"Speaking of walks," Mrs. Gardiner said, "perhaps you gentlemen would be kind enough to show the girls something of Bath? They have seen very little of the city since we arrived."
"We would be delighted," Mr. Bingley said at once. "Would we not, Darcy?"
“Of… of course,” Mr. Darcy stammered, his gaze still fixed upon Elizabeth. “If the ladies would do us the honour, it would be our pleasure.”
Elizabeth felt a curious mixture of reluctance and eagerness stir within her. To be thrust into Mr. Darcy's company, to walk beside him, to make conversation—it was precisely what she both wanted and feared.
But there was no polite way to refuse.
"That would be lovely," she heard herself say.
Jane agreed as well, and within a quarter hour the party had assembled for their walk. Mrs. Gardiner declined to join them, citing correspondence that required her attention, but she seemed perfectly content to let the young people go without her.
They set out into the crisp morning air, Mr. Bingley and Jane falling naturally into step ahead, while Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth followed at a more measured pace.
For several minutes, they walked in silence.
Elizabeth stole glances at Mr. Darcy from beneath her bonnet. He appeared perfectly composed, his expression thoughtful but not severe. There was none of the cold pride sheremembered from Hertfordshire, none of the wounded anger from Kent. He looked—she hardly knew how to describe it—at peace.
It unnerved her.
"How is your sister?" she asked at last, grasping for safe conversation. “When last we saw in Kent, I remember your aunt mentioning her, and you said she was in London."
"She is still in London with my cousin," Mr. Darcy replied. "We stayed at Pemberley two months ago, but she left after a fortnight. She finds town more diverting than the country at present."
"She is well, I hope?"
"Very well. Thank you for asking."
Another pause. Elizabeth searched for something else to say.
"And Colonel Fitzwilliam? Does he remain in London as well or the regiment has him occupied elsewhere?"
"He does. His regiment keeps him occupied there, though he writes that he finds military life less agreeable than he once did."
"I am sorry to hear it. He seemed quite content when I knew him in Kent."
"He was," Mr. Darcy said quietly. "Kent was a pleasant interlude for both of us."
Elizabeth's breath caught. Was he thinking of what had happened there? Of his proposal, her refusal, the letter she had not read?
But his expression gave nothing away.
They walked on, the silence between them no longer quite so easy. Ahead, Mr. Bingley said something that made Jane laugh—a soft, musical sound that carried back to them on the breeze.
"They look so happy," Mr. Darcy observed.
"They do," Elizabeth agreed. Then, before she could stop herself, she added, "I should thank you, sir. Jane told me that Mr. Bingley said you were the one who informed him of her visit to London. I suppose if you had not, they might never have found each other again."
Mr. Darcy's jaw tightened. "There is nothing to thank me for, Miss Elizabeth. I made a mistake, and I corrected it as soon as I realized what I had done." He paused, and when he spoke again, there was pain in his voice. "Seeing your sister yesterday—her countenance—I understood what separating them must have done to her. I am sorry it took Bingley so long to summon the courage to speak to her. Thank God I asked him to come to Bath with me, else they might have lost each other entirely."
Elizabeth looked at him in surprise. This was not what she had expected. There was no defensiveness in his tone, no attempt to justify his actions. Only regret.
"You could not have known," she said softly.
"I should have trusted Bingley's judgment. And I should have looked more carefully before presuming to know your sister's heart." He met her eyes. "It was arrogant of me. Presumptuous. I see that now."
Elizabeth did not know what to say. The Mr. Darcy of Hertfordshire would never have admitted such a thing. The Mr. Darcy of Kent had been too proud to consider that he might be wrong.
