She nodded. “Please begin.”
Darcy looked at her a moment, rather wondering at her saying so little. But as there was nothing to be done but to begin his explanations, he did so. Elizabeth continued to be very quiet, saying little beyond the most necessary responses.
“I think this would be best,” Darcy said in conclusion. “The plan has a considerable number of advantages. We would show London our mutual disinterest in a manner beyond any misinterpretation, and without either being placed at a disadvantage. Invitations to my aunt’s parties are given only to an exclusive circle. By extending her hospitality to you, it will be made perfectly clear that, despite the rumours being utternonsense, you are a friend to my family. And if we both attend in company with another guest, the rumours cannot continue.”
Elizabeth hesitated a little before speaking. “You would have me attend escorted by another gentleman, then.”
“Yes,” Darcy said, stuffing down his private distaste for the idea. “It would make the point clear to all of London’s wagging tongues.” It was too obviously the solution. His own dislike for the idea of seeing Elizabeth on another man’s arm could not be allowed to interfere.
Surprisingly, Elizabeth herself seemed a little ill at ease with the idea — but no, likely it was only his imagination, and what he wished to see. She could have no reason for feeling so.
No reason other than the one he hoped for too much to believe it true.
She nodded then. “Perhaps you are correct. In any case, I thank you for the invitation. And for caring so much about my reputation. I believe you have done more than anyone could have expected of you.”
“But no more than I expected of myself,” Darcy returned.
Elizabeth smiled, sudden and brilliant. “Then you have high expectations. I should have expected nothing less.”
They spoke then of practicalities, of who might serve as her escort, of how the invitation should be sent. Elizabeth was sensible, precise, and unromantic in her considerations, and Darcy found himself admiring her clarity even as it unsettled him.
At last, the matter was settled as far as it could be. Darcy looked at Elizabeth for a long moment, weighing a numberof considerations. He could speak, or he could remain silent. On one side of the scales was the reluctance to drag painful memories into the light, and on the other — the impossibility of allowing Elizabeth to continue thinking undeserved ill of him.
“There is something more on your mind, is there not, Mr Darcy?” Elizabeth asked him, her clear, dark eyes meeting his steadily.
Darcy nodded slowly, his decision made. “If you will allow me, I should like to speak to you about George Wickham.”
Elizabeth’s brows rose, though her surprise was restrained. “Now?”
“If you prefer not to,” he added at once, “I will not press it.”
She considered him carefully. “You believe I have been misled.”
“Yes.”
“And you believe,” she said slowly, “that you can convince me otherwise.”
“I believe you deserve to know the truth,” Darcy replied.
Elizabeth studied him for a long moment, then nodded.
“I will listen,” she said. “But understand this, Mr Darcy. I will not be persuaded by resentment or self-justification.”
“I would expect nothing less,” he said.
Elizabeth folded her hands more tightly in her lap, as though she required added steadiness.
“Mr Wickham told me,” she said evenly, “that he was raised at Pemberley, and that he was a particular favourite of your late father. He said your father intended him for the church, and promised him a valuable living when it became vacant.”
Darcy watched her intently, forcing down a protest. It would not do to interrupt. He would be wiser by far to know exactly what lies Wickham had told.
“And when that living became available,” Elizabeth continued, watching him carefully, “Mr Wickham claimed you refused him the appointment without explanation. He spoke of it as a betrayal, and of himself as a man ruined by another’s caprice.”
Darcy felt heat rise behind his eyes, sharp and unwelcome.
“And did he say anything,” he asked, his voice controlled with effort, “of my sister?”
Elizabeth hesitated. “Only that he found she had grown too much like you: too proud. He did not speak of her at length.”
