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“I believe you need to hear it again, Lizzy. He even sought out my uncle’s direction so he could provide it to Mr. Bingley.”

Elizabeth did not answer. She was attempting to picture Mr. Darcy making an apology to anyone, for anything. But if Mr. Bingley was to be believed, it had happened.

“He admitted that he had overstepped,” Jane said. “Mr. Bingley told him that if they were to remain friends, Mr. Darcy could not keep such things to himself simply because he thought it best. And Mr. Darcy agreed.”

Elizabeth considered. He had known they were in London, but discovering the house so that Mr. Bingley did not have to ask his sister or seek it out himself—that was a tangible sort of reparation, even if it was only because he was aware the scheme had failed.

Jane touched her hand. “I am not defending what he did.”

“It sounds as though you are.”

“I am trying to be fair.”

If Jane had been hurt, Elizabeth could have been furious for her with a clear conscience. Instead, Jane appeared almost peaceful. It was most inconsiderate. She rose and went to the fire. “He was in the house,” she said.

Jane’s brows drew together. “Who? Where?”

“Mr. Darcy and Grosvenor Street. The morning we called.” Elizabeth turned. “I heard him in the hall, did not you?”

“No, I heard someone come in, but I did not know who it was.” She paused. “It is interesting that you did.”

“Do not attempt to distract me.”

“Lizzy—”

“As you recall, Miss Bingley forced her maid to clean a spot on my hem that did not exist.” She was pleased to note that her voice did not rise or quaver. “While she did so, Mr. Darcy crossed the hall and went into another room. He told me that he was only there to see Mr. Bingley, not his sisters, but I suppose whether that is true or not does not signify.”

“Of course it signifies.”

“It does not. He had already told Mr. Bingley you did not care for him. Even if he did know we were there, he would not have come to pay his respects to us.”

“You do not know that,” Jane protested. “And even if that is true, he came to the house to visit Mr. Bingley, not us. And Lizzy, Mr. Darcy confessed everything before Mr. Bingley had to ask.”

“Because he could no longer help it.” Elizabeth came back to the settee but did not sit. “Mr. Darcy did not choose to be honest, Jane. It was the only path remaining to him if he wished Mr. Bingley to remain his friend.”

“Perhaps.”

“You forgave him at once, I suspect. You have always been too forgiving, Janie. You should be angrier.”

Jane blinked.

Elizabeth heard herself then. “Oh,” she said, releasing a great breath. “I do beg your pardon. I should not have said that. I am angry with him, not you.” She stood, for she could remain seated no longer. “I believe I shall speak to Mr. Darcy tomorrow.”

“About this?” Jane asked, alarmed.

“Certainly about this.”

“Perhaps you ought not do so while you are so distressed.”

“I am quite capable of speaking while distressed.”

“That is not a talent, Elizabeth.” They turned to see Aunt Gardiner standing in the doorway. Her aunt entered the room. “I had not meant to eavesdrop, but you were discussing your plans for Mr. Darcy with enough spirit that I could not help but overhear.”

“Are you also convinced that I ought to excuse him?” Elizabeth inquired.

“Perhaps. But my suggestion for you is quite simple.”

Elizabeth disliked being outnumbered, particularly by reasonable people. She glanced at Jane, then back at her aunt. She sensed something edifying was about to be required of her. “Very well. What would you have me do?”