“With Miss Millicent Burrows. One of Miss Bingley’s friends.”
Elizabeth’s eyes flashed. “How…predictable.”
He winced. “I take it you disapprove.”
“I take it,” she said crisply, “that men who trifle with women’s affections and then retreat into convenience deserve very little goodwill.”
He exhaled. “Bingley believed—believes—that Miss Bennet’s feelings were uncertain. I did not dissuade him.”
Her gaze sharpened. “Because she did not declare herself?”
“Because she waited,” he said softly. “As women are taught to do.”
Elizabeth laughed, but there was no humor in it. “And now she is punished for her propriety.”
He could not deny it. “I was very wrong.”
“She has resolved to move on.” Elizabeth’s concern was evident in her tone. “Jane does not dwell where she is not valued.”
The words struck deeper than she intended. Darcy looked at her—really looked—and saw how much of herself she had concealed behind wit and composure.
“I regret my part in it,” he said. “More than I can express.”
“I know,” she replied, surprising him. “And yet knowing does not mend what is broken.”
Ahead of them, Jane laughed at something Bramley said, her expression open, unguarded. Darcy watched Elizabeth watch her cousin, saw the mixture of relief and protectiveness in her face.
“At least,” Elizabeth said softly, “something good has come of my being here.”
He turned to her. “Do you regret it?”
She considered the question. “I regret many things. But not Jane’s happiness. Nor—” she paused, then met his gaze, “—the chance to know you better now.”
His heart stumbled at the admission. There was nothing but honesty in her expression.
“Will you tell me—is it too much to ask for an explanation? Everyone around me seems to have pieces of the tale, but no one knows everything.” He knew he acted impulsively, but he wished to understand.
“You refer to the story of my life, I suppose. There is no harm in sharing with you. I sense you will keep my confidence.”
Her reply cheered him. “You have my word. I would be your friend, if you allow it.”
“Even though you wish for more?”
Darcy’s heart seized. “Yes.” It would be enough for now.
“Very well.” Elizabeth was silent for a moment before she spoke. “I was born to Rebecca Bennet and Nathan de Bourgh. My mother was the daughter of a country gentleman with a modest dowry. She was their only girl, and their means of elevating their status. You see, my Bennet grandparents were determined to raise the family’s standing. They were ambitious and were unafraid to use my mother as a pawn in their schemes.
“When my mother came out, Nathan de Bourgh had recently inherited Netherfield Park.” This was news to Darcy. Was Elizabeth the true owner of Netherfield?
She continued. “My grandparents insisted on a season in town for my mother. They outfitted her accordingly, and took her to London. My uncle protested. He wished for my mother to marry for love and mutual affection. They had promised each other as children. But I digress. Nathan de Bourgh happened to be at thesame ball as my mother. He wanted her immediately. He was a second son, and since he had an independent fortune, he did not need his family’s approval. His parents were long dead, and his brother approved of the match without question. His sister-in-law, however, did not.”
“Lady Catherine.”
Elizabeth nodded in confirmation. “Their marriage was not a happy one. I was born soon after they wed. My father was a frequent guest of the Prince Regent. Though he was but a gentleman, Nathan de Bourgh must have had something the prince wanted. According to my aunt, they were regularly at Carlton House, or part of the prince’s retinue. That is how my mother met Princess Caroline.”
Darcy gaped. “Princess Caroline? Prinny’s wife?”
“In name only, yes. My mother recognized herself in the princess. Before my parents’ death, they became more than friends. They were closer than sisters. That is how my aunt tells it.”
