Darcy prided himself on his ability to foresee consequences and avert them. Yet now he wondered whether all his caution had merely paved the way for greater harm. “The gossip will not cease merely because you withdraw,” he said at last.
“No, but perhaps it will quiet down more quickly. People tire of repeating a story when there is no fresh chapter to add.”
Darcy’s thoughts immediately went to Elizabeth Bennet. She was intelligent, courageous, and refused to cower to unjust opinions. He found that over the past few weeks his estimation of her had changed. Where once he’d dismissed her, now he found her tenacity and stubbornness admirable; her softness and caring endearing. She had unsettled him, which was in itself a disorienting thought.
“And you?” Bingley asked suddenly, eyes fixed on the open broadsheet on Darcy’s desk. “What of your own situation?”
Darcy stiffened.
Bingley’s tone was gentle, but it carried concern. “If I am not mistaken, you have read that damnable paper and are aware of the most recent rumour: that you regret your interest in Miss Elizabeth Bennet. That you have been manoeuvred into an attachment you do not desire.”
Darcy’s jaw tightened at the notion. It was laughable that thetonthought him so easily swayed, that he would entertain the company of those with whom he did not see fit to socialise with, much less attach his heart to. The gossip-monger had turned their attentions now to him, and therefore to Elizabeth. “It is a contemptible falsehood, from first to last.”
“I know that,” Bingley said, rising from his chair. “But society is not so discerning. The rumour has gained alarming traction. Why, I overheard a pair of ladies discussing it as I passed them by on my way here.”
Darcy rose and moved toward the window, clasping his hands behind his back.
“They say she has manipulated you, even tricked you into an entanglement,” Bingley followed him to the window. “That she pursues you with unbecoming boldness. That you are too honourable to extricate yourself.”
Darcy felt heat smoulder in his chest. “Miss Elizabeth has conducted herself with nothing but propriety.”
“I am certain of it,” Bingley said. “Those who know her would never believe such falsehoods. But there are many who do not know her, and they are quick to repeat gossip — the more scandalous, the better.”
Darcy stared out at the street below, observing the carriages rolling past, the groups of theton’s most fashionablescurrying between shops, and the clerks who darted between it all, carrying parcels of printed news. They very machinery that fed the monster of gossip.
“I feel much the same about Miss Bennet,” Bingley said softly. “If this continues, her reputation may suffer more than mine. And hers is the one most vulnerable.”
The words landed painfully because they were true.
Darcy had already witnessed how swiftly a narrative could turn against the Bennets. He had watched Elizabeth defend Jane and Georgiana with a dignity that only increased his admiration. But that admiration could not shield her.
“I have an appointment to call on her this afternoon,” Darcy said slowly.
Bingley looked at him with surprise. “You have?”
“Yes.” Darcy’s voice lacked conviction.
Bingley hesitated, tapping his fingers restlessly. “Then I must speak honestly, though it pains me. I know you would do the same for me.”
Darcy turned to face his friend, not wishing to hear what he had to say, yet knowing that refusing to listen would be as foolish as it was cowardly.
“If the world already believes she has ensnared you, will your visit not confirm it? Might it not suggest that her supposed schemes have succeeded?”
Darcy understood Bingley’s meaning immediately. “You advise me to withdraw,” he said softly.
“I advise you to consider whether your attentions will protect her, or endanger her further, if you truly care for her,” Bingley replied.
Darcy thought of the spark of anger in Elizabeth’s eyes, and of the hope she had so stubbornly clung to. Would she see his withdrawal as prudence or rejection?
Or worse, a confirmation that he believed the terrible rumours. He did not want to disappoint her, not when he had asked her to put her trust in him, and she had done so. His chest tightened at the thought.
But what right did he have to indulge his feelings for her if they risked causing her further harm? It was altogether selfish to maintain such an attachment, even one orchestrated as a ruse.
Wasn’t it?
“You know I am not guided by vanity,” Darcy said at last. “Nor by a fear of censure. But perhaps you are right. I will not be the cause of Miss Elizabeth’s disgrace.”
Bingley nodded, visibly relieved. “Then perhaps a temporary distance until the worst of the storm abates would be an act of kindness rather than cruelty.”
