They sat in silence for a moment, the fire crackling softly between them. Finally, Bingley leaned forward, his expression turning serious.
"We discussed earlier that marrying Miss Elizabeth would be the best way to protect her from scandal. That much seems clear—the witnesses, the circumstances, all of it point to marriage as the only honourable course. But what do you really think, Darcy? Setting aside duty and honour and what Society demands—what do you think?"
Darcy's hands tightened on the arms of his chair. It was a fair question, but not one he had allowed himself to fully consider. "I am a responsible man, Bingley. I understand my obligations."
"That is not what I asked."
"If I had my way," he replied, each word weighted with consideration, "I would marry Miss Rochford. We have been courting for months—or so I am told. The correspondence suggests a pure attachment, or at least the foundation for one. My aunt approves of the match. It would be..." He trailed off, searching for the right word.
"Sensible?" Bingley supplied.
"Expected." He gestured toward Lady Catherine's letter. "My aunt writes urging me to propose. She reminds me of all Miss Rochford's advantages—far more than the average lady’s."
"And yet you hesitate."
"How can I not hesitate? I have no recollection of this courtship, Bingley. I have read the letters—yes, they are brilliantly written and worthy of undivided attention. But when I look at Miss Rochford, I find it hard to reconcile the lady I see with the sentences in the letters." Darcy stood abruptly, too restless to remain seated. He paced to the window, staring out at the darkened grounds. "Also, I will not allow Miss Elizabeth and her family to suffer due to my presence in that room. She approached me with concern and spoke to me with kindness. Her intentions were entirely innocent, and she should not be punished for that."
Bingley was quiet for a long moment. When he spoke again, his tone was inquisitive. "Do you feel anything at all for Miss Rochford?"
"No." The admission came more easily than he expected. "Nothing beyond a vague sense that I should feel something. But there is no distinct recognition, no affection. She could be any young woman of good family and pleasing appearance."
"And how do you feel about Miss Elizabeth?"
He turned from the window, meeting his friend's gaze. The question hung between them, simple yet somehow profound. How did he feel about Elizabeth Bennet?
"I find her presence comforting," he said at last, the words coming slowly as he examined his own reactions. "When I stood in that ballroom tonight, surrounded by people who looked at me with expectation I could not meet, I felt as if I were drowning. Every face was a stranger's. Every conversation reminded me of what I had lost." He moved back to his chair, sinking into it. "And then I saw Miss Elizabeth, and something in me eased. It was as though I had found solid ground in the midst of chaos."
"She is the only person you’ve recognised thus far," Bingley noted, echoing Darcy’s own realisation. "Beyond your family and me."
"Yes. I cannot explain it—perhaps it is merely that I have a better memory for some faces than others. But there is more to it than simple recognition.”
“Oh?”
“When I spoke with her tonight in that room, when I was on the verge of losing my composure entirely, she did not offer empty platitudes. She did not treat me as if I were fragile or damaged. She simply listened. And when she placed her hand on my back—the gesture that has caused all this trouble—it was the first moment since waking from my injury that I felt I was not entirely alone."
Bingley leaned back in his chair, a triumphant expression crossing his features. "Then that is your answer."
"What do you mean?"
"You feel nothing for Miss Rochford beyond what you believe you ought to feel based on correspondence you cannot remember writing or receiving. But Miss Elizabeth—her presence comforts you and you feel less alone when she is near." He met Darcy's eyes directly. "That is the criteria needed to help you make a decision."
Darcy stared at his friend. "You are suggesting I should want to marry Miss Elizabeth?"
"I am suggesting that perhaps this scandal is not the disaster it appears to be. Perhaps it is an opportunity."
"An opportunity." Darcy's laugh held no humour. "To trap a woman into marriage because Society demands it?"
"To marry a woman who makes you feel less alone," Bingley corrected. "A woman whose company you appreciate and whom being around helps you bear the weight of your injury. Is that not preferable to marrying a stranger out of an obligation to months you cannot even remember?"
He had no answer for that. He picked up his brandy glass, finally taking a drink. The liquid burned his throat, but the warmth that followed was welcome.
"Miss Elizabeth has not yet agreed to marry me. She asked for time to consider."
"She did. And that speaks well of her, I think. Many women would have accepted immediately—for your fortune or estate. But Miss Elizabeth chose to weigh the decision and showed concern for her own feelings and yours." Bingley smiled slightly. "Miss Bennet—Jane—has told me that her sister values independence of mind above most things. She will notbe easily persuaded by her mother's enthusiasm or society's expectations."
"Then perhaps she will refuse me entirely."
"Perhaps. But if she does accept, you should know that you are not entering into a marriage devoid of potential. You enjoy being around her, which is more than many couples possess when they stand before the altar."
