“There are countless rumours. Some say she is in Scotland, waiting for the divorce to marry there—”
“So she eloped…with a man?”
Jane looked at her in astonishment. “Certainly. What else could you suppose? I heard that he did not reach the church in time to prevent the marriage, and that he afterwards followed them to Pemberley. Only imagine what might have occurred, had he been of a violent disposition.”
Elizabeth struggled not to smile. She received a letter from Darcy almost every day, and now that the story had spread through London, he appeared far more at ease. There was much talk; but friends and family showed kindness, striving to divert him and soften his melancholy. Invitations were abundant—dinners, morning rides, shooting parties at neighbouring estates. His appearance at the theatre was widely regarded as an act of dignity and composure.
Their first meeting after a month was almost dramatic; but, to the relief of those who knew the truth, Jane believed it to be nothing more than the antipathy she had long attributed to Elizabeth towards Mr Darcy. She perceived neither the colour in Elizabeth’s cheeks nor the sudden, almost awkward bow withwhich Darcy greeted her—for in truth he was only held still by the irresistible impulse to go to her and take her in his arms.
Jane observed her throughout the evening, fearful lest she should endanger her acquaintance with him, her husband’s dearest friend.
“Pray go and speak to him, Lizzy,” she whispered, as they made their way towards the music room, where Mary was to play.
To her satisfaction, Elizabeth seated herself beside Mr Darcy, and they appeared, if not on easy terms, at least perfectly civil.
“I believe I shall die,” he murmured at last, when the music began.
“Pray not before the wedding,” Elizabeth returned. She was plainly far calmer than he; for, beyond the possibility of being excluded from London society—which to her was no great misfortune—nothing disturbed her. Her resolution was taken: even if he should never obtain a divorce, or be denied the right to marry again, she would follow him to Pemberley. She had told her parents as much, and they had seemed to consent; but even that signified little to her.
“You are dreadfully calm,” he said in reproach.
“Someone must be.”
“I begin to wonder whether you love me.”
She only smiled at those words and made no reply.
They met often at the Bingleys’, and for the first time in her life, Elizabeth found her mother’s lively and unceasing chatter a blessing. It allowed her and Darcy to exchange a few words without being observed.
That same morning, at his club, Darcy had declared to the friends gathered about him that he had no intention of retreating into sorrow, but meant to resume his life and, in time, to seek an honest and affectionate wife.
“Excellent,” said Lord Downpatrick, with evident approval. “The worst course in such a situation is to indulge suffering.”
Darcy nodded with gratitude, and his close friends expressed their wish to see him restored to the good spirits he had always possessed.
“It is strange,” he confessed, “that misadventure should have strengthened my determination to marry. But you may be certain that, this time, I shall choose much better.”
They laughed at his words and applauded, pleased to see their friend returned to himself.
Darcy had long considered the proper moment to reveal his intentions towards Elizabeth. Still, he sought to prolong that period of supposed search for a wife. They wished everything to appear natural, as a simple falling in love, and not as the result of a design long formed. The only person who knew the whole truth was Mrs Gardiner, and she concealed it even better than they did.
“I know it is far too soon to ask…but have you anyone in mind?” Bingley inquired, as they sat together in the carriage returning from the club.
Since Darcy’s return to town, their friendship had deepened considerably. The Bingleys had been among the first to learn of his unfortunate marriage, and the confidence he placed in them spoke plainly of his regard.
“You know I have always felt a particular regard for Miss Bennet,” he said.
“You have?” Bingley replied, surprised, though he recalled a conversation they had after leaving Hertfordshire, when Darcy had indeed expressed admiration for her. He also remembered his wife’s concern that Elizabeth did not like him.
“Yes. I admired her, and when we met again in Kent, my admiration only increased, but I preferred Anne. I was mistakenin believing that my family’s interests outweighed my own feelings—see what has followed.”
Bingley nodded.
“My sentiments remain unchanged. It is only to be discovered whether she returns them.”
“That I do not know,” he answered with caution, fearing his friend might fix his affections upon a lady who did not value him—a misfortune, after all he had endured. “You may see her this evening and speak to her.”
Darcy, however, had no wish for mere conversation. He longed to silence her with a kiss and to hold her as he had not been able to do for weeks.
