Now that he stood before her, she could not remember a single sentence of that carefully composed speech. Those simple words escaped her lips instead, causing Darcy to stop in astonishment.
“I agree. Perhaps we can begin with…the regrets.”
Elizabeth nodded vaguely remembering her discourse.
“I do not regret the substance of what I said. I still believe most of my opinions were justified. Yet I recognise that there were moments when I allowed anger to speak in my place.”
“I see,” he replied, his voice altered in a manner she had never heard before.
He glanced back towards the parlour. By now, they were far enough away to prevent anyone from overhearing them, though laughter and raised voices still carried across the gardens. His concern was merely that they might be interrupted, but Elizabeth interpreted the gesture differently, as though he were once again demonstrating his discomfort with her family.
“I must admit that there are occasions when some members of my family behave less appropriately than they ought,” she said rather reluctantly, indicating the house.
“No, Miss Elizabeth. Your words were deserved, and if you regret only the tone in which they were delivered, that is more than I could ever have hoped for. No family is perfect. It was my mistake to judge yours whilst overlooking faults far greater in other families, including my own and Bingley’s.”
Both felt that their conversation was progressing favourably, as their wishes were, in essence, the same.
“I agree. Mama can become too enthusiastic under certain circumstances, and enthusiasm occasionally produces unfortunate results.”
She smiled as she spoke, a sign that she no longer intended to condemn him too severely.
“I agree. Yet you know I spent much of my life without a proper family. After my mother’s death, my father withdrew into his grief and became increasingly melancholy. We did not laugh together or enjoy lively conversations. In many respects, we became rather dreary people. You accused me of being proud and conceited, but I am inclined to think I am merely gloomy and therefore inclined to judge exuberance unfairly.”
Elizabeth stopped in the middle of the path and turned towards him. It was such an intimate confession that she felt her excitement grow in a strange way. She wished to comfort him, to tell him that no man or woman was condemned to sadness forever and that happiness might be found in the most unexpected places. The words never reached her lips, but her expression reflected them clearly enough. Mr Darcy seemed satisfied even with that. For the first time since arriving at Netherfield, he saw sympathy and kindness in her face. The severity had vanished, and curiosity had taken its place.
“It is difficult for me to speak openly about feelings.”
“But it is easy to criticise other people,” she replied. She was smiling, and he could only acknowledge the justice of the remark.
“I am ready to make another confession,” he said unexpectedly.
For one alarming moment, she feared he meant to propose again. Part of her wished to stop him immediately. Another part urged patience.
“Yes?” she asked.
“I hate parasols.”
Elizabeth laughed. Relieved, she shifted the parasol to her other shoulder, allowing him a clear view of her face.
“Better?” she asked with an impish smile.
“Yes. Much better. Thank you.”
They continued their walk in companionable silence, moving steadily farther from the house. Elizabeth was convinced that nobody would notice their absence, but she was mistaken. From the parlour windows, both Mr Bennet and Uncle Thomas observed them and exchanged a meaningful glance.
“So, Mr Darcy,” Elizabeth said at last, more at ease than before, “have you continued your habit of advising other people?”
He laughed and shook his head.
“You are mistaken, Miss Elizabeth. This time, the decision belonged entirely to Bingley. Yesterday we met at our club, and he informed me of his intention to travel to Hertfordshire.”
“To settle certain matters connected with Netherfield?”
“No. Netherfield was merely a stage upon the journey. His true destination was Longbourn.”
“So it was not a coincidence? Not an impulsive decision?”
“No. Whether Netherfield existed or not, he would have come to ask forgiveness and to propose.”
