Page 72 of His Pride and His Prejudice

“I am assuming it is Mr. Bingley,” Colonel Fitzwilliam replied. “From something that Darcy told me in our journey hither.”

“What did he tell you?” Elliot asked quickly.

“It is a circumstance which Darcy could not wish to be generally known, because if it were to get round to the omega’s family, it would be an unpleasant thing.”

Unpleasant…an inexplicable coldness settled over Elliot then and he came to a stop. “You may depend upon my not mentioning it,” he said.

“And remember that I have not much reason for supposing it to be Bingley,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said again as he leaned against the gates of the park. “Though he is Darcy’s closest friend, so…”

“What happened?” Elliot said, almost demanded, but he had to be careful, not show too much interest, gather this information gently…because he could not be hearing what he was almost sure he was hearing…could he…

“What he told me was merely this,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said. “That his friend remained in glum sprits, that his recovery was taking longer than Darcy had supposed, but that he would recover in time.”

“Recover from what?” Elliot breathed.

“A most imprudent mating,” Colonel Fitzwilliam replied. “He stated that he had intervened to save his friend from it, but without mentioning names or any other particulars. I only suspected it to be Bingley from believing him the kind of young man to get into a scrape of that sort, seeing myself whilst in London just how glum Bingley currently is, and from knowing them to have been together the whole of last summer.”

Which indeed they were…at Netherfield…in Meryton…in Longbourn…

“Did Mr. Darcy give you reasons for this interference?” Elliot asked even as that coldness seemed to spread throughout his body, settling somewhere in his chest, which was suddenly very, very heavy.

Colonel Fitzwilliam shrugged. “I understood that there were some very strong objections against the young man but also against his family.”

“His family?”

“Yes, I understand that they were improper.”

Scenes from the Netherfield ball flashed through Elliot’s mind, and he was in agonies all over again, because they had been improper, all of them at some point, with the exception of Jack, of course, dear Jack....

“So, he intervened?”

“Indeed.”

“And separated them?”

“Yes.”

“And what arts did he use?” Elliot asked.

“He did not talk to me of such things,” Fitzwilliam said, smiling. “He only told me what I have now told you.”

Elliot made no answer, and walked on, his heart swelling with indignation, with modification, and with pain…a most acute kind of pain.

“We arrive at last,” Fitzwilliam said as Charlie left the house to greet them.

“You must excuse me for a moment,” Elliot said, and he waited for neither man to respond before rushing past them an into the parsonage.

There, shut into his own room, Elliot could think without interruption of all that he had heard, of all that it meant. It had to be Bingley of course no matter what Colonel Fitzwilliam said. There could not exist in the world two men over whom Darcy could have such boundless influence. And it was his influence and didn’t that finally give understanding to what had previously been so confusing not just to Elliot but to Jack also.

Darcy, not Caroline Bingley, was the cause, his pride and caprice were the cause, of all that Jack had suffered, and still continued to suffer. He had ruined for at least a while every hope of happiness for the most affectionate, generous brother in the world, and no one could say how lasting a wound he might have inflicted.

“There were some very strong objections against the young man,” were Colonel Fitzwilliam’s words, and the fair part of Elliot understood those objections. They were poor, without connection, and many members of the family were often improper!

And yet, Jack loved Bingley.

Deeply.

They were fated, were they not?

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