“Might I have a few minutes of your time before you leave?”
A private audience seemed far more inappropriate now the moment was upon her, but since it was the whole purpose of her visit, she agreed.
He dismissed the footman, who melted away into the shadows of a nearby passage. “If you would follow me?”
She did, wondering all the while what ailed him. His flat voice only added to the impression of him being vastly out of sorts. She grew nervous about what he meant to say that had made him so grave.
He showed her into a room quite unlike the other—more masculine, with no less natural light but darker hues and older furniture. It was lined on every wall with shelves of books and ornaments, and the chairs by the hearth looked for all the world as though there were invisible guests already sitting in them, the cushions moulded around their forms. She had the sense of it being a very private space and could not shake the feeling of being an unwelcome intruder.
“Please, have a seat,” Mr Darcy said. “Would you like some tea?”
She lowered herself into the nearest chair, now excessively aware of the impropriety of her being there. “No, thank you.”
He nodded in an absent way that made her think he had not listened to her answer. His agitation was excessively unnerving.
“I ought not to stay too long.”
He made a sound that she might have taken for laughter had it not been imbued with so much contempt.
“Yes, I imagine you are keen to be gone. I shall not detain you any longer than is necessary.” In contradiction to this promise, he then walked to the window and stood in silence, looking out over his garden.
Elizabeth was about to say something encouraging, when he turned his head slightly, not looking at her but speaking over his shoulder in her general direction with startling bitterness. “I apologise for imposing on you in this manner, but you will thank me for the privacy. It is a delicate matter.”
“Well, if I was not before, I am nowwhollyat ease. Pray, do not hasten your explanation on my account.”
Mr Darcy made no reply. Elizabeth gave up watching him and settled back into her chair with her arms crossed. After another minute or so of silence, he sighed heavily and began speaking from where he stood, his back still to her.
“You are angry that I told your sister an alliance with Bingley was impossible, but I had good reason. He is involved with another woman.”
“Oh!” Elizabeth was instantly sorry for Jane but no less confounded by Mr Darcy’s behaviour. She sat forwards, frowning at his back. “Why did you not simply tell us that?”
“It would only have been half the story. The rest of it, I am sorry to say, will be significantly more painful to hear.” He looked at her briefly, seeming pained himself, then returned quickly to looking out of the window. “After our dance at Netherfield, I left the ball and went to the library—only to find it already occupied. Bingley was there. With your mother.”
“My mother?”
Mr Darcy nodded, once, and something about the brusqueness of it made Elizabeth’s pulse hasten. Whatever he was implying, he obviously thought it too grievous to look at her while he said it. To her mind, there was only one possible conclusion to be drawn—except that one thing was entirelyimpossible. Although…heat seared her cheeks as she recalled her mother’s strange expression—so easily recognisable in retrospect as guilt—when she insisted that she had‘not helped Jane’s search for a husband’.
“There is no polite way of saying this,” Mr Darcy continued. “They were together as only a man and his wife ought to be.”
Elizabeth stared disbelievingly at the floor. Her poor, poor sister—and her father, waiting unwittingly at home for news. But consideration of their agony was soon lost beneath the crushing disgrace of what her mother had done—and who had discovered them.
Mr Darcy was still talking, saying something about Lady Rothersea’s soiree, the frailty of reputations, and the importance of unimpeachable character. Elizabeth sank further into horror and humiliation with every word that crossed his lips. To think that she had believed his primary objection to her family was a house in Cheapside! She could scarcely bring herself to contemplate what his real opinion must be. His name had been associated, by hearsay and speculation, to a woman whose family must now be considered an utterly repugnant connexion. How he must despise her! That she had thought it conceivable he might entertain an affection for her, when all along he had known this, seemed now the cruellest self-delusion imaginable.
She gave a tremulous cry and came to her feet. “I must go!”
“Miss Bennet?”
Too distressed to remember what end of the room she had come in, Elizabeth ran to the first door she saw and tugged on it, but it was locked.
“Will you not sit down?” Mr Darcy had come to her, his hands out as though to shepherd her into a chair.
“No! You… No!” Her head was spinning, and her breath was coming too fast, making her speech sound staccato. “I am sorry your sister had to be involved before I would listen. I hope she is not implicated. I hope neither of you are. The rumours are—” The rest of her words were completely swallowed by a sob that she had no power to contain. She covered her face with her hands and burst into tears.
Mr Darcy touched her arm. “Elizabeth, I… Forgive me, I never meant… Can I get you anything? A glass of wine?”
She shook her head and dashed at her eyes with the heels of her palms. More tears fell to replace the ones she had wiped away.
“The rumours will blow over,” Mr Darcy said. “Once I find Bingley, and your mother is persuaded to go home?—”
