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And she set it down, though she did not examine this as closely as the other reasons, because using it would dissolve the engagement, and she did not want the engagement dissolved. That wanting was not a reliable reason for anything, but it was real, and she was being honest now, in the cold winter light that came in through the window, and honesty required that she include it in the inventory.

Elizabeth went and stood beside Jane, and they talked about nothing. She was pleasant and warm and entirely composed, and underneath all of it she felt the shape of her own situation with a clarity that was almost peaceful in its finality. She could not act — had chosen not to act. The choosing was hers.

The consequences must be as well.

∞∞∞

Darcy had been watching Elizabeth for most of the afternoon, though he did not choose to advertise it. He had attained a certain measure of experience in camouflaging his attention, and he deployed the skill with the focused application of a man who has convinced himself he is conducting a neutral observation and has not yet admitted that neutral observations rarely produce such a quality of attention.

He had seen her speak to Miss Bingley. Though he had not been close enough to hear it, he had watched the conversation warily.

If Darcy was not much mistaken, what he had seen was no incidental conversation, but a careful performance. It had all the markers: the sympathy, the careful positioning, and the incline of the head that Caroline Bingley used when intending deliberate manipulation.

Darcy did not know what she had said to Elizabeth, and he very much wished he did. Miss Bingley was up to something. Of that much, he had little doubt.

He watched Elizabeth return from the window. There was no outward sign of what had occurred. Quite the contrary; she merely stood beside Miss Bennet, seemingly entirely composed. But he knew that composure, having learned its quality over the course of their tangled engagement, and what he saw in it was not ease.

She was distressed. Whatever Miss Bingley had said had added to something that was already there. In over two months of close and involuntary study, her expressions had become visible to him. The composure was real; Darcy was certain of it. She was managing it genuinely, not performing it, but underneath the management was a woman carrying more than the afternoon should have required of her.

His mind churned through what he had said to Bingley at the card evening and Bingley’s reply, which he had not been able to dismiss. He thought about the library and Miss Bingley’s offer. About the careful reason he had given for declining it, about the private reason he had not given, and whether the private reason was the action of a man of honour or the action of a man who had confused his own wishes with someone else’s wellbeing.

Darcy watched Elizabeth smile at her sister and felt the uncomfortable weight of not knowing.

What he did know was this: she had not asked him for anything. This could mean many things, and he had been assigning it various meanings for weeks with no reliable result. What he would not do was place his own preference in her path. If she asked him to dissolve the engagement, he would find a way. He had resolved this in November, and he resolved it again now, in the way of decisions that have to be made more than once before they hold.

He would not act. But he would find a way to release her, if she asked. Whatever it cost him.

It was then that Elizabeth looked up and found his gaze across the room. For a long moment, neither of them looked away.

Then Miss Bennet said something, and Elizabeth turned to answer her. Darcy forced his gaze away from her, looking meaninglessly into his glass, and the afternoon continued, carrying them along with it.

Chapter Seventeen

When there seemed so little reason for cheer, Elizabeth was inclined to be grateful for any she could find. The arrival of a note from Netherfield Park was therefore more of a lift to her spirits than she would have anticipated.

The invitation came from Georgiana Darcy directly, which was also cheering. Though written to Elizabeth, the invitation included Jane as well, and asked if they might come to Netherfield on Thursday for tea, as she would shortly return to Darcy House in London and wished to see them before her departure.

There was something in the brief note that lifted Elizabeth’s spirits, if only a little. It was so pleasingly open and kind, so wonderfully simple. Not another clever scheme from Miss Bingley, not a Mrs Bennet campaign. Just Georgiana Darcy, who had decided she wanted their company and had said so.

Elizabeth accepted with a warmth that was entirely genuine and a degree of gratitude she did not put in the note. Thursday was something to aim for. Thursday was a reason to get through Wednesday, which had the low, flat quality that days sometimes have after difficult evenings, when everything had been felt, nothing had been resolved, and the sun rose again anyway.

Mrs Bennet, on hearing that the visit did not include herself, experienced a brief period of grievance before deciding that the intimacy implied by a private invitation from Miss Darcy was itself a kind of distinction. She then quickly reconciled herself to it.

They arrived at eleven and were quickly shown upstairs to the sitting room Miss Darcy had made her own over the weeks of her visit. It was a smaller room than the drawing room, facing south, with good light and a quantity of sheet music that had migrated from the music room and seemed to have settled permanently. Tea was brought. Bingley looked in briefly, was charming, admired the arrangement, and was taken off by the steward on a question about drainage that had apparently been waiting for his attention for several days.

Elizabeth noticed that Jane kept her eyes on the spot where he had been standing long after he’d left. To her considerable relief, Mrs Hurst and Miss Bingley were not to join their party, having gone out to Meryton with Mr Hurst. Reading between the lines, Elizabeth rather suspected that they had not known of Miss Darcy’s arrangements. Surely Miss Bingley would not have so easily left Elizabeth to the company of Miss Darcy if she had.

At first, Miss Darcy was almost too shy to speak. It was evident that it had taken nearly all her courage to send the invitation, leaving little more for conversation, and for a time, their meeting seemed likely to subside into an awkward silence.

But that, at least, was a problem Elizabeth was well-equipped to resolve. Knowing Miss Darcy to be sweet-tempered and kindly disposed to herself, and wanting only a little confidence to make her quite charming, she began asking her about her recent amusements until she hit upon a novel they had both read and found worthy of attention and debate. With such a topic at hand, Miss Darcy soon forgot her shyness.

Jane had also read Mrs Radcliffe’s The Italian, but while her opinions were softer and more quietly expressed, they yet allowed her to carry her part in the conversation. No one would have supposed her to be carrying a weight of sadness from Mr Bingley’s reticence — no one but a concerned and attentive sister.

Elizabeth talked, and listened, and drank her tea, and felt the restlessness she had woken with circling beneath the conversation’s surface. The company was pleasant, and yet she could not feel herself equal to it. Had she only been able to sit down with tolerably peace of mind, or even to forget what weighed on her, it would have been a most enjoyable visit, and yet Elizabeth felt almost torn in two by the need to be moving, if she could not resolve any of what tormented her.

Perhaps sensing her sister’s distraction, Jane at length asked Miss Darcy if she might play them something on the pianoforte, a request that was met with a polite demurral and then eager acceptance. Even in her dark mood, Elizabeth found herself smiling at Miss Darcy’s obvious enjoyment of the instrument. It was evident that she did not play out of any wish for praise, but out of sheer love of the notes themselves.

When the first piece came to an end, their applause was sincere and enthusiastic, and Miss Darcy was soon persuaded to begin a long concerto. Elizabeth sat for some time, admiring the young girl’s skill, but felt her restlessness at last become insistent.