Miss Bingley leaned forward a fraction, her smile sharpening as though she had been handed a puzzle she intended to solve. “Your plan?” she echoed. “My dear brother, of what plan are you speaking? And what is being repeated?”
Bingley blinked, as if he only now remembered he had an audience. “It is nothing,” he said quickly, attempting to retreat. “Nothing you need worry about, Caroline. Mr Darcy haseverything well in hand. And the rumours are of no consequence whatsoever.”
Miss Bingley’s gaze moved to Darcy, and Darcy recognised at once the particular kind of fascination in it. He did not much care for the expression, for while it was not malice, neither was it concern. Rather, it was the enjoyment of possessing information that might be used.
“Do tell us, Mr Darcy,” Miss Bingley pressed him delicately. “Why, you are among friends here. Surely we ought to know.”
Darcy hesitated, wishing Bingley had waited to speak to him. But what was done was done. To continue in a denial would be foolish.
“Perhaps you have all heard of the rumours concerning myself and Miss Elizabeth Bennet,” Darcy said shortly. After a chorus of murmured agreement, he added, “Naturally, we are attempting to work against them. We had thought to meet, as though by accident, and show all London’s watching eyes that there is nothing to see.”
“Perhaps you must now take a bolder stance,” Miss Bingley said at once. “Everyone would at once understand that there is nothing between yourself and Miss Elizabeth if you began to pay marked attention to another lady.”
Darcy shook his head. “Surely that would be impossible. If I did anything of the kind, I would risk either entangling myself, or treating such a lady with unforgivable discourtesy.”
“That is why you must choose someone who is already a friend, and who will understand your intentions,” she returned at once. “Why, there would be no difficulty in finding such alady. I myself would be a suitable candidate. Indeed, allow me to make the offer at once. It would be no trouble, no trouble at all. I should be happy to assist in repairing the damage to your public image, for I cannot bear to think of so respectable a gentleman — not to mention so valued a friend — suffering from such offensive rumours.”
If Miss Bingley thought herself subtle in making the suggestion, Darcy would be forced to disagree. “You are very kind,” he told her, “but it is quite impossible. Such an action would place your reputation in as much danger as Miss Elizabeth faces now. I cannot accept a solution that would protect Miss Elizabeth only by endangering yourself.”
“Yes, Caroline, I would not allow it,” Bingley chimed in. “I shall not see my sister exposed to such a risk.”
“Quite so,” Darcy said with careful gravity, wondering if his friend knew how much he appreciated the stricture. “I thank you for your concern, Miss Bingley,” he added, “but I cannot accept your aid.”
Though obviously frustrated, Miss Bingley could not oppose such a direct refusal and prohibition. “You are only too gentlemanly, Mr Darcy,” she said through her teeth.
“In any case, Bingley, you were saying that you believed the rumours to be no better. I have had much the same sense myself,” Darcy said, hoping to redirect the subject.
Bingley nodded. “Our accidental meeting did not work as planned. Quite the opposite. In fact, I have heard the meeting at Hyde Park mentioned as proof that there is something going on between what was described to me as the ‘famously stoic Mr Darcy’ and ‘that bewitching newcomer, Miss Elizabeth Bennet.’”
“Disgusting,” Miss Bingley said with a small shudder. “I abhor gossip.”
Darcy looked askance at her. She sounded remarkably sincere for a woman who so often engaged in the pastime. “I quite agree with your distaste, Miss Bingley. This must not go on.”
“Naturally not!” Miss Bingley explained. “Indeed, I believe I owe you an apology, Mr Darcy, for my jokes about your interest in Miss Eliza Bennet and her fine eyes. How insulting you must find it all! Just imagine, to think that you would really be interested in a woman without fortune or accomplishments.”
“That is not my primary concern,” Darcy said dryly. “Indeed, I am more concerned that I have interfered with a lady’s reputation, as all this began with my incautious remark. It is all my fault.”
Caroline Bingley was not so well pleased with this answer as to wish a continuation of the topic, and fell silent.
As the supper progressed, Darcy began to suspect that he was being very bad company, but he could not seem to overcome his distraction. An image of Elizabeth Bennet seemed to hang before his eyes, as clear as though she were actually present. From the sweet bow of her lips to the wit and humour lurking in those lovely eyes, he found himself helpless not to admire her. When the conversation lagged over supper, he found himself thinking of how she would have livened it again with a bright remark. When Miss Bingley made herself a little over-obvious, Darcy could not help but imagine the wordless look of amusement Elizabeth would have given, had she been present. It occurred to him that there was one way he could make amends to Elizabeth for the rumours, if worst came to worst.
Namely, he could marry her.
It was strangely comforting, and strangely unbearable, that the entire problem could be solved by a single act. If Elizabeth Bennet’s reputation were truly endangered, if the rumours gathered such weight that her family could not move within society without shame, Darcy could end it. He could offer his name, his protection, his home. He could make the scandal impossible, because the scandal would become propriety.
It would even be applauded. London loved a conclusion.
The thought should have been repugnant. Instead, it was like a door he could not stop himself from noticing. The idea appealed for reasons beyond simply repairing what his carelessness had injured. When he pictured Elizabeth Bennet as his wife, the image did not appear ridiculous.
He could picture it with alarming ease, a picture that felt at once exhilarating and somehow simply right.
Darcy’s hand tightened on the arm of his chair.
No.
It was utterly impossible, because marriage offered solely as a remedy was not love. It was obligation, and Elizabeth Bennet had already made her opinion of him painfully clear. She believed him guilty. Nor did his supposed guilt concern something trivial, but something that Wickham had implied was deeply wrong, deeply cruel, and entirely in keeping with her first impressions of Darcy’s pride.
He could tell her the truth. But would she believe him?
