“Yes.”
“I recall what you said before about Miss Elizabeth’s condition in life, but she appears to have gained society’s favour. Fitzwilliam said that even our uncle thinks you should get on and marry her—those were his words, not mine.” She cleared her throat delicately. “I was wondering why you have not?”
Darcy laughed bitterly and shook his head. “Because, Georgiana, despite what you have been led to believe, your brother is a thoroughgoing idiot. I would ride to Kent and offer for her today if I thought she did not view the prospect of being married to me with repugnance.”
Georgiana gasped. “That cannot be true!”
“She has left London without taking her leave of me. That speaks much to the truth of it.”
He could not bear to hear his sister argue the point. He thanked her for her efforts that morning and made his excuses.
It was a short walk home; he took a circuitous route, hoping the exercise would expunge some of his pent-up frustration. He was still deliberating the wisdom of taking his sister to Rosings Park, that she might call on Elizabeth at the Hunsford parsonage instead, when he arrived home and was informed that a most unexpected visitor was waiting on him in the saloon.
Bingley coloured deeply when Darcy entered the room. “Ah. Darcy. You are home.”
Darcy took his time answering, too angry to think of anything to say that was not spectacularly impolitic. “Have you decided you can tolerate my sanctimony, or have you come to carry your point?”
Bingley’s shoulders slumped. “I have come to apologise for my behaviour the other day—and that comment in particular. I lashed out because I was caught, and it was unpardonable.”
Darcy stared at him. “Are you under the impression that a few intemperate words are the extent of your unpardonable behaviour?”
“Look, I know what happened at Netherfield was wrong, but you cannot expect me to keep apologising for it every time we meet.”
“You truly have no idea of the trouble you have caused, have you?” said Darcy, walking with quick steps across theroom. “Every rumour with which London is brimming—every ‘problem’ that you so helpfully advised me to deal with—has arisen because of your actions at Netherfield.”
“How so?” Bingley replied in an affronted tone.
“When you disappeared off the face of the Earth to dabble in whatever folly has kept you busy these past months, your sisters begged me to find you and persuade you to desist. Miss Elizabeth has been searching diligently for her mother, who, as I presume you know, left Longbourn not long after your ball. And despite your demurrals, our every attempt to find one or other of you repeatedly led us to the same places—wherewewere repeatedly observed. The rest, I trust I do not need to explain to you. You know how society works.”
Bingley shook his head. “But I was not with her mother.”
“Then where in blazes were you?”
Bingley recoiled at his sharp tone but soon went from shaking his head to nodding it contritely. “I was avoiding you. There is nothing more to it than that. I was ashamed of what I had done, and I did not wish to endure your judgment, no matter how justified it might be. And I confess, I assumed your displeasure would be all the greater once I heard the reports of your attachment to Miss Elizabeth.”
“Upon my life, I have no attachment to Miss Elizabeth!” Darcy’s pacing brought him to the sideboard, and he poured himself a drink to calm his temper. After a long draught, he turned back to Bingley with a moderately more collected air.
“But do not believe that she has been untouched by any of this. Between your cuckoldry with her mother and the rumours that have sprung up about her and me as a result, Miss Elizabeth has been living under the threat of ruin for months. All because you did not wish to be judged.”
Bingley ran a hand through his hair. “I am truly sorry, Darcy. I had no idea.”
“That, I suppose, is preferable to your having behaved thus full in the knowledge of the pain you were occasioning.”
“I trust you know I am never intentionally cruel.”
Darcy was not convinced that Bingley ought to be much comforted by this assertion, for thoughtlessness, however inadvertent, could be just as destructive as a conscious disdain for the feelings of others. He ought to know; he had demonstrated both well enough of late.
“Miss Elizabeth knows, then, does she?” Bingley asked. “About…you know…”
“Yes, she knows.” Reminded that he was far from blameless, Darcy sighed deeply and turned to pour Bingley a drink of his own. “She—both of us have been working under the assumption that you and Mrs Bennet were carrying on the affair here in London.” He handed Bingley his drink and muttered a disconsolate instruction for him to sit down, which he did, his countenance now pale and his expression bilious.
“And I thought I was ashamed before! Does her sister know?”
“No. Miss Bennet has been spared that pain.”
They sat in silence for a moment or two before Bingley said, hesitantly, “I have not been carrying on the affair.”
“Meeting Mrs Bennet in Gunter’s was a singular occurrence, was it?”
