.”

“Mrs. Collins and Miss Lucas had business in the village.”

Darcy bowed, and upon her invitation sat down by her, blaming himself bitterly for not questioning the maid that had shown him in more closely.

“We passed such an agreeable evening yesterday,” said Miss Bennet. “Have you left all your family at Rosings well?”

He replied in the affirmative, but then sank into a silence that, while born from his discomfort, certainly could do nothing but increase it.

"How very suddenly you all quitted Netherfield last November, Mr. Darcy!” Miss Bennet suddenly proclaimed. “It must have been a most agreeable surprise to Mr. Bingley to see you all after him so soon; for, if I recollect right, he went but the day before.”

Darcy gave her an inquiring look. Her memory of the circumstances was certainly very exact.

“He and his sisters were well, I hope, when you left London?"

"Perfectly so, I thank you,” he replied.

There was a short pause and then Miss Bennet began again:

"I think I have understood that Mr. Bingley has not much idea of ever returning to Netherfield again?"

Darcy presumed she meant to ascertain if Bingley and himself could be expected to come down there again, and he carefully replied:

"I have never heard him say so; but it is probable that he may spend very little of his time there in the future. He has many friends, and is at a time of life when friends and engagements are continually increasing."

If Miss Bennet was disappointed she did not show it, but her voice did have a note of unusual reserve to it when she next spoke.

"If he means to be but little at Netherfield, it would be better for the neighbourhood that he should give up the place entirely, for then we might possibly get a settled family there.” She smiled, dispelling her sudden gravity. “But, perhaps, Mr. Bingley did not take the house so much for the convenience of the neighbourhood as for his own, and we must expect him to keep it or quit it on the same principle."

"I should not be surprised," said Darcy, "if he were to give it up as soon as any eligible purchase offers."Whatever Bingley’s current, lingering preference for Netherfield, his lease on the house was a short one, and Darcy was confident that, if he was not able to persuade his friend to cancel it, he could at least be prevented from renewing it.

Miss Bennet made no answer. She seemed a little embarrassed and appeared to glance about the room in quest of a new subject.

"This seems a very comfortable house,” said Darcy dutifully . “ Lady Catherine, I believe, did a great deal to it when Mr. Collins first came to Hunsford.”

"I believe she did—and I am sure she could not have bestowed her kindness on a more grateful object."

A decided hint of amusement had crept into her voice and Darcy repressed a smile as he met her eye.

"Mr. Collins appears to be very fortunate in his choice of a wife,” he said sincerely.

"Yes, indeed,” Elizabeth said with a smile . “His friends may well rejoice in his having met with one of the very few sensible women who would have accepted him, or have made him happy if they had.”

This confirmed that Mr. Collins must have, at least temporarily, had designs on Elizabeth that were indeed either refused or very skilfully discouraged. Her reflection on happiness struck him, and he considered that, if Miss Bennet had refused her cousin’s proposal, it was no more than reasonable that she had only done it because she could not in good conscience accept him.

“My friend has an excellent understanding—” she continued, “though I am not certain that I consider her marrying Mr. Collins as the wisest thing she ever did. She seems perfectly happy, however, and in a prudential light it is certainly a very good match for her."

This speech did not savour of either disappointment or a souring of friendship, and Darcy was glad of it.

"It must be very agreeable for her to be settled within so easy a distance of her own family and friends."

"An easy distance, do you call it?” exclaimed she. “It is nearly fifty miles."

"And what is fifty miles of good road? Little more than half a day's journey. Yes, I call it a very easy distance."

"I should never have considered the distance as one of the advantages of the match," cried Miss Bennet. "I should never have said Mrs. Collins was settled near her family."

He smiled. If these were her feelings, she must have experienced some anxiety over even the p ossibility of being made to leave her home . "It is a proof of your own attachment to Hertfordshire. A nything beyond the very neighbourhood of Longbourn, I suppose, would appear far."

She looked conscious, and blushed as she answered:

"I do not mean to say that a woman may not be settled too near her family. The far and the near must be relative, and depend on many varying circumstances. Where there is fortune to make the expenses of travelling unimportant, distance becomes no evil.”

These words had more of an effect on Darcy than he was immediately aware of. They seemed particularly suited to work upon his feelings and in expressing them, still with heightened colour and her dark eyes fixed on him earnestly, his attraction towards her was at once restored to what it had been at Netherfield.

“But that is not the case here,” Miss Bennet continued. “Mr. and Mrs. Collins have a comfortable income, but not such a one as will allow of frequent journeys—and I am persuaded my friend would not call herself near her family under less than half the present distance."

Darcy drew his chair a little towards her, and said, "You cannot have a right to such very strong local attachment.” Miss Bennet was fond of travel, he knew, and had frequently been staying in London. “You cannot have been always at Longbourn."

Not until Miss Bennet looked at him in surprise did Darcy realise that the sudden stir of his feelings had made him forget himself. He instantly drew back again, and in an attempt to shield his embarrassment, took a newspaper from the table. Studying it, he composed himself and asked:

"Are you pleased with Kent?"

A short dialogue on the subject of the country ensued, on either side calm and concise—and soon put an end to by the entrance of Mrs. Lucas and her sister, just returned from their walk. Their surprise upon finding him there renewed all Darcy’s discomfort and he curtly related the mistake which had occasioned his intruding on Miss Bennet.

Mrs. Collins and Miss Lucas sat by them and Elizabeth entered into conversation with them both, asking them about their walk. Darcy offered some slight observations and attempted to answer a few of Miss Lucas’ question concerning the dimensions of the park, but he was acutely aware of Mrs. Collins discerning eyes, which were fixed on him very often. Eager to escape such scrutiny, he waited a few minutes longer and then hastily took his leave.

The damage, however, was done. His desire for Miss Bennet’s company and conversation had too much increased for him to continue to ignore it, and the next time Fitzwilliam urged him to walk to the Parsonage with him, he agreed.

Upon seeing them once more in each other’s company, Darcy became aware that he was not alone in his admiration of Elizabeth; his cousin admired her also. Far from causing any concern in him, however, Darcy found himself sincerely gratified by it. With his own feelings still in such a state of confliction, Fitzwilliam’s admiration was, or at least was received by Darcy, as a form of approbation. To have his own preference for Miss Bennet’s company so tacitly validated, by one of the few people in the world whose judgment he valued as highly as his own, did more to pacify his inner turmoil than all his hours of solitary reflection.

Any personal apprehension he might have felt on the occasion was instantly negated by his intimate understanding of his cousin’s character and personal circumstances. Fitzwilliam possessed caution as well as cordiality and Darcy knew that his uncle the Earl had expectations of his younger son that his cousin had no desire to fall short of. As evident as his admiration was to Darcy, it was equally clear to him that Fitzwilliam feelings were not at all as much affected as his own. This being the case, his cousin’s powers of conversation provided him great relief while he was too much engrossed by his thoughts to speak a great deal. He listened to the spirited debate Fitzwilliam and Miss Bennet held on the subject of a new publication with great pleasure. Miss Bennet’s opinion on the volume had agreed exactly with his own.

“What a pleasant visit,” Fitzwilliam observed when they were walking back. “I was very glad to hear Miss Bennet’s visit will most likely outlast ours.”

“As am I,” said Darcy, “and if you agree, I think we would do well to postpone our leaving until next Saturday.”

Both halves of this speech rather surprised Fitzwilliam, who was as familiar with his cousin’s ways as Darcy was with his, and who could not recall another occasion that he had so heartily expressed his approbation of any person beyond his circle of trusted family and friends, nor to change previously established plans at such short notice.

“Very well,” said he. “I have no objections, and our aunt will be pleased.”

“Indeed,” said Darcy with a marked satisfaction that only increased his cousin’s curiosity. “We visit but once a year, I see no occasion to cut our visit short.”

Fitzwilliam did not remind him their visits rarely outlasted a fortnight, but wholeheartedly agreed, and they informed a deeply gratified Lady Catherine of their decision that very night.

Chapter Text

From this period the two cousins walked to the Parsonage almost every day. They called at various times of the morning, sometimes separately, sometimes together, and now and then accompanied by their aunt. Colonel Fitzwilliam made himself agreeable to all its inhabitants and in turn invariably had an agreeable time, but Darcy’s enjoyment was of such a peculiar kind that it was all but imperceptible to his hosts, and a continued source of inner conflict to himself. During their visits the two cousins could not have appeared more different. Fitzwilliam conversed, while Darcy listened; the one laughed, while the other looked.

His behaviour puzzled Mrs. Collins exceedingly, but no more than it puzzled Fitzwilliam. Darcy frequently sat for ten minutes together without opening his lips; and when he did speak, it seemed the effect of necessity rather than of choice. While their private conversations had convinced Fitzwilliam that Darcy not only admired Elizabeth but truly enjoyed her company, his cousin seldom appeared really animated. His cousin looked at Miss Bennet a great deal, however; Fitzwilliam did not know what he was about. He occasionally laughed at Darcy’s stupidity, but this rarely produced any desired effect and all his attempts at winning his cousin’s confidence were in vain.

To Darcy himself, his own lack of conversation was far more oppressive. The more he felt the strength of his feelings grow, the less he felt able to speak. Where he had previously thought of his feelings towards Miss Bennet only in terms of attraction and admiration, he now felt that with every day that passed, he had fallen deeper in love.

His scruples concerning the inferiority of her connections had not left him, but while Miss Bennet was before him, he forgot them. Here, at Rosings, in surroundings so familiar to him, the vulgarity of her relations seemed a distant thing. And the lady herself was continually rising in his esteem. Her lively debates with his cousin were captivating, the outspoken, arch manner in which she addressed his aunt delighted him, and her frequent, quiet glances in his direction left an impression he was no longer able to shake, even once he had taken leave of her.

Neither Lady Catherine’s conversation, of which there was a great deal to be had, nor his drives with Anne around the park, which were chiefly marked by mutual silence, were sufficient to cure him. He even found himself, in his next letter to Georgiana, mentioning how glad he was to renew an acquaintance he had made in Hertfordshire and how much she had added to their society. The sudden, ardent wish this produced, that he might introduce Miss Bennet to Georgiana took him quite by surprise. The thought, once started, would not be contained however. For Miss Bennet, in character and disposition, was exactly the kind of person Georgiana would be most likely to confide in. Her youth, her wit, her kindness, all were exactly calculated to remove those inclinations which prevented Georgiana from opening up to those outside of her family circle. What a comfort it would be, to have such a woman by his side for Georgiana’s first season. Such a sister to her, well-bred, well-informed, yet honest, and not in any way formidable or reserved.

It was the work of a moment and yet, without meaning to, Darcy had placed Elizabeth beside him, at Pemberly, and entrusted her with the one person whose happiness he placed above all else. At once seized by acute mortification Darcy folded the letter and put it aside, resolving to walk the park until he had composed himself.

As he was alone, he followed only his own inclinations, and walked through the copses most beloved by him since his youth, eventually going down a little lane flanked by trees stretching their branches into an arch of spring green that had always pleased him. He was quite insensible of having come somewhat nearer the Parsonage, until he was suddenly met by Miss Bennet, who, looking equally surprised, exclaimed:

“Mr. Darcy! Good morning.”

“Good morning, Miss Bennet.”

Darcy prided himself on his good sense and considered himself a rational man, but he had no rational response to such a providential meeting.

“Forgive me, I was deep in thought, and did not expect to meet with you here.”

Miss Bennet looked at him with a most expressive smile. “You know how fond I am of walking.”

“I do indeed.”

Perhaps she meant to provoke him a little, but she had only most effectively reminded him of the period in their acquaintance where he first began to feel the full force of her attraction.

“I hope,” he smiled. “That the fields of Kent are an acceptable substitute for the fields of Hertfordshire.”

“Oh certainly,” Miss Bennet replied. “My feet are as fond of a change of scenery as my eyes and this is a favourite haunt of mine.”

This last detail was imparted with an emphasis that it was beyond Darcy to ignore. He smiled, turning back to walk with her, and only took his leave when they had come to the park paling near the Parsonage. Her parting look was not a smiling, but a thoughtful one, and it stuck with him all the way home.

If Darcy had any resolutions not to act upon what he felt was at last very deliberate encouragement from Miss Bennet, he failed to keep them. The next time he went out walking he chose the same path and met Miss Bennet there again. She seemed to colour a little upon perceiving him and her embarrassment instantly heightened his own. Elizabeth now regarded him with a look of definite confusion, evidently taken aback by the sudden silence that followed his greeting.

“I do apologise,” Darcy said. “My attention was momentarily diverted.”

“There is certainly much to see here.”

“Indeed,” Darcy agreed gratefully. “Are you fond of wildlife, Miss Bennet?”

“As long as the wildlife keeps its distance,” said she amusedly and they retraced their steps from their previous walk.

Side by side they walked back through the park, sometimes in talk but frequently in silence, until they had once more reached the parsonage gate, where Darcy took leave of Elizabeth with such gratified feelings that it took the entire walk back to Rosings for his spirits to sink.

It was not until their third rencontre that Darcy began, quite earnestly, to feel that his present suffering was entirely futile. Miss Bennet had inquired if his visit to Rosings was still intended to end that Saturday and during his necessary answer in the affirmative, it occurred to him that to leave her behind might mean parting from Miss Bennet forever. The truth of the matter was that she was the only young lady of his large acquaintance he could ever see himself marrying and, moreover, he was convinced that by now she would remain the only one, whomever he might meet in the future.

“Your own visit is to last a while longer, is it not?” he spoke in desperation. “How have you enjoyed being at Hunsford so far?”

“Very well, and better still for the park. Though I am afraid my cousin disagrees with which parts of the grounds I prefer above others.”

His smile was as involuntary as it was genuine. “You told me this was a favourite haunt of yours, I am particularly fond of it myself,” he spoke unguardedly. “There is a great deal of natural beauty left to Rosings Park, though it was not the style chosen for the main garden.”

Miss Bennet smiled.

For a while they walked in silence and Darcy’s thoughts drifted far from Rosings.

“Would you consider it a requirement for your happiness, to be able to indulge in solitary walks?”

“Oh, I must say I have never considered it.” She raised an eyebrow at him. “Are you wishing to reflect upon my exercising habits, or is your aim to expose a dislike of my fellow creatures?”

“Neither, I assure you,” said he amusedly. “But if I must choose one, let it be the former, for no one could accuse you of the latter without making a complete fool of themselves.”

She laughed at this, and returned to her former easy silence.

“I imagine Mrs. Collins is much missed in Hertfordshire,” Darcy said after a while.

“Very much so.”

“And has your visit made you more resigned to her loss?”

Miss Bennet looked at him in surprise. “I suppose it has, yes. Mrs. Collins is most comfortably settled here.”

“There is a very natural concern for their happiness upon any friend’s marriage.”

She gave a thoughtful nod, but made no reply, until, speaking in a less serious tone:

“My friend’s happiness must in no small part be credited to your aunt’s generosity and condescension, I am certain my cousin would agree.”

Darcy felt her jest and though it made him uncomfortable, he could not blame her for it. “My aunt greatly values their company.”

“I’m sure.”

“What is your opinion of Rosings?” Darcy asked, with genuine curiosity. He had a high opinion of Miss Bennet’s natural taste, but he was as of yet unaware of her preferences concerning architecture and furnishing.

Miss Bennet’s reply was complimentary, but rather guarded. She spoke only in generalities, which led him to believe she was too polite to impart to him any points of criticism she might have.

“It is certainly a very grand house,” she concluded, “I do not believe I have once found my way from the vestibule to the morning room unattended.”

“Undoubtedly your understanding of that part of the house will increase over time. In future visits there may be more mornings to spend there as well as evenings.”

This was spoken quite artlessly, but upon seeing Miss Bennet look uncharacteristically diffident, Darcy prevented himself from saying more. He was sorry to find they were already approaching the gate in the pales opposite the Parsonage, but he took leave of her with feelings swelled into greater tenderness by her every look and expression.

This time he did not return to Rosings right away, but instead went back into the park. His heart remained unburdened as long as the gate that always marked their parting, but not a moment longer. In her absence her influence over him sank just enough for his doubts to return. He could not marry Elizabeth Bennet. The very words he had spoken to her mere moments ago now seemed wholly irrational to him. To visit Rosings with Elizabeth Bennet as his wife; it was impossible. His cousin’s feelings he could only guess at, but his aunt would refuse to even acknowledge such a marriage. Of that he was certain. It would be considered a degradation. Oh! Would that Elizabeth’s family had been destitute but of noble birth, had her father only chosen his wife with more discretion—

Fitzwilliam would approve his choice, Georgiana would share his happiness, but as to the rest of the family the most he could hope for was quiet astonishment in place of open derision. Picture the Christmas at Pemberly; was his uncle to sit down with a tradesman from London? Was Georgiana to be exposed to the likes of Lydia Bennet? Unthinkable.

He could not make Elizabeth an offer. It was impossible. He had known this back at Netherfield and nothing had changed. Nothing but his own foolish, reprehensible behaviour, exposing himself and mortifying Miss Bennet. It was evident she returned his feelings, it was evident she meant to encourage him, and his behaviour the past few days had been such that Darcy considered it no more than justified for her to be expecting him to speak to her before leaving Kent. It was badly done and he blamed himself bitterly for it. The only thing he could do for her now was to counteract as much of his recent conduct as possible. He would avoid her for the remaining days of his stay, he would see her once more on Thursday, and then meet with her no more.

Chapter Text

When Thursday arrived Darcy busied himself with needless preparations for their departure and attended dutifully to his aunt. She was, as always, displeased by the approaching end of his visit, but adamant that he could not neglect his business in town. That it had never once been in danger of neglect since it had been his to dispatch, did not enter into consideration.

He was relieved when she at last quit the drawing room in pursuit of her daughter and while he attempted to amuse himself with a book, he was joined by Fitzwilliam, who had been out walking.

Fitzwilliam sat down and rang for refreshments, studying the room for a moment before saying rather suddenly:

“I met Miss Bennet during my tour of the park, just now.”

“You did?” Darcy replied, meaning to sound unconcerned.

“I did indeed. We had a great deal of talk about you. She is a most discerning young lady.”

He kept his eyes on his book and was silent, too aware of the very particular look his cousin had fixed on him.

“She asked me why you had not yet married.”

Darcy blanched with mortification. “And what did you say?”

“I do not believe I said anything. What would you have liked me to say?”

To this Darcy made no reply, and turned away in extreme confusion.

Fitzwilliam looked, doubted, and then began again, in a more familiar tone: “Say, Darcy—” but before he could speak further Lady Catherine’s voice was heard in the hallway and the Colonel retreated.

Darcy was unsure if he was grateful for the interruption or not. He did not attend to his aunt’s conversation, he could not.

His behaviour caused quite some concern in Fitzwilliam, whose curiosity and doubt had only grown since his first suspicions had been awakened, but Lady Catherine generously put all his dejection of spirits down to his imminent departure, and her own spirits rose considerably because of it.

The inhabitants of the parsonage were engaged to drink tea at Rosings in the evening and during dinner Darcy could scarcely think of anything else. He was all but insensible to whether he was even being spoken to, so much engrossed was his mind with determining how he should greet Miss Bennet when she were to enter the room and how he was to conduct himself in such a way that it would make her understand him, without bringing her more distress than he was already responsible for.

These grave reflections, however, turned out to be unnecessary. When the Collinses entered only Miss Lucas was with them, Miss Bennet was not present. Mr. Collins begged Lady Catherine most earnestly for her forgiveness and understanding and his wife, with much more tranquillity and a more feeling politeness, made her friend’s excuses and provided an explanation. Miss Bennet was feeling unwell this evening.

This produced a long speech from Lady Catherine on health, ill health, and the fortitude necessary to bear either, with many meaningful references to her daughter and congratulations to herself. Her nephews barely heard her. They were both moved to genuine concern and in Darcy’s case it was a concern bordering on distress that prevented him from any sort of conversation before he was able to inquire of Mrs. Collins which ailment it was that had prevented Miss Bennet from joining them this evening.

“Pray do not be alarmed,” replied she, “she was not suddenly taken ill, but she is suffering from a headache and was not up to the walk.”

“I am sorry to hear it,” said Fitzwilliam. “When I met her in the park this afternoon it was just coming on, I am sorry it grew worse.”

Mrs. Collins commended him for his solicitude, but Darcy could not attend. His distress was rapidly increasing, heightening into a very real anxiety about whether it was his behaviour that was to blame for Miss Bennet’s current indisposition. From what Fitzwilliam had said of their conversation in the park it seemed very probable and if her infliction had been brought on by an agitation of feelings, of disappointed hopes—

Darcy excused himself and left the room. Once in the hallway he paced restlessly, unable to offer himself any sort of relief or comfort. There was no way to assure himself of Elizabeth’s well-being until tomorrow; at that time Fitzwilliam and himself might call on the parsonage to take their leave, but should she still be indisposed he might not even see her then.

The thought of having to leave Kent without even the opportunity to bid Miss Bennet a proper farewell was more than he could bear. Fitzwilliam, he knew, had once before called on the Parsonage late in the evening and he would do the same.

Still in the same state of agitation Darcy made his way across the park; he rang the door-bell at the Parsonage with too much force and surprised the Collinses’ maid with his urgent enquiry as to whether Miss Bennet was well enough to receive a visitor. She replied that the lady was in the drawing room and instantly showed him thither.

When he walked into the room Miss Bennet was seated at the same desk as when he had accidentally found her at home alone a fortnight ago, but the surprise she had shown then was nothing to the astonishment displayed on her face upon beholding him now.

“Miss Bennet, how do you do? Are you at all recovered?” he spoke in a hurried manner. “Forgive my intrusion, I would not have called on you at this hour were it not for the sincere wish of ensuring myself of your good health.”

“I am well, sir, thank you,” Miss Bennet replied, and she spoke with such cold civility that his relief at her answer was almost taken from him.

He bowed, and sat down, unable to compose himself; his anxiety for her health had been quieted, but to have her speak to him in such a manner was almost more painful to him. He had raised expectations, he had wounded her feelings, and she rightfully blamed him for it. Darcy got up again, walking about the room in great agitation. The misery of having to regret her he had convinced himself he would be able to bear, but to see her now regard him with such coldness, and to know himself capable of restoring her to happiness was insupportable.

Miss Bennet looked at him in surprise, but said not a word. She made no demands, but her wonder, her dark eyes turning towards him for only a moment, in quest of an explanation, were enough. Darcy turned, coming towards her in the same agitated manner, and broke his silence.

"In vain I have struggled. It will not do—” he burst forth. “My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you."

The astonishment on Miss Bennet’s face was at once erased every trace of coldness. She gazed at him in wide-eyed silence, and then coloured so deeply that Darcy, who was in need of little encouragement now he had made his confession, readily continued:

“I must beg your pardon, Miss Bennet, for the manner of my address, but the past few weeks have forced me to admit what I had already begun to know in Hertfordshire; that my feelings towards you are of a sort that cannot be repressed and have never been equalled. My admiration for your character, your disposition, and your abilities is such that I am yet incapable of expressing it in full. But allow me to assure you that it is an admiration which once begun, has only grown, and has led me to love you so sincerely that, had it not been for the marked disparity in our situation in life, it would have brought me to avow it many weeks ago.”

Here he instantly grew sober, continuing with a solemnity that was due to the gravity of his feelings, but most unfit for a lover.

“You must know I do not make this confession lightly; and pray do not attribute my hesitance to any doubt regarding the excellence of your character, but to the inevitable consideration of the obstacles which have necessarily opposed my personal inclination. My reason, in the face of your family's regrettably inferior position in life, has long attempted to overrule the wishes of my heart. I am keenly aware of the consequences of uniting two families in which there exists such a disparity, and of the degradation it must represent to myself and my relations, in depriving them the chance at more suitable connections. My own regrets on that subject, and the probability of my family's disapprobation necessarily gave me pause. These misgivings, however natural in a man of my position and character, have nonetheless been overruled, by the deep, unwavering affection you have inspired in me these past months. I am anxious for you to comprehend the uncommon strength of my attachment to you, which, in spite of all my endeavours, I have found impossible to conquer; and can now only beg you to put an end to my current state of apprehension and accept the offer of my hand.”

The conclusion of this speech was as sincere as its beginning had been, but whatever anxiety and apprehension Darcy did feel on this occasion, it was not born from any doubt as to Miss Bennet’s favourable answer. She had had listened to him with her eyes fixed on him with all their usual liveliness, and with the blush overspreading her face diminishing and rising by turn. Now, as she made ready to reply, the colour rose into her cheeks once more. When she spoke, however, it was in a tone and manner that was wholly unexpected.

"In such cases as this, it is, I believe, the established mode to express a sense of obligation for the sentiments avowed, however unequally they may be returned. It is natural that obligation should be felt, and if I could feel gratitude, I would now thank you. But I cannot—I have never desired your good opinion, and you have certainly bestowed it most unwillingly. I am sorry to have occasioned pain to anyone. It has been most unconsciously done, however, and I hope will be of short duration. The feelings which, you tell me, have long prevented the acknowledgment of your regard, can have little difficulty in overcoming it after this explanation."

Darcy stared at her, quite overcome by astonishment. He leaned against the mantelpiece, his eyes fixed on her face, and the contempt he saw there made him grow pale with anger. His incomprehension was absolute and he was painfully aware that the disturbance of his mind was visible in his every feature. That Elizabeth Bennet would welcome his advances was the one thing he had been constantly assured of, in all his moments of doubt and painful self-reproach. He struggled fervently for the appearance of composure, and would not open his lips till he believed himself to have attained it. Miss Bennet waited in silence, and while her face did show some apprehension, it was mostly defiance he was met with when at length, with a voice of forced calmness, replied:

"And this is all the reply which I am to have the honour of expecting! I might, perhaps, wish to be informed why, with so little endeavour at civility, I am thus rejected. But it is of small importance."

"I might as well inquire," replied she, "why with so evident a desire of offending and insulting me, you chose to tell me that you liked me against your will, against your reason, and even against your character? Was not this some excuse for incivility, if I was uncivil? But I have other provocations. You know I have. Had not my feelings decided against you—had they been indifferent, or had they even been favourable, do you think that any consideration would tempt me to accept the man who has been the means of ruining, perhaps for ever, the happiness of a most beloved sister?"

As she pronounced these words, Darcy changed colour in angry embarrassment; but he prevented himself from expressing his dismay at her good information, and she continued uninterrupted:

"I have every reason in the world to think ill of you. No motive can excuse the unjust and ungenerous part you acted there. You dare not, you cannot deny, that you have been the principal, if not the only means of dividing them from each other—of exposing one to the censure of the world for caprice and instability, and the other to its derision for disappointed hopes, and involving them both in misery of the acutest kind."

Darcy regarded her with with unabated astonishment and rapidly increasing incredulity. She blamed him for removing Bingley from Netherfield? For standing in the way of an attachment that was the work of scarcely six weeks? That was her reason for spurning the feelings which she had inspired in him and which had forced him to offer herself to him—

"Can you deny that you have done it?" she repeated.

"I have no wish of denying that I did everything in my power to separate my friend from your sister, or that I rejoice in my success,” said he, with assumed tranquillity. He looked away. “Towards him I have been kinder than towards myself."

Elizabeth was not silenced, however.

"But it is not merely this affair," she continued, "on which my dislike is founded. Long before it had taken place my opinion of you was decided. Your character was unfolded in the recital which I received many months ago from Mr. Wickham. On this subject, what can you have to say? In what imaginary act of friendship can you here defend yourself? or under what misrepresentation can you here impose upon others?"

Darcy looked up with a heightened colour, unable to keep his compsoure. It could not be. "You take an eager interest in that gentleman's concerns."

"Who that knows what his misfortunes have been, can help feeling an interest in him?"

"His misfortunes!" he repeated contemptuously; "yes, his misfortunes have been great indeed."

"And of your infliction," cried Miss Bennet with energy. "You have reduced him to his present state of poverty—comparative poverty. You have withheld the advantages which you must know to have been designed for him.”

Her disdain for him was evident as she spoke and Darcy, now knowing it to be George Wickham’s words she was repeating, heard her with wounded indignation.

“You have deprived the best years of his life of that independence which was no less his due than his desert. You have done all this! and yet you can treat the mention of his misfortune with contempt and ridicule."

"And this," cried Darcy, as he walked with quick steps across the room, "is your opinion of me! This is the estimation in which you hold me! I thank you for explaining it so fully. My faults, according to this calculation, are heavy indeed!”

The pain it caused him to know that she had chosen to take Wickham’s word over his was almost keener than the sting of her rejection; but then this rejection, in all the throws of his emotion, was yet almost incomprehensible to him.

“But perhaps," added he, stopping in his walk, and turning towards her with the full force of his resentment, "these offenses might have been overlooked, had not your pride been hurt by my honest confession of the scruples that had long prevented my forming any serious design. These bitter accusations might have been suppressed, had I, with greater policy, concealed my struggles, and flattered you into the belief of my being impelled by unqualified, unalloyed inclination; by reason, by reflection, by everything. But disguise of every sort is my abhorrence. Nor am I ashamed of the feelings I related. They were natural and just. Could you expect me to rejoice in the inferiority of your connections?—to congratulate myself on the hope of relations, whose condition in life is so decidedly beneath my own?"

Miss Bennet was not unaffected by this accusation, but she answered him with the same cold composure as before he had roused her to anger:

"You are mistaken, Mr. Darcy, if you suppose that the mode of your declaration affected me in any other way, than as it spared me the concern which I might have felt in refusing you, had you behaved in a more gentlemanlike manner."

It appeared to him he had been struck. The full meaning of her words scarcely reached him, he was so affected. He was not able to avert his gaze and her dark eyes were fixed on his still as she continued:

"You could not have made the offer of your hand in any possible way that would have tempted me to accept it."

His first response was one of disbelief, but it was drowned out in an instant by his mortification. Not even tempted to accept it. He had loved her, against his will, by virtue of her excellence alone, and all this time she had despised him? And Miss Bennet had not done.

"From the very beginning—” she said scornfully, “from the first moment, I may almost say—of my acquaintance with you, your manners, impressing me with the fullest belief of your arrogance, your conceit, and your selfish disdain of the feelings of others, were such as to form the groundwork of disapprobation on which succeeding events have built so immovable a dislike; and I had not known you a month before I felt that you were the last man in the world whom I could ever be prevailed on to marry."

"You have said quite enough, madam,” said he abruptly. His anger and mortification were too acute to hear her any longer. “I perfectly comprehend your feelings, and have now only to be ashamed of what my own have been. Forgive me for having taken up so much of your time, and accept my best wishes for your health and happiness."

With these words he hastily left the room, quit the house without even waiting for the maid, and paced back to Rosings. There he shut himself in his room, disturbed by an anger he had not felt since meeting Wickham in Ramsgate the previous summer, and soon overcome by a grief he had not experienced since the loss of his father.

Chapter Text

The state in which Fitzwilliam Darcy rose the next morning can hardly be described; he had never experienced so complete and devastating humiliation in all his life. Even his anger at Miss Bennet’s unjust treatment of him could not drive away his misery at the knowledge that he had loved her in vain. He awoke to the same restless thoughts which had at length closed his eyes; and he returned at once to the writing desk which had been his only source of relief the previous evening.

Upon it were arranged several sheets of paper, containing but a fraction of what he wished to tell Miss Bennet, but all he felt capable of expressing. He now sat down with the intent of copying their contents, composing from them the letter which was to be his defence against the lady’s bitter allegations. They formed but a partial defence. Darcy entertained no hope of removing her dislike of him or of winning her affection, but he must be allowed to justify his actions. Not only to charge Miss Bennet to change her opinion on his general amorality, but to preserve her from ever again being imposed upon by Mr. Wickham. It was absolutely necessary to him that she was undeceived as to that gentleman’s character, and his uncertainty as to just how much he had been able to influence her only strengthened Darcy’s determination on that point.

When the letter was finished, the final paragraph added anew by the light of morning, it read thus:

“Rosings, April 17, 8 o’clock

To Miss Elizabeth Bennet,

Be not alarmed, madam, on receiving this letter, by the apprehension of its containing any repetition of those sentiments or renewal of those offers which were last night so disgusting to you. I write without any intention of paining you, or humbling myself, by dwelling on wishes which, for the happiness of both, cannot be too soon forgotten; and the effort which the formation and the perusal of this letter must occasion, should have been spared, had not my character required it to be written and read. You must, therefore, pardon the freedom with which I demand your attention; your feelings, I know, will bestow it unwillingly, but I demand it of your justice.

Two offenses of a very different nature, and by no means of equal magnitude, you last night laid to my charge. The first mentioned was, that, regardless of the sentiments of either, I had detached Mr. Bingley from your sister, and the other, that I had, in defiance of various claims, in defiance of honour and humanity, ruined the immediate prosperity and blasted the prospects of Mr. Wickham. Wilfully and wantonly to have thrown off the companion of my youth, the acknowledged favourite of my father, a young man who had scarcely any other dependence than on our patronage, and who had been brought up to expect its exertion, would be a depravity, to which the separation of two young persons, whose affection could be the growth of only a few weeks, could bear no comparison. But from the severity of that blame which was last night so liberally bestowed, respecting each circumstance, I shall hope to be in the future secured, when the following account of my actions and their motives has been read. If, in the explanation of them, which is due to myself, I am under the necessity of relating feelings which may be offensive to yours, I can only say that I am sorry. The necessity must be obeyed, and further apology would be absurd.

I had not been long in Hertfordshire, before I saw, in common with others, that Bingley preferred your elder sister to any other young woman in the country. But it was not till the evening of the dance at Netherfield that I had any apprehension of his feeling a serious attachment. I had often seen him in love before. At that ball, while I had the honour of dancing with you, I was first made acquainted, by Sir William Lucas's accidental information, that Bingley's attentions to your sister had given rise to a general expectation of their marriage. He spoke of it as a certain event, of which the time alone could be undecided. From that moment I observed my friend's behaviour attentively; and I could then perceive that his partiality for Miss Bennet was beyond what I had ever witnessed in him. Your sister I also watched. Her look and manners were open, cheerful, and engaging as ever, but without any symptom of peculiar regard, and I remained convinced from the evening's scrutiny, that though she received his attentions with pleasure, she did not invite them by any participation of sentiment. If you have not been mistaken here, I must have been in error. Your superior knowledge of your sister must make the latter probable. If it be so, if I have been misled by such error to inflict pain on her, your resentment has not been unreasonable. But I shall not scruple to assert, that the serenity of your sister's countenance and air was such as might have given the most acute observer a conviction that, however amiable her temper, her heart was not likely to be easily touched. That I was desirous of believing her indifferent is certain—but I will venture to say that my investigation and decisions are not usually influenced by my hopes or fears. I did not believe her to be indifferent because I wished it; I believed it on impartial conviction, as truly as I wished it in reason. My objections to the marriage were not merely those which I last night acknowledged to have the utmost force of passion to put aside, in my own case; the want of connection could not be so great an evil to my friend as to me. But there were other causes of repugnance; causes which, though still existing, and existing to an equal degree in both instances, I had myself endeavoured to forget, because they were not immediately before me. These causes must be stated, though briefly. The situation of your mother's family, though objectionable, was nothing in comparison to that total want of propriety so frequently, so almost uniformly betrayed by herself, by your three younger sisters, and occasionally even by your father. Pardon me. It pains me to offend you. But amidst your concern for the defects of your nearest relations, and your displeasure at this representation of them, let it give you consolation to consider that, to have conducted yourselves so as to avoid any share of the like censure, is praise no less generally bestowed on you and your elder sister, than it is honourable to the sense and disposition of both. I will only say farther that from what passed that evening, my opinion of all parties was confirmed, and every inducement heightened which could have led me before, to preserve my friend from what I esteemed a most unhappy connection. He left Netherfield for London, on the day following, as you, I am certain, remember, with the design of soon returning.

The part which I acted is now to be explained. His sisters' uneasiness had been equally excited with my own; our coincidence of feeling was soon discovered, and, alike sensible that no time was to be lost in detaching their brother, we shortly resolved on joining him directly in London. We accordingly went—and there I readily engaged in the office of pointing out to my friend the certain evils of such a choice. I described, and enforced them earnestly. But, however this remonstrance might have staggered or delayed his determination, I do not suppose that it would ultimately have prevented the marriage, had it not been seconded by the assurance that I hesitated not in giving, of your sister's indifference. He had before believed her to return his affection with sincere, if not with equal regard. But Bingley has great natural modesty, with a stronger dependence on my judgement than on his own. To convince him, therefore, that he had deceived himself, was no very difficult point. To persuade him against returning into Hertfordshire, when that conviction had been given, was scarcely the work of a moment. I cannot blame myself for having done thus much. There is but one part of my conduct in the whole affair on which I do not reflect with satisfaction; it is that I condescended to adopt the measures of art so far as to conceal from him your sister's being in town. I knew it myself, as it was known to Miss Bingley; but her brother is even yet ignorant of it. That they might have met without ill consequence is perhaps probable; but his regard did not appear to me enough extinguished for him to see her without some danger. Perhaps this concealment, this disguise was beneath me; it is done, however, and it was done for the best. On this subject I have nothing more to say, no other apology to offer. If I have wounded your sister's feelings, it was unknowingly done and though the motives which governed me may to you very naturally appear insufficient, I have not yet learnt to condemn them.

With respect to that other, more weighty accusation, of having injured Mr. Wickham, I can only refute it by laying before you the whole of his connection with my family. Of what he has particularly accused me I am ignorant; but of the truth of what I shall relate, I can summon more than one witness of undoubted veracity.

Mr. Wickham is the son of a very respectable man, who had for many years the management of all the Pemberley estates, and whose good conduct in the discharge of his trust naturally inclined my father to be of service to him; and on George Wickham, who was his godson, his kindness was therefore liberally bestowed. My father supported him at school, and afterwards at Cambridge—most important assistance, as his own father, always poor from the extravagance of his wife, would have been unable to give him a gentleman's education. My father was not only fond of this young man's society, whose manners were always engaging; he had also the highest opinion of him, and hoping the church would be his profession, intended to provide for him in it. As for myself, it is many, many years since I first began to think of him in a very different manner. The vicious propensities—the want of principle, which he was careful to guard from the knowledge of his best friend, could not escape the observation of a young man of nearly the same age with himself, and who had opportunities of seeing him in unguarded moments, which Mr. Darcy could not have. Here again I shall give you pain—to what degree you only can tell. But whatever may be the sentiments which Mr. Wickham has created, a suspicion of their nature shall not prevent me from unfolding his real character—it adds even another motive.

My excellent father died about five years ago; and his attachment to Mr. Wickham was to the last so steady, that in his will he particularly recommended it to me, to promote his advancement in the best manner that his profession might allow—and if he took orders, desired that a valuable family living might be his as soon as it became vacant. There was also a legacy of one thousand pounds. His own father did not long survive mine, and within half a year from these events, Mr. Wickham wrote to inform me that, having finally resolved against taking orders, he hoped I should not think it unreasonable for him to expect some more immediate pecuniary advantage, in lieu of the preferment, by which he could not be benefited. He had some intention, he added, of studying law, and I must be aware that the interest of one thousand pounds would be a very insufficient support therein. I rather wished, than believed him to be sincere; but, at any rate, was perfectly ready to accede to his proposal. I knew that Mr. Wickham ought not to be a clergyman; the business was therefore soon settled—he resigned all claim to assistance in the church, were it possible that he could ever be in a situation to receive it, and accepted in return three thousand pounds. All connection between us seemed now dissolved. I thought too ill of him to invite him to Pemberley, or admit his society in town. In town I believe he chiefly lived, but his studying the law was a mere pretence, and being now free from all restraint, his life was a life of idleness and dissipation. For about three years I heard little of him; but on the decease of the incumbent of the living which had been designed for him, he applied to me again by letter for the presentation. His circumstances, he assured me, and I had no difficulty in believing it, were exceedingly bad. He had found the law a most unprofitable study, and was now absolutely resolved on being ordained, if I would present him to the living in question—of which he trusted there could be little doubt, as he was well assured that I had no other person to provide for, and I could not have forgotten my revered father's intentions. You will hardly blame me for refusing to comply with this entreaty, or for resisting every repetition to it. His resentment was in proportion to the distress of his circumstances—and he was doubtless as violent in his abuse of me to others as in his reproaches to myself. After this period every appearance of acquaintance was dropped. How he lived I know not. But last summer he was again most painfully obtruded on my notice.

I must now mention a circumstance which I would wish to forget myself, and which no obligation less than the present should induce me to unfold to any human being. Having said thus much, I feel no doubt of your secrecy. My sister, who is more than ten years my junior, was left to the guardianship of my mother's nephew, Colonel Fitzwilliam, and myself. About a year ago, she was taken from school, and an establishment formed for her in London; and last summer she went with the lady who presided over it, to Ramsgate; and thither also went Mr. Wickham, undoubtedly by design; for there proved to have been a prior acquaintance between him and Mrs. Younge, in whose character we were most unhappily deceived; and by her connivance and aid, he so far recommended himself to Georgiana, whose affectionate heart retained a strong impression of his kindness to her as a child, that she was persuaded to believe herself in love, and to consent to an elopement. She was then but fifteen, which must be her excuse; and after stating her imprudence, I am happy to add, that I owed the knowledge of it to herself. I joined them unexpectedly a day or two before the intended elopement, and then Georgiana, unable to support the idea of grieving and offending a brother whom she almost looked up to as a father, acknowledged the whole to me. You may imagine what I felt and how I acted. Regard for my sister's credit and feelings prevented any public exposure; but I wrote to Mr. Wickham, who left the place immediately, and Mrs. Younge was of course removed from her charge. Mr. Wickham's chief object was unquestionably my sister's fortune, which is thirty thousand pounds; but I cannot help supposing that the hope of revenging himself on me was a strong inducement. His revenge would have been complete indeed.

This, madam, is a faithful narrative of every event in which we have been concerned together; and if you do not absolutely reject it as false, you will, I hope, acquit me henceforth of cruelty towards Mr. Wickham. I know not in what manner, under what form of falsehood he had imposed on you; but his success is not perhaps to be wondered at. Ignorant as you previously were of everything concerning either, detection could not be in your power, and suspicion certainly not in your inclination.

You may possibly wonder why all this was not told you last night; but I was not then master enough of myself to know what could or ought to be revealed. For the truth of everything here related, I can appeal more particularly to the testimony of Colonel Fitzwilliam, who, from our near relationship and constant intimacy, and, still more, as one of the executors of my father's will, has been unavoidably acquainted with every particular of these transactions. If your abhorrence of me should make my assertions valueless, you cannot be prevented by the same cause from confiding in my cousin; and that there may be the possibility of consulting him, I shall endeavour to find some opportunity of putting this letter in your hands in the course of the morning. I will only add, God bless you.

Fitzwilliam Darcy"

It was written in what Darcy believed was perfect composure, and when measured against the full force of his true feelings it undoubtedly was. The necessity of seeing Miss Bennet once more to deliver it into her hands weighted very heavily on him however. At breakfast he scarcely spoke three words and as soon as it concluded, he expressed his intention to walk the park and quit the house.

Darcy’s confidence in his understanding of Miss Bennet’s habits had been painfully shaken, but he was yet convinced there was a tolerable probability of her seeking the solitude and diversion of exercise this morning, and he meant to walk where he might find her. Certain at least of her preference in walks, he paced the grove edging the park; never going too near the Parsonage, but continually expecting—and dreading—her appearance.

When the lady did appear, standing at the nearest gate into the park, Darcy was wretched to find himself so violently affected that he was at first unable to speak. To be composed at this moment seemed suddenly quite impossible, but composure was indispensably necessary, for a moment later Miss Bennet noticed him, and directly turned away. Seeing her thus retreat urged Darcy forward, pronouncing her name with haste.

“Miss Bennet!”

On hearing herself called she moved again towards the gate. He had by that time reached it also, and avoiding to fully meet her gaze, held out the letter. Miss Bennet took it instinctively, and Darcy struggled furiously against the oppression of his feelings with enough success to speak curtly:

"I have been walking in the grove some time in the hope of meeting you. Will you do me the honour of reading that letter?"

He made her a slight bow, turned again into the plantation, and walked off without once looking back. Further exertion was made impossible and every one of his thoughts now made his heart sink further. How very likely it was that this first, hasty withdrawal had always been Miss Bennet’s instinct upon perceiving him. ‘I have never desired your good opinion.’ Those had been her exact words. How could he have been so gravely deceived, and led to bestow his affections so unwisely?

Darcy left the grove as far behind as possible and spent some time in the ornamental gardens, endeavouring to ban Miss Bennet’s startled look from his mind. He was too much hurt to think back on their conversation the previous evening with anything other than a renewal of anger and indignation, but the surest remedy against this hurt was denied him. He could not wish Miss Bennet ill, nor was he capable of contributing her cruel treatment of him to insolence or malice. His feelings, which he himself had called too little yielding for the convenience of the world, not easily puffed about, would no more move for their master.

Only one consideration induced Darcy to return to the house as soon as he had regained a semblance of composure; the necessity of a call on the Parsonage to take their leave. Fitzwilliam would wish to go and he would expect Darcy to accompany him, as Darcy knew he ought. He therefore resolved to propose paying this visit as soon as possible, so there might be a fair chance of Miss Bennet’s not having returned from her walk. His wish to avoid her at this time eclipsed every other feeling, yet at the same time he was anxious to provide her with an opportunity to speak to his cousin, should she wish to do so. For he did not think it at all unlikely, though it was a bitter thought indeed, that she might accuse him of imparting falsehoods, as freely as she had accused him of deliberate cruelty and immorality.

Fitzwilliam was very willing to call on the Parsonage right away and the two cousins set off together almost instantly. The former did wonder at Darcy’s grim, persistent silence as they walked, but after their aunt’s repeated exclamations on his increased attachment to Rosings and his obvious dejection of spirits, he dared not mention it.

To Fitzwilliam’s sincere disappointment Miss Bennet was not at home when they called. Darcy sat down for only a few minutes, took leave of the Collinses and Miss Lucas and swiftly departed, but Fitzwilliam stayed, determined to wait for Miss Bennet’s return. When he walked into the drawing room at Rosings over an hour later, unsuccessful in his object, he was insensible of Darcy’s trepidation at meeting his gaze.

“Miss Bennet’s taste for walks outdoes us both, cousin,” said he, shaking his head as he sat down by Darcy. “I commend her for it! But I am sorry to have missed the opportunity to bid her farewell. Who knows when we might happen to meet again.”

Darcy made no answer.

Chapter Text

The parting scene which took place at Rosings the next morning was a peculiar one. It was evident to all assembled that Darcy’s spirits were most grievously affected, but it was Fitzwilliam, not Darcy, who most profusely expressed how sorry they were to go. Darcy spoke very little and offered nothing but tacit agreement to his aunt’s affectionate speculations as to his current melancholy. His cousin Anne was a good deal surprised by his behaviour and added to her usual placid adieux the idle compliment that she hoped he would soon return. To this Darcy expressed the vain wish of soon seeing her in town and with this the two gentlemen departed.

When driving past the lodges they found Mr. Collins had been waiting there to make them his parting obeisance, and Darcy was almost unable to look at the man, convinced as he now was of them both having failed in the same object. Even when Rosings Park was out of sight and the familiar road to London promised a speedy reunion with his sister, Darcy was unable to tolerably support his spirits. He exerted himself to do so, and believed himself to be successful, but he was a great deal quieter than usual.

His change in behaviour was so marked that it caused his cousin, who had had ample time to grow suspicious in the preceding days, to come to a very different conclusion than Lady Catherine and her daughter. Delicacy had always prevented Darcy and Fitzwilliam from discussing the particular designs which Lady Catherine and the late Lady Anne had always had for the marital felicity of their first born children, but Fitzwilliam was aware of them, and likewise knew there was no great affection between Anne and Darcy. His admiration of Elizabeth Bennet, meanwhile, had been very evident. Fitzwilliam surmised, therefore, that this admiration must have impressed upon Darcy how unwise it would be to enter into a union with their cousin, despite all its numerous advantages. Surely nothing could reveal the evils of accepting a woman’s hand without desiring her heart so plainly, as the stirring of one’s feelings for another. Fitzwilliam felt for his cousin and kindly ignored all Darcy’s involuntary signs of despondency.

Georgiana’s reception of her brother and cousin was as joyful as her parting from them had been pathetic. Darcy’s heart was not too much wounded to be moved by his sister’s attentions and he smiled to see her call for refreshments and suggest amusements unprompted by Mrs. Annersly. That evening after supper Georgiana played for them. She even sang, after some gentle encouragement, and Darcy and Fitzwilliam were unanimous in their praise.

When he retired that night Darcy was too tired for any one thought to intrude upon him too much; and he closed his eyes with the resolution to put all that had happened in Kent behind him and think of it no more until such time that he could think back on it with indifference.

The following day there was church, and every moment that was not spent with Georgiana, Darcy occupied himself with whatever business had necessarily been put off during his visit to his aunt. That Monday, however, Charles and Caroline Bingley came to call.

Their address had all the charm of friendship rekindled after an insignificant absence, but without knowing why Darcy did not truly enjoy their visit. He withdrew, first from the conversation, and at length to the other end of the room, but doing so only drew the notice of Miss Bingley. When the others were temporarily engaged in admiring a new drawing of Georgiana’s, she joined him, saying smilingly:

“Your sister tells me Mrs. Collins saw fit to bring Eliza Bennet to Kent, and that she was much in company with your aunt. I dearly wish I could have been there, your aunt cannot ever have been exposed to such an exemplary display of country manners!”

Her wit had never been more poorly timed. Every moment he had witnessed between Miss Bennet and his aunt was instantly before Darcy’s eye and with the clearer eye of hindsight he remembered in Miss Bennet’s smile the same shade of disdain she had levelled at himself. His reply to Miss Bingley was curt and even after the visit ended his feelings remained disturbed. Fitzwilliam spoke highly of Bingley, pleased at having been able to renew their acquaintance, but Darcy could not attend. Fitzwilliam perceived it, but presumed that his cousin’s friends had inquired after Miss Bennet and did not wonder at it. Georgiana had no such information to quiet her concerns however. At dinner her brother ate so little that it caused her to ask after his health and Darcy immediately resolved that he could not let that happen again. Whatever foolish sentiments still plagued him, he must get the better of them and he must not be seen to struggle with them.

His regimen of self-control proved very strenuous. Darcy found, to his distress and mortification, that all his best stratagems to support his spirits and clear his mind seemed to fail him. To be in company frustrated him. Solitude depressed him. Books, either new publications or old favourites, furnished neither distraction nor comfort. There was no amusement at his disposal that could truly divert him. It was almost a relief, something which it had never been before, when Fitzwilliam took his leave to rejoin his regiment. From his sister his state of mind was more easily concealed than from his cousin, and his departure saved Darcy some part of the exertion of appearing unconcerned.

Exercise, he found, was the only thing of use to him, even if its effects were only temporary. It was not so that he could not think when out riding or walking, but the thoughts that oppressed him were at least unable to fill the whole of his mind, and his silence and self-absorption were not questioned by observers. The thoughts in question centred on one subject only, the humiliating scene in the drawing room at Hunsford. One moment Miss Bennet’s words were repeated in his mind and another his own; he then dwelled extensively on her conduct, only to afterward once more scrutinize his own. And although his conclusions on the faults and merits of either party  varied greatly with is mood, they were never fixed and never productive of either closure or comfort. On the contrary, as the weeks went by his reflections on all that had passed between himself and Miss Bennet rather began to disturb him more. For the more he thought on it, the more he found his own character wanting, while hers remained intact.

Once the first heat of anger had cooled, it became increasingly impossible to him to attribute either Miss Bennet’s conduct or her opinions to a weakness of character which he had never seen before and could no more corroborate now. The excellence of her mind, her pleasing manners, and delicacy of conduct had been as clear at Rosings as they had been at Hertfordshire. It was true Miss Bennet was not a serious woman, she was arch and playful, and she had a quick tongue; but once he had parsed through his bitter resentment, Darcy had nothing to reproach her with but an impolitic display of honesty and a reliance on false information which it would not have been in her nature to question. What else was there to lay at her feet? A strong affection for her sister, a very natural family partiality, and the same abhorrence for concealment he had himself touted as a virtue.

Had she been present herself, Miss Bennet could not have argued a more complete exoneration than Darcy himself. His only assistant in the business, and quite accidentally too, was his sister. For Georgiana, keenly interested in all that passed in her brother’s life and remembering how warmly he had spoken of Miss Bennet in the last letter he sent from Rosings, was eager to know more of her and inquired after their acquaintance several times. On every occasion the question took Darcy by surprise and each time his answers were as honest and open as they were favourable. Miss Bennet had not merely procured his pardon, his esteem and admiration for her were unchanged.

These realisations were painful enough, for they impressed upon him with all the freshness of first disappointment what he had lost, but they were succeeded by several others far more severe. How could he deny that credit to her sense and reason, in one instance, which he had been obliged to give in the other? For her resentment of his actions was nothing compared to the criticisms she had levelled at his character. Darcy was well aware that many, none of whom he had felt the slightest obligation towards, considered him proud. But Miss Bennet had not spoken of pride, she had condemned his manners. His manners, who had convinced her there was nothing to him but arrogance, conceit and a selfish disdain of the feelings of others. Darcy remembered every word of her reproofs and it was more than he could bear. Against her judgment on his actions he could produce a response, either her ignorance or his own must at least in part acquit him, but to these accusations there could be no defence.

Who could be better suited to judge a man on his address and demeanour than the lady he had meant to please? And what defence could he mount? Darcy blanched and blushed by turns at the recollection of his own behaviour. The very first time they were in company together he had refused to be introduced to her, had even spoken of her in terms he fervently wished to forget. He now remembered every slight, every snide remark uttered at the expense of her family, and all this was yet insignificant compared to the speech he had dared to make to the lady’s face when begging for her hand. With every remembrance of it, Darcy’s recollection of his proposal to Elizabeth became more painful. Every supercilious expression, which he had fancied so natural and just at the time, now filled him with mortification. He had deserved her scorn. Moreover, he had forfeited her compassion. Miss Bennet had told him so herself when she informed him that she would have felt concern in refusing him, had he behaved in a more gentlemanlike manner. Those words still cut him to the quick. Nothing could be more humiliating to him than to have his own inadequacy revealed to him in such a way. To live with the knowledge that he would never be able to make Miss Bennet love him was painful enough, but to know she thought him devoid of even common courtesy—it could not be borne.

Fitzwilliam Darcy felt himself most truly humbled; and he resolved to make amends.

Chapter Text

From such time that Darcy had resolved to draw upon his current state of mortification to improve himself, his spirits began steadily to improve. He was a man who felt very deeply, but was used to finding relief in employment, not in giving free reign to his sensibilities. Miss Bennet’s reproaches were more easily borne now he could see in them an appeal to his reason and a call to application, rather than an attack on his person. Naturally there were other matters as well to lay claim to his attention, which were equally helpful to him, in particular the demands of his estate. His preoccupation had kept Darcy in London far longer than he had meant, so in early May he went down to Pemberly with some haste.

Upon arriving there he found, among many letters of business, a letter from Lady Catherine, sent there in the expectation that he would have gone hither much sooner. It contained but one passage that could at all fix Darcy’s attention and while he knew the perusal of it could only increase his discomfort, it was reread by him at least three times:

“Miss Bennet and Miss Lucas left our neighbourhood on the Saturday after yourself. I expected them to stay for two months complete, but they were here only for six weeks after all. Her uncle sent a servant for them. I only found out this was to be done because I urged Mrs. Collins to send John with the young ladies, for no one had breathed a word of them being properly attended to until then.

Miss Lucas never had much conversation to speak of, but Miss Bennet was positively dull at the last. She was excessively sorry to go and no wonder, for I am sure she will have little opportunity to enjoy such company at home as she has been accustomed to here. I did make her a very handsome offer in suggesting to take her to London when I am going thither in June, if she would prolong her visit. But she had the peculiar notion that her father would not be able to spare her from home any longer.

Anne was very gracious upon the taking leave. It is a great pity she does not have the opportunity of influencing more young women by her superior example.”

His correspondence with Bingley was a good deal pleasanter, although Darcy had by then considerable doubts regarding the justness of the counsel he had given him the previous winter concerning his happiness. It had previously been his conviction that Bingley’s affection for Jane could not be equal to his own admiration for Elizabeth. He was convinced of this no longer. The truth, uncomfortable as it must be, was that he could not know. Elizabeth Bennet had given him to understand that he had ruined her sister’s happiness, and he had done it most unwittingly. If he had likewise misjudged the strength of Bingley’s attachment, it must make his interference in the business a very shameful affair. Still, the style of Bingley’s letters was not despondent, and his professions of friendship as sincere as ever. Darcy wrote back with similar professions, and promised to be back in London in time for the Derby.

The same information was relayed to his sister, who soon afterwards sent him three whole sheets of paper to share with him all she had seen at the annual exhibition of the Royal Academy. Her letter was filled with many mentions of Mrs. Annersly’s opinions and more than one “Caroline begs me to tell you” followed by the sort of communication whose purpose was merely to be communicated instead of to convey any pertinent information.

Darcy’s replies to his aunt, his friend, and his sister were much like they had ever been. Indeed, while he remained at Pemberley Darcy's conduct was not so much altered as to attract any attention from those around him. His servants had always known him as a liberal, pleasant master, his tenants as a conscientious landlord, and the inhabitants of Pemberley's immediate neighborhood as an attentive neighbor. His concerns were those of a man comfortably at home and they restored in him a tranquility which he had not felt since entering Kent. Aside from all his usual business considerable attention was paid to newly fitting up one of the upstairs sitting rooms. Georgiana had taken a liking to the room when last at Pemberley and Darcy had made up his mind that it should be hers to enjoy the next time she came home. It’s furnishings and decorations were lighter and in a style of greater elegance than the apartments below and he was certain they would please her.

At the end of May, however, the military papers brought intelligence exactly calculated to once more agitate his feelings and thereby expedite his return to London. It told of the removal of the -----shire regiment from Merryton to Brighton. Darcy could not prevent himself from wondering whether the loss of George Wickham’s society would indeed still be considered a loss by Elizabeth Bennet. He thought too highly of her understanding and her judgement to believe she would have cast his information on that gentleman aside, but it was very possible he had brought her much pain in undeceiving her regarding Wickham’s true character.

Any remembrance of Wickham necessarily brought Darcy to think of his sister. His reflections were to some purpose and that evening he imparted to his housekeeper that he meant to leave for town in a week, but that upon his return in August, he meant to host a house party at Pemberly; a thing which he had not done for quite some time.

“A number of eight guests, I think,” said he, “no more than ten. But we shall need all the principle guest rooms seen to.”

“Certainly, sir,” Mrs. Reynolds nodded. “What a fine thing for dear Miss Darcy.”

Darcy himself suspected that his sister would be rather disconcerted at the prospect of doing the honours of Pemberly, but that was precisely why it should take place. He had hitherto too much encouraged Georgiana, like he himself had been, to focus her attention and affection almost solely on the family circle. He saw now that this could only serve to increase her shyness and might, in a girl less sweet-tempered, already have produced a sense of superiority and degree of social ignorance capable of causing true harm to her character.

During some of his talks with Fitzwilliam it had struck Darcy that a house party at Pemberly would be just the thing to ease his sister into her roll as hostess and he had now made up his mind to engage the most suitable of his acquaintance to this purpose, before they had made other arrangements to take them away from town during the summer. Bingley, on whose presence Darcy had particularly relied, was more than happy to join him, as were his two sisters. He further engaged two of their mutual acquaintances from Oxford, Edmund Wright and Ewan Innes, the latter of whom was in a position to bring his sister Mary.

A later, final addition to the company were the Holloways, a colonel currently home on half pay and his wife, who had twice dined at the Darcy residence on Col. Fitzwilliam's invitation. Between the two officers there had existed a mutual respect and regard ever since their occupation had thrown them together. Col. Holloway, however, had moved in very different circles prior to his rising through the ranks, and the previous spring he had rather surprised his friends with his choice of wife, who belonged to his former rather than his current walk of life. But Darcy had found, as Fitzwilliam had assured him, that both the Holloways were gentle, intelligent people, and that Mrs. Holloway was quite as devoted to her husband as he was to her. Darcy had enjoyed their company, and had moreover detected a preference for the cheerful, soft-spoken Fanny Holloway in Georgia that he now regretted he had not promoted.

So, upon returning to town, he took pains to become better acquainted with them, and eventually extended them an invitation to join him at Pemberly with all possible courtesy. The young couple was delighted to accept and Georgiana, who had joined her brother in his plans with a good deal of trepidation, was cheered at the prospect of spending more time with Mrs. Holloway.

“I shall not be half so frightened if Fanny is there,” she confided in him. “For she is a married woman and her conversation is so much calmer than Miss Innes or Miss Bingley’s.”

“Mrs. Hurst shall be there too,” Darcy reminded her.

“Oh yes, but she is so very fashionable and entertaining!”

Darcy looked at her. “The rules of the fashionable world need not always dictate one’s conduct. You may contradict what is generally done and yet be perfectly amiable, as long as your own heart tells you it is right.”

Georgiana seemed confused at this speech and after a moment’s hesitation she said with a saddened aspect:

“My heart has not always been my best advisor.”

This distressed him, even more so when Georgiana avoided to meet his gaze, and not for the first time did he wonder if, in his desperation to preserve her from further evils, he did not impress upon her too strongly the evils of her youthful error. He gently took her hands in his and pressed them affectionately, saying with feeling:

“If your heart possesses any flaw, it is that of being too generous and too open; and in a better world this would never be allowed to be considered a weakness.”

Georgiana looked up at him and Darcy’s eyes shone down on her with almost anxious conviction.

“Georgiana Darcy, you are good and kind. And as long as your actions reflect both your heart and your reason, the world will have neither a reason nor the right to find fault with you.”

Her expression and smile were such that he understood she could not yet reply to him and Darcy continued pleasantly:

“You and I are not much used to liveliness, but I believe you may come to enjoy it. You are too young to be always sober. Even if you do not wish to join in a conversation a single person capable of lively, cheerful talk may elevate an entire company.”

“Are you speaking of Miss Bennet?” Georgiana asked curiously. “You did mention once she elevated the conversation at Rosings on every occasion.”

“Miss Bennet is certainly one such person,” replied he, somewhat embarrassed.

“I so wish I could meet her.”

There was very little chance of that now, Darcy thought soberly, but yet he answered truthfully: “I hope  I shall one day have the pleasure of introducing you.”

And perhaps Georgiana here detected some slight dampening of spirits in her brother, for she stoutly linked her arm with his and began anew the subject of the entertainments that were to enliven the company at Pemberley.

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June and most of July passed quickly by in their usual crowded manner. Darcy attended the Derby with Bingley, the Ascot with Lady Catherine, and passed the hot summer evenings with Georgiana, looking forward to their departure from town. It was at this time, however, that his friends began to take note of a change in him.

Bingley was much surprised when he heard that his friend meant to attend both the Regatta and the cricket with their other school fellows, for he knew the crowds there were very much not to his liking.

“Have you had a recent change of heart, Darcy? I do think you have been oftener from home these past weeks than I have ever seen you do before.”

“Why should that require a change of heart?”

“Well!” Bingley laughed. “It should require an increased interest in rowing at the very least.”

“You are very fond of it,” Darcy observed mildly.

“So I am,” said Bingley and to his surprise his friend continued:

“I hope you do not think I like my own way so well that it must be to the detriment of your enjoyment.”

“Why, Darcy!” Bingley looked up at him in amazement, and then, not knowing what to say further, he continued: “I must confess it will be a blessing to be at Pemberley in August, the heat is at times truly oppressive. My sisters are wild to go. Caroline speaks of it every other day at least.”

“It will be a pleasure to to have your company added to the comfort of home,” Darcy replied sincerely. “You and your sisters.”

The upcoming visit to Pemberly was naturally a frequent subject of discussion for all who were to attend. Bingley looked forward to spending time with Mr. Wright and Mr. Innes, whose company he had not shared for so long a period since they were at Oxford together. The Holloways he was only just beginning to get acquainted with, but Bingley, in his usual way, found them nothing but agreeable. His sisters wondered very openly at their inclusion in the party, for it was what they considered a party of old friends, excepting Col. Holloway and his wife. As far as Bingley was concerned the friendship between Col. Holloway and Col. Fitzwilliam was sufficient explanation as to the origin of Darcy’s notice of them; and even his sisters were forced to agree with him that Mrs. Holloway seemed a very creditable officer’s wife.

In truth, even during the few occasions that Bingley had been able to observe Col. and Mrs. Holloway together, it had struck him how well suited they seemed to one another. They appeared so completely in agreement with one another, so comfortable, and so quietly affectionate even in company, that Bingley felt once again what a source of great and enduring happiness a marriage could provide; if only one was permitted to marry for love. He never spoke of it now, but the memory of Jane Bennet had neither faded nor diminished in his mind. Sometimes he still thought of going down to Netherfield alone, but many months had passed since the happy autumn he had spent there. It was quite unreasonable of him to assume that Miss Bennet wished to see him again, or even that she were still at home. Perhaps she was at this moment engaged to be married to another. If that were so he would read of it in the papers and he would privately wish her joy. Even if he were to meet with her again bearing a different name, she would still remain his model of the amiable and pleasing.

With the end of July came also the moment of departure from London and all the party was assembled for the journey to Pemberley. It was but a three day journey, but no party of five gentlemen and five ladies travelling by carriage could be expected to make good time when travelling all together, and even the first stage of the journey ran long. The Sunday was spent at an inn, and Darcy, rather uncomfortable at feeling himself the host without being at liberty to provide the comforts of home, was eager to procure his friends whatever comfort there was to be got.

“I declare I have never been so comfortable at an inn in my life,” said Miss Bingley with a smile. “The mere mention of your name, Mr. Darcy, seems to secure the utmost attention.”

“You are very generous,” replied he. “To the selection of the establishment, however, I am indebted to Col. Holloway. Our journey has proceeded at so different a pace from my own that I have never needed to stop in this town before.”

“Oh yes, how much faster would we be able to travel if we were a smaller party,” Miss Bingley cried,  shifting her praise to a different object: “I do so long to be at Pemberley again. Truly, I have not once encountered its equal, among all the houses I have stayed in.”

Here Mary Innes, who was seated nearby with her travel journal, made a rather smiling observation on English gardens and Scottish highlands and Miss Bingley, who had not failed to notice that Darcy paid no more attention to her than to Miss Innes, warmly defended the former and protested that the grounds of Pemberley would rival any place in the north.

Miss Innes, a studious young woman of seven-and-twenty, looked excessively diverted. “Is that so, Mr. Darcy? Pemberley is not to be rivalled by any place?”

Darcy was embarrassed and, not for the first time of late, rather vexed by Miss Bingley’s mode of making herself agreeable. “I can hardly be expected to give a fair abasement of my childhood home,” he replied. “So I can only beg of you, Miss Innes, to defer forming your own judgement of it until after you have seen it, and, if you please, not to compare it to the fair place you yourself were brought up in.”

Miss Innes agreed to this very graciously and, to Darcy’s relief, then made a point of inquiring after Miss Bingley’s opinion on the best composition of a distant landscape, thereby turning the conversation.

Apart from such small embarrassments the party’s journey progressed very pleasantly. Their mode of travel was leisurely and when, but a a few hours removed from their destination, they reached a very pretty village with a well appointed inn, it was decided that they would spend the night there. Darcy had business with his steward and it suited him very well to arrive at Pemberley a few hours before the rest of the party. After conferring briefly with his sister it was agreed upon that he would continue on to Pemberley on horseback and that the others would join him the following morning.

Darcy was a skilled horseman and he took as much pleasure in this last stage of his journey as any man riding swiftly towards home in good weather was likely to do. The first appearance of Pemberley Woods was as dear to Darcy as it had been after his previous, much more prolonged absence, and as soon as he entered into the park the comfort of home took from him all the strain of the journey.

He rode directly to the stables, where he was welcomed with surprise and immediate inquiries as to whether any assistance was called for. Darcy assured them none was needed and handed off his horse, making his way down the road and towards the house unattended. His mind was fully occupied by his wish for a change of clothes and some refreshment, and his intention to summon his steward as soon as these had been obtained, so that he might have the remainder of the day to prepare for tomorrow. These were tranquil thoughts however; very different from the discomforts of travel, for they were familiar and sure of immediate remedy. Due to this pleasant and practical preoccupation Darcy was at that moment not aware of any person other than himself. That is, until he rounded the corner of Pemberley House and, standing upon the lawn and gazing up at the building, he beheld Miss Elizabeth Bennet.

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They were within twenty yards of each other; and it was impossible that he should be mistaken. Had the distance between them been doubled, he could not have failed to recognise the figure he had come to admire so. Their eyes instantly met, and the cheeks of each were overspread with the deepest blush. Astonishment, joy, mortification, wonder— all were at war in his heart and for a moment Darcy was quite immovable from surprise. Miss Bennet’s embarrassment, however, so very plainly visible on her face, aided his recovery. She was not alone, he then realised; a gentleman and a lady stood nearby, in conversation with the gardener. They must have been about to take a tour of the park. At that moment Miss Bennet hastily turned away and Darcy, with equal haste, stepped forward. Here was a single, unlooked-for chance to make amends and he could not waste it.

“Miss Bennet! What an unexpected pleasure to meet with you again.”

The words did not demonstrate anything close to perfect composure, but they served their purpose; Miss Bennet turned round. She returned his greeting, but failed to fully meet his eyes and Darcy, with growing concern, perceived a most unusual diffidence in her.

“I hope your family are in good health, when did you leave them?” he asked, determined to lessen her discomfort even if he could not hope to do the same for his own.

“They are all very well, sir, thank you,” Miss Bennet returned, rather breathlessly. “I saw them last the twenty second of July.”

“I am glad to hear it. Where are you staying?”

“The inn at Lambton, sir. Lambton was our current destination.”

“Then you have been travelling further? How long have you been in Derbyshire?”

Miss Bennet answered him with increasing confusion. His best efforts were doomed to fail, for every sentence that he uttered was increasing her embarrassment. As for Darcy, he scarcely heard her reply in his anxiety to answer her with civility. Her friends, he was very aware, were by that time observing their conversation with marked curiosity. He ought to request an introduction, but could not collect his thoughts sufficiently to do so.

Miss Bennet was looking at him wonderingly.

“You have not been here long, then,” said he hurriedly. “In Derbyshire, that is. When was it that you left Longbourn?”

“About two weeks ago, sir,” came the uneasy reply, and Darcy recollected too late she had imparted this information already.

“And how long are you to stay?”

“I expect another seven days.” Another repetition.

“Yes,” said he without knowing why. “Of course.”

“We have been seeing all the grand houses the county has to offer,” she added, rather desperately.

“Indeed! And are you pleased with Derbyshire, Miss Bennet?”

In vain he struggled to regain his usual sedateness and his conversation, however civil, plainly spoke the distraction of his thoughts. Miss Bennet, though less shy, seemed only to increase in astonishment at every further inquiry, and at length every idea failed him. For a few moments they stood in as startled a silence as before.

Darcy almost flushed anew and, begging her pardon, hastily took his leave and retreated into the house. Any desire for refreshment had left him, but the importance of a change of clothes had increased acutely. He wasn’t fit to be seen, and it was imperative that he return to Miss Bennet as soon as possible. Clearly she and her companions had only just begun their perusal of the park, so he had some time yet. He hurried all the same. This brief, awkward conversation could not be his last exchange with Miss Bennet before she left Pemberley. He must show her that her reproofs had been heard, and taken to heart, and that the despicable resentment with which he had taken leave of her in Kent had long gone.

He was met in the hall by Mrs. Reynolds, who welcomed him with a gentle surprise which was immediately heightened by her master’s agitated manner. Darcy halted long enough only to assure her he had come alone, the expected party to follow tomorrow, and hurried off to dress. He was dressed and once more descending the steps within the half hour and, been given to understand that the visitors were taking the customary walk through the park, set off towards the river.

He found Miss Bennet and her companions walking towards the house on the opposite side of the stream. The two ladies were walking together; a little ahead of the gentleman, who was speaking to the gardener. They were just coming up on a less sheltered stretch of the walk and Darcy was certain Miss Bennet had noticed his approach. He struck into the path that was to meet theirs and, as a turning in the walk temporarily concealed them from his view, composed himself as best he could. As he came round the turn he was immediately before Miss Bennet, and looked at her with a resolute smile.

“Mr. Darcy,” said she, sounding a degree more like her usual self, “we have just been across the river and past that delightful coppice-wood. And every feature we have seen of the park is equally charming.”

She spoke very sincerely and was heard by the gentleman with equally sincere gratification, but, looking at him, rather abruptly changed colour, and said no more.

Darcy believed he understood her hesitance; but far from suspecting any mischief in her praise, he understood the worth of the compliment. Her good opinion of his home seemed a happy omen, since his foremost wish at present was to lessen her ill opinion of himself. Her companions were standing at some distance; not near enough each other to be in quiet conversation and both looking delicately in another direction. Miss Bennet’s pause continued and Darcy began very pleasantly:

“I am very glad you approve of it, Miss Bennet. I hope you will allow me to walk with you a little way as you conclude your perusal. Would you do me the honour of introducing me to your friends?”

For besides his eagerness to show her every possible attention, Darcy was curious to know their connection to her. Miss Bennet’s companions had an air about them of fashion tempered by good sense.

The lady, meanwhile, had started a little at his request—a circumstance which could only make Darcy more determined to please—but said with alacrity:

“Certainly, sir!” And then, turning towards her companions, both of whom were now drawing nearer: “Mr. Darcy, may I introduce to you, my uncle and aunt, Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner.”

If Darcy coloured a little at this, it was imperceptible to the naked eye. His surprise at understanding that the well-spoken, respectable looking people very pleasantly returning his greetings, were Miss Bennet’s maternal uncle and aunt was very great, but his embarrassment was greater and his remorse strengthened his fortitude. He was keenly aware of the way Miss Bennet’s eyes rested on him once brief glance at a time. After a few pleasant exchanges, he turned back with the three visitors and struck up a conversation with Mr. Gardiner. She would see his civility would extend to her entire family.

Darcy found, however, that no great exertion on his part was called for at present. Mr. Gardiner entered into conversation with him with the ease of a well-bred, intelligent man and Darcy understood more fully the justification of Miss Bennet’s indignation at his slighting particularly her London connections, with every proof of the gentleman’s taste and good manners.

The conversation soon turned upon fishing; for it was evident to Darcy that Mr. Gardiner’s admiration of the stream, its firm banks, and its healthy population of trout, was that of an angler.

“You are fond of fishing, sir?” he inquired.

“Indeed I am, sir, very fond,” Mr. Gardiner smiled. “But I am seldom able to indulge in the taste.”

“Then you must indulge in it here! Please, I invite you to come fish here as often as you choose while you continue in the neighbourhood. I am rather partial to the pastime myself, and will be more than happy to supply you with fishing tackle.”

Mr. Gardiner thanked him with warm civility and for some time they investigated the river as they walked its bank, Darcy pointing out those parts of the stream where there was usually most sport and the two of them eventually go so far as to descend to the brink of the river for the better inspection of some curious water-plant.

All this time Miss Bennet and Mrs. Gardiner had been walking arm in arm, a little ahead of the gentlemen. When the latter returned to resume their places, however, their chanced to be a little alteration. Mrs. Gardiner confessed herself to be quite fatigued by the exercise of the morning and Mr. Gardiner consequently took his niece’s place and offered her his arm.

Darcy silently took her place by Miss Bennet, and they walked on together. After a short silence, the lady first spoke.

“I must confess your arrival took me quite by surprise, sir. It was certainly very unexpected, for your housekeeper informed us that you would certainly not be here till to-morrow; and indeed, before we left Bakewell, we understood that you were not immediately expected in the country."

Privately Darcy rejoiced in the good fortune that led him here a day early, for he understood very well that Miss Bennet would never have come here, had she believed him to be at home. It was only embarrassment which he discerned in her looks however, not vexation. Perhaps he might yet obtain her forgiveness.

“It was unexpected,” he acknowledged. “The party I had been travelling with keeps a leisurely pace and business with my steward made it convenient to come forward a few hours before them.” He looked at her. “They will join me early to-morrow, and among them are some who will claim an acquaintance with you—Mr. Bingley and his sisters."

Miss Bennet answered only by a slight bow, but she looked conscious and Darcy, his thoughts instantly driven back to the time when Bingley's name had been the last mentioned between them; coloured once more. He was now, he hoped, quite a different man; but his wishes had not altered.

"There is also one other person in the party," he continued hesitantly, "who more particularly wishes to be known to you. Will you allow me, or do I ask too much, to introduce my sister to your acquaintance during your stay at Lambton?"

Miss Bennet lifted her eyes to his face with fresh surprise, but it seemed to Darcy that, perhaps for the first time, she looked at him with an open appreciation. “I would be delighted to make Miss Darcy’s acquaintance,” she said quickly. “But would not wish to impose on her so soon after her journey.”

“I am confident that she will consider it a great kindness,” replied he, unable to conceal how pleased he was. “If you wish it, I shall mention our plan as soon as she arrives. Then we may call on you the day after tomorrow, at the latest?”

Miss Bennet agreed to this immediately and after the matter of the visit was settled between them, they walked on in silence. Darcy was grateful for it, too glad and too agitated to introduce further conversation at present; but, if he was not mistaken, Miss Bennet was in a comparable state. She certainly did not look displeased, and there was something in her countenance with suggested something more decidedly positive.

The two young people walked on at a considerable pace, and when they had reached the carriage, Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner were half a quarter of a mile behind.

“Shall we not walk into the house?” he offered. “You may wait for you aunt and uncle in more comfort there.”

“I thank you,” said she, “but I am not at all tired.”

He bowed his assent and so they waited, standing together on the lawn. At such a time much might have been said, and silence was very awkward. Yet to break it seemed impossible, for no subject they had ever discussed before seemed safe, and none of the thoughts uppermost in his mind ought to be spoken aloud.

“I have never before been in Derbyshire,” Miss Bennet began suddenly, with a somewhat uneasy smile. “Though my aunt spent much of her youth here.”

“Indeed! Did she reside in Lambton?”

Miss Bennet replied that she did and confirmed his supposition that this was why that little town had been their chief destination. She assured him, however, that their route hither had done the county justice and they talked of Matlock and Dove Dale with great perseverance.

Darcy did not know whether relief or regret had a stronger hold over him when at last Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner came up to put and end to the tete-a-tete. Mrs. Gardiner looked much fatigued and Darcy pressed them all to go into the house and take some refreshment; but this was declined, and they parted on each side with the utmost politeness. Darcy stood ready to hand the ladies into the carriage, first Mrs. Gardiner and then Miss Bennet, who only just touched his hand with the tips of her glove. Her eyes met his as she seated herself and Darcy did not trust himself to watch the carriage go. He turned away before it drove of, and walked slowly back to the house.

Mrs. Reynolds was waiting for him with an expression of complete composure which could only serve to conceal her curiosity, but Darcy, whose thoughts were all fixed on the carriage then conveying Miss Bennet away from Pemberley, did not observe it, and his questions heightened the old housekeeper’s curiosity into suspicion in a manner of minutes.

“Had the three visitors been going over the house as well as the grounds? Had they taken the full tour? Were they pleased with what they had seen. And which objects had they most admired?”—were only some of the inquiries pouring forth.

Mrs. Reynolds answered them all very placidly, concluding that the young lady had been very interested in Miss Darcy’s drawings.

“The young lady did mention she was acquainted with you, sir. But then,” she smiled, “you have such a number of friends.”

“Yes,” said Darcy distractedly. “Certainly.” And then, rather suddenly: “My friends are to join me early to-morrow, I trust everything is ready for their arrival?”

Mrs. Reynolds assured him it was and went over the state of the rooms and tomorrow’s menu so minutely that Darcy need not attend to all she was saying and yet be perfectly informed.

Chapter Text

The London party reached Pemberley to a late breakfast the following morning and was welcomed with all the hospitality of a grand house belonging to a sensible master. The visitors’ first employment must naturally be to give their praise on the park, the house, and it’s furnishings; especially in the case of Miss Innes and the Holloways, who had never been there before. Darcy was pleased, but there was an agitation of spirits in him that was very hard to conceal. To Georgiana particularly, who knew to expect her brother much more at ease at home, it was very noticeable. But upon withdrawing with him to a quiet corner in the breakfast parlour to make some hesitant inquiries, she found the cause of his distraction a far pleasanter one than expected.

Darcy spoke low, but his sister reacted with such expressions of delight that the curiosity of the whole party was awakened.

“Upon my word!” teased Mrs. Hurst. “Whatever can you be talking of?”

“We had better not question them,” Col. Holloway said smilingly. “Siblings must have their confidences.”

“Not at all,” Darcy protested. “It just so happens that an acquaintance from Hertfordshire is now in the country, that is all. My sister and I have just resolved to call on them in Lambton this very morning.” Because Georgiana had been at once so delighted and so nervous at the prospect of making Miss Bennet’s introduction that she preferred it to take place as soon as possible.

“From Hertfordshire!” Bingley exclaimed. “Pray, who are you talking of?”

Darcy was prepared for the question and yet could hardly keep his countenance. “Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”

Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley stared, but in their brother the name produced something very far from astonishment. He had not heard the name Bennet mentioned these six months and the delight he felt to hear it on Darcy’s lips, and spoken so gladly, was immense.

“Miss Elizabeth is at Lambton! Well, you must not call on her without me, I shall accompany you.”

But to this Darcy protested, on account of the carriage still being seen to after the long journey and his having intended to drive Georgiana in his curricle.

“I shall go on horseback,” said Bingley cheerfully. “I long for a bit of exercise.”

By that time all those present to whom Miss Bennet was unknown felt a good deal of curiosity towards her. Darcy and Bingley’s exchange was so animated as to raise even the most composed eyebrow, and the very opposite feelings displayed on the faces of Bingley’s sisters were quite as interesting.

No one interrupted, however, and it was settled between the two friends that Bingley would accompany them on horseback, but would leave it to the Darcy’s to call on Miss Bennet first. Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst were by that time sufficiently composed to beg their brother to enjoy himself, and to profess that they were too fatigued from the journey to dream of stirring a foot out of doors themselves.

Consequently, it was only a short while later that Darcy drove off from Pemberley with his sister by his side and his friend following behind at a leisurely pace. Georgiana looked about her with agitated, but happy spirits, her face somewhat flushed beneath the brim of her bonnet.

“It has been so long since I rode in the curricle!” she said happily, and then, in a more nervous accent: “There will not be very many people present, will there?”

“Only Miss Bennet and the Gardiners,” her brother assured her. “And they are pleasant, gentle people, you will like them.”

“I am sure I will,” said Georgiana, but she was not easy.

Her distress increased upon their arrival at the inn, but Darcy offered her his arm and led her inside with an air of unspoken reassurance. He promised Bingley to inform Miss Bennet of his presence and he and Georgiana followed the maid up to the Gardiners’ apartment.

Their appearance, judging from the three smiling faces, was not a surprise, and the introduction—which was of great importance for each party involved, though this was not at all mutually understood—was soon made.

“It is very kind of you to call on us so soon, Miss Darcy,” said Miss Bennet smilingly.

Georgiana smiled and nodded, but made no reply and Darcy, who was employed in answering the kind inquiries of Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner, felt a pang of worry.

Miss Bennet was not so easily discouraged however.

“And I am so glad to make your acquaintance,” she continued. “I have heard so much about you.”

“Have you?” was the somewhat startled reply.

“Indeed,” Miss Bennet said encouragingly, “and I have had the pleasure of seeing your beautiful drawings at Pemberley. Are you very fond of drawing?”

“Oh yes.” This was spoken with a brevity which might have easily been mistaken for hauteur, had it not been accompanied by a look which spoke above all of a bashful embarrassment.

Miss Bennet was not insensible to it; her smiles did not cool and her conversation did not falter. Darcy was deeply grateful for it and his sister attended to Miss Bennet’s every word with an interest which must endear her as much as easy conversation. The conversation soon took that diffuse, but easy style where all present are in conversation with one another at once, and Darcy was then at liberty to observe Miss Bennet standing beside his sister and to feel embarrassed by his enjoyment in it.

Georgiana was taller than Miss Bennet, and on a larger scale, but Miss Bennet’s comparative ease and composure gave her an advantage in posture even so. She looked, Darcy thought, very much the older sister, and it was some time before he had sufficiently recovered from this thought to inform her that Bingley was also coming to wait on her.

“He quite insisted upon accompanying us,” he added, perhaps desirous of impressing upon the lady that his friends movements were at present wholly his own.

“I am glad he did,” smiled Miss Bennet, “for I shall be very glad to see him again.”

Soon after Bingley's quick step was heard on the stairs, and in a moment he entered the room.

Had Bingley been aware of even half of what had passed between his friend and Miss Elizabeth on the subject of his time at Netherfield, seeing her would have been extremely painful to him. As he was not aware, however, he met her with all the unaffected cordiality and sincere pleasure he would have felt in being reunited with any valued acquaintance he had been separated from for a considerable time. Of all his friends in Hertfordshire Miss Elizabeth was second only to that lady to whom she was likewise second in birth and he was extremely glad to see her again. His cordiality was readily extended to her uncle and aunt, whose introduction he received with sincere interest. Jane Bennet had spoken of the Gardiners with great affection and her praises were fresh in his memory upon meeting them. He naturally found them exactly as amiable as Miss Bennet had described them.

It was inevitable from that point onwards that Miss Bennet should be foremost in his thoughts. The presence of Miss Elizabeth, who shared no great likeness with her sister, but had yet a very similar smile when she smiled to just herself, made it impossible not to think of her. Miss Elizabeth had assured him that she had left all her family in perfect health, but had said nothing of her sisters in particular. Bingley longed for an excuse to inquire after each of them in turn, but none came to him. It made him quieter than he was used to being and it likewise made him insensible of the fact that Darcy, on the other hand, talked rather a great deal.

“I trust you have been traveling with a pleasant party, Mr. Bingley?” said Miss Elizabeth, at a moment when the other were talking together.

“Oh certainly,” said he. “A very pleasant set. But,” he added in a tone of sincerity marked by regret, “it has been a very long time since I have had the pleasure of seeing you.” He frowned a little. "It is above eight months. We have not met since the 26th of November, when we were all dancing together at Netherfield."

Miss Elizabeth looked at him with equal sincerity. “I believe you are right, sir. It has been a long time.”

“Any period of time would strike one as long, I suppose,” said he, “when it concerns a separation from a place where one has been happy.”

She replied that it was very probable that it would and for a moment he thought she looked as if she wished to ask him whether he ever meant to return there. Had he been at liberty to ask of her whether his return was wished by that person whom neither of them had yet dared to mention, he would have had his own answer ready for her in an instant.

“I understood from Mrs. Gardiner,” said he suddenly, “that her children are now at Longbourn.”

“Yes, I am afraid my aunt and uncle miss them rather dreadfully.”

“And all your sisters are there with them?” His eyes were fixed on her rather too intently, but Bingley’s face was of too pleasant a make to be disconcerting to anybody.

“Yes,” Miss Elizabeth said, smiling. “All but my youngest,” she added, and something of displeasure briefly touched her face. “Lydia is staying with a friend in Brighton this summer.”

The relief Bingley felt was not displayed on his face, but it quieted him for a few moments afterwards. He nodded, smiled, and, once he was recovered, observed that he was very glad to be able to call on her here and very grateful to Darcy for suggesting the scheme.

Darcy meanwhile was scarcely less eager to make himself agreeable to Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner than to Elizabeth. He did not know if she had ever confided in her uncle and aunt what had passed between them, but he could not doubt that they were acquainted with her dislike of him. He sincerely hoped that might at present be a former dislike, and this did seem the case, as Miss Bennet was most anxious to speak to his sister and smiled at him quite expressively several times. Still, she did not speak to him a great deal and therefore he made it his business to converse with Mr. and Mrs Gardiner, and to do everything in his power to convince them that whatever reproofs they had heard on his character, they had since been attended to. This did not prove very difficult, for both the Gardiners were ready to be pleased with him, and very capable of being pleasing themselves. Mr. Gardiner was quite what he had been the previous day and Mrs. Gardiner soon showed herself to be equally well-bred. The groundwork of this discovery had been laid the day before, and so did evoke feelings of gratification rather than embarrassment, but Darcy was grateful to have a suitable remedy at hand for the lingering sense of shame still accosting him.

“Some of the gentlemen who have now joined me at Pemberley are keen to try their luck at fishing,” he said to Mr. Gardiner. “You are very welcome to join us to-morrow, sir.”

Mr. Gardiner was very ready to accept this renewed invitation and Darcy fancied that Miss Bennet’s countenance was even more smiling as he engaged to meet her uncle at Pemberley by noon.

Neither Darcy nor Bingley were much inclined to take their leave again, but half an hour had passed away quite quickly and some moments later they all rose to depart. Darcy looked at Bingley, whose expression, perhaps for the first time in their acquaintance, he felt rather difficult to read. He did not, however, see what he had feared he might—a sudden dejection of spirits—and he therefore began:

“I am sure my sister will share my wish, if I may express it for both of us, of seeing you all to dinner at Pemberley, before you leave the country.”

“It would give me the greatest pleasure,” said Georgiana, who looked a little alarmed at her brother’s prompting glance but obeyed it very readily. “We would be honoured.”

Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner smiled and though Miss Bennet did not meet his gaze, Darcy felt that any reluctance on her part would have been more clearly visible.

“We’d be delighted,” Mrs. Gardiner said warmly. “And we shall be here for another week at least.”

“Excellent, would the day after next suit you?” he inquired.

Mr. and Mrs. Gardener assured him that it would, Miss Bennet smiled, and Georgiana, though so softly it could scarcely be heard, said she was “very glad”.

Darcy then confirmed some last details on the fishing scheme with Mr. Gardiner and Bingley smiled broadly at Elizabeth, saying:

“I cannot tell you how pleased I am to be certain of seeing you again so soon, because I have a great deal more to say to you and many more inquires to make after all our Hertfordshire friends.”

For he was very curious as to how she had spent her time in Kent, longed to hear her speak of her sister, and, moreover, to become better acquainted with her uncle and aunt.

Miss Bennet looked excessively pleased and the the taking-leave was a cheerful affair, with many expressions of enjoyment in what was to come.

Darcy was sorry to leave, but his sister looked a good deal relieved and said not a word while her brother and Bingley talked.

Bingley chose to ride ahead and Darcy, handing Georgiana into the curricle and sitting down by her, asked in a gentle tone:

“I hope you did you enjoy the visit?”

“Oh yes! But I shall enjoy it much more now we have come away,” Georgiana confessed. “I was so nervous.”

“You need not have been. I am certain the whole party found you very agreeable.”

Georgiana made no reply and intently studied the lace on her gloves, but she looked pleased.

“How did you find them?” Darcy asked, not sounding nearly as unconcerned as he meant to.

“I think I shall like them very much,” Georgiana answered immediately. “They are all so pleasant, and Miss Bennet was so very kind to me.”

Darcy was too pleased to give her much of an answer, but it did not escape her how glad her brother was to hear this. But her youthful mind was free of suspicion and at that moment wholly occupied by the thrill of new acquaintances and the warmth of her brother’s approval.

Chapter Text

The party gathered at Pemberley was, on the whole, a merry one. A less well appointed house with far less extensive grounds could have been enough to secure their comforts; for wherever there are between six and ten young people gathered together, with no animosity between them and no constraints on their time or employment, there is bound to be good humour.

After the Darcy’s visit to Lambton the remainder of the day passed very pleasantly, and the morning following it began much the same. The day’s plans were gone over at breakfast and each intended to do as they pleased. Col. and Mrs. Holloway would go out riding, to see some more of the park and of one another; and Miss Innes wished to take her easel to the bridge while the morning light was fresh.

“I hope you have another bridge from which to cast our lines, Darcy,” said her brother teasingly. “My sister does not care for figures in her landscapes, likely because her trees are far superior to her silhouettes.”

“You might have led with the compliment, sir,” came a pleasant reproach from Miss Bingley, who had been gratified to learn that Miss Innes neither played nor sung and was now quite intent on befriending her. “For that was the more salient observation by far.”

“We do not mean to go fishing before noon,” said Darcy smilingly. “I dare say you will have taken advantage of the light by then, Miss Innes.”

The lady replied that she certainly intended to and Darcy continued, addressing the gentlemen:

“We shall have a fifth with us at the river; I engaged Mr. Gardiner, on whom I called yesterday, to join us to-day.”

Miss Bingley lifted up her eyes with an expressive smile. “Mr. Gardiner! Not the Bennets’ famous uncle from Gracechurchstreet?”

“The very same,” replied he, in an even tone of voice, continuing firmly: “A remarkably pleasant gentleman and a keen fisherman. He is likely to show you up, Wright.”

Miss Bingley held her tongue, but recovered quickly, and, so far from showing her displeasure, begged the gentlemen very pleasantly not to let a competitive spirit spoil their sport.

Of this there was little danger; not one of the young men was a devoted angler, save for Mr. Wright who was most passionate about fly fishing. Mr. Gardiner, whose easy manners and evident enjoyment immediately recommended him to all, was a very welcome addition to their group. Bingley, who did not care for fishing as much as he did for company, left them not long after they begun, but the others had been engaged by the river for some time when Mr. Gardiner mentioned that his wife and niece intended to call on Miss Darcy that morning.

“This morning?” Darcy repeated with some alarm. “Did they come up with you, sir?”

“They did not,” said Mr. Gardiner pleasantly. “So I expect they are there now, if nothing happened to delay them.”

Darcy stood quite still for a moment and Mr. Gardiner, while he did not look at him, did smile.

“In that case, I believe I shall join my sister for a moment,” said Darcy with a bow. “If you’ll excuse me.”

His feelings were at that time not easily explained. The wish to see Miss Bennet, if even for a moment, prevailed above all else; but he was as uncertain of her wishing to see him as he was of his chances to obtain her goodwill. Her forgiveness he believed he had secured, but the removal of the foundations on which her dislike of him had been had been built might very well be beyond his power.

The circumstances upon him entering the saloon, where his sister and Mrs. Annersly were collected round a table of refreshments with Bingley’s sisters and their two visitors, were not favourable. Every eye was turned towards him, but Miss Bennet’s expression was one most closely resembling discomfort. And in no countenance was attentive curiosity so strongly marked as in Miss Bingley's, making Darcy equally uneasy.

“Mrs. Gardiner, Miss Bennet,” said he with a bow. “Mr. Gardiner mentioned we were to receive the honour of your visit.”

It was the former, not the latter, who was the principle speaker in answering him, but Miss Bennet at last did smile at him and Darcy seated himself feeling more hopeful than he had been.

Georgiana, who had been intimidated by Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst disapproving silence, and uncomfortable in her role as hostess, now exerted herself much more to talk and seeing in her brother a wish of better acquainting her with his friend, she attempted vainly to speak to Elizabeth several times before Miss Bennet said pleasantly:

"I have had the pleasure of seeing some of your drawings in the picture gallery, Miss Darcy. I admired them very much!”

Georgiana coloured, too pleased and surprised to form an immediate response.

“How curious they should catch your eye,” said Mrs. Hurst. “You do not draw, do you?" said Mrs Hurst.

“Indeed I do not. But I have always found that unfamiliarity with an art can only heighten one's appreciation for it.”

“Do you think so?" said Darcy earnestly. "It has been my experience that while am increase in understanding might not increase our enjoyment, it does improve our appreciation.”

“You are very nice in your semantics," Miss Bennet observed. “But,” she added with a smile that was rather warm than arch, "I suspect that my appreciation might be your enjoyment. For I confess I know very little of drawing, but that only increases my capacity to admire Miss Darcy's skill.”

Georgina protested against this praise but the lady only turned her smile on her instead and assured her that she much admired the practice necessary to hone such a skill.

“My aunt will tell you,” she confided, “that I am quite incapable of such discipline, for she has attempted to instruct me many a time.”

“Oh that cannot be," Georgiana exclaimed. "For I have heard that you play and sing so delightfully!”

This evidently caused Miss Bennet some confusion and it had a similar effect on Darcy, who was quite unaware of having ever expressed such explicit praise of Miss Bennet’s talents to his sister. It was true that he had never done so intentionally, but Georgiana, who had merely connected her brother’s increasingly frequent observations on the great variety of ways one might perform, converse and conduct themselves pleasingly with his warm commendation of his new Hertfordshire acquaintance, could not be blamed for believing that he had. And Darcy showed it to be so.

"She does indeed,” he said readily. “And you are fond of Ignaz and Haydn, are you not, Miss Bennet?"

Miss Bennet replied that she was and Georgiana said earnestly:

"I do so appreciate Pleyel, and Haydn too; but do you not find it very hard to sing and play at once?"

"Not so hard when I am performing among friends,” was the smiling reply.

"Will we hear you play tomorrow?" Georgiana asked eagerly, and then sank her voice a little to add: "I will not ask you to sing if you do not wish it."

"You must not expect too much of my musicality, but I will gladly play and sing for you," Miss Bennet laughed. "And I will make no demands of you, though I should greatly enjoy hearing you play one of Pleyel’s compositions."

"It would be my pleasure," Georgiana said stoutly and Darcy could not restrain his smile.

Miss Bennet did not see it, for she was herself smiling at Miss Darcy, but Miss Bingley did. Her smile hardly ever left her face, but for jealousy had not yet made her desperate, and her attentions to Mr. Darcy were by no means over. But with every continued effort to forward as much as possible every attempt at conversation between Miss Bennet and his sister her vexation grew; and, in the imprudence of anger, she took the first opportunity of saying, with sneering civility:

"Pray, Miss Eliza, are not the ——shire Militia removed from Meryton? They must be a great loss to your family."

For she had not forgotten Elizabeth’s response when she had cautioned her regarding George Wickham; and while she did not dare mention his name in Darcy’s presence, she was eager to remind him of Miss Bennet’s preference for him and of all the follies and absurdities by which some part of her family were connected with that corps. Had this been her only object, she could have considered herself successful; Darcy’s eyes were fixed on Miss Bennet with an earnest concern that was born chiefly from the possibility of her still being partial to Wickham. Miss Bingley principle wishes, however, were not fulfilled. She had meant to discompose Miss Bennet and make her betray a sensibility which would injure her in Darcy's opinion, but her reply was wholly dispassionate.

“Indeed they have. And I suppose every country neighbourhood would feel the effect of such an alteration, but there is much wisdom in the saying that some company bestows as much happiness upon their departure as upon their arrival.”

While she spoke an involuntary glance showed Miss Bennet what Miss Bingley did not perceive; for not only did she see Darcy, looking at her with a heightened complexion, she also saw his sister, overcome with confusion and unable to lift up her eyes.

Had Miss Bingley known what pain she was then giving her beloved friend, she undoubtedly would have refrained from the hint. Her affection for Georgiana, whose diffidence and good breeding had endeared her to her from their first meeting, was genuine, and even her desire to set down Miss Bennet could not have made her insensible to her young friend’s comfort. But not a syllable had ever reached her of Miss Darcy's meditated elopement. To no creature had it been revealed, where secrecy was possible, except to Elizabeth; and from all Bingley's connections her brother was particularly anxious to conceal it, from the unspoken wish which Darcy had recently learned to abandon, of their becoming hereafter her own.

In this instance, however, his concern for Miss Bennet was such that he scarcely recollected his sister’s interest in the affair at present. While she had sunk into a fretful silence, fearful of meeting her brother’s eye, he was soon comforted by Miss Bennet’s collected behaviour. The lack of emotion in her, soon quieted his own, and the very circumstance which had been designed to turn his thoughts from Elizabeth had fixed them on her more and more cheerfully. Miss Bingley, vexed and disappointed, dared not approach nearer to Wickham, and Georgiana also recovered in time, though not enough to be able to speak any more. She was grateful to be temporarily beyond her brother’s notice, and more grateful still for the encouraging smile Miss Bennet directed at her soon after, when there was least danger of its being observed by any of the others.

The visit did not continue long after the question and answer above mentioned; and Darcy attended Mrs. Gardiner and Miss Bennet to their carriage. Their adieu was everything civil, but it was evident that both Darcy and Miss Bennet with speaking with careful restraint.

“It does me great pleasure to know I shall see you all again tomorrow evening,” Darcy said at last when handing the ladies’ into the carriage.

“You are very kind, sir,” smiled Mrs. Gardiner. “And we shall look forward to it!”

His eyes just met those of Miss Bennet and the effect of her smile stayed with him until the very moment he rejoined the ladies in the saloon.

During his absence Miss Bingley had been venting her feelings in criticisms on Elizabeth's person, behaviour, and dress. But Georgiana would not join her. Her brother's recommendation was enough to ensure her favour; his judgement could not err. And he had spoken in such terms of Elizabeth as to leave Georgiana without the power of finding her otherwise than lovely and amiable. This had served only to increase Miss Bingley’s vexation, and upon his return Miss Bingley could not help repeating to him some part of what she had been saying to his sister.

"How very ill Miss Eliza Bennet looks this morning, Mr. Darcy," she cried; "I never in my life saw anyone so much altered as she is since the winter. She is grown so brown and coarse! Louisa and I were agreeing that we should not have known her again."

Darcy was considerably more displeased than he cared to show. He had hoped, evidently in vain, that the continued expression of approval of Miss Bennet would induce Miss Bingley to at least give over voicing her resentment aloud. He was in no mood to quarrel however and coolly replied:

“Would you not? I perceived no alteration other than her being rather tanned, certainly no miraculous consequence of travelling in the summer.”

Mrs. Annersly made a polite observation on the benefits of traveling in either summer rather than winter and Darcy gratefully turned away from Miss Bingley to answer her, but Miss Bingley insisted on speaking again.

"For my own part," she proclaimed, "I must confess that I never could see any beauty in her. Her face is too thin; her complexion has no brilliancy; and her features are not at all handsome. Her nose wants character—there is nothing marked in its lines. Her teeth are tolerable, but not out of the common way; and as for her eyes, which have sometimes been called so fine, I could never see anything extraordinary in them. They have a sharp, shrewish look, which I do not like at all; and in her air altogether there is a self-sufficiency without fashion, which is intolerable."

Persuaded as Miss Bingley was that Darcy admired Elizabeth, this was not the best method of recommending herself; but angry people are not always wise; and in seeing him at last look somewhat nettled, she had all the success she might expect. He dearly wished for Bingley and his talent of changing any subject with a single joke, an art he himself had never managed to master. Both this talent and the man who did possess it being absent, Darcy continued resolutely silent, and, from a determination of making him speak, Miss Bingley continued merrily:

"I remember, when we first knew her in Hertfordshire, how amazed we all were to find that she was a reputed beauty; and I particularly recollect your saying one night, after they had been dining at Netherfield, 'She a beauty!—I should as soon call her mother a wit.' But afterwards she seemed to improve on you, and I believe you thought her rather pretty at one time."

"Yes," replied Darcy, who could contain himself no longer, "but that was only when I first saw her, for it is many months since I have considered her as one of the handsomest women of my acquaintance."

Miss Bingley started and stared at him, and the rest of the party attempted to conceal their surprise by fixing their eyes on anything but him, but Georgiana looked up at him with such wide eyes that one would think she had never heard anything more extraordinary spoken in her life. Darcy, who felt incapable of remaining with the company any longer without exposing himself to some form of censure, abruptly left the room.

There followed a shocked silence, which was, to everyone’s yet greater surprise, suddenly broken by Georgina, who rose from her seat with a breathless “excuse me,” and hurried after her brother as quietly as her haste would allow.

Chapter Text

Had his circumstances been different, Darcy might have felt himself at liberty to confide in his sister. But their difference in age was too great and his doubts concerning Miss Bennet ’s current opinion of him too strong for him to confess aloud all that he felt, and he certainly would not wish to burden Georgiana with the knowledge of all that had befallen him since making Elizabeth Bennet’s acquaintance.

That he admired Miss Bennet, however, and that his feelings were moved by her, Georgiana was now quite sure of.

“I greatly esteem her,” was his sober return to his sister’s first direct question, spoken as cautiously as she could. “And nothing brings me more joy at present that to see you both getting acquainted.”

Georgiana then readily volunteered all the praise on Miss Bennet ’s person, manner and attentiveness that she had felt obliged to soften in Miss Bingley’s presence. “How unfortunate,” she said feelingly, “that her visit to Lambton is so brief.”

Darcy knew not how to express his agreement without betraying just how much the thought of parting from Elizabeth effected him and said instead:

“But we shall see her tomorrow evening.”

“Yes,” said Georgiana demurely, but after a moment’s uncertain silence, she ventured: “Perhaps Miss Bennet should like to go for a drive with us, if she has no other engagements. She did say she was so interested to see more of the woods.”

“Did she!” Darcy coloured slightly and modulated his voice. “It is likely Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner will engage to visit their friends in the village before they depart.”

“But they might not have done so yet,” his sister pressed him. “And if the invitation was given in a timely manner…”

Georgiana was not in the habit of the coaxing and wheedling that is often seen in the youngest child of a family, but convinced as she now was that Miss Bennet was in a position to influence her brother ’s felicity, she was anxious to be of assistance to him. Her fondness for her brother and her eagerness to promote his happiness made her quite certain that she had once or twice seen an expression in Miss Bennet’s eyes that had much appreciation in it, as she looked at him. Of course nothing was more natural to her than her brother’s being admired, but never in her life had Darcy spoken of finding himself a wife and the notion of him marrying filled her with equal joy and trepidation. Their parents’ marriage had been, for the most part, affectionate and felicitous, and if her brother cared for Miss Bennet she must be deserving of the distinction. Her only anxiety was whether the future Mrs. Darcy would love her too.

“I might call on the Gardiners and Miss Bennet tomorrow morning,” her brother said in a slow, thoughtful tone. “When we engaged them for dinner we did not settle whether we were to send the carriage for them.”

“We did not,” Georgiana happily agreed.

“Should there be an opportunity,” continued Darcy gravely, “I could inquire whether Miss Bennet could spare the time to accompany us on a drive through Pemberley Woods.”

And his sister assured him in such terms that such a scheme would be exactly suited to secure her happiness, that the brother in him felt sanctioned to be forward, where the lover of him was still fearful of overstepping his bounds. Accordingly, Darcy rode into Lambton the following morning and repaired directly to the inn.

The manservant informed him that he had just missed Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner, who had stepped out for a walk, but that Miss Bennet had stayed behind. While there was something of good fortune in this, it rather agitated Darcy ’s spirits; and, as he was shown up the now no longer unfamiliar staircase, he hoped his disturbance of her solitude was not unwelcome.

This concern was swiftly removed, but only by the unhappy circumstance of its being replaced by one far more pressing. Even as the servant opened the door to the apartment Darcy thought he could hear Miss Bennet exclaim inside and when he stepped forward he found her at that very moment darting towards the door with a face so pale with dread that it made him start.

Miss Bennet looked upon him with shock and before he could recover himself to speak, she hastily exclaimed:

"I beg your pardon, but I must leave you. I must find Mr. Gardiner this moment, on business that cannot be delayed; I have not an instant to lose."

"Good God! what is the matter?" cried he, with more feeling than politeness; then recollecting himself, "I will not detain you a minute; but let me, or let the servant go after Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner. You are not well enough; you cannot go yourself."

Miss Bennet hesitated, but Darcy was convinced he could see her tremble where she stood and was sincerely relieved when she called back the servant. She commissioned him, though in so breathless an accent as made her almost unintelligible, to fetch his master and mistress home instantly.

On his quitting the room she sat down, looking so miserably ill, that it was impossible for Darcy to even think of leaving her. His concern for her well-being overruled every other feeling. He had never seen her look so indisposed.

"Let me call your maid, ” begged he, in a tone of gentleness and commiseration, “is there nothing you could take to give you present relief? A glass of wine; shall I get you one? You are very ill."

"No, I thank you," she replied, endeavouring to recover herself. "There is nothing the matter with me. I am quite well; I am only distressed by some dreadful news which I have just received from Longbourn."

To Darcy ’s own growing distress Miss Bennet burst into tears no sooner than she had pronounced the name of her home and for a few minutes could not speak another word. He stood by in wretched suspense, unable to do anything but indistinctly express his concern and observe her in compassionate silence.

At length she spoke again, her voice low and stricken . "I have just had a letter from Jane, with such dreadful news. It cannot be concealed from anyone. My younger sister has left all her friends—has eloped; has thrown herself into the power of—of Mr. Wickham. They are gone off together from Brighton. You know him too well to doubt the rest. She has no money, no connections, nothing that can tempt him to—she is lost for ever."

Darcy was fixed in astonishment. An elopement between Wickham and Lydia Bennet? Miss Bennet ’s misery was now instantly understood, but the circumstance itself seemed wholly incredible. He was silent and Miss Bennet looked at him, still vainly struggling for composure.

"When I consider," she added in a yet more agitated voice, "that I might have prevented it! I, who knew what he was. Had I but explained some part of it only—some part of what I learnt, to my own family! Had his character been known, this could not have happened. But it is all—all too late now."

"I am grieved indeed," Darcy exclaimed; "grieved—shocked. But is it certain—absolutely certain?" Miss Bennet grief at having adhered to the secrecy he had tacitly desired of her was as painful to him as her misery.

"Oh, yes! They left Brighton together on Sunday night, and were traced almost to London, but not beyond; they are certainly not gone to Scotland."

He half turned away from her, the agitation of his mind taking hold of his limbs. "And what has been done, what has been attempted, to recover her?"

"My father is gone to London, and Jane has written to beg my uncle's immediate assistance; and we shall be off, I hope, in half-an-hour. But nothing can be done—I know very well that nothing can be done. ”

There was a despair audible in her voice that made it at once impossible for him to meet her eyes and inexcusable to leave her side.

“How is such a man to be worked on?” she lamented. “How are they even to be discovered? I have not the smallest hope. It is every way horrible!"

Darcy shook his head in silent acquiescence.

"When my eyes were opened to his real character—Oh! had I known what I ought, what I dared to do! But I knew not—I was afraid of doing too much. Wretched, wretched mistake!"

To this he made no answer. The mistake was his. The concealment of Wickham ’s treatment of Georgiana had been his doing, born from affection for his sister, yes, but perhaps more so from his own pride. His own disgust at his family name being connected to such a degrading circumstance. And thus he had left Wickham free to impose himself upon the rest of the world, and to plunge another family into misery. What could Mr. Bennet possibly accomplish in London? With no knowledge on Wickham apart from what was known in the corps; no comprehension of all he was capable of. Miss Bennet’s despair was justified and he felt himself to be its instigator.

Darcy knew not what comfort to offer Miss Bennet; he walked up up and down the room with contracted brow, the nature of his thoughts lending him so gloomy an air that the power to comfort seemed wholly beyond his reach. When he did, at last, look at her, Miss Bennet sat with her head bowed, her face hidden in her handkerchief as she wept in silence.

His heart sank. He was adding to her distress. She was indisposed and miserable and he was imposing on her, unable to offer any form of relief. It was only natural that she should wish him away. Several minutes had passed since Miss Bennet ’s grieved explanation, her uncle and aunt would soon be here and his presence would deprive them all of the comfort of familial privacy.

Sinking his voice and restraining as much as he could the conflicting emotions which still oppressed him, he spoke:

"I am afraid you have been long desiring my absence, nor have I anything to plead in excuse of my stay, but real, though unavailing concern. ”

Miss Bennet looked up and met his gaze. Her beautiful dark eyes were bathed in tears and her suffering was so visible in every aspect of her countenance that it made him sick at heart.

“Would to Heaven that anything could be either said or done on my part that might offer consolation to such distress! But I will not torment you with vain wishes, which may seem purposely to ask for your thanks.”

If this was true at present, he was determined it would not remain so. He could offer no consolation, but he could, and he would , do everything in his power to remove the cause of her distress. At once recollecting his sister and his purpose in calling here, he added:

“This unfortunate affair will, I fear, prevent my sister's having the pleasure of seeing you at Pemberley to-day."

"Oh, yes, ” Miss Bennet exclaimed unhappily. “Be so kind as to apologise for us to Miss Darcy. Say that urgent business calls us home immediately. Conceal the unhappy truth as long as it is possible, I know it cannot be long."

“You can be assured of my secrecy,” replied he gravely, “you know I am sincere when I express my sorrow for your distress.”

Tears once again welled in her eyes, and he could not refrain from adding:

“But I wish, Miss Bennet, that it shall have a happier conclusion than there is at present reason to hope for.”

She silently inclined her head in thanks and Darcy bowed.

“Pray pay my compliments to your aunt and uncle,” he begged her and with one last serious, parting look, went away.

He must go to London. There was no other course of action that might acquit him from his guilt and restore Miss Bennet ’s peace. It was his duty, no other man’s, to step forward and remedy this evil. It had been brought on by himself, by his pride and ill judgement, and he ought to remove it.

When he saw Miss Bennet again, it must be in the knowledge that he had relieved the suffering he had caused her.

Chapter Text

The short drive back to Pemberley produced no alteration in Darcy ’s resolutions, nor was it enough to tolerably compose himself. His gravity, upon returning home, was apparent to all. To all those who had witnessed his involuntary outburst the previous day however, his solemn communication that neither Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner nor Miss Bennet would be able to join them for dinner that evening was sufficient explanation.

All assembled wondered, but no one spoke a word about it beyond the necessary expressions of regret at the loss of their guests. Even Miss Bingley refrained from offering any teasing words of comfort, and confined herself to cheering Georgiana, who shared her brother ’s disappointment with all the keen empathy of youthful affection.

When her brother declared the following day that he was obliged to go to London on pressing business, her concern was greater still. But Darcy, unwilling to mention names or circumstances which must be particularly painful to her, begged her to feel no anxiety on his account, that he expected the business to be dispatched in a few days, and that its completion alone was required to restore him to comfort. His guests he urged to defer no plans and postpone no pleasures due to his temporary absence, and promised to be with them again soon.

During the journey to London Darcy ’s sole aim was expedience, even resorting to Sunday travel to defer as little as possible the hour of Wickham and Lydia Bennet’ s discovery. To the conviction of his duty in this matter was added the knowledge that unlike either the Bennets or the Gardiners, he had something to direct his search.

As long as nothing of a grievous nature had happened to pass between them, Mrs. Younge, Darcy was convinced, would have remained intimate with Wickham, and it was likely she was in an excellent position to lend him her aid. Darcy had, after having dismissed Mrs. Younge from her post as governess, taken pains to learn how she maintained herself, u nwilling to see her once more in charge of a vulnerable young mind. He knew therefore that she had taken a large house in Edward-street with the purpose of letting lodgings.

Upon arriving in town it was to this address that Darcy at once repaired in search of intelligence of Wickham. But it took two meetings to get from her what he wanted. Her fondness for Wickham was such that she would not betray her trust without two day ’s consideration and a considerable sum of money. Darcy parted with it with no stronger feeling than commonplace displeasure, for comprehended in the sum was the knowledge that Wickham would know that it was this old friend who had given him up. He indeed had gone to her on his first arrival in London, and Lydia Bennet had been with him. Had Mrs. Younge been able to receive them into her house, they would have taken up their abode with her; instead, she had given them the same direction she at length bestowed on Darcy. They were in —— street, near St Clement Danes.

Darcy made no further inquiries of Mrs. Younge; he did not know what he would find at Wickham ’s residence and he did not wish to imagine it. The landlady did not oppose him when he pronounced himself to be an old acquaintance of Mr. Wickham’s, and Wickham opened the door of his lodgings himself at the third knock.

“Darcy!” he spoke in utter astonishment .

“Hello, Wickham,” Darcy replied brusquely, stepping inside without awaiting and invitation. “I have come to inquire after the welfare of your wife.”

Darcy could not be surprised by the lack of anxiety with which Wickham was able to receive that question, but even he was shocked by the callous reply:

“There is no such lady, I assure you.”

“Then Miss Lydia Bennet is not with you?”

Wickham ’s expression betrayed him and, seeing that disguise from Darcy on this point was impossible, he feigned a smile.

“If you are here to charge me with some heinous deception, I assure you, there was none. Lydia is here by her own volition.”

Darcy regarded him in grave silence; he had not really expected to find Wickham already married, but at present he was doubtful whether Wickham even had the intention of being so .

“As you left Brighton together I rather imagined this to be the case, but even I could not imagine why you would leave behind all your military prospects to make off with a woman you did not intend to marry.”

Wickham turned away in irritation. “You know my prospects better than anybody, do you not? I was obliged to leave the regiment, we are not all of us so fortunate as to always be able to settle one’s debts.”

This was the full extent of his confession, however; Wickham scrupled not to lay all the ill-consequences of Lydia's flight on her own folly alone. “I assure you, Darcy, there was no persuasion at all required on my end, all the work was done by the lady’s own insistence. I daresay Forster knew what she was when he took her into his house,” he concluded wryly, “for his wife is quite such another.”

So Lydia Bennet had been staying with the Colonel and his wife. And yet Wickham ’s expression was wholly devoid of shame or any other decent emotion, save for the discomfort that showed him conscious of the gravity of his circumstances. Darcy held his temper and inquired in a tone of reasonable concern what it was that he intended to do now.

“I shall resign my commission, that is certain, but as to my future situation— I must go somewhere, but I do not know where, and I shall have nothing to live on.”

This was spoken in a manner very reminiscent of the way in which Wickham had addressed him the last time they had been in a position to discuss the distress of his circumstances, but Darcy chose not to hear this.

“Then why did you not marry Miss Bennet at once?” he pressed instead. “Mr. Bennet may not be a rich man, but he would surely have been able to do something to relieve your circumstances. Your situation can only be benefited by marriage.”

“I quite agree,” was the composed reply. “A marriage of greater fortune, perhaps in some other county.”

So that was the extent of Wickham ’s affection for the girl he had courted from the protection of her friends. For a moment Darcy did not trust himself to speak, but he knew he must. If Wickham did not intend to marry Lydia Bennet then he must remove her from his influence. He would pay Wickham for his silence, bring her to her aunt and uncle, and leave Mr. and Mrs. Bennet to comfort and seclude their child.

“If this is your opinion,” he at last said with cold composure, “you can have no objection to my speaking with Miss Bennet?”

“By all means, speak with her!” cried Wickham. “If you can get her out of here you will have been a friend to me.”

It was fortunate that Darcy was not in a position to answer this speech; he was too uneasy knocking on the door of the adjoining room, to feel the full force of his anger. Whatever conversation was to follow, it would result in Elizabeth Bennet ’s suffering. Her sister’s preservation from further evil would not erase the damage already done and her family’s hope that a marriage had taken place was natural, even if she herself had not seemed to share it during their final interview. Perhaps he ought to think the better of it and work on Wickham instead, but what good would it do the Bennets to have their daughter married to such a man against even his own inclination? The matter of the young lady’s own choices, whatever doubts regarding her character might intrude upon Darcy in this moment, he did not allow himself to consider. Had he been but a day later in joining Georgiana at Ramsgate— No, it would not do to convince himself that the circumstances were too different to be compared; his object here must be the same as it had been then.

But Lydia Bennet ’s character, to Darcy’s perturbation, proved an obstacle impossible to ignore. Her surprise at beholding him was, understandably, very great; but while she was not unwilling to greet him, she was completely insusceptible to the offer of his assistance.

“I want no help of yours!” Lydia cried scornfully. “I do not need any help! And even if I did, I would rather suffer endlessly than accept the help of someone who hurt my dear Wickham so!”

Darcy had not expected such violence, but he was prepared for resistance. Considering Lydia ’s situation he had not expected her to consent to a removal without first making her understand the full extent of her situation. He looked upon her gravely.

“Was it not Mr. Wickham who allowed me to see you? If you value him, you must believe that he thinks I could be of assistance to you.”

“And what of it?” said Lydia stoutly. “I hope I can make up my own mind! I do not need others to tell me what to think. Mama says you are the most disagreeable of men and even Papa says you were as high and mighty as he had ever seen! Why I should care for your opinion I really do not know.”

Darcy thought of the words her sister had spoken to him at Hunsford Parsonage, and with great exertion composed himself.

“My faults are numerous enough,” he said with a slight bow. “But think of your parents. You say I have offended them, and for this I beg your pardon, but think of how they must suffer now, not knowing even where you are.”

“Why should they suffer?” Lydia demanded. “They know I am with the one I love! Besides, Papa does not care three straws about what I do, as long as he does not hear about it afterwards.”

Darcy tried again, dwelling on the inevitable distress of her sisters and extended family. When Lydia remained unmoved, he mentioned Col. and Mrs. Forster.

“Oh! I am sure they had a great laugh when they discovered my going,” Lydia said carelessly. “And I daresay they will forgive me for depriving them of my company when Wickham rejoins the regiment with me for his wife! I shall be an even better friend to Harriet then, for we shall both be married women!”

So much foolishness and callousness exceeded Darcy ’s most dour expectations. He could see there was no way Lydia Bennet would give Wickham up voluntarily. She obviously believed whatever lies he had told her and held on to them unbridled by any form of reason.

But her trust in Wickham, Darcy reminded himself, could not have existed without his own neglect. It was the same trust Elizabeth had placed in Wickham, and he owed it to himself that Wickham was still in a position that made it possible for a young woman of character to love or confide in him. And for the sake of one sister, he attempted again to persuade the other.

“Mr. Wickham told you that you would rejoin his regiment after you were married?”

“Of course!” said she. “What else should we do?”

“And you think the regiment will accept him again?” Darcy asked gravely. “After leaving his post and taking you with him?”

“Why ever not!” exclaimed Lydia. “Do you think all men are incapable of standing by their friends like yourself? They must make allowances for love and I am certain they will.”

“And when are you to be married?”

A look of ill-tempered impatience passed across Lydia ’s youthful face. “As soon as Wickham has everything in order.”

“And when might that be? Has he said?”

At last Lydia looked a very little uncertain, but she raised her voice angrily and said:

“We will be married. He had told me so! It will happen some time or other, and when it does, we will be so monstrous happy it does not matter how long we will have had to wait! Now leave me be, sir, I do not wish to speak to you any longer.”

And with that she turned resolutely away from him.

For a moment Darcy stood speechless, his lips pressed into a thin line. Then he turned, and abruptly returned to the sitting room where Wickham was staring idly out the window.

“My congratulations,” Darcy said stiffly.

Wickham turned towards him. “And w h at reason have you to congratulate me?

“Your upcoming nuptials. The lady informs me they are to take place.”

Wickham scoffed, but Darcy would not let him speak.

“You misunderstand me, Wickham. They are to take place.”

“Now see here,” began he, colour rising into his face, “the d—— woman insisted on following me!”

“You removed her,” Darcy burst forth, “from the house of your regiment’s colonel. Any and all discretion currently employed by the numerous persons now aware of your character is on account of the lady. Do not expect it to last even an hour after it is known you have deserted her.”

Wickham paled and Darcy ’s voice now sank so low it was only audible through the force of its words.

“You have nothing but debts and deceit to recommend yourself. You shall be destitute and at the mercy of people you must pray will have more common decency than yourself. Or,” he added, his anger barely abating even as he modulated his voice, “you accept my help, and marry Miss Bennet.”

Wickham, whose face had gone quite bloodless, advanced on him with a sudden start. “Darcy, you cannot expect me—be reasonable!”

“Reasonable—” Darcy took a single step forward and while he and Wickham were almost of a height, and the latter had a soldiers posture, at present Darcy's stature far exceeded his. “Rest assured that had I consulted sources other than my reason, this would be a very different conversation.”

He crossed the room with three long strides and halted with his hand on the door.

“I shall return tomorrow at noon to hear your answer, and if it is not to my liking I shall make it my business.

For a moment he met Wickham ’s shocked eyes.

“I will see you married, George, or I will see you in debtors’ prison.”

He slammed the door behind him and as he made his way downstairs Darcy felt a fit of temper bearing down on him with such violence that he was scarcely able to keep his composure long enough to answer the landlady, when she greeted him on the landing. His self-command did not fail him, however, and he thanked her and complimented her on her rooms and the politeness of her housemaid.

“I happen to know that Mr. Wickham has a habit of leaving in a hurry,” he added. “And as he is a rather forgetful young man, should it be so that he leaves you without settling his bill, you may apply to me for the whole sum.”

He was answered with the utmost politeness and met with nothing but grateful acceptance.

“I shall leave you my directions. If anything of the sort does occur, if you could send me word as soon as possible, I shall make sure you get your money immediately.”

This was readily agreed to, and the prudent widow needed no further encouragement to volunteer that, should Mr. Wickham leave having settled his bill himself, she should send him word that his kind offer need not be made use of.

He thanked her, and after having given her his directions Darcy silently left the house and retreated to the privacy of his carriage, free at last to admit every feeling of revulsion he had so steadfastly repressed.

Chapter Text

The following morning Darcy found Wickham, though not improved in civility, far more disposed to discuss his circumstances. It was as Darcy had expected, whatever Wickham ’s private hopes for his future, he was not proof against the temptation of immediate relief. The extent of that relief and the terms upon which he might receive it, were what must now be settled between them. That his marriage to Lydia Bennet was non-negotiable, Wickham felt no need to challenge, but he was adamant that more must be done for him than the discharge of his debts.

“Dear Lydia has no fortune to speak of herself,” said he, “and I could not possibly provide for her without a considerable income.”

“She will have one thousand pounds in the four percents, I believe,” replied Darcy evenly, “to be received after her parents’ decease.”

“Only if they see fit to divide it so. There is but five thousand pounds settled on Mrs. Bennet and all the children.”

Darcy was not in the least surprised by Wickham ’s good information on this point and was at least somewhat relieved it largely agreed with the Meryton gossip.

“I am sure Mr. Bennet will consent to to assure his youngest daughter her equal share,” said he. “Especially when you shall be able to settle a further thousand on her yourself.”

“A thousand!”

“After, of course, you have discharged all your debts, in both Meryton and Brighton.”

Wickham, who had not yet been able to give an exact figure as to the full amount of these debts, was silent for a moment, before beginning anew:

“But what shall we live on? A man cannot think of marrying before he can support a wife and children! I must have an income. A living, perhaps, if I should be so fortunate as to take orders after all; or a cornetcy?”

Darcy regarded him in silence; a degree of loathing stirring within him he had hitherto not thought himself capable of. It was just, he knew, that he should be subjected to this indignity, but the realisation that he was forced to be of service to Wickham, where he might once have given him what he truly deserved, was almost unbearable.

“Unless, of course, there would be sufficient fortune between me and my bride to supply the want of a fixed—”

“Your fortune,” Darcy interrupted him harshly, “shall depend primarily on your debts.” He could not listen to Wickham a moment longer. “Provide me with an approximation of what you owe and I shall see what can be done for you.”

Upon taking his leave, however, Darcy had already made up his mind that there was but one course of action to take which would be tolerable to himself and yet sufficiently useful to the future Mrs. Wickham. Accordingly, when Wickham presented the requested tally of his debts in Hertfordshire, Sussex, and London, amounting to nearly thirteen hundred pounds, he did no more than glance at it.

“Very well, you may consider them settled upon such time as you are married. I have high hopes that Mr. Gardiner might be prevailed upon to receive his niece into his house. Miss Bennet may be married from there, preserving her from having to return to Hertfordshire with you unmarried, before you travel on.”

“Travel on?” Wickham said ill-temperedly. “Travel on where, pray?”

Darcy met him with an immovable gaze. “I shall purchase you an ensigncy—”

“An ensigncy!”

“In General——’s regiment, now quartered in Newcastle.”

Wickham swelled with all the indignation of a presumptuous man with disappointed hopes.

“You would have me exiled to the north!”

“I would have you provide for your wife.”

The two men stood head to head for a long moment in oppressive silence.

“And how am I to live on an ensingcy?” Wickham at last inquired.

“You have abilities, I am told, I suggest you use them to your advancement,” said Darcy coldly.

Wickham had begun pacing the room. “And this is all the assistance I am to expect? For this I am to give up my freedom. ”

“You wished to better yourself through marriage,” Darcy interrupted, his anger rising once more, “and now you shall. For if you do not marry, you shall find out how much more I am willing to exert myself to expose you than to promote you.”

Wickham met Darcy ’s gaze and for a moment they were returned to the pier at Ramsgate.

“Do you not think me capable of it? You have no friends that will not betray you at the slightest temptation. No acquaintances whose faith in you you haven’t squandered. You will take what I now offer you, because it is all that you will get.”

Wickham swallowed, and gave a nod.

“That is settled then,” said Darcy, turning abruptly away from him. “I shall acquaint Mr. Gardiner with this fortunate turn of events and will request him to make the necessary arrangements with his brother. I will send you word as soon as all is settled.”

Having finally given in, Wickham was in no mood to offer any further resistance. He agreed to Darcy ’s terms and gave him his word that he would draw up a more detailed list of all his individual creditors. Darcy, now tolerably assured of Wickham’s compliance, was determined to call on Mr. Gardiner the very next day; but upon his arrival in Grosvenor street he found that Mr. Gardiner could not be seen, and, on further inquiry, that Mr. Bennet was still with him, but was expected to quit town the next morning.

Darcy ’s felt that his knowledge of Mr. Bennet’s abilities was rather limited, but he did not judge him to be a person whom he could so properly consult as Mr. Gardiner. He therefore readily postponed seeing him till after the departure of the former and declined to leave his name.

He called again on Saturday and then received by Mr. Gardiner with civility quite equal to his surprise.

“Forgive me, sir, for what must be an intrusion at a most distressing time for your family,” Darcy began, “but I hope I am capable of bringing you satisfactory intelligence. I have found out where the youngest Miss Bennet and Mr. Wickham are currently staying, I have spoken with them both.”

For some moments Mr. Gardiner was incapable of any reply save for the first natural exclamation of relief. When he had composed himself he begged Darcy to sit and inquired, in a tone of great concern, after the welfare and situation of his niece. Darcy answered him in plain language, informing him that the young people were not yet married, but that such a marriage might still be expedited, with the proper arrangements.

“Your niece, I believe, is well,” he added, with some reluctance, “I confess my first object with her has been to persuade her to quit her present situation, but I found her resolved on remaining where she was.”

The visible distress this communication caused in Mr. Gardiner was inevitable. “She must come here,” said he urgently, as soon as he had collected his thoughts, “if they are to be married it must be from this house and she must be brought here as soon as may be.”

“I quite agree, sir. And you can depend on my assistance to convey her here.”

“My good sir, I do thank you,” was the unsettled reply, “but how came you to discover them?”

“I happened to call on your niece, on Miss Elizabeth Bennet, in Lambton very soon after her having received the news of her sister’s absconsion; and this being the case I could not remain idle. I came to town on purpose to discover them.”

He saw in Mr. Gardiner ’s looks a question the gentleman was unwilling to put forth, but it was imperative to Darcy that it were answered. He continued therefore, in a tone of greater gravity:

“Mr. Wickham was my late father’s godson and, for a time, the companion of my youth, but I have long been acquainted with his unprincipled nature. He has done my family great injury, but it is my doing that his worthlessness is not generally known. It has been my mistaken pride that has allowed him to impose upon your niece. I thought it beneath me to lay my private actions open to the world; my character was to speak for itself, and thus I allowed him to be received and noticed as he was.”

Mr. Gardiner heard all this with grave concern, but he could not but wonder if his visitor, from delicacy or reserve, was not withholding some part of the narrative. There had been, in the gentleman ’s expression of his second niece’s name, something of the real emotion that he had also perceived in him at Pemberley, and Mr. Gardiner thought it not impossible that, if Elizabeth had confided in Mr. Darcy at the inn, he might have given her his word to be of assistance.

“Your generosity towards others far outweighs that towards yourself,” he said at last. “But please, let me understand Mr. Wickham’s circumstances, so that I may know what is to be done for my poor niece.”

There was much to be discussed and they were shut up together for several hours. Darcy found Mr. Gardiner to be exactly as reasonable and as sensible as he expected him to, but the gentleman was very reluctant to accept his assurance that he would settle the money matters. This was the only point they did not agree upon when their interview was to come to an end and Darcy agreed to return on the morrow.

When he did, h e found that Mrs. Gardiner had arrived home the afternoon before. He was greeted very cordially by her and returned her greeting with equal sincerity.

“It does me great pleasure to see you again, ma’am,” said he. “Though I wish it might have been under better circumstances.”

“From what my husband has told me these circumstances are greatly improved of late, and by your doing.”

He bowed and expressed again his fervent with to be of service to them, something which was smiled on more readily by Mrs. Gardiner than by her husband. He was very willing to write to his brother-in-law, but most reluctant to communicate arrangements in which he had scarcely had a hand. He was loathe to undeservedly receive the probable credit of his niece ’s preservation, which Darcy’s request of his secrecy, while immediately understood, was very likely to provide him. Darcy, however, was adamant. Whatever there was to be done he would do himself, and he did not scruple to repeat that it was owing to his reserve and want of proper consideration, that Wickham’s character had been so misunderstood. It was very easy for him to see in the faces of Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner the troubled concern which must also occupy Elizabeth, and he was very relieved when, on Monday, Mr. Gardiner yielded at last.

“I shall write to Mr. Bennet directly,” he vowed.

“You think he will be willing to comply, then, with the condition of settling one thousand pounds on your niece in his will, and allowing her one hundred pounds per annum during his lifetime?” This supplement to Wickham’s income seemed to Darcy not only indispensable, but called for. Having met with Lydia Bennet he was disposed to pity rather than blame her parents, but even so he felt their responsibility.

“I am certain he will be.”

“Then I shall call on Mr. Wickham directly.”

It had been settled between them that Mr. Gardiner would send his carriage for his niece a short while later, and that as soon as Mr. Gardiner had obtained Mr. Bennet ’s permission to act in his stead, he would have his lawyer draw up a proper settlement and see about obtaining a licence. With the proper arrangements, the marriage ought to take place in a fortnight. It was agreed that Darcy should be in London once more when the wedding took place, and all money matters were then to receive the last finish.

Darcy took leave of the Gardiners with a warmth that spoke of his relief as well as his sincerity, and privately hoped that the express soon to be dispatched to Longbourn would end the state of wretched suspense in which all its inhabitants must still persist.

Chapter Text

As he left London Darcy attempted to forget, as much as possible, what he would be forced to take part in when he was next in town. The scene so lately witnessed by him at Wickham ’s lodgings, however, made this virtually unattainable. He had been prepared for everything disgraceful and uneasy, except the rapturous, ungovernable joy of Lydia Bennet. She was as unabashed in her happiness as she had been in her defiance. Wickham’s communication to her that he had at last, in Darcy, found a man to act as his witness, and that they could now be married in a fortnight, had thrown her into such a state of restless ecstasy that Darcy had scarcely been able to obtain her permission to summon her uncle’s carriage for her.

He felt for Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner, knowing what they must feel upon receiving their niece into their house and what they would have to endure the coming two weeks. Mr. Gardiner had promised to write to him should anything of note occur, but Darcy felt no anxiety on that front. While he had very little faith that Wickham ’s engagement would in any way materially alter his habits, he was convinced that Wickham had come to depend too much the plan laid out for his provision to jeopardise it now.

One variety of thought, which was bound to be equally disturbing to his tranquillity, he could in no way prevent; he could not help but count the hours after which it was likely that Mr. Gardiner ’s express would have reached the Bennets. At this time, Darcy thought as he passed a familiar landmark on the London road, Elizabeth Bennet must certainly have been informed of her sister’s situation. The degree of her distress, the physical proofs of her misery and her great agitation of spirits, were fresh in his memory and instantly before him once more. This marriage, he knew, would be but poor consolation. But it would ease her suffering, dispel some of the horror that had so evidently taken hold of her when last he saw her. He could only hope he had done enough.

Such were Darcy ’s thoughts upon leaving London and such were his thoughts when he reached Pemberley. His feelings were grave and quiet and his concerns sincere and composed, and thus they might have continued, had Georgiana not come eagerly into the vestibule to greet him. As he embraced her, the exertion of the preceding days took hold of him so suddenly that he was at first unable to respond to her kind enquiry after his welfare.

“You do not look at all well,” she confessed, lifting her face to his with keen concern. “Have you not slept?”

“I am well, Georgie, do not worry. I hastened too much on the journey.”

Not for the world would he have shared his true feelings with his sister, nor the truth of his business in town; not when he knew how much pain it would bring her. But not since his first interview with Lydia Bennet had the knowledge that the accomplishments he was now forced to consider a victory had once been his greatest fear, oppressed him so severely.

Georgiana, anxious to add to his comfort, at once suggested to have some refreshments sent up to his room and Darcy readily accepted her offer. When he did rejoin his guests, therefore, it was with such tranquil spirits that none among them suspected that his business might have been a source of distress to him. Accordingly the communication that he would be obliged to go to town again on the same errand in a little under a fortnight, was met with complacency by all but Georgiana.

Even she was reassured, however, by the steady increase in Darcy ’s good humour over the following days. No letter arrived from Mr. Gardiner save for the one detailing the final arrangements of the marriage and, once having reconciled himself to his situation, there was some satisfaction in knowing that he had done all that could be done and that soon the greatest source of Elizabeth Bennet’s sorrow would be removed. Her sister’s safety, the good name of her family, would be preserved. Had it been in his power to do more, nothing could have prevented him from doing so, but he was forced to content himself with preserving the character and assuming the debts of a man he would much have preferred to see ruined.

Consequently, it was with as little real satisfaction and as much grim resignation as was to be expected from a man in his position that Darcy once more arrived in town on the Saturday before the prospective wedding date. The Sunday he spent quietly at home and that Monday he met Wickham at St. Clement ’s at a quarter to eleven and provided him with a plain band of rose gold for his lady.

Wickham looked as though he had much to say in response to this particular piece of generosity, but under Darcy ’s steady gaze thought the better of it, and took the ring without a word

“Are you to remove directly to Newcastle,” Darcy inquired coldly, “or shall you take Longbourn in your way?” This was the only point upon which Mr. Gardiner had not been able to write with certainty.

“We have indeed been most graciously invited there and are to depart for Hertfordshire directly after the ceremony.”

Darcy was pleased that Lydia Bennet would be noticed on her marriage, but yet more pleased to see Wickham look decidedly uneasy behind his smile. He preserved a cool silence for some duration, before saying:

“In the interest of preserving your character among your future relations, my involvement in your concerns is known only to the Gardiners. I suggest you beg your wife for similar discretion.”

Wickham, not equal to an answer, bowed his head.

It was to the benefit of both gentlemen that this moment marked the arrival of the carriage conveying those very persons they had been speaking of. Darcy observed the immediate change in Wickham ’s demeanour with silent disgust, and contented himself with a bow amidst the former’s effusive greetings. Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner were grave, but their niece, it was evident, had not much benefited by their good example. She was positively exuberant.

She all but leapt from the carriage, dressed in the finest gown she had she had bought with Mrs. Forster, and wholly inattentive to the discomfort of her relations. She was wild to see Wickham, wild to be married, and her fondness for all those gathered about her was overflowing.

Darcy perceived, in Wickham ’s officious attentions to her, what he had already suspected; his appreciation of her was born entirely from her boundless adoration for him . Such was the foundation of the union which was now to take place.

But take place it did, with much laughter on the part of the couple and unrelenting gravity on that of all others present. Lydia Bennet was exceedingly happy. She bowed and smiled and delighted in being called “Mrs. Wickham” by each of them as they dutifully wished her joy.

Neither her mortified aunt and uncle nor Darcy could wish for any extenuation of this scene and it was with profound relief that the wedded couple were seen to their coach. Mr. Bennet ’s carriage was to meet them at——, and they were to reach Longbourn by dinnertime. It was expected that they would stay there for a fortnight, after which Wickham was to join his regiment in the north.

The departure of Mr. and Mrs. Wickham left a silence of so dour a quality that Darcy did not feel equal to breaking it, but he found himself most kindly invited by Mrs. Gardiner as well as her husband, to join them for dinner the following day, if he was not otherwise engaged. Darcy, who felt himself sincerely gratified by the invitation, readily replied that he was not. He joined them promptly at five thirty therefore and sat down with them with very genuine pleasure.

The conversation was commonplace, for none wished to discuss the business of the preceding day and there were many subjects besides left deliberately untouched. But they talked of Derbyshire with mutual appreciation and the Gardiners did not scruple to count their time at Pemberley among its delights.

It was not until after dinner, when Mrs. Gardiner was pouring out the tea, that Darcy allowed himself to say, in addition to the more general inquiries made upon his arrival:

“I hope you have had good accounts of all the family at Longbourne.”

“My sister Bennet sent me a most comfortable account of herself,” replied Mrs. Gardiner. “And I had a note from Jane some four days ago, assuring me they were all quite well.”

At this moment the children were brought into the drawing room by the nursery maid and Darcy observed with warm feelings the very real parental affection of Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner. The eldest children, two girls of eight and six, each made a curtsy and pronounced such expression of practised politeness as might be expected of sweet-tempered, well instructed children of that age. Darcy bowed to them both and answered them with such evident approval as to endear himself even further to their parents. The younger children, both boys, were not of an age to show off their manners beyond proving through a lack of temper, that they were gentle, affectionate children; but this they did prove beyond a doubt. They had, moreover, through their imperfect articulation and unbridled curiosity, powers of pleasing which their sisters had traded for the accomplishment of sipping sweetly of their tea, and attempting to sit in the exact same fashion as their mother. Darcy was charmed, and the Gardiners much pleased.

The children, emboldened by the guest ’s easy manners and their parents’ obvious good humour, began to such enquiries of him as young children are wont to do; and Miss Gardiner, upon hearing him reply very pleasantly that he was indeed fond of music, proclaimed that she was determined to be exactly as musical as her cousin Lizzy.

“I am sure Miss Elizabeth is an excellent choice of example,” smiled he.

Her sister then put forth that she intended to play the harp, which was responded to by the elder girl in the accustomed fashion, and Mrs. Gardiner was soon called upon to settle the matter, which she did, before an argument could ensue.

Mr. Gardiner, who had at first had both boys sitting upon his knee and was now supporting only the youngest while the eldest plagued the nursery maid with attempts to climb upon a bookcase, observed appreciatively:

“You are in the habit of entertaining children, sir?”

“Indeed I am not,” Darcy protested and for fear of saying too much, he said nothing more. The truth was that the Gardiners seemed to possess exactly the sort of domestic happiness which he had come to consider most desirable, and most wanting in his own life.

The children were soon afterwards sent off to dress for bed and Darcy sat with their mother and father for a few minutes more until their conversation reached a natural end.

Darcy took leave of them with every civility in his power. He was to leave town again on Wednesday, and was conscious that this separation would mean an end to his intercourse with the family in general. He was certainly very anxious that no report of his dealings with Wickham would reach the Bennets, for while he hoped most sincerely that Elizabeth Bennet rejoiced, as much as she could, in this conclusion to her sister ’s predicament, her knowledge of his involvement in it was likely to bring her further discomfort. Upon Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner’s secrecy he felt the greatest dependence, but the same could not be said for Mrs. Wickham. He must hope that Wickham’s desire to conceal the gravity of his faults would make him keep his wife to her promised secrecy.

If this secrecy was not kept, and Mr. Bennet learned the truth, it seemed likely to Darcy that he should seek him out. If not, the probability of such a meeting, of any further encounter with the Bennets, was exceedingly improbable. And yet there had been something said, by Mrs. Gardiner particularly, of the eldest Miss Bennets staying with them in town with some regularity; and Mr. Gardiner, perhaps quite unconnected, had made a point of saying that they should be most happy to see him whenever he was next in town. Mrs. Gardiner had begged to be remembered to his sister and had inquired very pleasantly whether she was to be in town this winter.

There was, altogether, a degree of encouragement in this that was not wholly lost on Darcy, even in his present resignation of spirits, and had the Gardiners been at liberty to express all they thought and felt upon his departure, he might have been spared the dejection entirely. He dared not hope, but he dared to wish.

Chapter Text

The day Darcy returned, the woods by Pemberley were beginning to don their autumn splendour; and Bingley was sincerely glad to hear his friend say he would not be obliged to go back to town again so soon. It was a peculiar thing indeed, that he should have seen less of his friend staying at his own house than during their previous times together and Darcy seemed sensible of this. At the very least he seemed to be making amends; for there were many schemes put forward by him that Bingley was quite sure were not at all informed by his friend’s own inclinations.

Bingley was glad of the amusement, and gladder still for the great good humour this change in Dacy’s behaviour produced in his sister.

“Didn’t we have a heavenly drive,” sighed she, sitting down by her brother after one such scheme. “I do so appreciate an open carriage. It is just like Mr. Darcy to take note of such a thing.”

“I know you do,” replied Bingley cheerfully, taking up a newspaper. “And we are fortunate that there seem to be none among our party who dislike an open carriage, which makes everything easy.”

Caroline was silent for a moment and declared she should take up a book, unless he were at all inclined to read to her.

“I would be happy to, if only there was anything worth reading!”

There was very little in the paper that could command his own attention, and nothing at all, he was sure, that would be of interest to his sister; and he was just about to tell her so, when a line caught his eye that made him exclaim aloud.

“Good heavens, Charles! Whatever is the matter?”

But it was a few moments before Bingley had enough recovered from his surprise to read to her the announcement which had shook him so severely:

“Married— Lately, George Wickham, Esq. to Miss Lydia Bennet. Upon my honour, Caroline.” And he held the paper out for her to see.

Miss Bingley’s surprise was as great as her brother’s, but her other feelings on the subject were quite the reverse. Only the substitution of a different daughter belonging to that family could have made the communication more delightful to her. She listened to her brother’s anxiety on the subject of Mr. Wickham’s character and his earnest wishes for Mrs. Wickham’s happiness with very little attention and only added that she was quite of his opinion, before saying, in a sunken voice:

“We must not mention it to Mr. Darcy. I shall never forget his countenance when you both returned to Netherfield after having met with George Wickham in Meryton.”

“I shan’t speak a word about it,” said Bingley in great discomfort, “but I daresay he shall see it in the paper himself.”

“That cannot be helped, Charles, but we shall see to it that it is not discussed by any of our party. That at least is within our power.”

And so strong was her solicitude for Darcy’s peace of mind, that she limited herself to mentioning the circumstance only to her sister; with whom she indulged in a full half hour’s discussion, which ended with both ladies declaring they wished the happy couple nothing but joy, for they considered the misery of both parties as absolutely inevitable.

“Imagine!” said Mrs. Hurst. “Such are the sisters which Charles would have seen us welcome into our homes.”

“Pray do not speak of it, Louisa! I can only hope he now congratulates himself on his escape.”

“I wish he would forget the circumstance entirely. I should dearly wish to do the same.”

This latter sisterly sentiment was undoubtedly the kinder of the two, but it would not do for Bingley. The announcement of Lydia Bennet’s marriage had greatly disturbed him and he could not help recollecting that Miss Bennet had made a point of enquiring into Mr. Wickham’s character during their very last meeting, when they were dancing together at Netherfield. Her concern at the gravity of his answer and the sorrow on her face in understanding this gravity, were instantly before him, as fresh in his memory as if the exchange had passed the day before, and Bingley was seized by a sudden regret. Had he shown greater discretion, had he answered her inquiry in more general terms, she might have been spared the unhappiness of knowing ill of her sister’s husband. It was possible, after all, that Mr. Wickham had learned to be sorry for what he had done. Perhaps he was no longer the man who used Darcy and his family so ill, and was anxious to re-establish a character. His marriage to Lydia Bennet must be in his favour there. Darcy had spoken of him as a mercenary man, but there could be no such motive driving him now. Bingley wished with all his heart that Miss Bennet, by virtue of the acquaintance she must at this time have with Mr. Wickham, was in possession of ample contradictions to the information bestowed upon her by himself, sparing her the grief of having to doubt her sister’s future happiness.

The effects of such reflections upon Bingley’s spirits is easily imagined; his good humour never wavered, but his dejection once more increased. And in his current situation the change was particularly noticeable, for there now existed such an easy friendship between all the guests gathered at Pemberley that their company was invariable cheerful. There had even been talk, chiefly between Miss Bingley and Miss Innes, of them all going on to Scarborough together and Bingley believed the scheme would have been decided upon already, had Miss Darcy not confessed that the sea air did not agree with her and that she had no inclination to go. Bingley was firm in his insistence that his sisters should not persuade her and, to the sincere gratitude of Miss Darcy, confided in her that he was not much disposed to go himself and that there was no occasion to put off a scheme in its entirety merely because not all those invited intended to join.

Georgiana repeated some part of his speech to her brother the same evening and Darcy made a point of agreeing with it completely. He was anxious that his sister should perceive no disappointment in him at her reluctance to go with the party, however concerned he was with regards to her motives. Bingley’s reluctance to go did surprise him, but not as much as it would have a few weeks before. He could see very well that his friend was not happy.

“Mr. Bingley is not in spirits, is he?” said Georgiana after a short silence and Darcy, somewhat discomfited by her sagacity on this point, shook his head.

“I believe he has not been for quite some time.”

She expressed her concern, though in terms gentle enough to have the subject dropped; but Darcy’s own concern had led him these past few days to dwell on a possible solution, which gave him uneasiness particularly on account of his sister. He did not allow himself to stay silent, therefore, and confessed:

“His dejection is a source of great concern to me. All the more because I feel myself responsible for the probable cause.”

This startled Georgiana very visibly and her solicitude only grew when he added:

“I believe I have done him a great wrong.”

“Oh Fitzwilliam… I am sure you did not mean to,” was the mournful reply, and Darcy once more shook his head.

“Quite the contrary, the actions I took were quite intentional. I had merely convinced myself that I was in the right. I was mistaken.”

To Georgiana, who had the greatest dependence on her brother’s judgement, it was not possible to form an answer to such an admission, but her discomfort and uncertainty were displayed very plainly on her face.

“I will tell you all,” Darcy promised, “but it must not leave this room.”

“Of course,” said she, in a voice no louder than a whisper.

“When we first went into Hertfordshire, we made the acquaintance of a young lady whom Bingley admired very much. I did not see it then, but I believe he had a genuine regard for her.”

Georgiana listened in silence, but the expressiveness of her face made it difficult enough for him to go on. These circumstances had been discussed by him but two times, and each with so different a feeling that this current repetition was painful in and of itself.

“In my concern for Bingley I believe I misjudged the situation most severely. I undervalued the lady’s merits and the strength of their attachment, and took it upon myself to counsel Bingley against following his inclination.”

His sister was excessively moved. “Do you think he still loves her?” was her anxious inquiry.

“I do not know. But I think he still suffers for what I did.”

The gravity of the situation was now quite clear to Georgiana, who was too feeling to not suffer for both gentlemen in this moment, and whose own disappointed hopes led her to feel most keenly the misery of losing the affection of someone worthy.

“I have thought,” Darcy began with some hesitance, “if I could encourage him to return to Netherfield, there might still be a chance of restoring the damage done.”

“Oh you must!” Hardly ever had he heard such a sudden exclamation from her, since the days she had outgrown the charming games of infancy. “You must go with him if it would persuade him to go back!”

“But would you be comfortable here? I do not wish to leave alone again.”

“I have Mrs. Annersly!” cried she. “Oh, if the lady was very much attached to him, if she should care for him still…”

“That is what I will have to discern, before I make any sort of confession to him. I would not wish to wound him further.”

But Georgiana, from eagerness to see her brother comforted and his friend restored to happiness, was certain that if the gentleman’s feelings were unchanged, the lady’s could not have altered. This reliance on the constancy of women was, however fair it promised in the case before them, not quite calculated to make her brother easy, but he expressed an earnest wish that she would be proven right.

“Pray do not be uneasy on my account,” Georgiana urged him further. “I have had such company at home these past weeks that I shall be glad to be at leisure to think it all over. And you shall not dislike going back to Netherfield, I am sure. You shall be able to see all your Hertfordshire friends again!”

This, to Darcy, was quite mortifying, but he concealed it admirably.

“Miss Bennet will be so delighted to see you again so soon! I am so very sorry I did not get to see more of her.”

Nothing but his belief in the extreme improbability of his hopes ever being answered could at that moment keep him from confessing to his sister just how much of dread and delight the notion of returning to Hertfordshire instilled in him.

“If Bingley is indeed of a mind to return to Netherfield,” he did say cautiously, “it may be that we will meet with the Bennets more often in future.”

“I should like that very much,” said she, with another smile.

Darcy hesitated. There was one other matter which had given him pause in this business besides the necessity of once more leaving Georgiana behind. He was loathe to do or say anything that would make his sister unhappy, but if he was truly to go with Bingley and promote his reunion with Jane Bennet, he must now preserve her from future unhappiness.

“Georgiana,” he began quietly, “you are aware, I know, that the —shire regiment was stationed in Meryton, nearby Netherfield, for some time.

She paled a little and nodded.

“It pains me to tell you of this, or to even mention his name to you, but you must know that George WIckham was lately married to Miss Lydia Bennet, Miss Bennet’s youngest sister.”

For a moment Georgiana sat quite still, but then, with her soft, thin voice far steadier than Darcy had expected to hear, she replied:

“I am glad of it. I hope it means he has bettered himself.”

The admiration Darcy felt in that moment is not easily described. He pressed her hand, pressed it again, and then embraced her, not attempting to put into words what he could not hope to express in full.

“I do not think of him, now, as often as I used to,” she said quietly. “I shall not mind hearing him mentioned, if only I am not obliged to be in company with him.”

This, Darcy vowed, he would always do everything in his power to prevent; and Georgiana assured him once again that she would be very comfortable at Pemberley, if only he would write to her often, and to remember her to Miss Bennet if he happened to meet with her again.

Thus encouraged, Darcy had no longer any reason to be hesitant, save for some scruples he deemed too selfish to attend to, and the subject was broached by him only a few days later, when he and Bingley happened to be walking the grounds together.

“Your sister tells me you do not intend to go to Scarborough.”

“I do not believe I shall,” replied Bingley. He had by that time quite made up his mind to either stay on at Pemberley, if Darcy did not mean to go north either, or to return to town. Having begun the conversation, he now rather expected Darcy to either communicate his own intention of being of the party, or to invite him to lengthen his stay, but his friend remained oddly silent. So, after walking in silence for a few moments, he added: “Do you intend to join in the scheme?”

“I think not.”

Bingley nodded, putting Darcy’s thoughtfulness down to his own indecision, and volunteered:

“I might go back to town.”

“Should you like to be in town?”

“One must be somewhere,” laughed Bingley. “And I shall be as cheerful in town as I am likely to be anywhere else, I should think.”

Darcy looked at him with a rather peculiar expression and then looked away again. “Had you not rather go to Netherfield instead?”

Bingley started, not at all knowing what to say. It had been many weeks since the subject of Netherfield had last passed between them, but it had always been his impression that Darcy was in agreement with his sisters’ wishes of him giving up the house entirely. “I suppose I might.”

“You have a house in the country. What better time to make use of it than at present? Why would a man not go down to his own house to shoot for a month or two?”

The reserve which Bingley had felt in his friend only a moment before had now completely left him; he spoke with complete unconcern, and the same degree of assurance as he had in all matters. Bingley wondered, and doubted. Darcy was not in a habit of changing his mind, and that he had come to dislike Netherfield Bingley had been very sure of.

“Why not indeed,” he replied at length. “But then, there has been all this talk of me giving it up.”

“Which you have not done,” Darcy pointed out. “I did think you might as well give it up, should an any eligible purchase offer, but I can see you have a greater fondness for the place than I previously thought.”

This sounded so much like approbation that Bingley was quite struck by it. There could be no greater comfort, nor better sport, found at Netherfield than at Pemberley, his ownership of the former was not enough to make him quite so partial; but his recent reflections had rather renewed his desire to be once more in Hertfordshire. Elizabeth Bennet had assured him that her eldest sister was yet at home and if he was to see her again, if only during a short visit, he might perhaps ascertain how she bore her sister’s recent marriage. The thought of having been the cause of unhappiness in Miss Bennet grieved him so much that to persuade himself of the reverse was worth even the pain of seeing her again in the same rooms and places where he had first begun to form his idle hopes. Surely Darcy must be similarly reminded of the circumstances of their departure from Netherfield at this time.

“If I should choose to go there to have some sport,” Bingley said boldly, with sudden engery, “would you go with me?”

To his further astonishment he was met with ready acquiescence; Darcy would be happy to accompany him and could stay for a month at least, if he wished it.

“You are surprised,” he added, upon seeing Bingley’s expression, “and I am sorry for it. But, knowing that you like the place and the people belonging to it, I assure you that I shall never be sorry to go there with you.”

Bingley was sensible of something more being said than that which was comprehended in the words and said, with very warm affection that there were few places he would not like better for having Darcy’s company there. “But your sister,” recollected he, “is she to go to Scarborough after all?”

“Georgiana shall stay at home with Mrs. Annersly. This is, above all things, her preference at present, and she will not mind me going down to Hertfordshire with you.”

From this Bingley concluded that Darcy had discussed such an arrangement with his sister already and furthermore that his inquiry into his desire to be at Netherfield had been planned accordingly, stemming from what must be solicitude for him alone. The tenderness inspired by such a revelation must supplant even doubt and astonishment and it was agreed upon between the two friends that they would see the others off to Scarborough and set off for Netherfield at their leisure.

Chapter Text

The feelings with which Bingley and Darcy travelled the road to Netherfield were very different from when they had first gone down it about a twelvemonth ago. The former had then been in the highest spirits and the latter possessed only by tranquil amusement; never had there been two men so altered. Bingley felt a good deal of nerves in the anticipation of meetings which may prove to be painful to more than just himself, but Darcy’s feelings were so close to true trepidation that it was a long time before he felt himself equal to any sort of conversation. When he did speak, it was only to inquire after the wishes of his friend, only to ascertain how he proposed they would spend their days. The name “Bennet” was not mentioned by either, although it was on that family that the anticipation of both gentlemen was most anxiously fixed.

That this was the case, both gentleman naturally wished to conceal, and had they not done it so well, Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst would not have not taken leave of them with spirits as tranquil as they had done a fortnight before. Had their brother intended to go to Hertfordshire alone, they would have been very uneasy, but as the plan had been formed under Darcy ’s counsel, they had voiced no objection, save fort he lamentation of being deprived of their company at Scarborough. They were mistaken, however, in their distinct expectations of the two gentlemen’s feelings upon returning to Netherfield. Whatever suspicions they might have of their brother, they were unfounded. The entirety of Bingley’s hopes were fixed upon seeing Jane Bennet once or twice, and assuring himself that she and her family were well.

Darcy ’s hopes were very different, and the chief of them as of yet unacknowledged. It certainly was his intention to encourage Bingley’s wish to call on the Bennets whenever he should choose to voice it; but as often happens when one has resolved to depend on the quickness of another, Bingley voice no such wish. Not until the third morning after their arrival, when he made the following declaration at breakfast:

“I really ought to return Sir William’s call today. And while we are on that side of Meryton, we might as well take the Bennets in our way.”

This was as artful a speech as Bingley, who was not in the habit of disguising either his feelings or his motives, was ever likely to utter, and Darcy treated it with the deference it deserved.

“It is a fine morning for it, and I should be glad of the exercise.”

They accordingly went, spent all of fifteen minutes at Lucas Lodge, and then rode on to Longbourn. Had Bingley been less engrossed by his own apprehension, he would have seen the disturbance of Darcy ’s mind upon entering the paddock. Intent as he was on finding out what amends could be made to his friend, the expectation of seeing Elizabeth Bennet once more in her own home, and surrounded by people who could not be his well wishers, brought Darcy great discomfort.

Their reception upon being shown into the drawing room could do nothing to counteract his feelings. Mrs. Bennet ’s delight in Bingley’s appearance was as evident as her disdain of him. Her curtsey and address to him had all the charm of ceremonious politeness, contrasted starkly with the civility bestowed on Bingley, which was of such a degree that it embarrassed as much as it pleased him. Mrs. Bennet’s demeanour would have meant very little to Darcy, however, had not her second daughter’s greeting been equally brief.

Elizabeth had barely addressed them both before sitting down to her work again, and while her sister had a conscious look about her, something of a heightened colour and a brightened eye, Darcy perceived no such change in Elizabeth. She looked graver than he had ever seen her do in company.

There was no possibility to sit by her and, while Mrs. Bennet had command of the conversation, almost no opportunity to speak. Darcy felt the weight of his own silence as severely as that of the lady; how great and painful a difference to their meeting in Derbyshire. This remembrance, at least, gave him a subject to speak on, and at the next lull in conversation he inquired:

“I hope Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner were in good health when last you saw them, Miss Elizabeth?”

“Yes,” replied she after a moment’s hesitation. “Quite well, I thank you. I believe that the whole family is in excellent health.”

“I am glad to hear it.”

Elizabeth had already withdrawn her eye and Darcy sank back into silence. Miss Bennet was seated nearer to him than her sister, and Darcy reminded himself which sister he ought to attend to; earnestly attempting to keep his resolve. Yet it was inevitable that his attention remained divided whenever Elizabeth spoke or lifted up her eyes in his direction. But her notice of him was only productive of more distress. Not a smile, not a look that spoke encouragement; and when she at last addressed him to inquire after his sister, it was with a tone that seemed to him far nearer to compassion than solicitude.

“How is Miss Darcy? I hope you left her well.”

“My sister is well,” he replied earnestly, “and particularly wishes to be remembered to you.”

“How very kind. Please send her my compliments.”

Darcy bowed, he could do no more.

"It is a long time, Mr. Bingley, since you went away," said Mrs. Bennet.

Darcy glanced at him to see how he bore such an allusion, but Bingley merely smiled and readily agreed to it.

"I began to be afraid you would never come back again. People did say you meant to quit the place entirely at Michaelmas; but, however, I hope it is not true. A great many changes have happened in the neighbourhood, since you went away. Miss Lucas is married and settled. And one of my own daughters. I suppose you have heard of it; indeed, you must have seen it in the papers. It was in The Times and The Courier, I know; though it was not put in as it ought to be. It was only said, 'Lately, George Wickham, Esq. to Miss Lydia Bennet,' without there being a syllable said of her father, or the place where she lived, or anything. It was my brother Gardiner's drawing up too, and I wonder how he came to make such an awkward business of it. Did you see it?"

“Indeed I have,” said Bingley. “My congratulations, madam.”

Not a word about the remarkable match had passed between the two friends and Darcy, in his momentary confusion, could not help but perceive that neither Elizabeth nor Jane shared their mother ’s complaisance on the matter.

"It is a delightful thing, to be sure, to have a daughter well married," continued she, "but at the same time, Mr. Bingley, it is very hard to have her taken such a way from me. They are gone down to Newcastle, a place quite northward, it seems, and there they are to stay I do not know how long. His regiment is there; for I suppose you have heard of his leaving the ——shire, and of his being gone into the regulars. Thank Heaven! he has some friends, though perhaps not so many as he deserves."

“Do you mean to make any stay in the country at present?” Elizabeth burst forth suddenly and Darcy felt for her.

Bingley, while insensible of her embarrassment, was deeply grateful for her intervention. “A few weeks at least, I daresay,” he said, smiling.

"When you have killed all your own birds, Mr. Bingley," said Mrs. Bennet , "I beg you will come here, and shoot as many as you please on Mr. Bennet's manor. I am sure he will be vastly happy to oblige you, and will save all the best of the covies for you."

“I would be very glad to shoot with Mr. Bennet,” replied he, but he could not prevent himself from looking towards Miss Bennet to see how well the daughter was pleased with the mother’s civility. He had been glad to find, almost as soon as he entered the room, that Miss Bennet seemed to be in good health and good spirits. Indeed, she was as handsome as she had been last year; as good natured, and as unaffected, but a little more withdrawn.

Anxious that his private disappointment should in no way alter his behaviour towards her, Bingley took care to address her more directly. His efforts were rewarded, but while Miss Bennet smiled and talked more than before, she was yet more often silent than he had known her to be during their former acquaintance. The exact circumstances of this former acquaintance Bingley was naturally quite unwilling to remember at present. But he was unluckily hindered by the officious attention of his hostess, who, when the gentlemen rose to go away at the end of a half hour, eagerly engaged them to dine at Longbourn in a few days time, adding:

"You are quite a visit in my debt, Mr. Bingley, for when you went to town last winter, you promised to take a family dinner with us, as soon as you returned. I have not forgot, you see; and I assure you, I was very much disappointed that you did not come back and keep your engagement."

Miss Bennet ’s eyes were averted, but it was impossible that Bingley should fail to see her confusion. His own embarrassment was very great and he hardly knew what he replied, beyond his concern of having been prevented by business.

He was greatly aided, however, by the warmth of Miss Bennet ’s parting civility, and left the house with spirits far less unequal than his friend’s.

Darcy had seen enough of Miss Bennet ’s behaviour to conclude that, at the very least, Miss Bennet had formerly been very much in love with Bingley. She had been free from any symptom of resentment, or any unnecessary complaisance, but there had been enough of effort in her voice when she spoke and of thoughtfulness in her rather frequent silences to convince him of all he had previously believed untrue. He was hopeful that during the proposed dinner on Tuesday, he would be able to ascertain whether the feelings which he had so cruelly failed to credit before, were still strong enough to desire a return. That Bingley ’s admiration of Miss Bennet would most certainly be rekindled if he remained in company with her was very clear to him.

To Bingley, perhaps, this was not yet quite so evident. He felt himself to be agitated, relieved, cheerful; but not at all certain of which exact feelings currently worked upon him.

“It is good to see the Bennett family well,” said he as they were riding back, “they all looked well, did you not think so?”

“Very well,” Darcy agreed.

“I did not think them all quite in spirits. The young ladies, I mean. Miss Kitty told me she misses her sister a great deal.”

“That is only natural,” said Darcy. “But let us hope that she may recover in time. After all it has been but four weeks since the marriage, only a fortnight since their parting.”

“My word,” Bingley cried. “Your memory is very exact. I daresay Mrs. Bennett told me at least twice when her youngest was married but I could no more given the date than name the number of buttons on my coat.”

“Well, you never did pay much attention to dress.”

Bingley laughed, and encouraged by his friends good humour went on:

“It was very gratifying to be welcomed so warmly. It was more than I expected.”

“It has been my experience,” said Darcy with a kindness and sincerity that was untouched by the bitter sting of his own disappointment, “that you are assured of a warm welcome wherever you go.”

Bingley’s reply, amiable as ever, did not speak of complete certainty, but Darcy dared not to speak more plainly. Convinced as he was that Miss Bennett was by no means unaffected by his friends return, he was resolved to first determined with absolute certainty whether her regard for him was still intact, before once again interfering in his friend’s happiness.

Chapter Text

A man more prone to self-absorption would, at this time, have been much less sensible of what was passing around him than Bingley was in the days proceeding his visit to Longbourn. The knowledge that Miss Bennet was in good health and tolerable spirits, and that she had not been sorry to see him, had restored much of his peace of mind; and his personal humility was too great to dwell on her expressions in an effort to scrutinise them for symptoms of regard. His own feelings required only one quiet evening to determine; he still preferred Jane Bennet to every other woman of his acquaintance and was determined to admit these feelings with perfect resignation.

This conclusion once reached, Bingley’s mind was enough unburdened to notice, with some concern, how thoughtful and withdrawn his companion had grown. Darcy seemed uncharacteristically dull, seemingly only remembering to speak when he was spoken to, and often so deep in thought that Bingley was convinced he would not hear him even if he were to address him directly. His probing questions, which varied from the state of his health and the soundness of his sleep to the well being of his sister and the state of a matter of business which was soon to call him to town, were all met with positive assurances. It puzzled Bingley exceedingly.

“You are not sorry, I hope, for our engagement at Longbourn tomorrow,” he at last ventured with some anxiety, “for though the party is to be large, we shall all be old acquaintances.”

“Not at all,” replied Darcy, “I am quite looking forward to it.”

Bingley’s own anticipation could scarcely be greater and while they went out shooting together on Tuesday they still made it to Longbourn in very good time. Not all those assembled had yet had the opportunity to welcome him on his return to the neighbourhood and Bingley felt all the awkwardness of very nearly being paid more attention than his hosts. He had no opportunity to speak with Miss Bennet at all, and when they repaired to the dining-room, he was further embarrassed by the realisation that in all his former parties at this house, his place had been by her. His hesitation was cured as soon as it had formed, however; Miss Bennet looked round and smiled at him. No further encouragement was called for, Bingley placed himself beside her and, with one glance of half-laughing alarm directed towards Darcy, entered eagerly into a conversation with her.

Darcy saw it all with earnest attention and, in his happiness for Bingley, would have been better able to support his spirits, had not Mrs. Bennet yielded to obligation and invited him to sit by herself. It was done with cold civility and while he accepted, this arrangement gave no pleasure to either. Mrs. Bennet barely spoke to him, and what she did say was expressed with the same cold formality as before. Darcy felt very aware of the cruel irony that placed him in a position to despair of making himself agreeable to a woman whom he had once been pleased to spurn, but his exertion could only do so much. Elizabeth was almost as far from him as the table could divide them, and this side of the table afforded no discourse which might be easily shared by all. He answered Mrs. Bennet’s stilted questions, he praised the dinner, and attempted nothing more.

His sole enjoyment until the moment the ladies repaired to the drawing room after dinner, was to watch Bingley converse with Miss Bennet. He was as attentive to her as he had ever been and, while a little more guarded than before, showed his admiration of her very plainly. After dinner Darcy made a slight mention of Miss Bennet’s enjoyment in his company over port and Bingley looked too pleased to allow further room for any doubt concerning what would influence his felicity.

The state of his own feelings was far less decided. There had been no occasion to speak to Elizabeth beyond the mere ceremonious salutation attending his entrance, but he was in hopes that, upon joining the ladies in the drawing-room, the evening would afford some opportunity of bringing them together. It was not so. When he and Bingley entered the room Miss Bennet and her sister were employed at a nearby table, the one brewing the tea and the other pouring out the coffee, and the other young ladies present had crowded round them in so close a confederacy that there was not a single vacancy near them which would admit of a chair. Bingley procured his tea and Darcy was handed his coffee, without either of them having the pleasure of speaking to the object of their keenest interest.

Bingley, for whom the evening had already more than answered his hopes, was not much disappointed, and had great pleasure in speaking of Miss Bingley to her friends, who were all prodigiously pleased to see him. Darcy walked to the other end of the room, making a point of speaking to Mrs. Long and Lady Lucas, but too much preoccupied to make much conversation. When all the room had been helped to their preferred refreshment he took the opportunity of returning his coffee cup to the table. Elizabeth smiled at him as he did so, and thus having gained exactly what he had hoped for, was then immediately made wretched by the wish for something more.

He lingered at the table and Elizabeth, carefully rearranging his cup among the others, inquired whether his sister was at Pemberley still. Her kindness struck him, but what he wished to say of it he could not, and he answered merely:

"Yes, she will remain there till Christmas.”

"And quite alone?” she asked, fixing her eyes on him most attentively. “Have all her friends left her?"

"Mrs. Annesley is with her. The others have been gone on to Scarborough, these three weeks."

Elizabeth said no more and Darcy stood by her, for some minutes, in unwilling silence. He wished, more than anything, to speak of their time together at Pemberley; of his sister’s disappointment at the discontinuation of their acquaintance, and his own desire to renew it. He could not, his hopes and desires took from him any power of speech, and at a last, on the young lady nearest Elizabeth addressing her in a whisper, hastily walked away.

When the tea-things were removed, and the card-tables placed, the ladies all rose; and Darcy, seeing Bingley at once going up to Miss Bennet, was resolved to join Elizabeth. Before he could do so, however, he was stopped by Mrs. Bennet, who spoke to him in a far more gracious accent than before.

“Mr. Darcy, if you are inclined to play, would you do me the great favour of making up our second whist table?”

He could not be uncivil now.

“With pleasure, ma’am,” he assented and to his great displeasure found himself seated at a different table than Elizabeth, who was playing at speculation; and while he exerted himself considerably to talk, he had never in his life played so poorly. When his eyes were not turned towards Elizabeth’s side of the room, his attention at least was fixed by the table beside him, to which both Bingley and Miss Bennet belonged.

There at least, was a source of comfort to him. Miss Bennet’s regard for his friend, though gentle and soft-spoken, was undeniable. By the time that the evening drew to a close and their carriage was ordered, Darcy was relieved that at least one part of his suspense was to be at an end. He would make his confession to Bingley before he departed for London tomorrow.

“What an agreeable time we had yesterday,” Bingley said in satisfaction, the following afternoon. “Such a very well selected party. I hope we may often meet again.”

“I am certain you shall,” replied Darcy and Bingley’s smile faltered.

“I hope you do not suspect me of the same folly as before. I can see very well that Miss Bennet’s kindness to me is not born from any particular regard, but from the general excellence of her disposition.”

Darcy failed to check his expression.

“You do not believe me!” Bingley exclaimed.

“Forgive me.” Darcy turned more fully towards him and continued with some discomfort: “There has been a circumstance I have long felt obliged to mention to you, connected with Miss Bennet.”

“Have you?”

There was surprise in Bingley’s looks, but as of yet so little suspicion that it rather heightened Darcy’s sense of shame. There was pleasure in making a confession such a long time coming, however, and he admitted very readily that he had come to think of his interference in friend’s affairs when they were last at Netherfield as nothing more than uncalled for and impertinent.

“Interference?” said Bingley. “I would loathe to call any friend’s counsel interference.”

“But interference it was,” Darcy said firmly. “You do not know all. My reasons for warning you against your attachment to Miss Bennet were supercilious and presumptuous. I did not value her merits as I ought to have done and felt myself entitled to counsel you against making an alliance I believed to be beneath you. Going so far as to conceal from you that Miss Bennet came to town last winter while you were residing with me, and remained there, I believe, for three months.”

Bingley’s complexion, which had changed considerably during the progression of his speech, turned pale with shock at the close of it.

“You mean to tell me she was in London all winter!” he burst forth. There was an anger in him that Darcy had not seen since their school days.

“I believe so.”

“Three months! And to see nothing of her!” He paced the room with restless energy and then turned abruptly back again. “How did you come to know it?”

Darcy hesitated, but to repent of one deception with another was too much of a contradiction to him. “Miss Bennet wrote to your sister of her coming.”

Bingley’s astonishment was even greater than before. “To Caroline! And she deigned not to wait on her? Her particular friend, a young woman with such—and for what reason?”

There was no reply that could be given that would not heighten his friend’s misery at this point and while Darcy believed himself capable of restoring Bingley’s happiness, he did not at present feel entitled to speak out of turn.

“Miss Bingley did call on her once, I believe,” he managed.

This, unsurprisingly, did nothing to appease his friend.

“So she did wait on her!” cried he. “Giving her every reason to believe that I must know of her being in town! How she must have despised me!”

At this point Darcy would gladly have given his assurance that nothing could be further from the truth, but Bingley did not allow him to do so. His misery gave way suddenly to anger and Darcy almost started at his uncharacteristic outburst.

“And so I was directed!” he cried. “This is why you all followed me to town last November with your counsel. To cause me to quit a neighbourhood where I had made so many friends and to slight a woman to whom I would have willingly devoted three seasons to make her love me! And all for ambition? All because you believed the kindest, sweetest, loveliest creature on this earth to be beneath me—”

He sank into a chair, his anger cooling to sorrow once more, and leaving a silence that Darcy felt almost unequal to break.

“You are right to be angry,” he said at last. “I can make no excuse for my behaviour. Much has occurred since meeting Miss Bennet’s sister in Kent, that have rendered my actions — which were always despicable — likewise absurd. I have come to repent the wretched conceit which led me to be so unjust to you. But please allow me to assure you, that independent of this realisation, I have come to believe myself mistaken in supposing Miss Bennet indifferent to you.”

Bingley lifted his head, possessed by a confusion too painful to know what to think.  His anger, though present, was far outweighed by the hurt that Darcy’s confession had caused him, and he was not as of yet susceptible for the hope his friend meant to offer him.

“I should not have come here again. What must she think of me?”

“Bingley,” Darcy protested, “my sole reason for wishing you to come down to Netherfield again was to judge if there was any way to make amends for my actions. I can see your own attachment to Miss Bennet is unabated; and I am not only convinced that she was indeed sincerely attached to you last November, I believe she feels an equal regard for you at present.”

“No, Darcy, that cannot be!” Bingley rose from his seat, the wild fear of hope overtaking him. “How could it be so? If she ever loved me, how could she love me still?”

Darcy did not smile, but certainly came very near it. “We must presume,” said he, “that I had formerly entirely mistaken both Miss Bennet’s heart and her character, and that she not only loved you then, but that she was constant to you.”

The grieved astonishment which had overtaken Bingley’s features before was replaced by a stupefaction which held the beginnings of an incredulous joy.

“Constant to me!” he exclaimed. “What must she have endured— How am I ever to deserve her?”

“I will not presume to answer that, but convinced as I am of your mutual attachment I feel no doubt of your future happiness.”

Colour was returning to his friend’s face and Darcy saw with satisfaction how his former restlessness returned also, but this time born from far pleasanter feelings.

“But do you truly believe—? I did think there was something of— But how can you be certain of her affection for me?”

At last presented with an opportunity to make amends, Darcy did not scruple to dwell on every expression, every look, and every distinction of behaviour that it had been in his power to witness that spoke of Miss Bennet’s admiration of his friend. Attentive as Bingley had been to her, there was hardly one among them he had not noted himself; but he had, in his modesty, attributed them to the esteem of friendship only. His high opinion of Darcy’s judgement, however, was at present as instrumental to restoring his comfort as it had been to ruining it a twelvemonth before. Indeed, Darcy spoke to him in terms of such certainty, that Bingley could not have failed to be convinced, even if it had not been the first wish of his heart to believe him.

As soon as he allowed himself to rely on Darcy’s assurance his feelings burst forth with an exuberant joy that more than equalled his former distress. The excellence of Miss Bennet’s person and disposition comprised the chief of what he was able to put into words and it was not until they were reminded that supper was on the table, that Bingley recollected a part of Darcy’s speech which was yet incomprehensible to him.

“What did you mean,” asked he, “by calling your conduct absurd, considering what passed after your meeting Miss Elizabeth in Kent?”

Darcy coloured, but did, at last, feel capable of confiding. “I was only referring,” said he quietly, “to the esteem and admiration, which I must imagine closely parallel yours, that I have since that time come to feel for Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”

Bingley’s astonishment was almost equal to his earlier surprise. “Truly?” he started, then immediately exclaiming: “Do forgive me! I have an excessive regard for Elizabeth Bennet and I was glad to see you so friendly with her at Pemberley, but I had no idea—”

The smile on Darcy’s face spoke mostly of discomfort, but Bingley could not help but mention again the very friendly manner with which Miss Elizabeth had met them both in Derbyshire.

“She has certainly treated me far more graciously than I deserve,” said Darcy. “You know better than most how ill I treated her.”

Bingley, particularly remembering some expressions of Caroline’s, looked a little uneasy. “But you said yourself things were different in Kent, and at Lambton, how pleased she was to meet your sister! Of course you are to go to London tomorrow, but if I were to speak to Miss Elizabeth in your absence…”

“No, Bingley, I beg of you,” Darcy protested. “I have no hope of succeeding. It was during my visit to Kent that I first began to learn how very wrong I had been. Partly because of Miss Elizabeth’s discovery of my interference in her sister’s happiness.”

Bingley blanched and looked away.

“Do not let this distress you,” begged Darcy. “I am very grateful to Miss Elizabeth for her kindness to myself and my sister. And in anticipating your happiness, I shall have my share as well. Bingley, I hope I shall find you in possession of all you hope to gain when I return from town.”

Many assurances and professions followed, they in turn followed by all Bingley’s growing hopes and residual fears. He was now truly resolved to offer for Miss Bennet, as soon as he had obtained that encouragement without which he felt incapable to proceed; and Darcy said all in his power strengthen his hopes. There was too much to talk of for either of them to do much else; they ate their supper almost without knowing what was before them and a considerable part of the night was spent in conversation.

Chapter Text

While it might very well be true that those who seek to marry in haste may repent at leisure, it ought to create no surprise that Charles Bingley called on the Bennets again the very day after Darcy left him for London. He was received by Mrs. Bennet with the same officious attention she had previously paid him, but she left it to her daughters to inquire after his friend.

“Mr. Darcy is not with you today,” Miss Elizabeth observed.

“I hope he is well,” added Miss Bennet, pouring him his tea.

“Oh yes,” replied Bingley. “He has only gone to town for a week or so. He has left me this morning, but I expect him to return in ten day’s time.”

He looked particularly at Miss Elizabeth as he spoke and believed, if his powers of observation did not fail him, that she looked rather pleased.

“It is fortunate,” said Miss Bennet, while her sister took up her needlework, “that we are not at such a distance from London to make the journey very disagreeable.”

“Very fortunate,” Bingley readily agreed. He hesitated a moment, but then added with all his usual quickness: “Though I daresay the agreeableness of the journey must depend chiefly on its destination. I should not be at all pleased to be called to town at present. My previous stay in London was not at all to my liking.”

Miss Elizabeth fumbled with her thread and Miss Bennet met his eyes with a sudden, great uncertainty. “Did not you?” she spoke, with some confusion.

“I have never passed a more miserable winter.”

At this moment Mrs. Bennet, who had stepped out to speak to a servant, returned to the drawing room, and Bingley was obliged to once more divide his attention. But Miss Bennet’s eyes were fixed upon him so frequently and he managed to win her to smiling so often that it was above an hour before he at last brought himself to taking his leave.

“Lord bless me!” exclaimed Mrs. Bennet. “How swiftly the time passes away when one is among one’s friends. The hour is so late, will you not stay to dinner, Mr. Bingley?”

He would have accepted with alacrity, had it not been the case that Sir William Lucas had engaged him for dinner already. The confession was made with many expressions of concern, which were spoken with enough real regret to satisfy even Mrs. Bennet.

"Next time you call," said she, "I hope we shall be more lucky."

“I should be particularly happy to enjoy your kind hospitality at any time you should deem it convenient,” he assured her. “And if you will give me leave, I shall take an early opportunity of waiting on you.”

“Can you come to-morrow?”

“Yes! I have no engagement at all for to-morrow.”

“Then do come tomorrow at your earliest convenience and share a family dinner with us.”

This invitation was gladly accepted and Bingley went away in very high spirits. The visit had answered all his dearest wishes; and with Darcy’s insistence of Miss Bennet’s affection for him still so fresh in his memory, even her more gentle smiles could not fail to be encouraging.

The following day he arrive din such very good time that he was begged his pardon as he was shown into the parlour, for none of the ladies had come down yet, but they were sure to be with him in a moment.

The first who appeared were Miss Bennet and Miss Kitty; the former looking rather flushed, but the latter bearing a rather wounded expression which Bingley had been used to seeing in his own sisters often enough when they were younger.

“Miss Bennet, Miss Catherine, how do you do?” said he pleasantly. “Do forgive my early arrival, I am afraid of having hurried you.”

Miss Bennet protested this very warmly and when they all had sat down Bingley addressed her sister in particular, inquiring whether she had received the letter she had been so eagerly expecting from her sister.

She shook her head. “I have not had a line from her, and they must be settled in Newcastle by now.”

“But consider, Kitty, how much she will have to do,” Miss Bennet said in her gentle voice. “I am certain she will write to you and our mother just as soon as she is able to.”

Miss Catherine looked doubtful and Bingley added kindly:

“It may be that you can do her a much greater kindness by writing to her. A letter from you is sure to provide more joy to her than any letter of hers could afford you. When Louisa was first married she wrote to me very little, save for her begging me to write to her again soon.”

“But that is just what she expects me to do, I am sure. For she believes I shall have nothing better to do. And she said she shall like the being at the camp in Newcastle above all things.”

“I hope she shall,” he said, “but I have never left behind a home without missing it.”

There was a brief silence.

“I suppose I could write to her about how we are all getting on,” Miss Catherine said at last.

“I am sure such a letter from her elder sister would be a great comfort to her at such a time as this,” said he.

Miss Catherine, who was not used to being considered an elder sister by anyone but herself, was quite struck by this, and recovered her spirits sufficiently to inquire after Bingley’s next shooting party and whether there had been any feats of sportsmanship worth relating. Bingley provided her with the exact type of anecdote calculated to amuse rather than bore a young lady of her age, meanwhile accepting Miss Bennet’s grateful smile with a very warm one of his own.

They were soon after joined by Mrs. Bennet and her two other daughters and all sat in very agreeable conversation until dinner was pronounced to be on the table. They were then joined by Mr. Bennet also, who greeted his guest in the following manner:

“Ah, Mr. Bingley, I see you have succeeded in finding Longbourn once again. Mrs. Bennet has previously expressed some concern on the subject, which I can only attribute to her anxiety on your perfectly understanding the roads hereabouts.”

Miss Bennet looked distressed, but Bingley had long considered Mr. Bennet the sort of man so full of wit and dry humour that it was much better to take any remark not perfectly understood as if it was spoken in earnest pleasantry.

“I am indebted to my coachman for the particulars of my route on most of my journeys,” he answered blithely, “but I hope I shall always be able to find my way to those places I am most fond of.”

This seemed rather to amuse Mr. Bennet, but his lady was all grateful attention and when Bingley sat down by their eldest daughter, her silence was quite counteracted by the gladness overspreading her face.

Mrs. Bennet kept a very good table and Bingley ate heartily. After tea, Mr. Bennet retired to the library, as was his custom, and Miss Mary went upstairs to her instrument. The distant repetition of her melodies reminded Bingley of former days in his family home and his ease and cheerfulness did much to inspire the same in Miss Bennet, who was growing more communicative every minute.

Mrs. Bennet, quite unusually, said very little; but she fidgeted about in her chair, giving very significant looks to both her younger daughters until Miss Catherine at last inquired:

Bingley talks to Jane

“What is the matter, mamma? What do you keep winking at me for? What am I to do?”

“Nothing, child, nothing. I did not wink at you.” A mere five minutes later, however, she suddenly got up, and saying to Kitty: “Come here, my love, I want to speak to you,” took her out of the room.

Bingley hid his surprise, but Miss Bennet’s look of alarm, directed at her sister, did not escape him. He rose from his seat and, walking to a window, observed to the room in general that the little copse made for a particularly fine view at this time of year.

“Indeed it does,” replied Miss Elizabeth. “And it is as pleasant to walk in as it is to look at.”

“That is fortunate!” He smiled. “Pleasure-grounds are very fine things, I’m sure, but a park cannot be called truly charming if there are not sufficient trees to hide oneself behind under the pretence of a bracing walk.”

Miss Bennet laughed in surprise.

“You may well be surprise,” said he. “But I was not always so agreeable as I am now, and my poor mother had much to contend with.”

“In the way of her son losing himself behind convenient trees, you mean?” smiled Miss Elizabeth.

“At the most inconvenient moments,” said he laughingly.

Miss Bennet was smiling at him very expressively. “We are all of us in need of solitary reflection at times.”

“I thank you,” said he, “for attributing my youthful behaviour to a thoughtful disposition and not to common mischief, but I do not dare to say anything else about it.”

At that moment Mrs. Bennet half opened the door and called out:

“Lizzy, my dear, I want to speak with you.”

Miss Elizabeth rose with visible reluctance. “Do excuse me a moment.”

Bingley bowed, keeping his station by the window.

“I am afraid,” Miss Bennet said as her sister gentle closed the door behind her, “that you will the usual routine of our family life rather dull. We are not a lively party.”

She busied herself with her netting box, and Bingley was mindful of her discomfort.

“I assure you I do not,” he said in a gentle voice. “My habits are very domestic and there is no greater comfort to me than to not have to stand upon ceremony with the people I esteem and admire. My time at Longbourn has always been particularly pleasant.”

Miss Bennet lifted up her head with such a tender expression that Bingley wished more than anything to sit down by her, but he did not return to his seat until Miss Elizabeth had once more entered the room. At last Mrs. Bennet and Miss Catherine rejoined them and Bingley could not fail to notice the very expressive smile that the former directed towards her eldest daughter before sitting down.

Had the wishes of the mother been Bingley’s only concern, he would at that time have been a happy man; but Mrs. Bennet’s encouragements were ill chosen. Her ill-judged officiousness greatly embarrassed her daughter and recalled Bingley to all his former anxiety on the subject of Miss Bennet feelings and how much they might depend on her mother’s inclination. His uneasiness did not show, however, and he heard all Mrs. Bennet’s silly remarks with a forbearance and command of countenance particularly grateful to her daughter.

As all the ladies had now taken up their work again, Bingley felt rather at a disadvantage in being the sole person with nothing to occupy him, and he offered to read aloud to them.

“Mr. Bingley, you are too kind!” exclaimed Mrs. Bennet. “How lucky you all are, girls! Jane, my love, do bring Mr. Bingley one of your favourites.”

Miss Bennet rose from her seat, turning her head as if to hide her face, and returned with three publications: a volume of the Spectator, a rather solemn looking work of history, and a far more inviting novel. Bingley selected the latter and read aloud to all those assembled with great pleasure. That Miss Bennet took greatest pleasure in listening to him—greater even than her mother—was observed by everyone but Bingley himself, who was not much in the habit of reading aloud and very eager to give a pleasing performance.

In the pleasantness of his performance, or the either honest or calculated preoccupation of those present, the passage of time was quite forgotten. And it was not until Bingley paused after a particularly long chapter and Miss Bennet begged him to take some refreshment, at the very least some tea for his voice, that Mrs. Bennet exclaimed:

“La! It cannot be eight o’clock already!”

Bingley confessed himself surprised, but was spared the parade of expressing his obligation to take leave of them, by Mrs. Bennet declaring that he simply must stay to supper. He hardly needed to be asked and they were able to finish another chapter before they all returned to the dining room.

At supper there was a good deal more talk than at dinner and Bingley took the opportunity of asking Mr. Bennet whether he ever went out shooting. This produced a rather peculiar exchange which might not have taught either gentleman anything at all about the other’s sporting habits, had Mrs. Bennet not seen fit to interject with many helpful hints and assurances that were meant to convey that not only was her husband an excellent shot, but that he would be delighted to go shooting with Bingley at his earliest convenience. To secure such an invitation had been precisely Bingley’s object and while Miss Bennet looked on with a heightened colour, it was with such a happy aspect that he pressed on to carry his point. Mr. Bennet, perhaps not so insensible of his eldest daughter’s agitation than she believed him to be, made no objection, and before Bingley went away an engagement was formed for his returning next morning to shoot with Mr. Bennet.

Chapter Text

Bingley was punctual to his appointment, though the nervousness he felt on account of this engagement was less likely to make him so immoderately prompt as his eagerness had led him to be the day before. He found Mr. Bennet much more agreeable than he had expected, however. After the first commonplace formalities they spent a very pleasant morning together; Mr. Bennet was more communicative, and less eccentric, than Bingley had ever seen him. They spoke on business, politics, and the management of an estate in rather quick succession, and Bingley was too well informed and too artless to cause any of the paternal distress which the deliberate broaching of such subjects might sometimes bring about in a father.

Mr. Bennet invited him to return with him to dinner and Bingley was very much looking forward to sharing an evening much like the previous with Miss Bennet and her sisters. Mrs. Bennet talked of having the card tables placed, however, and remembering Miss Bennet’s fears regarding a perceived lack of diversion, Bingley readily agreed to play.

Miss Elizabeth excused herself to write a letter, but that left six to make up a table and Mrs. Bennet proposed them all playing at loo. It soon became clear, however, that Mr. Bennet did not intend to join them, and when Miss Mary looked at him upon his moving towards the door, he said:

“Come Mary, better speak your mind if there is anything to be said.”

His daughter then reminded him of a promise to allow her the use of a work from his personal collection, along with the instruction necessary to study it.

“Oh yes!” Mrs. Bennet joined her with sudden enthusiasm. “You had better show her tonight, my dear, for you shall be busy all day tomorrow.”

“Come along then,” said her husband severely, and took Miss Mary out of the room.

With their numbers thus reduced, Mrs. Bennet proposed that the four of them would sit down to a game of whist instead. Bingley found himself seated opposite Miss Bennet and while not one of them could be said to play well, the whole party was in excellent spirits. Bingley was quite surprised when, at the close of the game, Mrs. Bennet said quite suddenly:

“I do confess, that I do not believe myself equal to another game. Good gracious! No, I do believe I must withdraw for a moment. Pray excuse me. Kitty, my dear, do walk with me.”

Bingley rose, expressing a hurried wish for her good health, and watched Miss Catherine fretfully attending her mother out of the room with a good deal of confusion. When he turned back to Miss Bennet, their joint embarrassment was so great that neither could keep their seat.

“I am certain my mother shall be down again in a moment,” said Miss Bennet, moving to the sofa to retrieve her shawl.

“Have you grown too cold sitting down so far from the hearth?” Bingley inquired with real solicitude. “Let me pile up the fire if this be the case.”

“No indeed,” Miss Bennet protested, following him to the fireplace. “You need not take such trouble.”

They looked at one another and she added, showing herself conscious of what remembrance currently possessed his mind:

“I assure you, I am in very good health, Mr. Bingley.”

This acknowledgement of their mutual understanding, of the similarity of their minds, at last brought Bingley to the point of boldness.

“Miss Bennet,” he began, not stirring a step towards her and yet drawing nearer, “I have long wished to beg your pardon for the manner in which I left this neighbourhood last November.”

“Have you?” asked she breathlessly.

“I have never regretted anything more.”

Miss Bennet looked at him and none of her kind words and gentle smiles had ever held such encouragement as the expression currently lighting up her eyes with hope and trepidation. Her wishes in that moment were perfectly transparent, and Bingley addressed her with a look quite exactly like her own.

“Miss Bennet, dearest Jane, I loved you then as deeply and as completely as I do now. There is none, and has been none, I have loved so well as you. And I shall never cease to regret the cowardly fear of your indifference to me that led me to quit this place only to return to you now. If you can indeed forgive me, if these foolish fears have been unfounded, if it is at all possible that you do indeed return my affections— would you consent to marry me?”

In receiving Miss Bennet’s tearful reply with all the genuine rapture of true humility, Charles Bingley’s diffidence and modesty were at last of material use to him. Never had he been more charming as when he pressed Miss Bennet’s hand and thanked her, again and again, for her goodness. Tears of happiness shone in the eyes of both, for they were both brought from many months suspense and misery to perfect happiness. Each soon proclaimed themselves to be the happiest creature in the world; and the sole point on which they did not agree, was on whose merit was to be valued most highly. There was no dwelling on such subjects, however, when a lifetime of bliss and happiness was to be traced by their words; and they were still in earnest conversation when the door to the drawing-room was suddenly opened, and Elizabeth appeared.

The two lovers flushed and hastily turned round, moving away from each other in a manner that confirmed rather than denied the suspicions that were clearly visible in the embarrassment on Miss Elizabeth’s face. Bingley, struggling for composure, knew not what to say, and Miss Bennet was likewise silent, hastily returning to her former seat. He followed her example, but upon seeing Miss Elizabeth move uncertainly towards the door again, suddenly rose from his seat and whispered to Miss Bennet:

“I shall go to your father directly and will return here as soon as I have obtained his consent,” and ran out of the room, leaving the two sisters to their confidences.

Mr. Bennet seemed very little surprised by Bingley’s entrance following the knock on his library door.

“Mr. Bingley!” said he, “you look as if you have come here with some purpose.”

“I have indeed. Mr. Bennet,” said Bingley, with a glowing countenance, “particularly to obtain your consent to my marrying your eldest daughter.”

“Well, sir, I shall not affect any surprise, but please allow me to assure you of my approbation. I know my daughter’s regard for you, and I trust you have spoken to her before venturing to speak to me.”

Bingley answered him with all the heartfelt assurances of a feeling and sensible young man. Their conference was short and to the purpose, and it was concluded in a few minutes. He then hastened back to the drawing-room, but found only Miss Elizabeth within.

“Where is your sister?” cried he, his hand yet lingering on the door.

“With my mother upstairs. She will be down in a moment, I dare say.”

This was said in so affectionate a tone that Bingley promptly shut the door and went up to her, eagerly claiming the good wishes and affection of a sister. Miss Elizabeth expressed her delight in the prospect of their relationship so heartily Bingley felt no need to temper his own joy and they shook hands with great cordiality.

“I hope,” said he, “that you shall very frequently be our visitor at Netherfield. Oh, I shall never be able to thank Mr. Morris enough for letting the place to me.”

“Nor shall we,” smiled Miss Elizabeth. “He has been most generous to us all.”

“I am the happiest, most fortunate man in the world,” cried Bingley. “Upon my word, I do not deserve your sister’s goodness; she is the sweetest, loveliest woman who ever lived.”

He went on in this manner for some time, but as his listener was disposed to agree with him on every point, he was allowed to express all his expectations of felicity without any moderation. Moderation that, in his particular situation, might prove to be uncalled for, for he had found in Jane Bennet a woman so similar to himself in temper, feeling and taste, as to make a match that is not often met with.

A few minutes later Miss Bennet returned, followed by her two younger sisters and preceded by her mother, who could not give her consent, or speak her approbation in terms warm enough to satisfy her feelings. She talked to Bingley of nothing else for half an hour, and Miss Catherine and Miss Mary were only able to add their congratulations when explicitly called upon by their mother to join her joy. To Bingley, however, it would not have mattered had she continued for another hour complete; the satisfaction of Miss Bennet’s mind gave such a glow of sweet animation to her face, as made her look handsomer than ever, and he found his own happiness reflected in hers whenever their eyes met.

When Mr. Bennet joined them at supper, his voice and manner plainly showed his own satisfaction, though not a word passed his lips in allusion to it, and it was an evening of no common delight to them all.

It was after eleven o’clock when he took leave of them and the two lovers were at last dismissed to the very real joy that solitude can be to a happy mind; she to her room, cradling the hand he had kissed at their parting, and he to his study at Netherfield, where he poured out his feelings in a letter to Darcy, which took him so long to write that it left him precious few hours to rest before once more setting off for Longbourn.

That he was to return the very following morning was of course inevitable. He was from this time a daily visitor there; coming frequently before breakfast, and always remaining till after supper; unless when the hospitality of one of his neighbours, which could not be enough regretted, had supplied him with an invitation to dinner, which he thought himself obliged to accept.

The chief of his time at Longbourn was naturally spent in the company of Jane, but in those hours of separation that must sometimes occur he invariably attached himself to Elizabeth. Of all his prospective new family, though he was now on very good terms with Mr. Bennet and growing daily fonder of Kitty, she had been one of his earliest friends. In the absence of Jane, he could still have the pleasure of talking of her, and Elizabeth was always ready to humour him.

She did once, perhaps merely to demonstrate how correct he was in his assumption that he was the happiest man in the world, mention that her sister’s opinion of him had changed very little over the course of their acquaintance.

“From our very first meeting at Meryton, she insisted you were just what a young man ought to be. And even when she thought you lost to her forever you steadfast remained the most amiable young man of her acquaintance.”

Bingley felt such a degree of both affection and distress at this communication that he failed to check his expression and Elizabeth, taking pity on him, told him once again how very glad she was to have him for a brother.

He thanked her for her kindness, and repeated the often expressed wish that they would all be much together. “It was a great pleasure to have you at a guest at Netherfield before,” he added, “and I would be very grateful to experience it again, without the distressing circumstances that made your presence a necessity the fist time.”

Elizabeth agreed wholeheartedly, but was either too insensible or too clever to respond to his allusions to those other persons that had then been present, to give Bingley any indication of what he at that time truly wished to know: whether his friend was correct in despairing of ever winning Miss Elizabeth’s esteem. He was true to his word, and Darcy’s name never passed his lips while Elizabeth was present, but he could not resist speaking of him to Jane.

In her, Bingley was persuaded, Darcy would always have a most earnest well-wisher. She expressed that she had always valued his merits, and that the friendship between him and the man she loved must necessarily secure her esteem. This esteem Bingley was very anxious to promote, and it was chiefly for this reason that he had not mentioned Darcy’s involvement in his long absence from Netherfield. He was thoroughly persuaded that Jane had the most generous and forgiving heart in the world, but such a confession could not fail to prejudice her against him. Bingley’s other reason for making no mention of either Darcy or his sisters’ interference was that he had no wish of placing blame on anyone but himself. He made but one admission which might reasonably lead the lady to her own private speculations on that score; he honestly answered her, upon her alluding to the circumstance, that he had been totally ignorant of her being in town last spring. But Jane was too happy to receive this information to be a close questioner on this occasion; and while it did afterwards occur to Bingley that she, for a time, ceased completely to inquire after his sisters, he made no attempt to mention them and deferred writing to them until such time that the engagement was to be made public.

The situation of affairs in the Longbourn family did not remain a secret for long, however. Mrs. Bennet was privileged to whisper it to Mrs. Philips, and soon after Bingley found himself the recipient of open congratulation by all of Meryton. The many effusions on Miss Bennet’s beauty and the Bennets’ good luck he bore very well, but the allusions to the circumstances around Miss Lydia’s recent marriage caused him a good deal of embarrassment. When at all possible he confined himself to the society of his good friends and his dear Jane at Longbourn, where the days passed very pleasantly.

He was at that time eagerly looking forward to Darcy’s return and in speaking of him discovered that Jane was not unaware of his friend’s admiration for her sister. She had too delicate a sense of honour to speak of anything directly, but his allusions seemed to surprise her very little. This, in isolation, might have been a promising circumstance for his friend’s happiness, but it soon became clear to Bingley that Jane’s feelings towards his friend, whenever mentioned in connection to her sister, were those of concern and sympathy. She joined him wholeheartedly in the idle observation that a marriage between the two people they themselves most relied on for their friendship and support, should be a source of unending delight to them both, but seemed to consider it as quite impossible. Even Bingley’s optimism could not well withstand the converging opinions of the two people whose judgement he was to value most highly for the remainder of his life, and while he looked forward to Darcy’s return with equal pleasure, it was necessarily tempered by the knowledge of his friend’s inevitable disappointment.

Chapter Text

When Darcy at last received the letter which he had been in daily expectation of it was evident that it had been posted several days after it had been written. This distraction of mind boded well, and the profuseness of Bingley ’s happiness filling the page confirmed Darcy’s every expectation of satisfaction. His friend had secured Miss Bennet’s hand and, now assured that he was likewise in possession of her heart, at last gave way to every tender feeling he had felt obligated to check the preceding twelvemonth. Darcy might have laughed at a letter so ill composed, at sentences so often crossed out and words so frequently dropped, but never had he received a letter which conveyed Bingley’s manner at the very height of his spirits so exactly. The composition closed with a declaration of friendship to the reader almost as tender as his professions of love for his lady had been, accompanied by an expression of sincere delight that Darcy would join him again soon.

Darcy was excessively pleased and a good deal relieved; for while he was not at all surprised at Bingley ’s success, it was not until this moment that he felt absolved of the wrongs he had done him. He read the letter again, dwelling on every passage that was proof of his friend’s unblemished happiness and lack of resentment. Elizabeth’s name was mentioned in it only once, and it was only on her account that he did not resolve to quit London the very next day. It was impossible not to wish, impossible not to wonder; but he would not allow himself to imagine anything more than that she might, in her affection for Jane and Bingley, be willing to grant him the same share in her notice she had done at Pemberley.

It was still his intention, then, to return to Netherfield before the end of the week. His business was all but concluded and he had no other engagements in town. His surprise, therefore, was very great, when the morning after next brought the arrival of a most unexpected visitor.

Nothing but his footman ’s intimate acquaintance with Lady Catherine’s ways could have prevented her from entering the breakfast room unannounced, for her rapidity left very little opportunity to do so. Darcy was still sat at the table, engrossed in his newspaper, and had but a moment to rise to his feet before his aunt strode into the room with all her considerable stately gravity.

“My dearest nephew!” exclaimed she, in tones of such agitation that Darcy expressed some concern for her good health, but these were met with hurried dismissal.

“It was imperative,” said she, “that I speak with you as soon as possible.” The two footmen then still present quietly left the room. “I have come directly from Heartforshire.”

Darcy was all astonishment. “Have you indeed?”

“Most certainly,” Lady Catherine said gravely. “I could not neglect to go there after I was made aware of a most alarming and malicious report!”

She fixed her eyes on Darcy with such an intensity as to make him exceedingly uncomfortable. He could not imagine what Lady Catherine might have heard to awaken her indignation to such a degree and for a moment of trepidation he thought her information pertained to Georgiana. He was mistaken, however.

“Have you not had any news from that place?”

“Nothing,” said he, “that could possibly alarm you.” He could not be certain when Bingley’s engagement was to be made public and aware as he was that his aunt’s sense of discretion rarely reached beyond her own family circle, he did not intend to mention it.

His professions of ignorance seemed to have a calming affect on his aunt. She looked somewhat relieved and when she next spoke it was with considerably more composure.

“Well, I am glad of it,” said she. “For it means you have been spared the mortification which I was made to suffer.”

Darcy ’s astonishment had begun to give way to a lively curiosity, but he asked her no questions and merely begged that she would sit down and inquired whether he might not ring for some restorative or refreshment. But Lady Catherine would not hear him, and crossed the length of the room as she spoke:

“The report which prompted me to quit Rosings and travel straight to its point of origin was as follows: that your good friend Mr. Charles Bingley was on the point of being married to the eldest Miss Bennet and that you, Mr. Darcy of Pemberley, were soon afterwards to be united to Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”

Darcy changed colour. Had he known what to say at that moment he would not have been able to say it, he was incapable of uttering a sound.

Lady Catherine attributed both his heightened colour and his silence to the same shocked indignation that had overpower her upon first hearing it, and continued:

“I assure you that my feelings were exactly of a piece with yours! Even though I knew it to be a scandalous falsehood, I immediately travelled into Hertfordshire to have this reprehensible report universally contradicted.”

At this point Darcy ’s horror overtook his embarrassment and he cried out:

“You do not mean to say you went to see Miss Bennet!”

“Indeed I did!” Lady Catherine said grimly. “I have no notion of leaving to others what must be most expediently and properly executed by myself. I was determined to speak to Miss Bennet and to make her understand how wholly absurd any such designs of hers on your person would be.”

Mortification of the keenest kind made Darcy change colour once more. The idea of his aunt voicing her disapprobation to Elizabeth with all the incivility she was prone to when displeased was nothing short of humiliating. Lady Catherine nodded gravely.

“You will be shocked to hear,” said she, “that Miss Bennet not only denied any knowledge of this report being in circulation, but she moreover refused to acknowledge that such an engagement would be an impossibility!”

Darcy stared at his aunt. “She did?”

“Oh yes!” Lady Catherine cried indignantly. “I represented to her the degrading inequality of such a match and proved to her beyond a doubt that it would be a disgrace in the eyes of all your family and friends!”

Darcy ’s heart sank, but his aunt’s agitation of feeling was still rising and in the remembrance of her displeasure she added:

“But what, do you think, was Miss Bennett’s response to this representation of the truth? Impertinence! Nothing but impertinence. I well remember her words, after I impressed upon her how she would never be noticed by the circles to which she meant to be elevated she spoke to me these very words! That as the wife of Mr. Darcy she must have such sources of happiness attached to her situation that she would have no cause to repine! Mercenary girl!”

Her nephew did not look at her; he did not know where to look, he certainly could not speak. Could Elizabeth Bennet have spoken those words? It seemed almost incredible to him and yet the words were such as she might have spoken, they had her spirit about them.

“Such obstinate audacity I have never met with before in my life,” proclaimed Lady Catherine. “And from a young woman without family, connections, or fortune! She dared to call herself your equal! A gentleman and a gentleman’s daughter, that is what she said! The insolence!”

“And did,” said Darcy breathlessly, having finally found his voice, “your visit at last produce the desired effect?”

“I did finally extort from her an acknowledgement of what I already knew to be the truth: that she was not engaged to you. But when I required of her to promise me never to enter into such an engagement she outright refused me!”

Never before had Darcy attended to his aunt ’s words with such attention.

“She dared to pronounce herself the insulted party! But I was not taken in. I know her sort, she means to better herself and cares not whom she injures in the process. Wholly unmoved by any principle of duty, honour, or gratitude in the pursuit of what she has resolved to have. And such a girl I condescended to invite into my home!”

At last her ladyship sat down, her eyes resting on Darcy with a grim satisfaction.

“I can only say,” said he quietly, “that I could not have been more surprised than by what you have just told me.”

“It is an exceedingly shocking and sordid affair,” said she. “But such a report, patently false as it may be, might have been productive of much unpleasantness! Had every circumstance surrounding it not reaffirmed its impossibility.”

“Quite.”

“I hope,” she continued, “that you will speak to your friend and counsel him against this unfortunate entanglement with a young woman so entirely undeserving of his attention. I suppose you have not heard that the youngest of the Miss Bennets has eloped, with none other than George Wickham! Are your friends to move in such circles!”

“If Mr. Bingley has truly made Miss Jane Bennet an offer,” said Darcy stiffly, “I am afraid my counsel can no longer be called for.”

“Well!” said Lady Catherine gravely, “if that is indeed the case, you shall know how to act.”

Darcy regarded her in silence for a moment, masking his displeasure so effectively that it must reflect on her lack of attentiveness more than his skill. “I certainly shall,” he replied at length. “I am particularly grateful to you for all the information imparted to me. It shall be of material weight in deciding my course of action when next in Hertfordshire.”

This was enough to satisfy Lady Catherine, who was too used to get her way to doubt herself when she thought she heard what she wanted to hear; and once she was supplied with tea and cake, she was soon made quite comfortable again. But for Darcy, the first tumult of emotion past, the true period of discomfort was but just begun. Because he was obliged to sit by his aunt and attend to her, while in his mind the full meaning of what she had related to him had just begun to unfold.

Miss Elizabeth Bennet had spoken in favour of him. Spoken in such terms as could not possibly be misunderstood, not even by his aunt, though she had most certainly been mistaken in every other particular. How Lady Catherine might have expressed herself to Elizabeth, considering the abusive language she had so recently employed, was almost too painful to imagine; but this very circumstance made her reply so extraordinary. Darcy had often perceived, during their time together in Kent, that Miss Bennet had very little deference for his aunt. She certainly would not have been much inclined to answer a line of questioning so very impertinent and uncivil, but that she should give an answer opposite to her feelings seemed to him equally incredible. He would have been less surprised had his aunt told him that Miss Bennet had laughed in her face. She could have had no greater triumph over Lady Catherine than to inform her that she had not the slightest inclination to accept the nephew she sought to preserve from a connection to herself. Darcy thought too well of Elizabeth to believe she would go so far as to inform his aunt of his proposal, but he could not help wondering why she would have any scruples in making her indifference towards him known.

Unless, there was no longer such indifference. The thought of it was almost too much to admit without losing his composure, but the longer he thought on it, the more probable it became. Had Elizabeth Bennet still felt, as she had done last April, that he was the last man in the world whom she could ever be prevailed on to marry, she would certainly have acknowledged it. But instead she had spoken of a marriage to him in terms that were so wholly incompatible with her estimation of his character as expressed when she refused to accept his hand, that by the time that Lady Catherine had taken her leave, Darcy ’s doubt and astonishment had turned into a happiness born purely from a precarious, incipient hope.

The remainder of that day was spent in business, conducted in a most uncharacteristic absence of mind, and Darcy left for Netherfield the day after next.

Chapter Text

Bingley was the sort of person to receive any friend after any sort of separation with a degree of affection that most people reserved for those occasions where one was reunited with an intimate friend after a twelvemonth’s absence. On the present occasion, however, he outdid even himself. Never, in all the years of their friendship, had Darcy seen his friend so overjoyed.

“My congratulations, Bingley,” was his first, heartfelt effusion and Bingley embraced him with a declaration of his friendship, his happiness and his gratitude, all in one breath.

It was impossible that their first hour together should not be spent talking over Bingley’s successful application to Miss Bennet. Darcy, as was his custom, listened more than he spoke, but his enjoyment in listening was sincere, and his happiness on behalf of his friend plainly visible on his face. Bingley gloried in his approbation, too happy and too amiable to harbour any resentment concerning the past; and allowing himself but one triumph over his friend in at last procuring his agreement that Miss Bennet truly was, in every sense of the word, an angel.

Even once Bingley was capable of conversing on other subjects, Darcy took great pleasure in provoking him to reiterate all he had to say of his own happiness and Miss Bennet’s perfections. His affection for Bingley made witnessing his joy a sincere delight; and Darcy moreover believed, from all he knew of Bingley and all he had lately learned of Miss Bennet, that even his greatest expectations of felicity were both rational and just.

Even at the height of his exuberance, Bingley had not forgotten Darcy’s concerns; but as his friend did not elude to them himself and he had no pleasing intelligence to give, he did not dare mention Elizabeth. Darcy was glad of it, for the hope that Lady Catherine’s communication had instilled in him was as yet too fragile to withstand close questioning. He was persuaded, by Elizabeth’s behaviour to him at Pemberly, that she no longer hated him. But her conduct at Longbourn during his last two visits had been such that he still considered it very unlikely that she had meant to encourage him. His present state of uncertainty was not one that promoted avoidance, however, and he was eager to agree to Bingley’s proposal to call on the Bennets the following morning.

They arrived early, but it was evident from their reception that for Bingley this had become a commonplace occurrence. Darcy was humbled by the warmth and sincerity with which Miss Bennet greeted him, and he wished her joy with anxious civility.

Miss Elizabeth was again rather silent, but it occurred to Darcy that he had not often seen her look so pale and that her eyes were fixed on him far oftener than he spoke. They had not been seated long, however, when Bingley, who wanted to be alone with Jane, proposed their all walking out.

“What a delightful scheme,” Mrs. Bennet exclaimed, who was not at all in the habit of walking herself, “I daresay my girls will be very glad to go, won’t you my dears?”

Miss Mary gravely excused herself on account of her studies, but the remaining Miss Bennets readily agreed, and the five of them set off together. Bingley and Jane, however, soon allowed the others to outstrip them. They lagged behind, and Darcy was left attending to both Elizabeth and Catherine. Very little was said by either, and thought Darcy abused himself bitterly for his stupidity, he was too much oppressed by his thoughts to make more than the most commonplace observations. Miss Catherine’s silence, evidently born from awe of him, was disheartening; but Miss Elizabeth’s was yet more puzzling. There was no ill temper in her looks, no displeasure in her countenance, but the distraction of her mind was so evident that Darcy began to wonder whether she might suspect the resolution currently forming in his mind.

Miss Catherine had expressed a wish of calling on Maria Lucas and consequently, when they passed by Lucas Lodge, she took leave of them and left Darcy and Elizabeth to go on alone. Darcy saw a heightened colour overspread Elizabeth’s pale cheeks and he meant at last to speak, to put them both at ease, but the lady left him no opportunity.

"Mr. Darcy, I am a very selfish creature,” she began, “and, for the sake of giving relief to my own feelings, care not how much I may be wounding yours.”

She did not look at him, but her tone was ill matched to the contents of her words and for a moment Darcy was filled with a most painful confusion, before the conclusion of her speech provided a most unexpected explanation.

“I can no longer help thanking you for your unexampled kindness to my poor sister. Ever since I have known it, I have been most anxious to acknowledge to you how gratefully I feel it. Were it known to the rest of my family, I should not have merely my own gratitude to express."

"I am sorry, exceedingly sorry," replied Darcy, with more sincerity than composure, "that you have ever been informed of what may, in a mistaken light, have given you uneasiness. I did not think Mrs. Gardiner was so little to be trusted."

"You must not blame my aunt. Lydia's thoughtlessness first betrayed to me that you had been concerned in the matter; and, of course, I could not rest till I knew the particulars. Let me thank you again and again, in the name of all my family, for that generous compassion which induced you to take so much trouble, and bear so many mortifications, for the sake of discovering them."

Never before had he heard her speak with such urgency and tenderness. Her eyes were fixed on the path before them, but there was a vulnerability in her that moved him greatly.

"If you will thank me," he replied quietly, "let it be for yourself alone. That the wish of giving happiness to you might add force to the other inducements which led me on, I shall not attempt to deny. But your family owe me nothing. Much as I respect them, I believe I thought only of you."

A blush touch the edge of Miss Elizabeth’s cheek, but she did not say a word. Darcy waited, doubted, and followed his resolve.

"You are too generous to trifle with me. If your feelings are still what they were last April, tell me so at once. My affections and wishes are unchanged, but one word from you will silence me on this subject for ever."

“Dear sir—” It was a hasty utterance, and not immediately encouraging in and of itself, but there was a quality to the lady’s voice which clarified their meaning. And Elizabeth went on, though not very fluently, to explain that her sentiments had undergone very material a change since the period to which he alluded, concluding, with a trembling smile: “And I beg you will believe me, Mr. Darcy, when I assure you that I receive your present assurances with nothing but the sincerest pleasure and gratitude.”

The happiness which this reply produced was so great that it was some time before Darcy was capable of speaking at all. He was no more capable of meeting Elizabeth’s eye than she was able to encounter his, but that their relief was of a piece, was evident even in their shared silence.

“There is not one part of me that would presume to doubt you,” said he at last, his heartfelt delight as present in his voice as it was in his expression. “My dearest wish, from the moment I acquired the sense to wish it, has been to win your esteem and to be deserving of your regard. Miss Bennet, forgive my lack of eloquence, you have brought me happiness beyond expectation.”

They walked on, without knowing in what direction. There was too much to be thought, and felt, and said, for attention to any other objects. Darcy had the pleasure of seeing Elizabeth at last fix her gaze on him, her dark eyes bright with a joy he had never witnessed before.

“You cannot believe how foolish I felt,” confessed she, “in coming to understand my feelings only after I believed you to be lost to me. I certainly did not dare expect a renewal of your love, though I did hope.”

Darcy raised his head. “Had I known it, had I known even half of it— I had disgraced myself in your presence once, any further presumption would have been unpardonable.”

Elizabeth protested against such expressions and, with gentle playfulness, commended him for his intrepidity. He smiled and confided to her that more than to his intrepidity, they were indebted for their present good understanding to the efforts of his aunt, and her attempt to expose to him what she deemed Elizabeth’s perverseness and assurance.

"It taught me to hope," said he, "as I had scarcely ever allowed myself to hope before. I knew enough of your disposition to be certain that, had you been absolutely, irrevocably decided against me, you would have acknowledged it to Lady Catherine, frankly and openly."

Elizabeth coloured and laughed as she replied, "Yes, you know enough of my frankness to believe me capable of that. After abusing you so abominably to your face, I could have no scruple in abusing you to all your relations."

But Darcy shook his head. "What did you say of me, that I did not deserve? For, though your accusations were ill-founded, formed on mistaken premises, my behaviour to you at the time had merited the severest reproof. It was unpardonable. I cannot think of it without abhorrence."

"We will not quarrel for the greater share of blame annexed to that evening," said Elizabeth. "The conduct of neither, if strictly examined, will be irreproachable; but since then, we have both, I hope, improved in civility."

"I cannot be so easily reconciled to myself. The recollection of what I then said, of my conduct, my manners, my expressions during the whole of it, is now, and has been many months, inexpressibly painful to me.” He turned away his head. “Your reproof, so well applied, I shall never forget: 'had you behaved in a more gentlemanlike manner.' Those were your words. You know not, you can scarcely conceive, how they have tortured me;—though it was some time, I confess, before I was reasonable enough to allow their justice."

"I was certainly very far from expecting them to make so strong an impression. I had not the smallest idea of their being ever felt in such a way." Elizabeth’s expression was all gentleness, but Darcy’s feelings were not so easily quieted.

"I can easily believe it. You thought me then devoid of every proper feeling, I am sure you did. The turn of your countenance I shall never forget, as you said that I could not have addressed you in any possible way that would induce you to accept me."

"Oh! do not repeat what I then said,” exclaimed she. “These recollections will not do at all. I assure you that I have long been most heartily ashamed of it."

Darcy fell silent for a moment and then, with some hesitation, mentioned his letter. "Did it," said he, "did it soon make you think better of me? Did you, on reading it, give any credit to its contents?"

“Not, perhaps, on its first perusal,” said she, “but it could only take a second to impress upon me how grossly my judgement had erred.” She explained in solemn, but sensible terms what its effect on her had been, and how gradually all her former prejudices had been removed.

"I knew," said he feelingly, "that what I wrote must give you pain, but it was necessary. I hope you have destroyed the letter. There was one part especially, the opening of it, which I should dread your having the power of reading again. I can remember some expressions which might justly make you hate me."

"The letter shall certainly be burnt, if you believe it essential to the preservation of my regard; but, though we have both reason to think my opinions not entirely unalterable, they are not, I hope, quite so easily changed as that implies."

This almost drew a smile from him, but he could not help saying, “When I wrote that letter I believed myself perfectly calm and cool, but I am since convinced that it was written in a dreadful bitterness of spirit."

"The letter, perhaps, began in bitterness, but it did not end so. The adieu is charity itself. But think no more of the letter. The feelings of the person who wrote, and the person who received it, are now so widely different from what they were then, that every unpleasant circumstance attending it ought to be forgotten. You must learn some of my philosophy. Think only of the past as its remembrance gives you pleasure."

"I cannot give you credit for any philosophy of the kind,” said Darcy, grave even in the face of her smiles. “Your retrospections must be so totally void of reproach, that the contentment arising from them is not of philosophy, but, what is much better, of innocence. But with me, it is not so. Painful recollections will intrude which cannot, which ought not, to be repelled. I have been a selfish being all my life, in practice, though not in principle. As a child I was taught what was right, but I was not taught to correct my temper. I was given good principles, but left to follow them in pride and conceit. Unfortunately an only son (for many years an only child), I was spoilt by my parents, who, though good themselves (my father, particularly, all that was benevolent and amiable), allowed, encouraged, almost taught me to be selfish and overbearing; to care for none beyond my own family circle; to think meanly of all the rest of the world; to wish at least to think meanly of their sense and worth compared with my own. Such I was, from eight to eight and twenty; and such I might still have been but for you, dearest, loveliest Elizabeth! What do I not owe you! You taught me a lesson, hard indeed at first, but most advantageous. By you, I was properly humbled. I came to you without a doubt of my reception. You showed me how insufficient were all my pretensions to please a woman worthy of being pleased."

Elizabeth looked up at him. "Had you then persuaded yourself that I should?"

"Indeed I had. What will you think of my vanity? I believed you to be wishing, expecting my addresses."

"My manners must have been in fault, but not intentionally, I assure you. I never meant to deceive you, but my spirits might often lead me wrong. How you must have hated me after that evening?"

"Hate you!” he exclaimed with an incredulity that must vouch for the strength of his attachment. “I was angry perhaps at first, but my anger soon began to take a proper direction."

"I am almost afraid of asking what you thought of me, when we met at Pemberley. You blamed me for coming?"

"No indeed,” he assured her, “I felt nothing but surprise."

"Your surprise could not be greater than mine in being noticed by you. My conscience told me that I deserved no extraordinary politeness, and I confess that I did not expect to receive more than my due."

"My object then," replied Darcy, "was to show you, by every civility in my power, that I was not so mean as to resent the past; and I hoped to obtain your forgiveness, to lessen your ill opinion, by letting you see that your reproofs had been attended to. How soon any other wishes introduced themselves I can hardly tell, but I believe in about half an hour after I had seen you."

Elizabeth made no direct answer, but looked exceedingly gratified and assured him it was more than she had ever hoped for.

“I felt your discomfort, but I could not have been more grateful to meet with you again, and to have the opportunity of introducing you to my sister. I had long wished for her to be known to you.”

Elizabeth spoke so warmly of Georgiana as to increase Darcy’s satisfaction still further, and he eagerly assured her of Georgiana's delight in her acquaintance, and of her disappointment at its sudden interruption. This naturally led Elizabeth to mention the cause of that interruption and their parting interview, to which Darcy explained that his resolution of following her from Derbyshire in quest of her sister had been formed before he quitted the inn, and that his gravity and thoughtfulness there had arisen from no other struggles than what such a purpose must comprehend.

She expressed her gratitude again, but it was too painful a subject to each, to be dwelt on farther.

After walking several miles in a leisurely manner, and too busy to know anything about it, they found at last, on examining their watches, that it was time to be at home. Elizabeth exclaimed her surprise, laughed heartily at them both and then wondered:

"What could become of Mr. Bingley and Jane!"

“For your sister I dare not speak,” said Darcy with a smile, “but I sincerely doubt that he has repined at the loss of our company.”

“You do him no justice,” teased Elizabeth.

“I do justice to his charm as a lover.”

“You know of their engagement, then?”

“Bingley has given me the earliest information of it, to my very sincere delight.”

"I must ask whether you were surprised?" said Elizabeth.

"Not at all. When I went away, I felt that it would soon happen."

"That is to say, you had given your permission. I guessed as much." And though he exclaimed at the term, she found that it had been pretty much the case.

"On the evening before my going to London," said he, "I made a confession to him, which I believe I ought to have made long ago. I told him of all that had occurred to make my former interference in his affairs absurd and impertinent. His surprise was great. He had never had the slightest suspicion. I told him, moreover, that I believed myself mistaken in supposing, as I had done, that your sister was indifferent to him; and as I could easily perceive that his attachment to her was unabated, I felt no doubt of their happiness together."

Elizabeth smiled. "Did you speak from your own observation," said she, "when you told him that my sister loved him, or merely from my information last spring?"

"From the former. I had narrowly observed her during the two visits which I had lately made here; and I was convinced of her affection."

"And your assurance of it, I suppose, carried immediate conviction to him."

"It did,” Darcy agreed. “Bingley is most unaffectedly modest. His diffidence had prevented his depending on his own judgment in so anxious a case, but his reliance on mine made every thing easy. I was obliged to confess one thing, which for a time, and not unjustly, offended him. I could not allow myself to conceal that your sister had been in town three months last winter, that I had known it, and purposely kept it from him. He was angry. But his anger, I am persuaded, lasted no longer than he remained in any doubt of your sister's sentiments. He has heartily forgiven me now."

Elizabeth looked very much diverted, but said nothing. Darcy was uncertain as to the source of her amusement, but did not press for an explanation. He instead continued the conversation in anticipating the happiness of Bingley, which of course was to be inferior only to his own, till they had reached the house. In the hall they parted, with such a look of joyful embarrassment on either side as would have certainly have betrayed them, had there been anyone else present.

Chapter Text

While Bingley had indeed not given much thought to losing sight of Darcy and Elizabeth during their walk, his surprise at finding them not yet returned, when he and Jane reached the house, was extremely great. His eyes were directed towards Darcy with great curiosity when they sat down at table, but his friend chose not to perceive it.

"My dear Lizzy, where can you have been walking to?" was the general exclamation of those assembled, but the answer to those inquiries no more satisfied his curiosity than Darcy’s stalwart silence.

“We wandered about until I was beyond my own knowledge,” said she, shaking her head, “I am a most neglectful guide.” And while there was a heightened colour in her cheeks, there appeared no other disturbance of her composure.

All the time after dinner Bingley endeavoured to find out if anything could possibly have passed between his friend and his intended sister that might be read on either of their faces. But as he was not normally in the habit of studying too deep for any thoughts or feelings that were not willingly shared, he did not get on at all. It is probable his efforts were somewhat impeded by the necessity of his dividing his attention, for it was quite impossible that too much of it was spared from Miss Bennet. After all, of the preceding fortnight he had only been able to spend ten evenings in her company, and to miss even a moment of her conversation was a very considerable sacrifice.

As the moment of parting drew near, however, his curiosity rose once more, and he closely observed both Darcy and Elizabeth when they bid each other adieu. Their parting was perfectly civil, but Bingley could discover nothing more in it, causing him to depart in as much of a state of irritation as a man of his temper could possibly be.

“Well!” he exclaimed, as soon as he and Darcy had mounted their horses and had put a tolerable distance between themselves and the stable hand.

“Well?” his friend repeated placidly.

“For God’s sake, man!” Bingley cried out. “Did you speak to her!”

Darcy was not more eloquent with his friend than he had been with the object of his affection, but fortunately Bingley required only very few words to understand him. A single affirmation, coupled with an expression of his happiness, was enough to make Bingley burst forth in such a flood of congratulations as to save Darcy the trouble of saying much of anything for most of the ride back to Netherfield. His happiness on his friend’s account truly rivalled that which he felt on his own, and he pronounced them both the most fortunate fellows that ever breathed.

There could of course be no argument on that point and Darcy, who was at that moment far too happy himself to dwell on any painful recollections, found relief in thanking Bingley for his friendship and expressing how sincere a pleasure it would be to call him his brother. That he had once sought to connect them by other means and that he had strove to prevent the very union that was to connect them now, it would become his business to forget.

“I do declare, Darcy,” said Bingley. “That until Louisa married I never much thought of the importance of the spouses of one’s siblings as relating to one’s own preference, rather than theirs. But now I must say that it will be an uncommon delight to be able to welcome Elizabeth as my sister and you as my brother in such immediate succession!”

“I will not ask you,” Darcy spoke amusedly. “Of which newly acquired relation you expect to have most enjoyment.”

“And I will not tell,” said Bingley, laughing. “But I will have you know that if Mrs Darcy and yourself do not visit us very frequently, I shall make as much trouble as a younger brother is naturally sanctioned to do.”

The pronouncement of the name Mrs Darcy sank Darcy back into silence, at once too pleased and too embarrassed by his own emotion to speak. But Netherfield was not far off now, and both gentlemen rode the rest of the way in a comfortable silence of mutual agreement and very comparable happiness.

The following morning Darcy found himself as quick to rise and as quick in dressing as Bingley had been the preceding weeks. In place of the oppressive apprehension which had been his lot until yesterday, he could now share in his friend’s elation and enjoyment. Albeit not quite in equal measure, both from their general difference of temper and the few obstacles that still stood in Darcy’s way that Bingley had long removed. That they would erelong be removed, Darcy did not doubt; having secured Elizabeth’s faith, he did not doubt the acquiescence of her parents. He was, however, in a most mortifying and humbling way, quite apprehensive as to her family’s more general approbation. That they would sanction the match he was assured of, but that they would welcome him in their family circle with as much pleasure as they did Bingley he thought much less probable.

Upon arriving at Longbourn he felt the distinction between Mrs. Bennet’s greeting of himself and his friend more starkly than ever; and it was the work of some moments to remind himself that, regardless of the lady’s ill breeding, his own previous conduct must be chiefly to blame for it. In Miss Bennet he found a very different reception. She met him with such a smile as left no doubt of either her good information or her hearty approbation and Darcy exerted himself to answer her in a like manner. Not even her warmth and friendship was equal to Bingley’s, however, as he shook hands with Elizabeth. He was all smiles and congeniality, and no sooner had they all sat down or he enquired in high spirits:

“Mrs. Bennet, have you no more lanes hereabouts in which Lizzy may lose her way again to-day?”

“I advise Mr. Darcy, and Lizzy, and Kitty,” said Mrs. Bennet, “to walk to Oakham Mount this morning. It is a nice long walk, and Mr. Darcy has never seen the view.”

“It may do very well for the others,” replied Mr. Bingley; “but I am sure it will be too much for Kitty. Won’t it, Kitty?”

Darcy, who had kept his composure during his first speech, was very near losing it at this very deliberate addition, but Miss Catherine seemed really glad of it. She owned that she had rather stay at home and though Elizabeth did not meet his eyes, Darcy felt sure that he was by that time studied enough in catching their expression to detect her pleasure and amusement.

“I should like to see the view from the Mount very much,” said he. “I have often heard it mentioned.”

Mrs. Bennet seemed pleased with this at least and Elizabeth, after a smiling incline of her head, excused herself to fetch her parasol.

They set off together in a somewhat embarrassed silence, which, once they were out of the confines of the park, was broken by Elizabeth.

“I fear,” said she archly, “that we shall soon exhaust all that the surroundings of Longbourn have to offer, if we are to be sent out of doors for every satisfactory conversation.”

He smiled. “It will have to do for the present. We may at length attempt to change walking for dancing together.”

“Dancing is a fraught occupation for us, sir,” said she with playful gravity. “Need I remind you that you refused to stand up with me twice?”

“And so did you,” returned he with affectionate amusement. “Once at Sir William’s and once during your stay at Netherfield.”

“Ah! Was that your attempt at making amends?”

“Not at all, I merely wished to provide you hospitality, and perhaps, to show Bingley I was not above dancing in a drawing room, as he accused me of being when we returned from Lucas Lodge that night.”

Elizabeth looked excessively diverted. “Well, sir, Pemberley I know has several delightful drawing rooms, and once we are there, I shall require you to dance with me in each and every one.”

"I shall do so with great pleasure,” he assured her, smiling at the sky, for he did not feel quite equal to meeting her gaze.

They walked in silence for a few moments, each in earnest yet pleasant contemplation, until it was at last acknowledged that none of these predicted pleasures could come to pass without an application to Elizabeth’s parents. It was resolved that Darcy should ask Mr. Bennet's consent in the course of the evening and that Elizabeth would do the same by her mother. Darcy saw her apprehension on the subject and resolved at once to take the earliest opportunity of speaking to her father.

Accordingly, when Mr. Bennet withdrew to the library that evening, Darcy followed him thither. Mr. Bennet was no less surprised at this than he was at the subsequent communication he received. His astonishment even prevented him from giving an immediate response.

Six months ago this astonishment would not have surprised Darcy, but he would have woefully misinterpreted it's source. Now he saw it for what it was, a father's astonishment at the notion that his daughter had accepted the man now before him. But there seemed, at least, to be no doubt on that score on Mr Bennet’s mind, which was at present enough for Darcy.

Indeed, proud and disagreeable as me Bennet had come to think of Fitzwilliam Darcy, he had yet too high an opinion of his sense to suspect him of applying to him before having first spoken to Elizabeth. Having recently felt, in quick succession, the misery of a daughter married badly and the joy of seeing another truly well matched, Mr. Bennet at that moment experienced a very natural heightening of fatherly concern. A concern which might not have been felt quite so keenly, if it had been more present in previous years. When at last he did speak, it was in a tone of rigid civility.

"Forgive me, Mr. Darcy, you took me quite by surprise.”

“Not at all, sir,” said Darcy. He perceived and anxiety in Mr. Bennet that he suspected Elizabeth only possessed the power to remove; he therefore made no attempt to do so. His love and admiration for Elizabeth were expressed with earnest simplicity and his entreaty to Mr. Bennet for his approbation to his marrying her was repeated but once.

Mr. Bennet heard him in grave silence, and gave his consent with equal gravity.

“I am very much obliged to you, sir.”

“If you would be so kind,” said Mr. Bennet stiffly, “to inform my daughter I wish to speak to her.”

Darcy bowed, and left the room.

No lover, of any disposition, is likely to take pleasure in such a scene, but Darcy’s pride was no longer in a state to be wounded and he was persuaded Mr. Bennet’s dislike of him would not endure. This confidence, stemming from Elizabeth’s affection for him rather than from his own merits, made everything easy; and he was able to enter the drawing-room without any embarrassment.

Elizabeth’s eyes were instantly upon him and his smile was able to restore some of the colour to her cheeks. In a few minutes he approached the table where she was sitting with Catherine; and, while pretending to admire her work said in a whisper, "Go to your father, he wants you in the library." She was gone directly.

It was a long time before Elizabeth returned. Darcy felt for her, more than for himself, and spent the chief of the time in distracted silence. When she reentered the room it was with a much happier aspect and in tolerable composure. He smile to Darcy guarded, but joyful, persuading Darcy that she had been able to give her father the assurances that he could not. He took a seat by Bingley, Elizabeth did the same by her sisters, and the evening passed tranquilly away. Every thing was too recent for gaiety, but there was no longer anything material to be dreaded, and the comfort of ease and familiarity would come in time.

When they rode back to Netherfield that night, Darcy was at first very quiet. Perhaps now Elizabeth would be speaking to her mother, and of the rationality of her response he was much less persuaded. He would not remain silent, however, when confidence would bring his friend joy, and so they spent this ride much like the previous.

Bingley, whose joy was always profusely expressed, was able to retire to bed soon after they arrived; but Darcy had yet to give relief to his feelings and sat down by candlelight to write Georgiana a much longer letter than was strictly necessary to convey what news he had to give. Even so it was not nearly long enough to contain all he had so say on the subject, but for once Darcy did not doubt that no matter how he expressed himself, his meaning would be understood, and his words would be read with as much pleasure as he felt in writing them.

Chapter Text

The following morning was exceedingly wet and as Darcy was late in coming to breakfast, Bingley was at liberty to indulge in all the solemn reflections on rain, violent colds, and all the unexpected happiness that might follow thereafter, that his mind could supply. These reflections were for a time interrupted, by the arrival of the post, which contained letters from both of his sisters.

“My dear Charles,

You cannot imagine my surprise and delight upon receiving your letter. Pray excuse me for not having answered it sooner, but I am sure you have been far too pleasantly engaged to think of me.

Allow me to congratulate you on this happy news, Louisa and I have been talking of nothing else. We could scarcely have suspected this turn of events when we took leave of you at Pemberley a mere six weeks ago! I do wish you joy. I have an excessive regard for Jane Bennet and could not be more delighted with your choice. I shall write to her directly, it has been so long since I have heard from her.

Pray send my warmest regards to our kind friend, if he is still with you at Netherfield. I do wish you had both gone to Scarborough with us, your presence is sorely missed.

I hope to be with you again very soon.

Yours,” etc.

Louisa’s letter, which was enclosed in the same envelope, was much in the same style, diverging only in the addition of the very polite and equally indifferent well-wishes of her husband. Not even Charles Bingley could be wholly satisfied with such correspondence, but his affection for Jane prevailed. Caroline and Louisa, whatever their former misgivings, would grow to love her as they ought once Jane was established as their sister.

Darcy came down soon after the letters had been put aside and Bingley took great pleasure in reminding his friend that now he was to play the new lover.

“You play the part with such conviction I need not,” was the measured reply, but Darcy felt a good deal of uneasiness on the matter.

It was good, therefore, that their arrival at Longbourn was rather later than had become the custom, for Jane and Elizabeth just happened to be taking a turn in the garden when they rode up. Darcy found himself almost as warmly received by the former as by the latter, and once again had the pleasure of being most affectionately claimed as a future brother. Each lady entered the house on the arm of the man who was to secure and safeguard her felicity and Darcy was grateful to find that the morning passed off much calmer and pleasanter than he had expected.

Mrs. Bennet, while she smiled at him very often, did not venture to speak to him, unless it was to offer him any attention, or mark her deference for his opinion. Miss Catherine seemed similarly awed, but Darcy took pains to join in her conversation with Bingley, and some time later he overheard her express her hope to Elizabeth that their father might at some point let her visit Pemberley. Miss Mary suffered from no such diffidence; she shook hands with him, shared some observations on marriage which he listened to with some bemusement, and spoke with sincerity on the happy prospect of their nearer connection. Darcy was very conscious of the way Elizabeth’s attention was fixed on him whenever he spoke to any of her family apart from Jane, and exerted himself.

That he was not the only one to do so, was very evident. Mr. Bennet seemed intent on getting acquainted with him and even went so far as to invite him to join him in his library after dinner. Darcy readily accepted, but Mr. Bennet’s purported object of showing him a certain publication in this morning’s newspaper which they had discussed before, proved not to be his true purpose. After a brief perusal of the piece of news in question he began in the following manner:

“Lizzy has given me to understand that it is you to whom I am indebted for the preservation of my youngest daughter.”

The response which this produced, can easily be imagined. Darcy, with his feelings considerably worked, protested against being thanked, and so vehemently opposed Mr. Bennet when he professed his intent to repay him that Mr. Bennet was for a time unable to offer any retort. It was fortunate, therefore, that it gave the gentleman no pain to yield to the wishes of his intended son-in-law. Enough was said on both sides to reach an agreement that the subject would never be broached again and there was an end of the matter.

The following day was one of much greater ease; and Elizabeth’s spirits soon rising to playfulness again, she wanted him to account for his having ever fallen in love with her. Darcy listened to her with affectionate amusement, but did not answer, until she thus pressed him:

“How could you begin? I can comprehend your going on charmingly, when you had once made a beginning; but what could set you off in the first place?”

“I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look, or the words, which laid the foundation. It is too long ago. I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun.”

“My beauty you had early withstood, and as for my manners—my behaviour to you was at least always bordering on the uncivil, and I never spoke to you without rather wishing to give you pain than not. Now be sincere; did you admire me for my impertinence?”

Darcy gave a sideways glance to meet Elizabeth’s eyes, which were merry. He was ill-equipped to express just how much he had admired her then, and even that admiration was nothing to what he felt at present. “For the liveliness of your mind, I did,” he replied.

“You may as well call it impertinence at once. It was very little less. The fact is, that you were sick of civility, of deference, of officious attention. You were disgusted with the women who were always speaking, and looking, and thinking for your approbation alone. I roused, and interested you, because I was so unlike them. Had you not been really amiable, you would have hated me for it; but in spite of the pains you took to disguise yourself, your feelings were always noble and just; and in your heart, you thoroughly despised the persons who so assiduously courted you. There—I have saved you the trouble of accounting for it; and really, all things considered, I begin to think it perfectly reasonable. To be sure, you knew no actual good of me—but nobody thinks of that when they fall in love.”

He frowned a little, in spite of her laughing tone. “Was there no good in your affectionate behaviour to Jane while she was ill at Netherfield?”

“Dearest Jane! who could have done less for her? But make a virtue of it by all means. My good qualities are under your protection, and you are to exaggerate them as much as possible; and, in return, it belongs to me to find occasions for teasing and quarrelling with you as often as may be; and I shall begin directly by asking you what made you so unwilling to come to the point at last.”

Her manner of mixing archness and sincerity was still too new to Darcy to be able to respond in kind, and his thoughtfulness brought Elizabeth’s lithe steps to a halt. She looked at him with great gentleness.

“What made you so shy of me, when you first called, and afterwards dined here? Why, especially, when you called, did you look as if you did not care about me?”

“Because you were grave and silent, and gave me no encouragement.”

“But I was embarrassed.”

“And so was I.”

“You might have talked to me more when you came to dinner.”

“A man who had felt less, might.”

This was spoken with enough tenderness to make Elizabeth seek refuge in merriment again.

"How unlucky,” cried she, “that you should have a reasonable answer to give, and that I should be so reasonable as to admit it! But I wonder how long you would have gone on, if you had been left to yourself. I wonder when you would have spoken, if I had not asked you! My resolution of thanking you for your kindness to Lydia had certainly great effect. Too much, I am afraid; for what becomes of the moral, if our comfort springs from a breach of promise? for I ought not to have mentioned the subject. This will never do."

“You need not distress yourself. The moral will be perfectly fair. Lady Catherine's unjustifiable endeavours to separate us were the means of removing all my doubts. I am not indebted for my present happiness to your eager desire of expressing your gratitude. I was not in a humour to wait for any opening of yours. My aunt's intelligence had given me hope, and I was determined at once to know every thing.”

“Lady Catherine has been of infinite use, which ought to make her happy, for she loves to be of use. But tell me, what did you come down to Netherfield for? Was it merely to ride to Longbourn and be embarrassed? Or had you intended any more serious consequence?”

They had turned back towards the house, walking rather slowly.

“My real purpose was to see you, and to judge, if I could, whether I might ever hope to make you love me. My avowed one, or what I avowed to myself, was to see whether your sister were still partial to Bingley, and if she were, to make the confession to him which I have since made.”

Elizabeth looked pleased, and was silent for a moment, before saying: “Shall you ever have courage to announce to Lady Catherine what is to befall her?”

“I am more likely to want more time than courage, Elizabeth,” said he. The truth was he had spared only a single thought for Lady Catherine since securing Elizabeth’s hand, on the point of having to wait to write to his cousin Fitzwilliam until he had written to her. “But it ought to be done,” he added, “and if you will give me a sheet of paper, it shall be done directly.”

“And if I had not a letter to write myself, I might sit by you and admire the evenness of your writing, as another young lady once did. But I have an aunt, too, who must not be longer neglected.”

As they made their way into the house, Elizabeth explained that she had thus far neglected to answer the letter in which Mrs. Gardiner had explained his involvement in her younger sister’s wedding.

“I am heartily ashamed of myself for having already deprived my dear uncle and aunt of three whole days of happiness, but I could not possibly have answered when it arrived. My dear aunt supposed too much of our understanding of one another, and cruelly mortified me with the felicity she attributed to me. But now with what pleasure shall I write to her, and surpass her on ever point.”

“Pray send her and Mr Gardiner my love,” said Darcy, smiling, “and do tell them that they are all invited to Pemberley for Christmas.”

“The children too?” asked Elizabeth, delighted.

“The children especially.”

They each sat down to write their letters and while neither of them were long, it is not to be wondered at that they were in a very different style. Still different from either was what Darcy afterwards penned to Colonel Fitzwilliam. It was short and earnest and full of that masculine directness that tends to subside between two young men having grown up much in each other’s company and being well acquainted with one another’s minds. It included but one phrase of delicacy, particularly the following:

“I know you will approve my choice, which truly brings me great joy, and leaves me only with the wish that your approval will be unmarred by any other sentiment.”

Chapter Text

Any engagement announced so soon after a first would have garnered elevated interest, but the engagement of Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet created quite the stir. All of Meryton seemed intent on making the happy couple their congratulations, if only to ascertain how much of real happiness their future might reasonably be expected to contain. Elizabeth laughed at them all and Darcy bore it with philosophic composure.

Those congratulations that were carried to them from afar, were a great deal more pleasing. The felicitations and well wishes of Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner and Colonel Fizwilliam were expressed with a gratifying degree of heartfelt warmth, but Georgiana's response outshone them both. Four sides of paper were insufficient to contain all her delight, and all her earnest desire of being loved by her sister.

“I was so very glad when you first wrote that you had been able to meet with Miss Bennet and her family again, and now I need no longer be fearful of not ever seeing her again myself. She shall be at Pemberley with us! I am so grateful to know her already, so that I might know myself to be truthful when I promise you that I will love her as much as you—” were but some of the effusions in her letter, and Darcy read enough of it aloud to Elizabeth to make her wish to include a note of her own in his response.

She went to her writing desk, and searching among the letters there collected, Darcy's eye was involuntarily drawn towards them. Elizabeth smiled.

“You need not suspect me,” she teased. “You desired your letter to be burned; it is no longer among them.” Her bright eyes laughed at him and she added: “I shall have no need for the letter, you know, to remind me of my most material change in sentiment, for I shall have its main source with me in future.”

“Will you,” said he with a smile.

“Yes! For your housekeeper shall soon be my own.”

“My housekeeper!” he repeated in astonishment, greatly amusing Elizabeth.

“Indeed,” said she, smiling, “it was she who informed me that I had not merely undervalued your merits, but that I had entirely mistaken your character.”

“Mrs. Reynolds is a very affectionate woman,” Darcy replied, both pleased and embarrassed.

“She certainly is.” Elizabeth's smile betrayed that she might have said much more on the subject, but to Darcy's relief she did not; merely adding as she sat down to her letter: “And she shall forever be in my good graces because of it.”

The following morning brought no correspondence, but a message from Lady Lucas to explain away its absence. In place of a letter of congratulation from Mrs. Lucas, which Elizabeth had been in trepidatious expectation of, the Collinses were come themselves to Lucas Lodge. The reason of this sudden removal was soon evident. Lady Catherine had been rendered so exceedingly angry by the contents of her nephew's letter, that Mrs. Collins, who evidently rejoiced in the match, had been anxious to get away till the storm was blown over.

This did not bode well for the contents of Lady Catherine's letter, which arrived soon after, and made Darcy more angry than he had often been in his life. Her indignation was extreme, and she had sent him language so very abusive, especially of his intended, that Darcy refused to let Elizabeth see it, even though she begged him most earnestly to be allowed to read it. But Darcy would not yield; he disposed of the letter, and was determined to let that be an end to all intercourse with his aunt. Even at this great distance, however, she was of use to him; for her words served to give him a disgust to all superciliousness, that was of great advantage to him the following days.

Mrs. Collins's presence, which was a sincere pleasure to Elizabeth, exposed Darcy to all the parading and obsequious civility of her husband. Especially because, due to Mrs. Collins’s situation, they met more often at Lucas Lodge than at Longbourn. He bore it, however, with admirable calmness. He could even listen to Sir William Lucas, when he complimented him on carrying away the brightest jewel of the country, and expressed his hopes of their all meeting frequently at St. James's, with very decent composure. If he did shrug his shoulders, it was not till Sir William was out of sight.

Mrs. Phillips's vulgarity was another, and perhaps a greater, tax on his forbearance; and though Mrs. Phillips, as well as Mrs. Bennet, stood in too much awe of him to speak with the familiarity which Bingley's good humour encouraged, yet, whenever she did speak, she must be vulgar. Even the knowledge, which Darcy soon acquired, that whatever he chose to say would be considered as wit, could not make conversing with her pleasant. Elizabeth did all she could to shield him from the frequent notice of either, and was ever anxious to keep him to herself, and to those of her family with whom he might converse without mortification; and Darcy was profoundly grateful to her for it.

Seeing Elizabeth in affectionate conversation with her sisters continued to be a source of joy and fervent hope. It was Darcy's one remaining wish, that she and Georgina would grow as fond of one another; and whenever Elizabeth looked forward to their life at Pemberley, it moved Darcy to find that she already had Georgiana’s welfare very much at heart.

“I will not be so selfish as to lure you away from your new home to come spend the Christmas at Pemberley as well as my aunt and uncle, but you must come as soon as you can. I dearly wish for you to meet Miss Darcy, Jane, you will be delighted with her.”

Miss Bennet did not hesitate to express her perfect agreement, as she could imagine no person beloved by those she esteemed that would not be loved by herself.

Darcy was too pleased to speak, but Bingley said cheerfully:

“Oh I would gladly spend all my time at Pemberley! But as we both know the place, I think you will agree with me, Lizzy, that it would be very foolish of me to bring your sister there before she has had the time to fit up Netherfield to her liking, or she might never want to come away again!”

“There could be no home more dear to me than yours,” said Jane, with a gentleness that for a time converted all Bingley’s merriment to tenderness.

“I am quite of my sister’s opinion,” rejoined Elizabeth after listening to them some moments longer, “without dear Netherfield none of us would have met at all, it can therefore have no faults. The fault must be all Pemberley’s, though there is but one: that it is not closer to Hertfordshire.”

Jane pressed Elizabeth’s hand and Darcy, at last comprehending her feelings, spoke quietly:

“I remember you once saying that where there is fortune to make the expense of travelling unimportant, distance becomes no evil.”

Elizabeth smiled at him, colouring slightly. “Your memory is very exact.”

“Derbyshire is not so very far off,” said he. “And a carriage may be spared at any time, visits need not be constrained to the Christmas season.” He looked at Bingley and continued, to his friend’s great amusement: “Of course I must concede that Pemberley will never be a match for Netherfield, but I flatter myself it will still be worth the journey. You might invite Kitty to stay with us for a while, if that would please you.”

“A capital idea!” cried Bingley, “Jane and I were talking of just such a scheme the other day. But if Kitty is to come to you, we could invite Mary instead and let her have her say about my library. It is in a very sorry state to be sure.”

“That would be even better,” said Jane with a smile, “for Mary does not care to travel, and I know Kitty would love it above all things.”

Elizabeth had yet to respond and Darcy looked at her earnestly until she met his gaze and smiled, her dark eyes lively with emotion. “I should like that very much. In the new year, perhaps, when all winter’s gaieties are over.”

Darcy assured her that however she wished it, it would be arranged, allowing for the necessary preparations and applications to the parties concerned. Elizabeth smiled at his gentleness, then all but laughed at his earnest solemnity, and assured him in turn that the prospect of having such visits to prepare for quite completed the delight with which she looked forward to the perfect comfort of their family party at Pemberley.

Chapter Text

Happy for all whose feelings were free from misplaced pride or idle ambition was the day on which Fitzwilliam Darcy and Charles Bingley became brothers, for there were no two unions more suited to have been celebrated on the same day. The affection between the gentlemen was at that time as tender, albeit not so perennial, as the affection subsisting between the two sisters, and between all four of them existed such a degree of intimacy that it heightened every enjoyment in their nearer connection. It is quite impossible for two persons, let alone four, to experience the same exact happiness; but in the outward appearance of their felicity, there seemed no distinction between the two happy couples, save in the carriages that conveyed them from the church-door to their respective homes. The Bingleys went gaily off in a curricle, having only the few miles to Netherfield Park before them, while Mr. and Mrs. Darcy settled in their chaise and four for the first stage of their journey to Pemberley.

That there was less novelty in the former, cannot be denied, but neither Jane nor Bingley required novelty to supplement their joy. Caroline, who did attend the wedding while the Hursts were detained in town, made way for the new mistress of Netherfield with very good grace. That she was vexed by her brother’s marriage was beyond doubt, that she was very deeply mortified by Darcy’s marriage even more so; but Miss Bingley did not lack abilities, and her prudence outweighed her disappointment. Her return to Netherfield a fortnight before the marriage had been free from any show of resentment. She doted on her brother, took every opportunity to assure Jane of her friendship, was almost as attentive to Darcy as heretofore, and paid off every arrear of civility to Elizabeth. Mr. and Mrs. Bingley were too generous to ever question her sincerity, and too honest to express much regret towards one another when she left for London the following day.

The reception which Darcy and Elizabeth received at Pemberley was very different. Georgiana’s anxiety to show the proper deference to her new sister was so great that Mrs. Annersly and Mrs. Reynold’s alone kept it from being an uncomfortable affair. This anxiety was of short duration, however. Free from the restraint that must necessarily have attended her during their previous meeting, Elizabeth was able to bestow upon Georgiana all the sisterly affection that she had so eagerly wished to deserve. Darcy observed their increasing intimacy with great satisfaction, and soon had the pleasure of seeing them united in their efforts to prepare for the Christmas at Pemberley.

“My dear Lizzy,” said Mrs. Gardiner upon her arrival, when that celebration was close at hand, “I cannot tell you how glad I am to see you looking so well.”

Elizabeth embraced her and answered her in the most affectionate of terms. “And I must give you Jane’s love also,” she added, “thought I am sure she has written to you as well as myself.”

“Oh yes, I received such a comfortable account of her yesterday se’nnight as to make me perfectly convinced of her happiness. Though her letters always dwell upon the state of others much more than her own.”

“Dear Jane,” said Elizabeth warmly. “I am afraid my mother takes a little too much pleasure in visiting Mrs. Bingley; but here comes the tea!”

They were a very merry party during the entirety of their visit. The Gardiners were pleased to witness the young couple’s felicity first hand and Georgiana rapidly became a great favourite of their children. It was a visit which held all the promise for future intimacy that a first visit could possibly boast and Darcy did all in his power to distinguish Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner further. His affection for them was sincere and he, as well as Elizabeth, was ever sensible of the warmest gratitude towards the persons who, by bringing her into Derbyshire, had been the means of uniting them.

The Gardiners did not take their leave until very near the end of the holidays and then the sting of their departure was softened by the arrival of Colonel Fitzwilliam, who came to spend what little remained of his leave with them. His presence was a source of joy to all three Darcies and to himself it brought no common delight to see both his cousins so happy and his cousin’s wife every bit as charming as he had found her upon their first acquaintance. He took great pleasure in reminding Darcy of every silent morning visit to Hunsford Parsonage and laughed very heartily at him, a pastime in which Elizabeth joined without scruple, merely inviting him also to laugh at her in the process. Darcy, too, was uncommonly merry, and Colonel Fitzwilliam did not hesitate to impute it all to the good influence of his wife.

“I must confess, Mrs. Darcy,” he said cheerfully, “that until very recently I had not looked for such an addition to the family through Darcy’s means; and I sincerely hope you shall like me as well as your other cousin.”

“You are very dear to me, Colonel Fitzwilliam,” Elizabeth said solemnly. “But you must understand that my esteem for Mr. Collins can not easily be matched.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam laughed heartily and even Darcy, though his expression spoke of disapproval, smiled. Fitzwilliam carried with him many kind wishes from all his family, whose strongest emotion at the news of Darcy’s match had been their complete surprise; and Darcy and Elizabeth were at that time able to surprise the Colonel in turn, by passing onto him similar remembrances from his cousin, Anne de Bourgh. For but a few days earlier, Darcy had received a letter from her, the contents of which had surpassed all expectation. It began with her sincere congratulations on his marriage, and ended with assurances, that even in the unlikely event that the current mistress of Rosings deigned never to receive them again, its future mistress would do so with great pleasure.

Some part of this was relayed to Colonel Fitzwilliam, who spoke of his cousin with a degree of approval that Darcy had not often heard him bestow on her. Elizabeth declared herself quite delighted with the letter, and added that she had failed to give Miss De Bourgh the credit she was due, in believing her to be wholly ruled by her mother’s desires.

“I do not think she ever opposed them, but my vanity was never great enough to believe myself more than an inoffensive prospect to my cousin, rather than a desirable one,” replied Darcy. His discomfort in speaking of it was not as great as it had been before, but the subject must naturally make him uneasy and Elizabeth was conscious of it.

“She has certainly been ruled by her mother’s will,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam, “but I do believe that her health might not have been quite so indifferent, had our aunt not been quite so overbearing.”

Elizabeth looked up at him with a surprised smile and shook her head. “But of course.”

Georgiana was not present and Fitzwilliam observed that it had been all he and Darcy could do to keep Lady Catherine from likewise attempting to scold her into accomplishment.

Darcy looked grave and Elizabeth rested her hand on his arm. “I shall be very grateful to have your cousin’s friendship,” said she sincerely. “Her expectation of a reconciliation is very encouraging.”

But Darcy would not share the the latter of those two sentiments. He had repeated to Fitzwilliam a few of the expressions from their aunt’s letter that he had refused to relate to Elizabeth, and had thereby renewed all his indignation. Some of her ladyship language, by virtue of too closely mirroring what his own had once been, was impossible for him to forget, and he was yet too angry to think of forgiveness.

Elizabeth glanced at Colonel Fitzwilliam, who smiled and pleasantly changed the subject; at once aided by Elizabeth, and soon likewise by Georgiana who shortly thereafter rejoined them. Darcy's good humour was soon restored and the remainder of the evening was spent in the exact manner as every subsequent evening of his visit; in mutual appreciation.

Chapter Text

The holidays ended with Colonel Fitzwilliam’s visit, and though Mrs Darcy did not allow him to go before having obtained his promise of a much longer visit the next time he came, his departure restored Pemberley to a quiet comfort that was not at all to be lamented. It felt, to Darcy, unlike any other comfort he had ever felt in that place, and a fortnight had passed by ere he was able to recognise it as the peculiar contentment of his own family party.

Pemberley was now Georgiana’s home; and the attachment of the sisters was exactly what Darcy had hoped to see. They were able to love each other even as well as they intended. Georgiana had the highest opinion in the world of Elizabeth; though at first she often listened with an astonishment bordering on alarm at her lively, sportive, manner of talking to her brother. He, who had always inspired in herself a respect which almost overcame her affection, she now saw the object of open pleasantry. Her mind received knowledge which had never before fallen in her way. By Elizabeth’s instructions, she began to comprehend that a woman may take liberties with her husband which a brother will not always allow in a sister more than ten years younger than himself.

Georgiana had some instructions of her own, however, that were of material use to Elizabeth. For he would not be laughed out of his opinion on his wife’s frugality, no matter how lively her witticisms on her new yellow silks. Instead of increasing her pin money, which he suspected her of subjecting to rather strict economy, he took to bestowing upon her the same indulgent gifts that heretofore had been reserved for his sister. Elizabeth at first protested against such extravagance on her account, but allowed Georgiana to teach her that protests were perfectly futile when it came to this particular expression of Darcy’s affection. Mrs Darcy yielded, perhaps as much moved by her husband’s generosity, as by his refraining to inquire further into her private expenses; it would have led to a discussion most uncomfortable to both parties, for it involved Mr and Mrs Wickham.

For the fact of the matter was that the character of neither Wickham nor his wife suffered any revolution from the marriage of her sisters. He bore with philosophy the conviction that Elizabeth must now become acquainted with whatever of his ingratitude and falsehood had before been unknown to her; and she, in spite of everything, was not without hope that Darcy might yet be prevailed on to make her husband’s fortune. In her imagination she already saw him riding out with the Blues, herself a jewel of London society, but Elizabeth’s reply to the congratulatory letter she sent her on her marriage, put an end to every expectation of the kind. Their income, being as it was under the direction of two persons so extravagant in their wants, and heedless of the future, was very insufficient to their support; and whenever they changed their quarters, Mrs Bingley or Mrs Darcy were sure of being applied to for some little assistance towards discharging their bills.

Their manner of living, even when the restoration of peace dismissed them to a home, was unsettled in the extreme. They were always moving from place to place in quest of a cheap situation, and always spending more than they ought. His affection for her soon sunk into indifference: hers lasted a little longer; and, in spite of her youth and her manners, she retained all the claims to reputation which her marriage had given her.

A more material change, even if merely of sentiment, was achieved in Lady Catherine de Bourgh. For a time it seemed that the nephew and the aunt would equal one another in their obstinacy, and while her Ladyship’s insults were fresh in Darcy’s memory this remained the case. At length, however, by Elizabeth’s persuasion, he was prevailed on to overlook the offence, and seek a reconciliation; and, after a little further resistance on the part of his aunt, her resentment gave way, either to her affection for him, or her curiosity to see how his wife conducted herself; and she condescended to wait on them at Pemberley, in spite of that pollution which its woods had received, not merely from the presence of such a mistress, but the rather frequent visits of most members of her family.

Kitty Bennet in particular, to her very material advantage, spent the chief of her time with her two elder sisters, and was often at Pemberley. In society so superior to what she had generally known, her improvement was great; and the advantage, Darcy noted, was not solely to herself. To his considerable surprise, Kitty and Georgiana took a very sincere liking to one another, and formed a friendship of a most mutually beneficial kind. Although Georgiana was the younger, she was at home in the surroundings that were all new to Kitty, which prompted the latter to follow Georgiana’s example with the same dedication she had formerly bestowed on Lydia. This gave Georgiana, for the first time in her life, someone to look out for, instead of being looked after herself. To quiet Kitty’s nerves she was willing to be courageous; and Kitty repaid her not only with her genuine affection, but by teaching her the arts of frivolous enjoyment, which began to add something more of lightheartedness to Georgiana’s gentle temper, which had long been absent.

That Darcy was surprised by all this, can be easily understood, but his delight in the circumstance was equally sincere. It became clear to him, moreover, that Kitty did not benefit solely from her sister’s kind instruction and Georgiana’s artless friendship, but also from the simple, honest praise he himself bestowed on her whenever there was occasion to do so. This was not, on Darcy’s part, subject to any calculation, it was simply his way, but the effect on Kitty was remarkable. Elizabeth had from the first assured him that Kitty was not of so ungovernable a temper as Lydia and this proved to be quite true.

From the further disadvantage of Lydia’s society Kitty was of course carefully kept, and though Mrs Wickham frequently invited her to come and stay with her, with the promise of balls and young men, her father would never consent to her going. He himself was drawn oftener from home by his affection for Elizabeth than anything else could do. He delighted in going to Pemberley, especially when he was least expected, and was frequently persuaded to let Kitty accompany him tither, and to let her stay there for another few weeks after he had gone.

As their friendship strengthened, Georgiana confided in Kitty far enough to make the latter understand her brother-in-law’s true character, making her abhorrence of him so violent that she refused to see him ever again. Her intercourse with Lydia was confined to a somewhat regular correspondence, excepting those occasions when she visited Pemberley or Longbourn on her own, while her husband was gone to enjoy himself in London or Bath. For though Darcy, for Elizabeth’s sake, assisted Wickham further in his profession, he could never receive him at Pemberley. They never spelled for an invitation, however, choosing instead to stay with the Bingleys so frequently and so long, that even Bingley’s good-humour was overcome, and he proceeded so far as to talk of giving them a hint to be gone.

Regrettably, this was not the sole disturbance of the general comfort at Netherfield Park. It soon became quite clear that so near a vicinity to her mother and Meryton relations was not desirable even to his easy temper, or her affectionate heart.

And so it was that some two years after Bingley taking Netherfield, Darcy once again received a letter from his friend singing the praises of a new home. This time it was not to inform Darcy of its merits, for Darcy had accompanied Bingley in looking over the estate, which lay in a neighbouring county to Derbyshire, some weeks before. The letter was merely to inform Darcy and Elizabeth that the purchase was complete and the estate his own, at once gratifying the darling wish of his sisters as well as his wife’s. For Jane and Elizabeth, in addition to every other source of happiness, were now within thirty miles of each other.

The sole hesitance felt by Mrs Bingley, which was therefore naturally shared by her husband, was in leaving behind Mary, who was already the only daughter who remained at home. This necessarily drew her from the pursuit of accomplishments, for not even the accomplishment of her earnest desire in the establishment of so many of her children could prevent Mrs Bennet from remaining occasionally nervous and invariably silly and she was quite unable to sit alone. To Mary this was fortunately not the punishment it might have been before. No longer mortified by comparisons between her sisters’ beauty and her own, it was quite acceptable to her to mix more with the world and show off the accomplishments she could no longer spend improving. Even the parties at the Philipses—as Jane had the pleasure to read in one of Mary’s letters, not long after their moving away—soon gained a new source of enjoyment; in the addition of Mr Philips’ new clerk, who was purported to be uncommonly clever. So Jane was spared the discomfort of having to regret one sister’s happiness in favour of increasing her own, and at length gave herself leave to be as happy as all about her knew she deserved to be.

Elizabeth’s happiness at being at such an easy distance from her favourite sister, was extreme. She was happy even to overlook the more frequent visits of the Hursts and Miss Bingley, which were an additional consequence of the change. Darcy suspected, however, that his wife did not welcome Miss Bingley without some genuine pleasure, from whatever source that pleasure might have sprung; and Caroline Bingley remained resolutely pleasant. She was even capable of admiring the portrait which Darcy had commissioned to be taken of Elizabeth soon after their marriage, and which now hung in the drawing room where the fine contrast of her yellow gown and dark hair and eyes appeared to most advantage, without a single arch smile.

In short, there was more domestic harmony to be found among the Darcies and Bingleys than is often met with in the world. Between their houses there was always that constant communication which naturally sprang from the affection existing between all its principal inhabitants, who were themselves ever sensible of the happiness of their situation, by virtue of how nearly they had failed to gain it.