“Of course,” he eventually answered. “If Mr Bennet approves.”
After the briefest pause, Mr Bennet gave a small, amused shrug. “Well, Lizzy, if you mean to scandalise the household before luncheon, you may as well begin. Just do not upset Mr Darcy — we are already in his debt.”
“Papa, this is no time for teasing,” Elizabeth scolded him gently. “There is something I must clarify with Mr Darcy, regarding a discussion we had in Kent. That is all.”
“Do as you please. Go into the hall, as you suggested, so we shall hear nothing untoward.”
Elizabeth and Mr Darcy stepped out into the narrow hall. The door to the drawing room remained ajar, a concession to propriety, but the murmur of voices within was distant enough to grant them a fragile privacy.
Elizabeth drew a steadying breath. “Forgive me, sir, for detaining you. I could not let you leave without speaking. I cannot wait another moment without thanking you for your kindness to my sister, to my entire family. My gratitude cannot be expressed in words, even more so because I know I do not deserve your generosity.”
Mr Darcy regarded her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. When he spoke, his tone was low, almost gentle, but not entirely composed.
“Whatever you believe I have done for you or your family, I shall not admit it as such and no thanks are needed. I would far rather bear your disdain than see you humbled by gratitude or have your opinion of me altered merely by a sense of obligation.”
Heat rose in Elizabeth’s cheeks as she struggled to hold his gaze and clear her throat enough to speak further. “Myhumbleness — if there is any — is born not from obligation but from shame for my past misjudgment. My opinion of you had changed long before this unfortunate situation occurred. But now your kindness stirs my guilt, because I know I do not deserve it — just as I did not deserve all the feelings you mentioned that day at the parsonage.”
For an instant, Mr Darcy’s mask slipped. Something raw and unguarded flashed in his eyes — surprise, perhaps, or the ghost of old pain. Then he mastered himself, averted his eyes, and replied, “My feelings were there,” he said quietly, “vivid and strong, whether you believed yourself deserving of them or not, whether I wished them or not. They existed quite independent of merit or justice.”
They gazed at each other for a moment, which Elizabeth felt long and heavy. Then he forced a smile and added with the faintest trace of wry humour, “Now, however, I believe you should return to your family before they come forcibly to interrupt our conversation. Good day, Miss Elizabeth.”
He bowed again — correct, restrained — and turned towards the door. Elizabeth watched him go, her heart hammering, her hand still trembling.
When the front door had closed behind him, she remained rooted to the spot, distressed, tormented, perilously close to tears. The hall seemed suddenly colder.
When she had slightly composed herself, she returned to the others, bearing their curious stares.
“Well, Lizzy? May I enquire about that particular request? Should I be alarmed about you having a secret conference with Mr Darcy, of all men?”
Elizabeth managed a tremulous smile. “I only wished to apologise, Papa, for some offensive things I said to him in Kent. Nothing more.”
Her father studied her for a while. “Apologies, is it?” he said at last, his tone dry. “In private, in the hall, with all the solemnity of a state secret? Very well. We shall pretend we believe you.”
“Papa, my apologies were regarding a certain person who had utterly betrayed my confidence and whom I believed over Mr Darcy. If you knew how I abused him and what accusations I threw at him, you would understand why this conversation could not be delayed, especially under the present circumstances.”
“You mean George?” Lydia exclaimed from her seat.
“Yes, Lydia, it is about George Wickham, who spread nothing but lies in Meryton about Mr Darcy, the same George Wickham who has now succeeded in ruining our lives, while Mr Darcy put so much effort into helping us!”
“Why are you angry with me, Lizzy? You were the first one who liked George and always spoke highly of him!” Lydia cried.
“That is true, Lydia. And that is why I am so ashamed of myself, and I had to apologise to Mr Darcy,” Elizabeth admitted.
“Now that we have clarified the matter, let us try to calm down,” Mrs Gardiner interjected. “We all liked and trusted Mr Wickham at the beginning and all have reasons to thank and to apologise to Mr Darcy.”
With that conclusion, nobody pressed her further, and the subject of conversation was changed, but Elizabeth remained mostly silent, her heart heavy, her mind preoccupied.
She escaped to the window-seat in the drawing room, pretending to read while her thoughts spun in dizzying circles.
Her gesture had been bold and improper; she had told him part of what she wanted, and he had responded in a way that only increased her turmoil. He had refused her gratitude and thanks and said he preferred her disdain. He had not denied that his feelings still existed, nor had he admitted it. He had not welcomed her gratitude, nor encouraged her confession. Yet neither had he dismissed her with cold indifference. What could he mean? Who could understand him? She was certainly still far from the ease she had hoped to feel after the apology.
In the quiet warfare of her own heart, hope and despair contended for mastery, and neither would yet declare a victory.
The afternoon sun poured through the windows with the kind of golden generosity that seemed determined to mock the recent gloom. No sooner had the family settled into a tentative calm — Lydia sulking over her ankle, Mr Bennet nursing both his wound and a fresh drink — than the knocker sounded with cheerful insistence.
“Mr Bingley,” The servant announced, and in bounded the gentleman himself, all smiles and sunshine, hat in hand and cheeks flushed.
Jane rose so quickly she nearly overturned her work-basket. Her hands flew to her cheeks, already blooming pink; her eyes sparkled with a mixture of delight and nervous terror. Elizabeth felt her own heart lift in sympathy to see her dear sister so relieved and joyful.
