Page 25 of The Work of a Moment

“Or an aunt or cousin, I suppose.”

“You are welcome to use it for your own escape,” he said in a voice that almost sounded teasing.

She grinned at him. “You saved it from full ruin?”

“When I was twelve and Fitzwilliam fourteen, he and I had energy we could not safely expend within Rosings’s walls. We had enjoyed the maze before Sir Lewis’s death and, whilst visiting with our fathers, determined to recreate parts of it for Anne as a hideaway from Lady Catherine.”

They continued to stroll. Elizabeth felt a frisson of nerves within her. Mr Darcy had shared with her a secret of his childhood—one still kept with the colonel—and yet still they had not spoken of the previous evening. Taking a breath, she glanced at him, a tall silent presence walking steadily beside her. How can he be so thoughtful, so polite, after I so coldly dismissed his admiration for me? A twinge of guilt returned, and she wondered whether she should tell him what Miss Bingley had written. She had allowed her imagination to take flight after espying Mr Bingley with the maid. Was she doing likewise and assuming truth in his sister’s cruel words?

The sound of Mr Darcy’s deep voice pulled her back into the moment. “Careful. There is a nest of rabbits just ahead.”

She saw he had slowed and was pointing towards a swirl of grasses. Stepping closer, she bent down and peered at the small creatures sleeping within. “We must leave them to their naps, sir.”

He nodded and guided her around the spot. “Miss Bennet, you wished to speak to me about what we discussed yesterday?”

Elizabeth could not miss the hesitation in his voice. Fearing what she might see in his eyes, she kept her own on the path ahead. “Yes, I wish to explain. I regret misunderstanding what I saw at Netherfield. I acted with haste and what I then believed of Mr Bingley’s character. However”— she took a deep breath—“I was not mistaken as to the character of Miss Bingley.”

His sigh was not unexpected and indicated exhaustion with the very topic of the lady. Still, he uttered a quiet, “Go on.”

“It was far more than what I misinterpreted in Mr Bingley’s behaviour. It was the behaviour of his sisters, their pointed looks and barbs aimed at my family, who, whatever their faults, are highly regarded within the neighbourhood. Unlike their own, my father is a gentleman.”

Mr Darcy frowned. “Indeed he is. Alas for the Bingleys, a fortune that comes from trade does not a gentleman make.”

Elizabeth took a breath. “After all of you left Netherfield Park without even a farewell, Miss Bingley wrote to inform us that none of you would return to the estate. Further, she stated that her brother had an understanding with another lady, or at least the promise of an alliance.”

“Yet another?” Mr Darcy cleared his throat. “He is exceedingly susceptible to calf-love, but I suspect you still believe him to be a rake, a ne’er-do-well. I fear you have been in company with a man such as you describe, and it is not Bingley.”

CHAPTER 20

A Vile Nature Indeed

Elizabeth slowed her step as her mind raced. Mr Darcy had seen her in company with only a handful of men in Meryton—neighbours she had danced with or talked to while he had stood, staring, in the shadows. He would know nothing of those men—had he even bothered to learn their names?—and would not insult them. Perhaps he referred to Colonel Fitzwilliam?

His low, sombre voice broke into her thoughts. “George Wickham is not a good man.”

“He has said nothing kind of you either, sir.”

“Yes, he is loquacious about my ‘vile nature’. What he said, was it unprompted, and in company?”

“Yes.” Thus sowing my doubts about his honesty and veracity.

“I imagine he claimed that I refused to honour the promises made to him by my excellent father and it is my doing that he is in his current straits—a man of twenty-six years, new to the militia.”

She could not deny she had thought it odd at the time.

“The four thousand pounds he has been given since my father died five years ago are gone—spent and wasted on drink and gambling and lord knows what else. He is as careless with other men’s wallets as he is with servant girls and the daughters of innkeepers.” Mr Darcy was nearly shaking with anger as he spoke, but her shocked gasp seemed to prompt the return of his composure. “I apologise for my frankness. The pertinent detail is that he went through it all rather than pursuing a profession for which he had been provided the funds. Please, do not trust him.”

“I did not—I do not. I should trust you?”

Her words, foolishly phrased to sound doubtful even to her own ears, had an immediate effect. The earnestness Mr Darcy had just displayed vanished.

The coolness of his reply revealed he was affronted. “I should hope you have no reason not to trust me. I have told you all I know of Bingley and the maid and the truth about his penchant to fall in love.”

“Yes, I appreciate your honesty, and I believe what you say of Mr Wickham and Mr Bingley. Truly.” Elizabeth’s lips rose in a small smile and, appearing content, he returned it. Her heart flipped a little, and in a voice she hoped conveyed mirth, she added, “We are standing in a maze that, however dilapidated, would be difficult for me to escape without you as my guide, so yes, Mr Darcy, I do trust you.”

His smile grew. “Then I must be honest. I owe you a confession. Bingley learnt from Netherfield’s housekeeper that you and Miss Bennet had left Longbourn, but it was in a chance encounter I had with Sir William Lucas, at an inn on my journey south from Pemberley, that I learnt you were in Kent.” He shrugged. “I should have mentioned it when my cousin and I called at the parsonage, as Mrs Collins and Miss Lucas will undoubtedly hear of it in a letter from their mother or father.”

At that, Elizabeth’s astonishment turned to laughter. “Yes, I am certain word will reach us soon.”