Chapter 2

Mr Bingley called the next morning, as promised, and the door was not shut in his face. Neither was it closed upon that of his companion, Mr Darcy.

Elizabeth had only a few moments after the gentlemen’s cards were delivered to attempt to compose herself from the shock of his coming. Mr Darcy, here, in Gracechurch Street, a place she would not have thought he would deign to pass through, much less visit! But perhaps, she considered, if Mr Bingley had come to know aught of Mr Darcy’s hand in separating him from Jane, he might have required this of his friend by way of reparation.

Then he was there before her, bowing to the ladies, and her heart was still beating uncomfortably fast. He looked just the same, she thought nonsensically as she bent her knees in a curtsey along with her aunt and sister. They had last met less than a month ago; why had she expected his appearance would be altered?

Mr Bingley was not quite the same, she noticed belatedly, as Jane performed the introductions between her aunt and their callers. He was a little thinner, she judged, and though his smile was as wide and handsome as ever, there was a gravity in his expressions and bearing that had been lacking during their previous acquaintance. His waistcoat, while fashionable, was not so bright or so elaborate as those he had favoured in the autumn, and the stickpin in his cravat less bejewelled than his former favourites. He looked, she thought, like a fine gentleman, rather than a young gentleman.

“I am ever so pleased to make your acquaintance, madam,” he was saying earnestly to Mrs Gardiner. “I have wished it for many months. Miss Bennet spoke of you so often, and with such affection, that I knew I must like you should I meet you. And now, here we are at last! A real pleasure.”

“My niece is very kind to me, as she is to all,” the lady demurred. “I hope I may live up to your expectations. Mr Darcy, I am sure you will not remember, but we have met before. You were ten, or thereabouts.” She smiled warmly.

Mr Darcy did not manage to conceal his surprise. “I regret to say I do not recall it. Might you refresh my memory?”

“My father was Mr Donley, the vicar of St George’s in Lambton until the year ninety-seven,” Mrs Gardiner explained. “A few years before that, your mother came by the vicarage once to consult with mine about an ailing tenant, and you were with her.”

“You were Miss Donley,” he breathed, patently astonished. “I do remember you, and that visit. I wished very much to be on our way to the village, where I had been promised a bun if I was good, and you kindly entertained me so our mothers might speak without my fidgets disrupting them. How strange and wonderful that we should meet again.”

“I hope that you will not mind if I ask you a few questions about those I remember from my years in Lambton, sir,” she replied with a smile. “After you have had an opportunity to renew your acquaintance with my nieces and Miss Lucas, of course.”

Addressing the company, she suggested they sit and take tea. The gentlemen agreed with alacrity and soon they were all seated with their steaming cups and Mrs Twomey’s dainty lemon cakes, speaking of their various travels and doings of the past six-month and of their plans for the summer.

As Mr Bingley was expressing his disappointment that he could not expect to meet Mr Gardiner today, and enquiring what sort of business he was engaged in, Mr Darcy turned to Elizabeth and spoke directly to her for the first time since their brief greetings.

“Miss Elizabeth, I see you are in health, as is your sister. May I enquire after the rest of your family?”

“They are all just as they have ever been, per Mary’s most recent letter,” she replied. “I hope your cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, continues well?” Mr Darcy acknowledged that he did. “And your sister? How fares she?”

The warmth of his approving look made her heart stutter. “She is well, and I thank you for asking, even though you have never met her.”

“I have been under the impression, sir, that she is the most important person in your life. Her happiness must materially inform your own.”

“You are not incorrect,” he admitted with a smile. Sobering, he continued with unusual hesitance, “Might you be willing to be introduced to her during your time here? I believe you would enjoy each other’s company.”

The surprise of this application was great, but not unwelcome. “I should be delighted to meet Miss Darcy,” she responded. “Though you will have to bring her shortly—we return to Hertfordshire in less than a fortnight.”

“So soon?” he blurted in obvious disappointment. Elizabeth wondered at it, for even the most well-occupied young lady must have time to make a call in that span of days. He quickly smoothed his expression and added, “I will see what might be arranged.”

The gentlemen departed soon after, but not before Mr Bingley suggested that, should the weather continue fine on the morrow, a walk might make good use of it. The Bennet ladies were quick to agree, though Maria declared she had rather spend that time with the Gardiner children. When Elizabeth cast her a look of surprise at this announcement, she glanced meaningfully at Jane and winked. Elizabeth grinned and nodded. Perhaps there was a bit more of Charlotte in her younger sister than she had previously known.

Jane floated dreamily through the rest of the day, while Elizabeth was unusually thoughtful. Whatever had Mr Darcy meant by those flowers, and by his request to introduce her to his sister? That Jane might have been correct about the continuation of his affections, she hardly dared contemplate. And yet, that explanation would make sense of it all. She gave herself a headache, turning these matters over and over in her mind, and was forced to retire early.

The following day dawned bright and clear, and as visiting hours approached, the Bennet sisters donned their walking dresses and prepared their bonnets and parasols. Elizabeth expected to be keeping propriety for Jane and Mr Bingley, but again the gentleman arrived with his friend, so Mrs Gardiner dispatched them to the park with a maid and a discreet injunction to her nieces to remain together.

Jane and Mr Bingley were soon deep in eager conversation, while Elizabeth and Mr Darcy awkwardly canvassed the weather and then fell silent. Surprisingly, it was he who opened a new subject.

“My sister is attending an exhibition with my aunt today, but she has no commitments on Monday. If you are still willing to know her, and your aunt is agreeable, I will bring her to call.”

It was Saturday; no one would be making calls on the morrow. This was a swift fulfilment of his plan, and Elizabeth wondered once again precisely what he was about. This she concealed, nodding and smiling and replying that she anticipated the acquaintance with pleasure.

Mr Darcy looked a little uncomfortable then, and after a few false starts, said in a low tone, “I will ask you, Miss Elizabeth, for a small favour. Please do not mention Mr Wickham to my sister.”

“I certainly shall not!” she replied quietly. “After what your sister endured at his hands, it is not to be thought of. I will mention to Jane and Maria that his poor character is a disappointment to she who knew him in her childhood. That will seal their lips quite firmly, I assure you. It will require telling Maria something of the truth about him, however—rebutting his falsehoods about the living intended for him should serve. Maria will understand that your sister will not wish to hear of someone who slanders you.”

His relief was apparent. “I thank you. I gather that you did read my letter, then.” She nodded, and he sighed. “I am glad of it, though I know I ought not to have given it to you. It was improper.”

“It was,” she agreed. “But it was necessary. I do not think I would have heard you out, had you attempted to convey that information in person. I have my own share of pride, you see, and you mortified it with your speech early in our acquaintance, and again that day in my cousin’s parlour. I was in no humour to listen, but having roused my curiosity by giving me the written word instead, I was able to read, and consider, and eventually admit that you had not been completely wrong about everything.”

“No, not everything, but too many things,” he allowed wryly. “But, forgive me, I do not understand your reference to a speech of mine mortifying your pride early in our acquaintance. My words that day in Kent, you justly describe.”

“Ah,” said she, “perhaps you did not realise that I heard you the night we met. I always thought you had pitched your voice with the intent that it would carry to me and I should know your opinion that I was ‘tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt’ you. Your assertion that I had been slighted by other men, I rejected out of hand, as so few gentlemen attended our assembly that even Jane sat out a set. But even my slight vanity was quite stung by your assessment of my appearance.”

He winced, and let out a low groan. “You must have thought me the worst sort of boor. And I certainly earned that opinion. I will not attempt to excuse myself—it would have been ungentlemanly to speak so even if it had been true.”

She regarded him curiously for a moment. “I appreciate that you do not attempt to excuse such a statement, but if there is an explanation, I would be interested to hear it. I have been exceedingly puzzled as to how you moved from a refusal to dance to?—”

She nearly said ‘a marriage proposal’, but thought better of it at the last instant. “—orange roses.”

He turned to her with an arrested expression at this tacit admission that she had understood the roses’ meaning. Then he pulled his gaze away, took a breath, and answered her request. “I fear the truth will not improve your opinion of me, but you shall have it,” he said. “Put simply, the words I spoke were not really about you. I had hardly looked at you, at that point. I wanted Bingley to leave me alone to my foul mood and my sense of superiority, so I said that which I knew would shock him and make him wish for my silence. But as I continued in the neighbourhood, I took notice of you. Your wit first attracted my attention, but it was not long before I felt I had not initially given your beauty sufficient notice, either.”

Elizabeth ducked her head slightly, feeling her cheeks heat and hoping her bonnet would hide that from him. So early in their acquaintance had he thoroughly changed his opinion of her! And so late had she even begun to change hers, of him! Until this moment, she had thought his affection for her the work of the stultifying atmosphere of his aunt’s home in Kent, and her own contrast to it.

“In truth,” he continued, “it was a relief to leave Hertfordshire, for I felt myself very much in danger from you, and I was not yet prepared to consider bridging the distance between our spheres. That there is such a distance, I am sure you will acknowledge, though the manner in which I spoke of it that day in Mrs Collins’s parlour was reprehensible.”

“There is,” she agreed. It was entirely true. She was the daughter of an obscure country gentleman, and Mr Darcy was the wealthy grandson of an earl. That he was a ‘Mr’ and she was a ‘Miss’ made them equals only in a certain light. “But, forgive me, the distance was not so great between your friend and my sister, yet you objected to their attachment.”

“With you, I will be perfectly open. I truly believed at the time that she did not care for him, and when you informed me otherwise, I did not immediately give credence to your words. I believe my letter reflected that, to my regret. But even before I left Kent, I came to acknowledge the justice of your accusations in that quarter, and belatedly ceased to believe that I had divined your sister’s sentiments better than you.” His mouth twisted ironically. “How conceited of me to consider for a moment that I might have! And yet, I still meant to conceal the matter from my friend. I thought he must have forgotten her, and did not wish to damage our friendship by raising the subject. That would have been very wrong of me, as I learnt five days ago, when we were reunited following a separation of several months. Not an hour into our meeting, he mentioned how happy he had been in the autumn, at Netherfield Park.”

“And that spurred you to tell all?”

“Not all. I said I had seen you in Kent and something you mentioned led me to believe that Miss Bennet had been sincerely downcast by his going. I admitted also that I knew Miss Bennet had called upon his sisters when she first came to London, a visit they returned intolerably late. He was too concerned with your sister’s feelings, and too angry at his own sisters, to interrogate me for details about how your information was conveyed.”

“Will his sisters be a problem, do you think?” she asked, with a significant glance at the couple chatting animatedly a few feet ahead of them.

“I think,” he said quietly, “that they will attempt to be. But Bingley is alert to them now, and I will be sure to inform him of any schemes they try to involve me in. Perhaps I might have a word with Hurst; he enjoys Bingley’s hospitality, and might exert himself to monitor Mrs Hurst’s behaviour if he has reason to fear Bingley’s displeasure.”

She smiled brightly up at him, and did not fail to note his reaction of pleased surprise. “I think, sir, it could do no harm to put the idea in his head, if you do not mind.”

Ahead, Bingley and Jane had come upon a girl in a shabby dress clutching three ragged posies of wildflowers tied with string. “Posy for your lady, sir? Only tuppence,” she addressed the gentleman.

Bingley made a thoughtful noise and regarded her offerings with a gravity generally reserved for matters of business. He reached into his purse and withdrew a gleaming shilling coin, which he offered to her. “I’ll take the lot, and you may keep the change.”

As Jane smiled warmly upon him, the girl’s eyes widened and she thrust the flowers at him eagerly. “Thank’ee, sir!”

The coin and the flowers changed hands, and with a bow Bingley offered the posies to Jane, who regarded them as though they were the finest of hothouse blooms. She blushed, she smiled, she murmured a thanks that was more seen than heard.

There was something very like regret in the way Mr Darcy smiled upon this scene. He turned to Elizabeth and said, “How could one mind acting for their benefit?”

“How indeed?” she murmured. She steeled herself to say what she knew she ought; he had been open with her, and deserved no less in return. “About Mr Wickham,” she began, and felt his arm tense under her hand. “I must apologise to you for believing his lies. I can hardly credit that I was so gullible, and yet, I indisputably was. I took the word of a new acquaintance, with none to vouch for his character, over that of a man with respectable friends and a reputation as a careful master of his estate. For all that I did not like you then, I ought to have, at the very least, recognised that I had no reason to trust him, either.”

He was silent for a moment, and then he said, “You say you did not like me then—dare I hope that you do now?”

She glanced up and saw him watching her intently. “I think, sir, that I am learning to.”

The smile which overspread his features became him exceedingly, but it faded too soon into a graver expression. “I knew he was speaking poorly of me before I departed, but I chose not to concern myself with the opinions of those I expected never to meet again. I wish now that I had acted to counter his spleen, and not only for the sake of your good opinion. I hope he has not caused trouble in the neighbourhood?”

“None of which I am aware,” she replied. “I did write to my father and my sister Mary, after I learnt the truth about him, and told them that he was likely to misuse any credit or affection extended to him. My father I asked to warn the merchants and fathers of the area, and my sister I urged to watch my younger sisters closely. Mary was not pleased by my request but replied that she would do what she could; Father has yet to reply at all, and I very much doubt that he took my application seriously.” Mr Darcy was frowning as he regarded her, and she hastened to add, “I said nothing at all of your sister, claiming that I had taken the opportunity of having met with you to enquire about the breach between you and Mr Wickham, and that you had replied with information about his profligacy with money and carelessness of ladies’ hearts and reputations, offering in support of your claims the testimony of a colonel in His Majesty’s Army, who is also the son of an earl.”

“I know you would not endanger her,” he said firmly. “If I appeared displeased, it is only because I was contemplating what schemes he might be enacting in Hertfordshire even now.”

“Let us hope there are none, for he is beyond our reach. When I return home, I shall attempt to cajole my father into action. Until then, let us enjoy our time here,” she suggested.

He looked from her to his friend and her sister, who were conversing with broad smiles and entirely oblivious to the rest of the world, and back to her again. “How could one not enjoy such a day, in such company?” His smile became nearly as broad as Bingley’s when her cheeks grew warm under the earnest intensity of his gaze.

Later that day, Elizabeth sat with a book in her aunt’s parlour, while the other two young ladies were above-stairs deciding which of Jane’s dresses should be worn for Mr Bingley’s next call, an exercise of more interest to Maria than to the indulgent Jane. The volume was a favourite of Elizabeth’s, but she was using it as an excuse to sit alone, rather than actively reading it.

She reflected with no little astonishment on how much a single rational conversation may resolve. It was true that Mr Darcy’s letter had opened the door to their new understanding, and their awkward but civil discourse upon his first visit had, to extend the analogy, swung it wide, but today they had walked through it and found themselves in a place they had never before visited together: real and mutual accord. With the slights and misunderstandings of the past openly addressed and forgiven, she was now able to count him among her friends.

Perhaps, in time, he would be more. His actions and demeanour had hinted at a continuing affection, and her objections had been quite swept away. He was a man of sense and substance and good character—not without flaws, to be sure, but neither was she—and she was far from insensible to the compliment of his interest. That his handsome appearance and noble bearing had drawn her attention from the moment she had first spied him she was now willing to admit, and also that his intelligence had intrigued her even when she had disliked him.

Now that she found she could like him quite well, she began to understand that their dispositions were complementary: her liveliness might ease his solemnity, and his steadiness might settle her somewhat haphazard ways. She could begin to imagine a future in which they might so influence each other daily, and it was a picture with surprising appeal.