The carriage ride to Gracechurch Street was shorter than he expected.
As the familiar streets of fashionable London gave way to narrower roads and more modest houses, Darcy found himself observing his surroundings with more approval thanhe had expected. This was not an elegant quarter. There were warehouses in view, solid and busy, their doors opening onto the street. Carts passed regularly, laden with goods, and men in plain coats moved with purpose from one building to another.
But though not fashionable, it struck him as respectable, even comfortable.
There was an order to it that Darcy appreciated. Everything appeared well maintained, the houses clean, the shops thriving. This was a place where people worked, where effort and industry were visible rather than concealed beneath ornament. To dismiss it without ever troubling to look closely would be a serious misstep.
The carriage came to a halt before a neat, well-proportioned house. Darcy descended and dismissed the driver, then stood for a moment on the pavement, aware that this was the point beyond which retreat would be both cowardly and ridiculous.
He mounted the steps and knocked.
The door was opened by a maid who regarded him with evident curiosity. Darcy gave his name and waited, his expression carefully composed, while she disappeared into the house.
He was shown into a small, pleasant drawing room. It was comfortably furnished rather than fashionable, with a few well-chosen pieces and a fire burning cheerfully in the grate. Books lay upon a table near the window, and there was a sense of domestic ease that struck Darcy at once.
Elizabeth was there, as were Miss Bennet and Mrs Gardiner. All rose to greet him and exchange bows. For once,the formalities of society were a welcome distraction. Though knowing that a difficult discussion lay ahead, there were nonetheless the rituals of greeting the ladies and asking after their parents, and of paying his respects to Mrs Gardiner as his hostess. Darcy hoped he did it all suitably enough, if perhaps not elegantly.
Inevitably, the conversation faltered when it had all been said. Darcy had rehearsed what he meant to say. He had resolved to be clear, respectful, and restrained. Yet now that the moment had come, he found the words did not arrange themselves quite so readily. He found himself acutely aware of Mrs Gardiner’s presence.
She had seated herself a little apart, near the window, her manner attentive but unobtrusive. Yet there was nothing casual in her observation. Darcy recognised at once that she was listening, weighing, and forming her own conclusions. Whatever passed between him and Elizabeth in this room would not remain solely between them. It would be remembered, repeated, and judged.
The knowledge altered everything.
He had intended to be direct. He had resolved to lay the matter plainly before Elizabeth and trust her intelligence to discern his meaning. Yet the proprieties of the moment asserted themselves with unshakable force. This was not a private meeting between equals. It was a gentleman calling upon a young lady in her aunt’s house, under her aunt’s eye. Frankness, however well-meant, could easily be mistaken for presumption.
Darcy felt the weight of his position keenly. One injudicious word might be taken as an insulting suggestion that her reputation required his protection, or worse still, asan accusation of cunning. There had already been enough misunderstandings between them. He would not allow his own carelessness to give rise to further injury.
Explanations, he told himself, must come later.
For now, restraint was the wiser course. He would begin with an apology, with courtesy, and with as little assumption as possible. If he must err, it would be on the side of caution rather than candour.
The choice came with its own difficulties. Elizabeth had made her preference for plain-speaking clear enough. She might think him evasive, even insincere, but that was a lesser harm than speaking too freely in company where every word carried consequences.
Having settled this, Darcy returned his attention fully to her. “I wonder, Miss Elizabeth,” he said at last, “if you have heard any surprising news in London of late.”
Chapter 4
Elizabeth had not intended to spend her London visit thinking about Mr Darcy.
She had, in fact, formed a firm resolution to think of him as little as possible. This ought not to have been difficult. Mr Darcy was not a man who invited reflection. He did not speak merely to be agreeable. He did not soften his opinions for the comfort of others. Whatever civility he offered, he offered it with such careful restraint that it sometimes appeared less like good breeding than a refusal to be at ease.
And yet Elizabeth could not forget that he had asked her for a dance, and that she had accepted.
Worse still, she could not forget that he had asked to call upon her and had said it as though he meant to keep his word.
That alone would have been enough to provoke thought. But it was not the only disturbance to her mind. For while Elizabeth had been engaged in that singularly confusing dance, Jane had been engaged in dancing with Mr Bingley.
Elizabeth had found out only afterwards, upon returning to Jane’s side, and the knowledge had struck her with such forcethat she had been obliged to stand very still and smile as though nothing in the world could be more ordinary than encountering an absent lover in the middle of a London ball.
Surprising no one, Jane had borne it with her usual composure and sweetness. She had spoken of Mr Bingley’s surprise and delight as though it were merely a pleasing accident. With her customary modesty, she admitted he had seemed truly glad to see her, and she had even allowed herself to look pleased.
Elizabeth had been pleased as well. She had been pleased and relieved, and at the same time filled with a sharp indignation that would not settle.
If Elizabeth was not very much mistaken, it proved everything she had suspected.
Mr Bingley had not known Jane was in London. He had been astonished by the discovery. And if Mr Bingley had not known, then it must follow that those who surrounded him had ensured he did not know.
Caroline Bingley would not have hesitated to withhold information from Mr Bingley for her own ends. Elizabeth had expected nothing better of her. But Mr Darcy —
