To Darcy’s astonishment, Miss Bingley actually fluttered her eyelashes at him. “But some acquaintances are not accustomed to so much informality, and may need to be told. Formality has its uses.”
“I do not doubt it,” Darcy said hurriedly, and declined to say anything further.
“And you, Caroline,” said Bingley good-humouredly, “require a great deal too much ceremony. Darcy means exactly what he says.”
She smiled and let the subject pass, not with perfect ease.
When the ladies withdrew after supper, Bingley remained for some time in unclouded spirits, speaking of Netherfield, of mutual acquaintances, and of every plan that occurred to him at the moment of speaking. Darcy listened, answered where he ought, and was grateful for the simplicity of amind which neither suspected nor concealed. There were moments, hearing Bingley speak of Hertfordshire without any knowledge of what now connected it to his deepest hopes and fears, when he was tempted to ask some careless question about Longbourn, about the Bennets, about whether any news had been heard. He did not trust himself to do so. The inquiry would have been too marked, and he had no wish to submit Elizabeth’s name to casual mention when he could not hear it with composure.
When the gentlemen rejoined the ladies, Miss Bingley’s manner had lost something of its earlier confidence. She still endeavoured to engage him, but less from expectation now than habit. With every effort that failed she seemed to become more conscious that his mind was elsewhere. Georgiana, who observed far more than Miss Bingley supposed, said little, but once, when Darcy met her eye across the room, there was a look of mingled concern and comprehension in her expression that made him turn away at once.
The evening concluded at last. Bingley parted from him with unaltered warmth, pressing him to return the visit soon and speaking with cheerful certainty of seeing much of him before he quitted town. Miss Bingley took leave with all proper elegance, but with a reserve beneath it which even politeness could not wholly conceal.
When they had gone, the house seemed veryquiet.
Darcy remained for a few moments where he was, looking at the chair Miss Bingley had lately occupied and feeling, with a weariness that reached beyond the evening itself, how little all such society could now offer him. There had been a time when her attentions, if not desired, might at least have been easily tolerated. Now they exhausted him. Every attempt she made to recommend herself only returned him to the same comparison, the same recollection, the same absence.
He had not escaped Elizabeth for a single hour.
London had not restored him. Company had not diverted him. Time, instead of correcting his feelings, had only stripped away whatever might have distracted him from them. If he had hoped that removal from Kent would weaken his attachment, he could no longer pretend such hope had been reasonable. It had survived distance, uncertainty, wounded pride, and every effort of judgement to hold it in check. Whatever error he might have committed in believing himself loved, there was none in believing himself still irrevocably hers.
Only he had learned, too painfully, that Elizabeth was not his.
Chapter 23
A beam of sunlight came through the gap in the curtains, across the floor, and to the bed on the far wall, where it fell across Elizabeth’s face and into her eyes, waking her. With wakefulness came memory. She was in her own bed, in her own home, with all the pleasures and difficulties of life at Hunsford parsonage equally behind her. The confrontation with Lady Catherine had been humiliating, but it was behind her now. The carriage ride back to Longbourn, undertaken with no warning and with her emotions in a painful whirl, had been uncomfortable, but it too was over.
Mr Darcy would come soon, and when he did, all she had suffered would fade into memory, insignificant compared to the happiness of their mutual esteem.
Resolving to put the best face on her return, Elizabeth did not linger in bed, but rose and began to dress. Her ankle twinged a little, but her discipline in walking as little as possible was proving its worth.Each day since her injury had brought less pain with it, and more strength.
The first morning home brought yet more reason for good cheer, in the form of news that Mary and Mr Greene were seeing each other more and more often, in something that seemed likely to soon become an acknowledged courtship, and to end in a most welcome engagement. Mary seemed happier than Elizabeth had ever seen her. Mr Greene’s attentions had brought out a softness in her, as though being the acknowledged choice of a worthy gentleman at last gave her a measure of confidence and ease in herself.
As she sat in the drawing room exchanging news with her family, Elizabeth repeatedly found her attention being drawn away into calculations of how soon Darcy might come. If he had left very early in the morning, he might arrive at any moment, but certainly by the evening.
But no Darcy had arrived by supper, nor by the time they all went up to bed.
Elizabeth consoled herself by thinking that there were any number of things that might have delayed him. He had other responsibilities and must know that she would be safe at home with her family. Seeing to Georgiana’s safety and comfort was infinitely more important than hastening their reunion. Darcy would come as soon as he could.
On the third day, there was a very welcome distraction in the form of a supper party. Mr Greene was invited, and his obvious fondness and respect for Mary were all that Elizabeth could have wished. He dealt admirably well with their parents. Mr Bennet found no reason for contempt in his good sense and obvious intelligence, and he treated Mrs Bennet’s nerves and enthusiasms with a most effective mix of gentle authority and compassion. Mary’s likely future partner in life bid fare to prove a most ideal match.
But on that day, and the next, and the day after that, still Darcy did not come. Elizabeth told herself not to be impatient. She could not know what challenges he might face. By the time a week had passed, Darcy would be seen again at Longbourn. She ought to know him better than to doubt.
A fortnight later, Elizabeth was beginning to give up hope. None of the explanations she had thought out could explain why he had stayed away so long. At first, Jane and Mary had inquired into her feelings, had asked her what she knew. Gradually, out of very welcome compassion, all inquiries had stopped.
Perhaps he had never really loved her. Perhaps Lady Catherine’s fervent opposition had been enough to convince him after all.
Day by day, Elizabeth told herself that she must learn to let go. If Darcy meant to come toher, he would have. And yet she knew, day by day and breath by breath, that her love for him could not change. If she never saw Darcy again, her heart would remain his.
Even as Elizabeth’s heart remained sore, her ankle gradually improved. The careful walks she took around the garden each day grew gradually longer. And as the days turned into weeks, Elizabeth was at last recovered enough to attempt the walk into Meryton.
All four of her sisters went likewise. Kitty and Lydia talked almost without ceasing of the militia, which was shortly to depart for Brighton. But while they spoke of the departure as little short of a tragedy, Elizabeth thought it could not come too soon. Mr Wickham was less dangerous now that his sins were largely known, but she would rest a little easier when he was no longer in Meryton.
As the door to the milliner’s shop shut behind her, Elizabeth saw the man himself and almost dropped her packages in the mud.
Mr Wickham did not seem to share her aversion. He smiled on seeing her, bowed deeply, and walked over at once. Elizabeth could not understand it for a moment, before realising with astonishment that Mr Wickham must not know the role she had played in his disgrace. Elizabeth chided herself for not realising it before. Of course Mr Wickham could not know that she had suspected him, nor that shehad called Mr Darcy’s wrath down on him.
At the thought of that gentleman, Elizabeth’s heart squeezed with pain. She pushed the feeling away, doing her best to keep her composure. She could think of little she would like less than to explain her feelings to Mr Wickham.
