But if he chose his words with care and let his sincerity speak for itself, he might preserve her peace of mind and protect her from Wickham's schemes.
He might, just possibly, win her regard.
Darcy made a decision that had nothing to do with pride or family reputation or social expectation. He made it for Miss Elizabeth, for her safety, her happiness, her right to know the character of the man who sought her attention.
He would speak to her. Today, if possible. The resolution steadied him. He turned back toward the house, his stride purposeful, the words, once elusive, finally composing themselves in his mind.
Caroline intercepted him on the staircase. She wore an expression of false brightness, but her eyes were too sharp.
“Mr. Darcy! There you are. I have been hoping for a word.”
Darcy suppressed a sigh. “Miss Bingley.”
“I trust you are well? You seemed rather... distracted at breakfast.” She fell into step beside him, her tone light but probing. “I hope the evening's entertainments did not overtire you.”
“Not at all.”
“How fortunate. I confess I found certain elements of the company rather exhausting.” She paused, clearly waiting for him to agree.
He did not.
Caroline pressed on, undeterred. “Miss Eliza was quite animated, was she not? So many opinions. So much... energy.”
“Miss Elizabeth conducted herself admirably.”
“Did she?” Caroline's laugh held an edge. “I suppose one might call it that. Though I noticed she spent a great deal of time in conversation with Mr. Wickham. They seemed rather intimate.”
Darcy's jaw tightened. “I would not describe their conversation as intimate.”
“No? He was most attentive to her. Solicitous, even.” Caroline's eyes glittered with malice poorly disguised as concern. “I do hope his behavior did not trouble you. He did seem to attach himself to her quite shamelessly.”
“Mr. Wickham's behavior is of no concern to me.”
“Is it not?” Caroline tilted her head, studying him. “How very... detached of you. Did he not grow up near Pemberley? He said as much. I was concerned there might be animosity between you, though Charles has spoken of no such thing. But in either case, I should hate to see you inconvenienced by such an imprudent young woman.”
Darcy stopped walking. He had not spoken of it to Bingley because, as close as he and Bingley were, he had been reluctant to expose Georgiana’s secret. He had also not wanted Wickham to know how much power he still held over Darcy. Detachment was power. Or at least that was what he had assumed. Now, hewondered if detachment had only been another form of running away.
“Miss Elizabeth is spirited, yes,” Caroline continued, “but hardly suited to?—”
Darcy did not like Caroline’s insinuations, and his rising fury was such he could not hold his opinions to himself any longer. “Miss Elizabeth Bennet,” Darcy said, his voice cutting through her words like a blade, “is a lady of great intelligence and character. I will hear nothing against her.”
Caroline froze, her eyes going wide..
Darcy met her gaze steadily. He had tolerated her schemes, her manipulations, her endless attempts to position herself as his future wife. He would not tolerate this.
“I—” Caroline stammered. “I meant no?—”
“Good day, Miss Bingley.”
He stepped around her and continued up the stairs. It was, perhaps, the clearest declaration he had ever made in her presence. He did not regret it.
The afternoon brought Bingley to his door, practically vibrating with nervous energy.
“Darcy! You must come with me. I cannot wait any longer—I must see her—I must speak to Miss Bennet today.”
Darcy looked up from the book he had been failing to read. “You intend to call at Longbourn?”
“This very hour. Say you will accompany me. I cannot face it alone.”
