THREE
Bath, August 1812
Darcy
The ladies had scarcely turned the corner when Bingley seized Darcy's arm.
"Did you know?" he demanded, his voice urgent. "Did you know they were here?"
Darcy gave him a look of profound exasperation. "How was I supposed to know, Bingley? You saw how surprised I was—as surprised as you were."
"Yes, yes, of course." Bingley ran a hand through his hair, leaving it thoroughly disheveled. "It's only—good God, Darcy, Miss Bennet is here. In Bath. Here."
"So it seems."
Bingley began to pace, heedless of the curious looks from passersby. "What am I to do? I cannot simply—that is, I have not called on her in months. How can I possibly—"
"You could begin," Darcy said dryly, "by attending the dinner to which we have just been invited."
Bingley stopped mid-stride. "Tomorrow evening. Yes. Tomorrow." He turned to Darcy with sudden intensity. "You will come with me, will you not? You must come. I cannot face this alone."
“I was invited too, Bingley,” Darcy returned, with a look that suggested the fact ought not to have been forgotten. “I have already accepted.”
"Right. Good." Bingley resumed pacing. "What will I say to her? How do I explain—"
"The truth would be a novel approach."
Bingley shot him a sharp look. "You know perfectly well why I have not called on her."
"I know what you have told me," Darcy said quietly. "That you feared her regard for you may have weaned. That after so long, you could not bear to discover that she may have formed an attachment to another gentleman."
"Exactly!" Bingley gestured emphatically. "And what of London? When I discovered she had been in town—that she had been there for weeks and I knew nothing of it—" He broke off, his distress evident. "My sisters never told me, Darcy. They kept it from me deliberately. And when I finally learned of it, when you told me the truth, I wanted to go to her immediately. But by then she had already returned to Hertfordshire."
"You could have followed her there," Darcy said quietly.
"Could I?" Bingley turned to him, anguished. "After months of silence? After she had been in London and I had not called—how could I simply appear at Longbourn and expect her to receive me? I mean, she thought I had known she was in town and had chosen not to see her. What if she believed I did not care?" He ran his hand through his hair again. "My heart could not have borne it, Darcy. To see indifference in her eyes, or worse—to find her engaged to another gentleman entirely."
Darcy regarded his friend with a mixture of sympathy and frustration. "And yet I told you myself, after Miss Elizabeth opened my eyes, that Miss Bennet's affections were engaged. Iwas wrong to suggest otherwise in Hertfordshire. She does care for you, Bingley."
"You said that, yes," Bingley said miserably. "And I believe it—I do. But believing it and having the courage to act upon it are entirely different matters."
“Indeed they are,” Darcy said quietly, recalling the letter he had reclaimed from the bench at Hunsford — an explanation Elizabeth had declined to accept, much less peruse.
Bingley turned to him abruptly. "When you told me to come to Bath with you—when you suggested we leave London for a time—did you think we might run into them?"
Darcy turned toward his friend with sudden severity, a flash of feeling breaking through his usual composure.
“No,” he said, the word delivered with quiet firmness. “I came to Bath to seek escape, Bingley— not to pursue.”
"Escape what?"
"Memories. Regrets." Darcy's jaw tightened. "The knowledge that I had made a grievous error in judgment and could not undo it."
Bingley's expression softened with understanding. "Miss Elizabeth."
Darcy did not answer, but his silence was confirmation enough.
"Well. You brought us both here, and here we are.” Bingley broke the awkwardness. “Seems providence is giving me another chance."
