If it had not been for George Wickham and the things he had told her.
The thought intruded unbidden. Wickham’s accusations lingered like a shadow she could not quite dismiss. Mr Darcy had said he was innocent of the most serious charges. What had he meant by that? Could there be an explanation she had not yet heard?
Reluctantly, she dismissed the idea. Despite what Jane wished to believe, there were villains in the world. Mr Darcy had not become more likely to be innocent of wickedness simply because she had discovered he was a man of judgement and intelligence, with a sense of humour that appealed to her own.
As they walked, Elizabeth became aware of glances directed toward them, quick and curious. She smiled to herself. The first step of their plan was succeeding, for to be observed in the act of total indifference to each other, they must first be observed.
Elizabeth kept her manner composed, her tone polite but distant. Mr Darcy mirrored her perfectly. Miss Bingley, absorbed in her own efforts, appeared satisfied.
Now several paces away, Jane and Mr Bingley walked together, their conversation quiet but animated, their expressions open and unguarded. Mr Bingley leaned toward Jane as she spoke, his attention wholly fixed upon her.
The sight eased something tight within Elizabeth’s chest.
The walk concluded without further incident, and when they parted, it was with an air of politeness between some and warmth between others. Mr Darcy bowed, Miss Bingley offered gracious farewells, and Mr Bingley departed with a promise to call again.
At home, Elizabeth allowed herself to indulge in a moment of happy optimism. She was amused by how little ground Caroline Bingley had gained with Mr Darcy, pleased by how well Jane and Mr Bingley were getting on, and confident that she and Mr Darcy had shown anyone watching that they did not care for each other at all.
What they had shown the world was surely nothing worth watching. For the first time since the rumours had begun, Elizabeth believed they might finally fade.
As she reviewed the morning in her mind, Elizabeth found no cause for alarm. Nothing had been said that couldbe misinterpreted, no moment allowed to linger too long. Mr Darcy’s manner had been precisely what it ought to have been, and her own, she believed, equally so.
How useful Caroline Bingley had been to them! Surely everyone observing them would have noticed that she spoke to Mr Darcy half a dozen times for every sentence Elizabeth gave him. Her indifference could be set to no greater contrast than Miss Bingley’s careful, marked attentions.
With no small satisfaction, Elizabeth decided that time would do the rest. Familiarity would dull curiosity, repetition would weaken invention, and London, always eager for novelty, would soon turn its attention elsewhere.
Chapter 7
Darcy arrived for his supper invitation at Bingley’s townhouse at once determined to keep his mind disciplined, and uncomfortably aware that his resolution was in considerable danger of being broken.
Though already a few days past, the walk in Hyde Park had lodged itself in his thoughts with an obstinacy he resented. He had conducted himself exactly as he ought. Elizabeth Bennet had done the same. Caroline Bingley’s presence had been, if not desirable, at least useful. Surely no one watching the two women would conclude that Elizabeth Bennet had atendrefor him. Not when she looked on with amused indifference as Miss Bingley stood between them, in the throes of making her hopes and wishes abundantly clear.
And yet, despite all the careful management, despite the restraint, despite the studied coolness, Darcy could not shake the uneasy sense that their efforts had produced precisely the opposite of the effect they had intended.
He handed his gloves to a servant and was shown into the drawing room. The warmth of the fire and the familiar elegance of the space would ordinarily have been soothing.Tonight, seeing Miss Bingley’s eyes avidly fixed on him, it felt uncomfortably like the setting for a scene in which he had already been assigned a part. Even as he exchanged bows and murmured greetings with the assembled party, Darcy felt a little ill at ease. As so often at Bingley’s home, Mrs Hurst and Mr Hurst rounded out the party; Mr Hurst, indolent as ever, seemed to be already in his cups, while Mrs Hurst looked at him almost as keenly as her sister.
Bingley came forward to meet him with his usual good humour and open pleasure.
“My dear Darcy,” he said at once, giving him a friendly clap on the shoulder in an old habit that required no thought, “I am very glad you have come.”
Darcy returned the greeting with as much steadiness as he could manage. “Thank you for the kind invitation. It is always a pleasure to join you for supper and share in an old friend’s society.”
“Yes, so it is,” Bingley replied, though with a strange hesitation. His expression altered, becoming more serious than Darcy was accustomed to seeing on his face. “Indeed, it is, but I am afraid our conversation tonight may not be so easy as we might both wish. There is something I must tell you.”
Darcy’s attention sharpened at once. In the space of a breath, he felt the same sensation he had experienced when the rumours first reached his ears. It was not fear for himself, nor even annoyance at an inconvenience. It was the cold, immediate awareness of what was at stake for someone else.
Before he could respond, Bingley continued, and continued too quickly.
“It is bad news,” he said. “Worse than before, I think. People are speaking of you and Miss Elizabeth more than ever.”
The words struck Darcy with a force that was not entirely surprise. He had expected difficulty. What he had not expected was that Bingley would announce it in a room already occupied. Darcy felt at once that Bingley had chosen the worst possible moment for candour.
Darcy’s gaze flicked involuntarily to the others.
Caroline Bingley sat near the fire, her posture perfectly composed, her face arranged in an expression of polite interest that did not conceal her sudden attention. Mrs Hurst lounged upon a sofa with languid ease, her eyes bright with curiosity. Mr Hurst, established comfortably with a glass already in hand, looked up only briefly, as though any subject that threatened to require thought was best observed from a safe distance.
Darcy felt a sharp irritation, not with the news itself, but with Bingley’s thoughtlessness in delivering it so openly.
Oblivious to his indiscretion and his friend’s annoyance, Bingley pressed on. “Our plan failed badly. I thought the Hyde Park walk might quiet it, but it has done the opposite. It is being repeated everywhere.”
