He exhaled slowly. "She did not want my words then, and I doubt she wants them now."
Hewitt glanced up at a passing carriage, his expression mild and content.
"I came to Bath to escape all of it," Darcy said. "From Pemberley, where everyone knew something was amiss but had the good grace not to press me. From London, where Bingley's unhappiness over Miss Bennet reminded me daily of my ownrole in separating them. I thought—I hoped—that distance might dull the pain."
A pause followed that felt like peace.
"Instead, I find her here.” Darcy continued. “And tonight, I am to dine with her. Mrs. Gardiner—her aunt—invited Bingley and myself out of gratitude for our assistance yesterday. I could not refuse without giving offense."
He pressed his lips together. "So, I must sit across a table and make polite conversation as though my heart does not cease every time she looks at me. As though I do not recall every word of her refusal, every expression of disdain upon her countenance when she spoke of how I had wronged Mr. Wickham and destroyed her sister's happiness."
Hewitt closed his book with a soft thump and tucked it under his arm. He rose, collected his walking stick, and gave Darcy a companionable pat upon the shoulder before setting off down the path, apparently satisfied with his morning's reading.
Darcy bowed briefly, and watched him go, feeling the curious lightness that always followed these one-sided conversations.
Mr. Hewitt comprehended nothing of what Darcy said, yet tolerated his presence with remarkable patience.
He had spoken the truth aloud. All of it—his impulsiveness, his arrogance, his regret. And the world had not ended.
Hewitt had not condemned him. The sun still shone upon Bath's golden stone. Perhaps tonight would not be the disaster he feared. Or perhaps it would be worse.
Either way, he would face it.
He had no choice.
Darcy stood, straightened his coat, and turned back toward his house. There were still hours before six o'clock, and he intended to use them to prepare himself for the ordeal ahead.
Though how one prepared to dine with the woman who had rejected him so thoroughly, he could not say.
FIVE
Bath, August 1812
Elizabeth
Elizabeth was not surprised when Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley arrived at precisely six o'clock. Punctuality, she thought wryly, was apparently a virtue shared by both gentlemen.
The maid showed them into the parlor, where the family had assembled. Mr. Bingley entered first, his countenance bright with anticipation. But the moment his eyes found Jane, his expression transformed—eagerness giving way to something more vulnerable. Hope, perhaps. Or fear.
Jane rose from her seat, her hands clasped tightly before her. The color drained from her cheeks, then flooded back in a rush. For a moment, she seemed unable to speak.
"Miss Bennet," Mr. Bingley said, his voice unsteady. "I—that is—it is very good to see you again."
"Mr. Bingley." Jane's voice was barely above a whisper.
The silence that followed was excruciating. Elizabeth watched her sister struggle for composure, watched Mr. Bingley's hands flex at his sides as though he longed to reach for her but dared not.
Mr. Darcy, entering behind his friend, took in the scene with a single glance. His expression remained carefully neutral,though Elizabeth thought she detected a flicker of sympathy in his eyes.
Mrs. Gardiner, as though determined to dispel the awkwardness that had settled following the gentlemen’s initial reaction, stepped forward. “Gentlemen, how good of you to come. Allow me to present my husband, Mr. Gardiner.”
Mr. Gardiner, already on his feet, came forward with his easy manner and shook hands with both gentlemen. “I must thank you for your courage yesterday. My niece might have been seriously injured had you not acted so swiftly, Mr. Darcy.”
"I am glad I was near enough to be of service," Darcy replied quietly.
"And the child and servant you rescued—I understand they are both recovering well?"
"They are, sir. I called this morning to enquire after them."
