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He had been wrong, and he had known it for some time. Miss Bennet did love Bingley, and perhaps even more importantly, Bingley loved her.

There was an unexpected relief in the admission. Perhaps he was wrong about more than just Miss Bennet and Bingley.

“I am pleased,” Bingley told him.

Darcy smiled. “Yes, a man who is three hours engaged generally is.”

Bingley laughed. “And also because I have spent two weeks with you in Gracechurch Street while you pretend that you are doing me the favour.”

“I am doing you a favour.”

“I see,” Bingley said. After another moment, he asked, his voice more serious, “Do you plan to do anything about it?”

“It?”

“Miss Elizabeth, Darcy. Do you plan to do anything about Miss Elizabeth?”

Darcy cursed silently. Apparently, he had not been as discreet as he thought.

Before London, the answer to Bingley’s question would have been no.

But the way she had shared her happiness with him from across the room—it had reminded him of the laughter his parents had shared at that Christmas so long ago. And he wanted that with Miss Elizabeth. He wanted it so much that it hurt.

Over the past few weeks, he had come to know the Gardiners, had seen how genteel they were, had witnessed Mr. Gardiner argue with his wife over an upholsterer’s bill and take his loss in that debate with good humour though he had never mentioned the expense incurred for the comfort and well-being of their guest. Mrs. Gardiner had cared for Miss Bingley as diligently as any gentlewoman would have, even though she and her nieces had been repeatedly snubbed by the woman.

And Miss Elizabeth herself—well, he had resisted his feelings for her for months now, since long before he had returned to town. But visiting every day—and yes, away from the other Bennets—meant that he knew her a great deal better now. She was witty, but she never used it to be cruel. Despite her protestations of not being a great reader, her conversation demonstrated a wide knowledge and deep intelligence. She had a fine mind and an alluring figure. Not only had she walked three miles to tend to an ill sister, but she had taken on the care of Miss Bingley, a woman she could not like and who had not been grateful. It was not surprising that a young lady would be good to her sister, but to put up with the incessant ringing of that infernal handbell—he would have had the bell removed after the first day, but Miss Elizabeth had borne it.

Perhaps this was also for the sake of her sister, so that Miss Bennet might spend more time with Bingley, but nevertheless it showed a great strength of character. And finally, he considered their discussion of Wickham, how she had assured him that Georgiana’s secret was safe with her, that she would warn her father without mentioning how she knew. She had not wished to believe that the man was a scoundrel, but she had not closed her eyes to the possibility. It spoke well of her sense of justice that she would continue to listen even when she was not hearing what she wished.

Darcy had not had to think twice about whether she could be trusted with such a story. He could not say that about nearly anyone else in his life.

He was grateful that Miss Bingley was too proud to return home in the carriage, for it would allow him to continue visiting the Gardiners with Bingley. After all, he would not want his friend reduced to hiring a hackney to call upon his betrothed.

Bingley cleared his throat, and Darcy was startled by how long he had been silent while his friend awaited an answer. They were already passing the statue of Charles I at Charing Cross.

“I ask again, do you plan to do anything about your admiration of Miss Elizabeth?”

Darcy took a deep breath. “Yes,” he said.

Bingley’s frown turned into a lopsided smile. “Yes?”

He would write to his aunt tonight and inform her he would be keeping Christmas in town, why he would be doing so, and with whom he hoped to spend it. “If Miss Elizabeth will permit it, I shall ask to call on her.”

His friend reached across the carriage to slap him on the shoulder once. “Of course she will permit it, why would she not?”

The man had clearly not been paying attention to anyone beyond Miss Bennet.

Aunt Matlock’s letter was still in his coat pocket. He could feel the sharp corner of it in his ribs, reminding him of everything he owed his name. But Darcy decided that he owed himself more.

Darcy wanted Miss Elizabeth. He had wanted her for months. But now he was less concerned about whether he ought to want her than he was about whether she might want him.

CHAPTER 13

The celebration dinner was over, and Elizabeth patiently worked at the knots the boys had tied in their sisters’ ribbons while her uncle spoke to them about gentlemanly behaviour.

She loved that her cousins were mischievous—the girls were too, at times. And she was not so far removed from her father’s admonitions herself that she could not feel sympathy for the boys. But it was important that they learn.

She handed the first ribbon back to Eleanor.