Bingley leaned forward slightly, his brow furrowing. “Forgive me, but why let it trouble you? You’ve done nothing improper. Surely no one would think less of you for escorting Miss Bennet home. It was the gentlemanly thing to do.”
“It is not the action itself, Bingley,” Darcy replied, setting his glass down on the mantel. “It is the attention it invites. Your sister was not wrong about Meryton’s love for gossip. Such talk could lead to expectations—expectations I cannot afford to encourage. I told you this would all end poorly.”
Bingley considered this for a moment, then said, “I think you worry too much. Elizabeth Bennet is hardly the sort to presume anything from a simple act of kindness. In fact, I think her rather an admirable lady.”
Darcy stiffened. “Admiration is one thing. Entanglement is another.”
“And you have reason to fear entanglement here?”
“I fear complication,” Darcy said sharply. “My life, Bingley, is not one that allows for impulsive decisions. My family’s name, my estate, my responsibilities—they demand prudence, not distraction.”
Bingley’s smile faded, replaced by quiet understanding. “And you believe Miss Elizabeth could become such a distraction?”
Darcy ran a hand through his hair, frustration creeping into his voice. “She already is. I find myself thinking of her when I should not. I look for her in every room, and when she is present, I—” He stopped himself, realizing he was revealing far more than he intended.
Bingley studied his friend for a long moment before speaking. “Darcy, I’ve known you a long time. You are not a man given to whims or fancies. If Elizabeth Bennet occupies your thoughts, it is because she has earned her place there.”
Darcy turned away from the fire, pacing the length of the room. “It does not matter. I cannot afford to lose my composure or my objectivity. Caroline’s remarks tonight were a reminder of what is at stake.”
Bingley stood, setting his glass aside. “If you ask me, Caroline is merely trying to get under your skin. You should not let her.”
Darcy stopped pacing, his expression grim. “Perhaps. But it serves as a warning all the same. I cannot afford to give anyone reason to believe there is more between myself and Miss Bennet than civility.”
Bingley leaned back in his chair, tilting his glass lazily. “Civility, is it? Well, if that is your aim, I wish you luck, my friend. From where I stand, it looks as though it might be a more difficult wager than you anticipated.”
Darcy’s jaw tightened as he turned back toward the fire, the golden light flickering across his face. He had no desire to admit how accurate Bingley’s observation was, but the truth gnawed at him, undeniable.
“I entered this wager,” Darcy said at last, his tone clipped, “believing it to be a matter of simple decorum. Show politeness, avoid entanglements, and leave with my reputation intact.”
Bingley sat up straighter, setting his glass aside. “I only meant to suggest that you could demonstrate common civility without risking—”
“Common civility does not exist in our world,” Darcy interrupted. “For men like me, like you, there is only propriety, or scandal. One dance too many, one smile held too long, and suddenly the world imagines attachments where there are none.”
“You are overthinking this,” Bingley said after a pause. “No one is expecting you to propose marriage after escorting Miss Bennet home. You have always held yourself above such nonsense. Why let it trouble you now?”
Darcy turned away, the muscles in his shoulders taut. “Because this time, it is different.” He drew a slow breath, steadying himself. “Elizabeth Bennet is not like the others. She is—”
He stopped himself abruptly, unwilling to finish the thought aloud. It was too dangerous, even in Bingley’s presence, to give voice to what had begun to take root in his mind. Elizabeth Bennet was not merely a passing amusement, nor a trivial test of his will. She was clever, quick-witted, and undeniably captivating. But more than that, she had a way of making him forget, if only for a moment, the weight of expectation he carried. And even more thrillingly, to imagine something…beyond.
“Different how?”
Darcy shook his head. “It does not matter. What matters is that I maintain control. If I do not, I risk far more than losing a wager. I risk dragging both of us into a situation neither of us can escape without damage.”
Bingley’s brow creased in concern. “I still think you are reading too much into other people’s opinions.”
“Because Imust. You do not understand, Bingley. Your good nature, your wealth—they shield you. But for me, everything is scrutinized. If I were to marry below my station, society would tolerate it, but only just. But to show interest without intention? To raise a young lady’s hopes, even unintentionally, only to leave her to face the fallout alone? That is not something I can countenance.”
Bingley said nothing for a moment, his expression thoughtful. He swirled the remnants of his brandy, then took a slow sip before setting the glass aside. “I did not mean to make light of your concerns, Darcy. But if I may—perhaps you should worry less about what society expects and more about what you want. You are always thinking of duty, of propriety, of reputation. When was the last time you allowed yourself to want something for yourself?”
Darcy’s grip tightened around the stem of his glass, but he did not respond. He could not. Admitting the answer, even to himself, would mean acknowledging that his desire for Elizabeth Bennet had grown beyond mere attraction. It would mean admitting that she was no longer simply an opponent in a game of wits, but a temptation he longed to indulge.
And that, he could not allow.
Instead, he said quietly, “What I want is irrelevant. It always has been.”
Nineteen
“Now remember, Jane, youmust not refuse Mr. Bingley if he asks for a second dance,” Mrs. Bennet declared. “None of your modesty forthisnight! A gentleman so besotted is sure to propose before the evening is out.”
