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“We discussed the hymn,” Elizabeth said simply.

Her mother looked at her with an assessing eye that resolved, suddenly and surprisingly, into a smile. “You look,” Mrs Bennet said finally, “rather better than you have in some weeks.”

“I am well, Mama,” Elizabeth said. “I am quite well now.”

This time, it was entirely true.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Mr Darcy did not leave Elizabeth to wait long for his visit the next day, but arrived almost as soon as good manners could well allow. Though his punctuality was very welcome as a sign of affection equalling her own, it yet meant that the moment of truth could no longer be delayed. Elizabeth met him in the hallway before her mother could organise the room to her satisfaction, which saved several minutes of chair arrangements and allowed them to settle comfortably in the east parlour.

Her mother made a brief and unsuccessful attempt to position herself near the door and was redirected by Jane with the focused kindness of long practice. After the initial excitement, they were then left in privacy, if not complete, at least sufficient to allow for discussion.

“Good morning, Elizabeth,” Mr Darcy said.

It still pleased her to hear him address her with such warmth and intimacy. She smiled. “Good morning.”

They settled into chairs, and Mr Darcy looked at her keenly. “I had rather received the impression you had something particular to tell me.”

Elizabeth took a deep breath. “I do. Perhaps we might say, rather, that I have something to confess, for I know how our compromise came to be — who caused the door to be locked, and why. I have known for some weeks.”

Mr Darcy looked at her in astonishment, but only for a moment. Thoughts seemed to pass rapidly behind his eyes, and he nodded slowly. “Since you began to say that you saw no new leads, I imagine.”

Elizabeth pressed onward. “Yes.” She kept her voice level. “I owe you an apology, for I knew, and I did not tell you.”

“Why?” he asked without accusation.

“Several reasons,” she said. “The proof points at someone whose exposure would damage people who had no part in what was arranged. I could not do that, not for my own freedom. But I cannot pretend that my motives were entirely noble, though I am ashamed to admit the truth. Using it would dissolve the engagement. I found, when I was holding the means to end it, that I could not make myself want to. And I was not entirely certain, at that point, whether that was for those people’s sake or for my own reasons.”

Mr Darcy said nothing for a moment. A log in the fire snapped loudly. “You held the means to dissolve it and chose not to use it.”

“Yes.”

“Because, at least in part, you wished to marry me,” he added, sounding astonished more than anything.

“In part,” Elizabeth said. “You have every right to be angry with me. In making such a choice, I took away your own right to do the same.”

The morning light through the window had shifted slightly, the winter sun making its low, brief attempt at the day. Outside, the lawn sparkled with silver frost.

“Perhaps I ought to be angry, but I find I cannot,” Mr Darcy said at last. “We have both been struggling under an impossible set of problems and desires. Not to mention bearing up under all the attention of society, and of an impossible array of bystanders, some better intentioned than others.”

“You are generous,” Elizabeth said, “and I am grateful for it.”

“You need not be grateful,” Mr Darcy said, shaking his head. “But I must know. Why did anyone wish to arrange a compromise between us? The answer to that has eluded me to this day. And perhaps more to the point, who was responsible?”

Elizabeth looked at him directly, studying his face for the distress she knew she was about to unleash. “When you know who, you will know why. I was not intended to be in the study when the door was locked. The architect of the compromise was Caroline Bingley.”

She watched him receive it. The stillness that came over him was not entirely the stillness of surprise, but rather of pieces fitting into place, too perfectly aligned to be doubted.

“I think I ought to have known it before,” Mr Darcy said, a little hoarsely. “Certainly Miss Bingley made no secret of her ambitions. Only I did not imagine that she, that any lady would dare to — well. I shall not speculate. Tell me what you found.”

She told him of the errand to Meryton, of the draper’s doorway and the housemaid’s voice, carrying further than its owner knew. The payment, and the key turned when she was told. The mistress who had been very put out that the wrong woman had been on the other side of the door. She relayed the questions she had asked, the answers she had received, and what she had assembled from them on the walk home.

Mr Darcy listened without interrupting. His expression, by the time she had finished, was one she had not seen before. He was not composed or indifferent, nor did he possess the careful civility of recent weeks. His eyes had gone cold, dark, and rather still.

“She used Georgiana’s name,” he said. It was not the first point she had expected him to arrive at, but with a moment’s thought, Elizabeth found she was not surprised. Mr Darcy cared deeply for his sister.

“Yes,” Elizabeth said. “The note that brought you to the study.”