Darcy considered the question seriously. “A fortnight at minimum, perhaps longer. Lady Elizabeth’s wedding was conducted under trying circumstances, and the household may need time to settle before entertaining another proposal.”
“A fortnight it is.” Bingley’s expression grew thoughtful. “I confess, I rather like the idea of being your brother-in-law, Darcy. We may have known each other only a few months, but I feel as though we have been friends for years.”
The sentiment warmed Darcy more than he cared to admit. “I share that feeling. I have not been blessed with many close friendships in my life.”
“No? That surprises me. You are excellent company when you choose to be.”
“I was always friendly with the people on the estates where I worked—first Pemberley, then Matlock—but my position kept me at a certain distance. I was closest to Georgiana, naturally, and to Mr Wickham, the father that is.” The name slipped out before Darcy could stop it, bringing with it the familiar weight of complicated emotions.
“How is the elder Mr Wickham faring?” Bingley asked with genuine interest. “You mentioned his health was declining.”
Darcy’s jaw tightened involuntarily. “I wrote to inform him of my marriage immediately after the ceremony. His response was… comprehensive. Three pages of fatherly advice about treating one’s wife properly, being a good husband, reflections on his own marriage to George’s mother.” Darcy’s voice caught slightly. “He wrote of how much he loved her,how he wishes Elizabeth and me every happiness in the world. Though he did express some displeasure at not having been invited to the wedding.”
“He thinks of you as a son.”
“He does.” The words came out strained. “He refers to Elizabeth as his new daughter-in-law and has demanded that we visit Matlock soon so he can meet her properly.”
Bingley studied his friend’s profile. “And Georgiana?”
“Her letter was more inquisitive about the circumstances behind such a hasty marriage. She knows me too well to accept a simple announcement without questions.” Darcy’s hands tightened on the reins. “But she, too, expressed eagerness to welcome Elizabeth into the family.”
“You are still troubled by keeping the truth from Elizabeth.”
It was not a question, and Darcy saw no point in denying it. The weight of his deception had grown heavier with each passing day, made worse by the memory of Elizabeth’s weeping that first night.
“She accused me of being a fortune hunter,” Darcy said quietly. “Of using her distress to elevate myself above my natural station. The words were devastating in their accuracy, even if her interpretation was wrong.”
“You did not seek this marriage for advancement.”
“No, but I have benefited from it, nonetheless. And in the meantime, I am allowing her to doubt her own perceptions, her own memory of that night. She knows she saw Wickham, Bingley. She was certain of it. By claiming uncertainty whereshe expected confirmation, I am making her question her own sanity.”
The horses’ hooves struck the cobblestones with rhythmic precision as they entered the village proper. Darcy’s confession hung between them like smoke from a dying fire.
“Perhaps I ought to tell her the truth after all,” he said finally.
“At this point, would that not cause more harm than good? You are already married. If you confess now, it would only add betrayal to her list of grievances. You would still be married, after all. Unless you wish to seek an annulment.”
The word was like a dagger to the side.
“It would ruin her reputation just as thoroughly as the original scandal,” Darcy conceded. “Perhaps more so. A highborn lady who seeks to dissolve her marriage becomes an object of gossip and speculation. The scandal would follow her for years.”
Bingley nodded. “Yet the deception weighs on you.”
“It does. I wonder constantly whether I should have told the truth from the beginning. Perhaps Mr Wickham’s health is better than I feared—his handwriting in the letter was steady enough.”
The damage is done now, in any case. The question is how to proceed.”
They rode in silence for several minutes, each lost in contemplation. Finally, Bingley spoke again.
“How are things between you and Lady Elizabeth currently?”
Darcy considered the question. “Better, I think. We had a lengthy conversation about Pemberley and my childhood yesterday. For a few moments, it felt as though the barriers between us were beginning to soften. It reminded me of the day I spoke to her in the apple orchard, when I—” He stopped abruptly, shaking his head.
“Continue,” Bingley encouraged.
“It was nothing of consequence. Simply a pleasant conversation with a young woman I thought quite extraordinary.” Darcy’s voice grew distant. “If circumstances had been different, if she had not been so far above my station…”
Bingley’s eyebrows rose with interest. “It sounds as though you actually care for your wife, Darcy.”
