Page 63 of Elizabeth Bennet and the Scottish Laird

“But he confessed, did he not?” Darcy asked urgently.

Bingley nodded. “Completely. Once Miss Elizabeth confronted him directly, the fight went out of him.” Bingley shook his head. “It was not what I expected. I had prepared myself for a calculating deceiver who would bluster until the magistrate clapped him in irons. What I found instead was a man undone by his own conscience, weeping before women he had wronged.”

Darcy said nothing. The reports regarding McLeod's charitable works had prepared him for complexity, but hearing it confirmed brought no satisfaction. There was no triumph in unmasking a man whose sins were born of tragedy rather than malice.

“He spoke of watching his friend, the real Malcolm, die,” Bingley continued, his gaze fixed beyond the fire. “Ten years he has carried that guilt, trying to make amends.” He paused and looked at Darcy. “Miss Elizabeth refused to press charges.”

Darcy's head came up. “She refused?”

“For the child's sake.” Bingley set down his glass. “She gave McLeod until tomorrow to quit Longbourn.”

Something shifted within Darcy's chest. Even with her engagement in ruins and her family's future uncertain, Elizabeth had thought first of a child's welfare. Even when she possessed every right to demand justice, she had chosen mercy.

This was Elizabeth Bennet at her finest.

“That was well done of her,” Darcy said quietly.

“It was. Though I confess I was prepared to write to the magistrate myself had she wished it.” Bingley reached for the decanter and poured another measure. “The family is in quite a state, as you might imagine. Mrs Bennet took to her bed after the confession, and the younger sisters had to be told something of what had occurred, though I gather they were spared the worst details.”

“And Miss Elizabeth? How did she bear the revelation?”

Bingley considered the question. “With more composure than I could have managed in her place.” He shook his head in evident admiration. “She is a remarkable woman, Darcy. I have always thought so but today confirmed it beyond any doubt.”

Darcy turned his gaze to the fire, unwilling to let Bingley see whatever might be showing in his expression. A remarkable woman. Yes. He had known that for some time now.

“As for Miss Bennet...” Bingley paused, and that mixture of gravity and elation returned to his features. “There is something else I must tell you. Something I did this morning that I am not certain I ought to have done.”

“Go on.”

Bingley set down his glass and ran both hands through his disordered hair, a gesture Darcy had come to recognise as a sign of considerable agitation. “I proposed to Miss Bennet.”

Darcy stared at him. “I beg your pardon?”

“I proposed. To Jane.” The words tumbled out in a rush. “I had meant to leave when my business was concluded. Truly I had. I climbed into my carriage and set off down the drive, fully intending to return here and report what had transpired. But I was not halfway to the turning before I found I could not do it.”

He rose and began to pace before the hearth, his boots marking a restless path across the carpet.

“All those months of separation, Darcy. All that wasted time when I might have been courting her properly. And there I was, driving away again whilst she stood in that house dealing with the wreckage of her sister's hopes, with her mother prostrate and her family's future in ruins.” He stopped and faced Darcy, his expression caught between joy and shame. “So, I asked Mrs Bennet for permission to pay my addresses, right there in the entrance hall.”

Darcy lifted an eyebrow. “Not an hour after they had received such devastating news.”

“I know.” Bingley winced. “It was ill-timed. Wanting in propriety. One might argue I took advantage of their distress.” He resumed his pacing. “I have been castigating myself for it ever since I departed. What must they think of me? What must Jane think?”

Darcy could not conceal his grin. “What did Miss Bennet say when you proposed?”

“She accepted.” Bingley’s cheeks flushed. “We are to marry in the spring, once a proper interval has passed.”

Darcy rose and crossed to where his friend stood. He clasped Bingley's shoulder firmly. “Then I congratulate you. Sincerely and without reservation.”

“You do not think I behaved abominably?”

“I think you behaved impulsively, which is hardly a novel occurrence where you are concerned.” Darcy allowed himself a smile. “I also think Miss Bennet has been waiting for you to recover your senses for the better part of a year. I doubt very much she is inclined to quibble over the precise timing of your proposal.”

Bingley's countenance split into a grin. “She looked so beautiful when she accepted. Even with everything that had happened, she looked at me as though I had brought her the sun and moon.”

“I am glad for you both. This has been a long time coming.”

“Too long. And I have only myself to blame for the delay.” Bingley's grin faded into something more rueful.