“The young woman Bingley formed an attachment to last autumn,” Darcy said, his voice carefully controlled despite the turmoil in his chest. “It was not in London. It was in Hertfordshire.”
Fitzwilliam’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Hertfordshire? But you said...”
“I said he had met someone. I did not specify where.” Darcy paused, the words catching in his throat before he could force them out. “It was Miss Jane Bennet. Elizabeth’s elder sister.”
The colour drained from Fitzwilliam’s face with remarkable speed. For a long moment he simply stared at Darcy, his mouth slightly open, his expression cycling through shock, comprehension, and finally horror.
“Dear God,” Fitzwilliam breathed. “Tell me I did not... Tell me I did not tell Miss Bennet that you deliberately separated her sister from Bingley.”
But Darcy could not tell him that, could only watch his cousin’s horror deepen as understanding crystallised. Fitzwilliam took a step backward, one hand rising to cover his mouth as though he could somehow take back the words he had spoken yesterday afternoon.
“I am so sorry,” Fitzwilliam said, his voice emerging rough with genuine distress. “Darcy, I had no idea. You never told me the woman was Miss Bennet’s sister! If I had known, if I had suspected for even a moment, I would never have spoken of it.” He shook his head, looking genuinely stricken. “No wonder you looked so alarmed. She must despise you now. Must think you the most interfering, presumptuous villain in England.”
Darcy opened his mouth to agree, to confirm that yes, Elizabeth would naturally be furious. But the words died before they could form. Because Elizabeth had not seemed furious this morning. Had not acted like someone who despised him. Had been warm, pleasant, nearly affectionate.
“That is what troubles me,” Darcy said slowly, his thoughts arranging themselves even as he spoke. “Miss Bennet did not seem angry this morning. Did not behave as though she had just learned I was responsible for her sister’s heartbreak. Instead, she was...” He paused, searching for the right word. “Pleasant. Agreeable. Almost welcoming of my company.”
Fitzwilliam stared at him as though he had begun speaking in tongues. “Pleasant? Darcy, surely you are mistaken. Perhaps she was hiding her anger behind civility, maintaining appearances until she could express her true feelings more privately.”
But Darcy shook his head. “No. It was not that sort of controlled civility. She seemed genuinely pleased to see me, genuinely happy to walk with me. There was no coldness beneath the pleasantness, no hint of suppressed fury.”
“Then perhaps...” Fitzwilliam hesitated, his expression troubled. “Perhaps she has not yet made the connection? If I didnot mention Miss Bennet by name, perhaps Miss Elizabeth has not realised I was speaking of her own sister?”
The suggestion was logical, but Darcy found himself unable to accept it. Elizabeth was too intelligent, too perceptive to miss such an obvious connection. Bingley’s attachment formed last autumn, a young woman whose feelings were deemed insufficient, disadvantageous family connections. Any mention of Bingley and last autumn would immediately bring Jane to Elizabeth’s mind.
Unless… Elizabeth did not care as much about her sister’s disappointment as Darcy had assumed.
The thought arrived with the force of revelation, offering an explanation that would resolve the contradiction. What if Jane’s feelings for Bingley had been as tepid as Darcy had thought them to be? What if Elizabeth knew her sister had not been particularly attached, had not suffered terribly from the separation? In that case, Elizabeth might view Darcy’s interference as misguided but not cruel, protective rather than malicious. Perhaps even helpful, saving her sister from the obligation of refusing a distasteful proposal, much as Elizabeth herself had to do with Collins.
“Perhaps Miss Bennet was not deeply affected by the separation,” Darcy heard himself say, the words emerging with more confidence than he felt. “Perhaps her feelings for Bingley were not as strong as we assumed, and Elizabeth knows this. That would explain why she showed no anger at learning I had separated them.”
Fitzwilliam’s expression suggested he found this reasoning deeply flawed. “Darcy, that seems rather unlikely. Miss Elizabeth spoke of her sister with genuine affection during our conversations. I cannot imagine she would be so sanguine about anyone interfering in Miss Bennet’s romantic prospects, regardless of the depth of her sister’s attachment.”
But Darcy was already building the argument in his mind, constructing a narrative that would justify both his past actions and Elizabeth’s present behaviour. “If Miss Bennet’s feelings were not seriously engaged, then no real harm was done. Elizabeth might recognise this, might even approve of my protecting Bingley from an unsuitable connection that would have satisfied neither party in the end.”
The words sounded hollow even to his own ears, defensive rather than convinced. But Darcy pressed on, needing to believe this explanation because the alternative, the impossible alternative his instincts insisted upon, was too extraordinary to accept.
Fitzwilliam opened his mouth, closed it again, clearly struggling with how to respond. “I suppose that is possible,” he said finally, though doubt coloured his tone. “Though I must say, Darcy, this all seems rather convenient. Are you certain you are not simply telling yourself what you wish to believe?”
The question struck too close to truth for Darcy’s comfort. He turned away from his cousin’s penetrating gaze, staring at the portrait of some long-dead de Bourgh ancestor that hung on the wall. The painted eyes seemed to judge him, to see through his rationalisations to the uncomfortable truth beneath.
Had his motives for separating Bingley and Jane been entirely honourable? Had he truly acted solely out of concern for his friend’s welfare? Or had some part of him been influenced by his growing feelings for Elizabeth, by the irrational hope that removing Bingley from the Bennet family might somehow benefit his own prospects?
Darcy’s conscience, which he had successfully suppressed for months, chose this moment to reassert itself with uncomfortable vigour. He had told himself he was protecting Bingley from an imprudent match, from a young woman whose feelings seemed insufficient and whose family was decidedly disadvantageous.He had convinced himself he was acting as a good friend should, decisively intervening to prevent a mistake.
But beneath those rational justifications had lurked less noble considerations. The younger Bennet sisters’ embarrassing behaviour, which might reflect poorly on Darcy himself if Bingley married into the connection. The mother’s obvious scheming, which offended Darcy’s sense of propriety.
Those motivations had nothing to do with protecting his friend. They were pure pride and prejudice, the very qualities Darcy prided himself on having mastered. And yes, some small part of him had wanted to ensure Bingley did not bind himself to the Bennet family, a circumstance which would likely have brought Elizabeth Bennet into circles where she and Darcy would cross paths regularly. He had, at that time, not recognised just how impossible it would be to forget her.
“Perhaps my reasons were not entirely honourable,” Darcy admitted quietly, still not looking at his cousin. “Perhaps I was influenced by considerations beyond simply Bingley’s welfare. But the outcome remains the same. If Jane Bennet was not seriously attached, then the separation, however imperfectly motivated, caused no lasting harm.”
Fitzwilliam made a sound that might have been agreement or protest, Darcy could not tell which. “And if she was attached? If you were wrong about her feelings?”
Then he had caused genuine suffering to an innocent woman, had destroyed a promising attachment through arrogance and presumption. Had wounded Elizabeth’s beloved sister and earned Elizabeth’s justified anger and contempt.
But Elizabeth was not angry. That was the fact Darcy kept returning to, the observation that supported his hopeful interpretation. If Jane had truly cared for Bingley, if Elizabeth believed her sister had suffered real heartbreak, she would not have been pleasant and agreeable this morning. Would not havesmiled at Darcy with apparent genuine warmth. Would not have accepted his company without visible reluctance.
Unless she had some other motivation. Unless she had decided to encourage Darcy, only to plan on breaking his heart with a cruel refusal once he had come to the point of proposing, in revenge for her beloved sister’s heartbreak.
