But she did not speak.
Jane would be horrified, certainly. But what then? Would she feel obligated to inform Mr. Bingley? Would their friendship end? And if it did, what would become of Jane's newly rekindled hopes?
For a moment, she wondered if Mr. Bingley knew about the whole affair. She doubted it. Mr. Darcy would have introduced them as a family he assisted, perhaps—some charitable concern. After all, he seemed to wear the mask of benevolence remarkably well.
Elizabeth pressed her forehead against the cool glass.
She knew Mr. Darcy's character now. Knew it with a certainty that made her chest ache. But spreading such a scandal would serve no purpose save to cause pain. And if she spoke, Mr. Darcy might retaliate. He had separated Jane and Mr. Bingley once before with nothing more than a few well-placed words. What might he do if Elizabeth exposed his most private shame?
She could not risk it.
If Jane benefited from this visit to Bath—if she left with her understanding with Mr. Bingley secured—then it would be worth Elizabeth's silence.
And in another way, it was almost a relief. At least she had closure now about Mr. Darcy's character. No more wondering. No more questioning whether she had misjudged him.
It was, in its own terrible way, a resolution.
Except—
Except that disappointment sat like a stone in her stomach, heavy and cold.
She had wanted to find that Mr. Darcy had changed. Had wanted to discover that his kindness to her family was genuine. That his humility was real. That the man who taught poor children and spoke tenderly of his sister was the truth of him.
She had been ready—almost ready—to forgive him. To set aside her anger over his interference with Jane, her indignation over his insulting proposal, even her doubts about Mr. Wickham's account.
She had been ready tolikehim.
What a fool she had been.
"Lizzy?" Jane's voice was soft with concern. "Are you quite well?"
Elizabeth forced a smile. "I am perfectly well. Only tired."
Jane shifted on the bed. "The gentlemen did not call today."
"No."
Had he been withthem? With his Sarah and her mother?
"Perhaps they had other engagements," Elizabeth said, her voice flat.
"Perhaps." Jane studied her sister. "Lizzy, has something happened?"
"Nothing has happened." The words came too quickly. Elizabeth softened her tone. "I am only tired, as I said."
Jane appeared satisfied and soon drifted into sleep.
Elizabeth remained at the window, watching the Bath afternoon fade into evening.
She had wanted the truth about Mr. Darcy. Well. She had it now.
The cruelest part was that some small, stubborn part of her heart still refused to believe it. Still wanted to find some explanation, some justification.
But there was none. A child did not call a man "Papa" without cause.
Perhaps, tomorrow, she would have to see him again. Would have to sit in the same room, make polite conversation, pretend that nothing had changed.
She did not know how she would manage it.
