Page 137 of A Most Unwelcome Acquaintance

“You shall require whatever makes you comfortable,” Bingley said. “My sisters will see to it.”

Anne sat beside the window with Mrs. Jenkinson, her fatigue plain after the journey and the confrontation. She had chosen to remain for one night, but Lady Catherine’s departure had left her with freedom that seemed to puzzle her. Mrs. Jenkinson fussed over a shawl until Anne took it from her hands and placed it across her own knees.

“I am not cold.”

Mrs. Jenkinson looked bereft of purpose. “The air may change.”

“Then I shall tell you.”

Bennet turned a page. “Rebellion appears to be catching.”

Darcy’s mouth moved, though the expression vanished before anyone could call it a smile, although Elizabeth noticed. She had begun noticing too much: the patience with which he let Georgiana answer for herself, the care he took not to direct Anne, the glance he gave Bingley when gratitude would have embarrassed them both. None of these gestures carried the force of his defense outside, but together they made it less exceptional. He had not become another man for the purpose of defeating Lady Catherine. He had acted from qualities Elizabeth had refused to place beside his pride.

Sarah settled at Georgiana’s feet after receiving Elizabeth’s permission. Georgiana rested one hand between the dog’s ears and spoke to Kitty, who had taken a chair near her and remained grateful for Darcy’s defense but unsure how to thank him.

“Does Sarah always wait before approaching?” Georgiana asked.

“When she is unsure,” Kitty said. “Lizzy taught her.”

“Sarah learned because she wanted to,” Elizabeth said.

“Most of us learn for less flattering reasons,” Bennet observed.

Kitty looked toward Darcy, gathered courage, and crossed the room. “Mr. Darcy?”

He turned to her. “Miss Catherine.”

The formality steadied her. “Thank you for what you said.”

“Lady Catherine had no right to use your mistake as a measure of your sister.”

Kitty’s color rose. “It was still a mistake.”

“Yes.” His answer held no cruelty. “That does not grant others the right to make it your whole character.”

Elizabeth received the words as though he meant them for her. She had allowed Darcy’s first mistake to define his character because it confirmed her opinion of him, while Wickham supplied a history that made every later fault seem inevitable. Darcy had given her reasons to distrust him, but she had arranged them with more confidence than care.

Kitty returned to Georgiana with relief on her face. Darcy did not watch for approval. He spoke to Bennet about the carriage Lady Catherine had taken and whether the horses should rest at Netherfield before the return to Rosings. His concern for his aunt survived her conduct, though he made no attempt to excuse her.

“She will refuse any advice sent after her,” Bennet said.

“She may do with it as she chooses, but I shall send the message.”

“A distinction your aunt may not appreciate.”

“Her appreciation is not required.”

Elizabeth could no longer treat every uncertainty as evidence against Darcy. His letters had brought Georgiana to Hertfordshire, but Lady Catherine alone was responsible for what followed. His aid to the Meryton tradesmen did not prove every charge against Wickham, though it deserved more weight than she had given it.

She had demanded certainty from Darcy while accepting suggestion from Wickham because one had offended her and the other had pleased her.

That recognition was uncomfortable enough without replacing one certainty with another. Wickham had lied, used Kitty’s interest, and traded on Darcy’s name, but Elizabeth still lacked the whole account. Darcy had judged too quickly and remained too willing to trust his own conclusions, yet he had also shown himself capable of changing them.

She remembered his conduct at dinner, his refusal to join Caroline’s contempt, and the way he had allowed Georgiana to choose for herself despite Lady Catherine’s anger. Elizabeth had once found it easy to call his concern for those he loved pride. She was no longer certain that was fair.

Darcy remained difficult, guarded, and too sure of his own judgment, but Elizabeth could no longer pretend those faults were all she saw.

Jane came to her after they finished the arrangements for Netherfield. “You are quiet.”