Knowing he could no longer dissemble, Darcy nodded. “The truth is that I do not know yet—but yes, I am leaning in that direction.”
A curious look, and Georgiana said: “What prevents you?”
The book could no longer hold his attention—if it ever had—so Darcy set it aside. “Many factors, to own the truth. The state of Miss Elizabeth’s heart, lingering doubts of duty, my affections, and Lady Catherine’s probable reaction, to name a few.”
Georgiana blanched. “Lady Catherine will be frightfully angry, will she not?”
“Yes,” replied Darcy, “though I shall not allow her ladyship’s disapproval to stop me if I determine to move forward.”
Darcy leaned back and folded his arms. Outside in the corridor, he heard the heavy footsteps of a footman, while outside the window clouds drifted in the gray sky, blotting out the sight of the sun. It was a typical February day, one that clung to the season rather than promising a change.
“I admire Miss Elizabeth, Georgiana,” said Darcy after a moment’s reflection. “To own the truth, I cannot see how anyone could not feel the same.”
With a sigh, Georgiana offered him a contented smile. “That is good to know, Brother, for I have often thought you would not be happy in a society marriage.”
“I have come to understand that myself,” agreed Darcy. “It took an impertinent young miss possessing some of the finest eyes I have ever seen to teach me.”
“Does Miss Bingley understand your intentions? Will this become unpleasant?”
The questions cut to the core of what Darcy had considered that morning. More than Lady Catherine and her bluster, the earl’s concern should Darcy inform him that he would wed a country miss, or any notion of how society would view hisimprudence, Miss Bingley was a consideration he couldnot ignore. Her behavior the previous evening did not inspire confidence, and while he did not think she would descend to madness, he could not be certain.
“It occurs to me that Miss Bingley has long mistaken my civility for something more.”
Georgiana understood the comment at once. “Yes, I suppose she has.”
“Perhaps I should have discouraged her more firmly, yet I cannot regret my growing attachment to Miss Elizabeth.”
For several moments, Georgiana considered his confession. Then she shook her head. “Perhaps you might have made your disinclination clear, but addressing such considerations is not usually done. Miss Bingley should have taken your refusal to address her in such a way as to give her hope as a sign of your disinterest.”
“Rather,” muttered Darcy, “every time I spoke to her, it was evidence of my attachment.”
“Just so.”
Though Darcy wanted to believe the fault was all on her side, he could not do so and remain honest with himself.
“Miss Bingley has her part in this,” said he, “but I must own to some culpability of my own. While it is not proper to speak toherof the matter, I could have said something to Bingley. I did not want to embarrass him, so I tolerated her and kept silent.”
“Which speaks well to your character.”
“Thank you, Georgiana,” said Darcy with only a trace of sarcasm. “To have my aloofness held up as a strength rather than a flaw is a singular experience.”
Georgiana laughed, and Darcy felt lighter because of it.
“I hope you can convince her, Brother,” said Georgiana. “Since I came, I have observed that Elizabeth makes you happier and your manners softer than I have ever seen before.”
“Yes, she does at that.”
SINCE HE WAS SEARCHINGfor the signs, Bingley saw them at once. Or perhaps it was more correct to say that he did not see what he had feared, which was a relief.
Charles Bingley was aware of his faults. He was accommodating—a fault or a strength depending on how one looked on it—abhorred conflict, and had a distinct lack of firmness, ambition, and that steady sense of purpose which governed Darcy’s character. As he was still young, maturity and responsibility would resolve those defects, he thought, but that did not mean they were absent from his character.
In some strange way, this business with Miss Bennet had forced him from his comfortable, passive existence, and pushed him to take a stand. Perhaps this would be the beginning of his journey to a more forceful Charles Bingley. For the moment, he would accept nothing less than his sister’s capitulation.
Caroline had appeared after breakfast that morning, entering the sitting-room without comment and with no apparent rancor. Bingley could sense her discontent, to be certain, but it contained a distinct quality different from her usual displeasure—it was softened in some way he could not define. He might be reading more than he should, but he thought it was a good sign.
“Are you set on this path?” asked Caroline not long after entering.
Bingley had not been expecting the question, but it did not surprise him either. It was the natural time for her to argue her point if that was what she wished to do—Louisa and Hurst were sitting together not far away speaking quietly, and the Darcys had disappeared after breakfast. She would not wish to appear anything less than composed before Darcy, so now was the most opportune moment to raise the subject.
