It was extraordinary, how much comfort could be found in permission.
The courtship had not solved every difficulty. Mr. Collins remained at Longbourn for several days, though his hopes had been crushed beneath the weight of Darcy’s presence and Mrs. Bennet’s immediate redirection. Darcy endured his bows, compliments, and repeated references to Lady Catherine with more patience than he would have believed himself capable of a fortnight earlier. Elizabeth’s eyes would meet his across the room whenever Mr. Collins offered some particularly magnificent absurdity, and that was enough to make endurance almost pleasant.
Almost.
Bingley, meanwhile, continued his own quieter courtship of Jane, though he had not yet named it so. Darcy watched his friend with affection and some amusement. Bingley had never been so industrious. He found reasons to call at Longbourn, reasons to send fruit, reasons to inquire after Jane’s continued recovery, reasons to consult Elizabeth about Netherfield’s tenants when Jane happened to be in the room, and once a reason to deliver a book Mary had only mentioned in passing, which surprised everyone, including Mary.
Darcy thought better of him for it.
At Netherfield, Miss Bingley bore the altered circumstances badly but not loudly. She smiled too much, played too often, praised Georgiana with renewed fervor, and spoke of London whenever Elizabeth was mentioned. Darcy answered her civilly and gave her no encouragement. Mrs. Hurst watched with sleepy interest and appeared, upon the whole, less surprised than her sister. Hurst cared only that dinner remained punctual.
Every morning, Darcy woke with the same astonishing recollection: he was courting Elizabeth.
Every evening, he went to bed thinking of something she had said.
Once, during a walk with her and Jane along the lane near Longbourn, Elizabeth spoke of her young Gardiner cousins with such warmth that Darcy found himself silent for several minutes afterward, overcome again by the realization that he had nearly sacrificed all this—her affection, her laughter, the future that now shimmered before him—for the cold comfort of prudence without love.
Another day, she asked him about Georgiana, and the interest in her face was so sincere that he spoke more freely than he had intended. He told her of Georgiana’s shyness, her music, her kindness, her tendency to blame herself for burdens no child should carry. Elizabeth listened without interruption.
“She sounds lonely,” she said at last.
Darcy looked away. “She has been.”
“Then I hope I may be her friend.”
He could not answer immediately.
Elizabeth did not press him. She only slipped her gloved hand a little more securely around his arm, and he covered it briefly with his own before remembering where they were.
It was enough.
Then, one afternoon, a carriage came up the drive at Netherfield.
Darcy stood near the window in the breakfast room, where Bingley had insisted upon showing him some account from the steward that could easily have waited until evening. The vehicle was unfamiliar, though the crest upon the panel made Darcy straighten at once.
Matlock.
He turned toward Bingley. “Did you expect visitors?”
Bingley’s expression became far too innocent. “Visitors? Perhaps.”
“Bingley.”
His friend grinned outright. “Do you like the surprise?”
Darcy’s eyes narrowed. “What surprise?”
“The one currently arriving in my drive.” Bingley could no longer contain himself. “Colonel Fitzwilliam wrote to me. Well, first he wrote to ask whether I was respectable enough to shelter your sister, which I thought a little severe, as he has known me for years. Then Miss Darcy added a note of such sweetness that even Caroline would have melted had I shown it to her, which I did not. They requested to come here rather than wait in town, because Miss Darcy wished very much to meet Miss Elizabeth.”
Darcy stared at him.
For a moment, words failed.
Bingley’s smile softened. “You are not angry?”
Angry?
Darcy turned back toward the window as the carriage came to a halt. A footman let down the steps. Richard emerged first, moving with a trace of stiffness that still lingered from his wound but with all his usual irreverent energy. Then he turned and handed Georgiana down.
