Page 119 of Dear Friend

Darcy returned perhaps a quarter of an hour later.

Elizabeth looked first at his face and then towards the hall behind him. Whatever had passed in the library could not have been disastrous, for her father had apparently permitted him to emerge intact and he was smiling at her.

Darcy approached her. “Miss Bennet, the weather appears fine enough for walking. Would you permit me to accompany you?”

Elizabeth glanced towards the windows. The December afternoon was cold but clear, and there was something almost familiar in the request. They had walked together often enough before everything between them went wrong. She could tell he only wanted some privacy to talk.

“I should like that very much.”

A few minutes later they were outside, following one of the familiar paths beyond the garden. Elizabeth had expected that being alone with him again would feel strange, but after the first few minutes she discovered the greater strangeness lay in how quickly it did not. They spoke of Georgiana, of Julia's improving health and even of Christmas, until Elizabeth realised they had somehow discussed the weather twice.

“I believe we are behaving very foolishly.”

Darcy looked at her. “In what respect?”

“I sent a letter all the way to Somerset because I wanted to see you, and now that you are here, we have discussed the cold twice.”

His mouth curved. “I was attempting not to presume.”

“You are being excessively careful.”

“I had understood that greater care was required of me.”

“It was.” Elizabeth looked at him, unable to disagree with that. “But perhaps not quite so much now.”

They continued a little farther, their pace slowing naturally. Elizabeth had imagined this conversation several times since sending her letter, but now that Darcy was beside her, all the speeches she had constructed seemed unnecessary.

“I read both your letters more than once.”

“I am glad you read them at all.”

“The first made me angry again.” At the immediate change in his expression, Elizabeth continued. “Not because I doubted what you wrote. Quite the opposite. It proved you had intended to tell me from the beginning.”

“I should have sent it.”

“Yes, you should have.” She gave him a pointed look. “I hope you do not expect me to disagree merely because you have finally learnt to condemn yourself correctly.”

A reluctant laugh escaped him. “No.”

“I was angry because so much might have been avoided if you had sent it. But wishing you had cannot alter the fact that you did not, and lately I have begun to wonder whether I ought to wish it at all.”

Darcy looked at her. “What do you mean?”

Elizabeth hesitated, for the thought had troubled her more than once since Julia's return. “Had you sent that letter, matters between us would certainly have been simpler. But perhaps you would never have come to Hertfordshire with any particular wish to meet me. We might never have known one another as we do now, and you might never have had reason to ask Colonel Fitzwilliam to search for Julia.”

“That does not excuse what I did.”

“No, and I am not trying to excuse it.” Elizabeth looked up at him. “I only mean that I cannot wish the past altered without also wishing away everything which came from it. And I find I do not wish that.”

Darcy's expression softened.

“You have given me far too much to be angry with you for,” she added, a faint smile touching her lips. “But somehow, Mr. Darcy, you have also helped give me Julia back.”

“Elizabeth…”

“I know you did not do it for my forgiveness.” She stopped and faced him. “That matters more than you seem to understand.”

Darcy said nothing.