It was perhaps the strangest declaration Darcy had ever made. Bingley admired and respected him deeply, yet he had never entirely approved of Darcy’s arrogance in certain company. It was merely a private opinion, and often, when faced with Darcy’s generosity or courage, Bingley felt ashamed of it. Still, he remembered perfectly Darcy’s conduct at Netherfield the previous autumn, his cutting remarks regarding certainladies and his refusal to join in the pleasures Hertfordshire offered them. Afterwards, he had persuaded Bingley that Miss Bennet was merely pursuing fortune. His sisters had fully agreed, but in the end, it was Darcy’s opinion that mattered most.
“I tried for many months to persuade myself you were right,” Bingley said quietly.
“I know, and I am sorry that I did not intervene sooner when I saw your unhappiness. But…you see…I had already begun to despise my own tendency to offer advice where it was neither wanted nor deserved.”
“No! I have always valued your opinions and always shall,” Bingley replied, more troubled than before.
“Allow me to finish. Opinions, yes. Advice, no. I chose my words carefully and selected my moment well to influence you more effectively, and in the end, I succeeded. Yet it took me three months to realise that it was never your battle but mine. You merely became a casualty in my own war.”
The declaration was so unexpected that Bingley sat motionless, scarcely understanding a word. “It was never a war,” he murmured.
“No. For you, it was love. You allowed your feelings to be visible because that is your nature, and they were returned to you in the same spirit. Instead of following your example—”
“My example?”
“Yes, my friend. Your whole character is an example of kindness, benevolence and tolerance. You neither impose nor lecture. You simply are, whilst I remain incapable of changing and persist in my old habits of pride and prejudice.”
“I confess I do not understand half of what you are saying.”
“And yet my story is as simple as yours. I fell in love with Miss Elizabeth.”
Bingley looked so astonished that Darcy almost regretted speaking. When he had decided upon this conversation, he had intended only to apologise and indirectly give his blessing, certain that Bingley still valued his judgement. But once seated there and hearing his friend’s obvious determination, the whole truth had forced itself out. Darcy had always despised useless confessions and believed a man ought to solve his difficulties alone rather than burden his friends with them. Still, he found himself in need of precisely that sort of confession. He needed someone to whom he might admit the full extent of his disastrous conduct.
“When?” Bingley asked at last, though his face already expressed far more than his words.
“At the same time that you fell in love with Miss Bennet. At Netherfield last November.”
This time, Bingley became entirely silent. For perhaps the first time in their friendship, he was angry with Darcy, though his naturally gentle temper prevented him from openly showing it.
“Be angry, Charles. You have every right,” Darcy said from the heart, even more troubled by his friend’s loyalty.
“I am, Fitzwilliam, I am.” Yet the feeling could not remain long in Bingley’s heart. He smiled slightly, and already the first signs of forgiveness appeared. “Still, I do not wish to blame you more than you deserve.” Bingley shook his head vigorously, still incapable of saying more, waiting for his friend to continue.
“At that time in Hertfordshire, I was entirely unaware of my own feelings for Miss Elizabeth. It was as though a wall existed between myself and my heart. Instead of attempting to break it down, I began finding fault with her family and criticising everything they did. Persuaded I was right, I attributed bad motives everywhere, even to the lady you admired. I hope you may forgive me and repair this…situation.”
“Yes, I intend to return and ask Miss Bennet whether she can forgive me.”
“Good. I have reason to believe she remains unhappy and still regrets your departure.”
“After all these months?” Bingley asked, fresh hope appearing in his gentle eyes.
“Yes. And again I was mistaken. She is not merely beautiful but kind, faithful and sincere.”
“I do not dare hope too much, but how do you know?”
Again, Darcy hesitated, but he understood that forgiveness required the entire truth. “I met Miss Elizabeth in Kent.”
“You mentioned it, though you gave me no details, however much I questioned you.”
“Yes. You wished to know Miss Bennet’s feelings, and again I erred. I ought to have told you everything when I returned from Rosings, where I proposed to Miss Elizabeth.”
“No!” was all Bingley managed to say.
“Yes, and it went disastrously wrong. She had already discovered my part in your departure from Hertfordshire. Instead of acceptance, I received reproaches and anger, most of them deserved.”
“I am sorry,” Bingley managed with difficulty, causing Darcy to laugh bitterly.
“My God, Charles, even when wounded yourself, you remain kind! Never go to war, my friend. You would probably succeed in making friends of the enemy.”
