Page 178 of A Question of Character

Bingley spoke with unusual seriousness.

“If either proves true, would it not be better to know?”

Darcy gave a humorless smile.

“I imagine so.”

After Bingley departed, Darcy remained by the window until darkness obscured the park.

Elizabeth’s face came to his thoughts with disconcerting clarity.

Her expression whenever Wickham’s name arose.

Not argumentative.

Not obstinate.

Simply disappointed.

She had never demanded he like the man—just that he hear him.

A modest request.

One he had somehow transformed into an impossibility.

He rested both hands upon the cool glass.

Beyond the window the moon silvered the lawns surrounding Netherfield.

How different life had become in scarcely three months.

Three months ago Elizabeth Bennet had been an engaging young woman whose acquaintance he wished to cultivate.

Now the thought of returning to Derbyshire without her hollowed him.

He loved her.

The acknowledgment no longer startled him.

It simply existed, as constant as sunrise.

No uncertainty remained upon that point.

Whatever difficulties lay between them, whatever confusion surrounded George Wickham, none of it altered the one truth Darcy possessed.

He wished Elizabeth to become his wife.

Soon.

Very soon.

Darcy scarcely remembered deciding to call at Longbourn the following afternoon.

One moment he sat in Netherfield’s library attempting to read the same page for the fourth time; the next, he found himself mounted and taking the familiar road toward Meryton.

His horse required little guidance.

The animal had become nearly as accustomed to the journey as its master.