By the time they returned to Camden Place, Elizabeth felt happy that they had spoken, but still anxious that Mr. Darcy hadnot addressed the Wickham matter. At this point, she did not know whether to bring it up herself or wait for him to mention it.
Perhaps he never would.
Perhaps the explanation she sought would never come.
And perhaps—most troubling of all—she was beginning to care less than she once had for Mr. Wickham’s claims, or for their truth at all.
***
That evening, as Elizabeth prepared for bed, Jane watched her sister brush her hair with unusual vigor.
"You are very quiet tonight, Lizzy."
"Am I?" Elizabeth did not meet her eyes in the mirror.
"You have been quiet since we returned from our walk." Jane tilted her head thoughtfully. "Did something happen?"
"No. Nothing happened.”
“You know I am referring to something between you and Mr. Darcy, do you not?” Jane said with a playful smile.
“We merely talked,” Elizabeth replied, though a faint colour rose in her cheeks.
"About what?"
"Nothing in particular. His activities in Bath. Our reasons for coming here." Elizabeth set down the brush with more force than necessary. "It was perfectly ordinary conversation."
"Then why do you look so troubled?"
Elizabeth turned to face her sister. "Because I do not understand him, Jane. I do not understand any of this. He apologizes for separating you and Mr. Bingley. He volunteers to teaches poor children. He speaks to Uncle Gardiner as an equal. He asks after our family's health as though he genuinelycares about the answer." She threw up her hands in frustration. "Who is this man? Because he is not the Mr. Darcy I knew in Hertfordshire."
"Perhaps he never was that Mr. Darcy," Jane suggested gently. "Perhaps you only saw what you expected to see."
"Or perhaps he is an excellent actor."
"Do you truly believe that?"
Elizabeth was silent.
"You like him," Jane said softly. It was not a question.
"I do not—"
"Lizzy. I know you. I see the way you watch him when you think no one is looking. I hear the way your voice changes when you speak his name. You may lie to yourself if you wish, but do not lie to me."
Elizabeth sank onto the edge of the bed. "I do not know what I feel. I only know that since we met him here, I keep wanting to speak to him or hear him speak, though I cannot say when or how that happened."
"That sounds remarkably like the beginning of affection."
"It cannot be affection. Not after everything that has passed between us."
"Can it not?" Jane's smile was sad but knowing. "The heart is not always governed by logic, dearest. Sometimes it simply...feels what it feels."
Elizabeth pressed her hands to her face. "This is madness."
"Perhaps. But it is also human."
They sat in silence for a long moment. Then Elizabeth lowered her hands and looked at her sister.
