Page 186 of A Question of Character

At last, he managed, “May I hope?”

Elizabeth’s eyes closed briefly.

“Yes.”

She left then, not because she wished to leave him, but because remaining had become unbearable.

Halfway toward the house she paused.

Without looking back she said, “I think you are a better man than this.”

Then she disappeared beyond the hedge.

Darcy remained beneath the oak until the lengthening shadows reached his boots.

He had ridden to Longbourn expecting to depart engaged.

Rather, he carried home a refusal that did not feel like rejection.

It felt like a sentence passed upon his own conduct.

His horse picked its way along the road toward Netherfield.

Darcy scarcely noticed the miles.

Elizabeth’s words repeated themselves relentlessly.

Honor without humility can become frightening.

He winced.

Had he truly become that man?

His first instinct rose in immediate defense.

Wickham deceived my father. He squandered every opportunity. He sought Georgiana.

The familiar litany steadied him for perhaps half a mile.

Then another memory intruded. The widow thanking Wickham outside Mr. Philips’ office. Favorable reports of his behavior and character. Months of irreproachable conduct.

Elizabeth’s unwavering confidence.

Georgiana’s curious reluctance to discuss Ramsgate.

The pieces refused to arrange themselves.

His confidence no longer sat as securely as before.

He pulled his horse to a halt atop a gentle rise overlooking Meryton.

The village roofs glowed amber beneath the lowering sun.

Somewhere among them Wickham lived.

Darcy removed one glove and pressed thumb and forefinger against his brow.

He had demanded Elizabeth choose.