“Ask her? Ask her what?” he nearly shouted.
“Ask her to marry you, Charles,” Darcy said softly. “She will accept you.”
“How can you be so sure? I am not, and it is I to whom you reportedly believe she directs her attentions!”
“You are too close to see the look in her eyes when you walk into the room. Most men would give their life for one such glimpse. She stirs your soul, Charles; with Miss Bennet you can share your innermost self with respect and dignity.You can wait; you can postpone, but if I were you, I would grab ‘happiness’ with both hands and ask Miss Bennet to marry me.”
“She will say ‘yes,’ will she not, Darcy?” Bingley was awestruck.
“Miss Bennet will say ‘yes,’ Charles.”
Bingley began to pace, to spin, to stop, and to start all over again. “If Miss Bennet agrees, Darcy, then you will be completely forgiven.” Bingley laughed.
“Then I am forgiven,” Darcy smiled.“You will send me news of your happiness, but pray writelegibly.”
“I will send you my fate,” Bingley could not control his thoughts; but then he recalled his sisters’ parts in his misery.
“I hope you predicted Miss Bennet’s response accurately, Darcy, for it will offer me a chance for revenge when IdemandCaroline and Louisa give Jane her proper due as my wife.They believe me to be with you at Pemberley. What I would give to see their faces when they read I am at Netherfield, and I asked Miss Bennet to accept my hand.”
Darcy came forward. First, he shook Bingley’s hand and then slapped him on the back.“I must leave you now, Bingley.”
“When will you return? If Miss Bennet accepts, you will stand up with me?”
“It would be my honor, Bingley, although I do not deserve your honest consideration. I will try to return within a fortnight; yourfateshould be decided by then.”
Darcy picked up his hat and walking stick and headed for the waiting carriage. Bingley followed close behind. At the carriage, Darcy turned, and Bingley extended his hand. “Friend,” he said. Darcy grasped the offered hand. “Friend,” came his thankful reply.There was little to do in London, but Darcy did not care; his mind could not be happily employed. He went to the theatre one evening, for his spirits wanted the solitude and silence, which only numbers could give. A protégé of David Garrick performed magnificently, but the dramaThe Chancesreminded him of Elizabeth for like the character’s jealousy, Darcy remained jealous of the possibility of anyone else having Elizabeth as his wife.
At Longbourn, they did not speak beyond common civilities. He once believed their hearts were intertwined, and nothing could come between them.Their natures so similar—their understanding so perfect—he could never imagine their not finding each other. It was impossible for him to forget how to love Elizabeth, but the fact was when they last met, she did not seem to want to be near enough for conversation—near enough to him. Elizabeth did not return his regard; he had no choice but to put distance between them. The distance between Pemberley and Longbourn was one kind of distance, but he would also have to build a wall around his heart. Darcy was Bingley’s friend; Bingley would marry Jane; Darcy could not avoid seeing Elizabeth . . . but he could force himself to be indifferent.
When he was in London a week, a dispatch arrived from Bingley. It read,
28 September
Darcy,
You are forgiven. Miss Bennet said “yes.” My fate is sealed! We await your return to Netherfield. Your friend forever . . .
Charles Bingley
The letter brought Darcy relief, but he envied Bingley’s chance for happiness. Bitterness and lost opportunities marred his chances;if he realized how much a refusal to dance at an assembly would change his life, he would dance with Elizabeth the first time he met her; if he . . . He could not live with all these regrets—with the ache of lost love.
Colonel Fitzwilliam called on him on Thursday, and they agreed to dine together on Saturday.“I want to know about the commission you bought, Darcy. You were very secretive. I warn you—I will have the truth, Cousin.”
On Saturday he returned from an afternoon outing to discover his aunt’s chaise and four before Kensington Place. “Mr. Darcy,” his butler approached and took Darcy’s hat, gloves, and greatcoat, “your aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, insisted on being admitted although I told her you were not at home. She demanded, Sir, to wait on your return.”
“You were right to admit her, Mr.Thacker.Would you have tea brought to the drawing room?”
“Yes, Mr. Darcy.”
Darcy did not like visitors to come to his home without a proper invitation; his aunt knew his dislike of such intrusions upon his privacy. Something must be amiss.Could something be wrong with Anne?He strode into the drawing room expecting to find his aunt in tears. Instead, she was agitated; she was angry; she was demanding. “Lady Catherine, what brings you to Kensington Place? I was unaware of your plans to travel to London. Please tell me my Cousin Anne has not taken ill again.”
“Darcy, you came at last; I am so distressed—such an inconvenient situation!”
“Aunt, I could possibly empathize with you if I knew of what you speak.”
“Then you have no knowledge of it? I suspected as not.” Her voice rose in volume with each subsequent phrase.
The tea arrived at that precise time.After the servant placed the tray on the table, Darcy poured his distraught aunt a cup and thenfixed himself one. “Let us have some tea and allow me the opportunity to ascertain what most disturbs you.”
