Despite what he wished, there was no denying the material fact that tomorrow would bring him face-to-face with Elizabeth. How should they meet? How should they go on? It was certainly quite paradoxical, he wryly observed as he lay in bed that night, how an event for which one had longed could, upon the eve of its occurrence, so handily transform itself into a thing fraught with the most wrenching apprehension. An unquiet night followed, but when morning finally dawned, with it came the conviction that, in order to accomplish what he had come to do, it was not Elizabeth but Jane Bennet he must learn of and toward whom the greater part of his powers of discernment must bend.


They rode slowly. When Darcy had met his friend at the mounting block, Bingley greeted him with his usual smiling exuberance and chatter, which had lasted until they met the road to Longbourn. Then, his conversation lagged. Now Bingley was almost silent, the gait of their horses reduced to no more than an amble. Darcy looked sideways at his friend, searching for some revival of his liveliness, but Bingley continued gripped by a pensive mood Darcy knew not how to brook.

They had just turned in to the lane leading up to Longbourn when Bingley reined in his horse. “It is better to be certain of the truth of a matter, is it not?” he demanded of Darcy. “One should not go on without having resolved the past.”

Darcy nodded slowly, his eyes trained on Bingley’s countenance. “That is usually the wisest policy.”

Bingley nodded back. “Well then.” He turned and, setting his shoulders, nudged his mount forward. Following a moment later, Darcy observed the set of his friend’s shoulders with dismay and no little sting of guilt. If, as he suspected, Bingley had sunk into self-doubt and a wariness of his reception as they rode toward Longbourn, it could be laid entirely at Darcy’s door. He had exposed Bingley to the censure of the world for caprice and instability — that was how Elizabeth had put it. Thank heavens the “world” in the environs of Meryton seemed to have forgiven Charles the events of last year. Would those at Longbourn be as kind?

Bingley’s doubt of his welcome must have been swept away as soon as he dismounted from his horse. The stable boy who ran up to them, the maidservant who opened the door to them, and the housekeeper who announced them — all did so with the infectious sort of enthusiasm that portended a unanimous welcome within. Darcy hoped that the pleasure at Bingley’s coming might spill over to include him in a general way and lessen the awkwardness his presence must provoke. The door to the Bennets’ parlor opened under the housekeeper’s hand, allowing a shaft of sunlight to pierce Longbourn’s hall. Darcy drew a breath against the sensation that time and space were careening wildly beyond his grasp.

“Mr. Bingley! How delightful that you have called!” Mrs. Bennet’s ample form blocked the doorway. “We were just remarking, were we not, girls, how wonderful it would be if you were to call today; and here you are! Is it not marvelous?”

“Ladies!” Bingley bowed immediately upon entering the parlor, Darcy following him. When they rose, Kitty was smiling at Bingley. She quickly curtsied at his bow, then returned to a pile of ribbons on the table. Mary dropped a perfunctory curtsy and walked away to resume her book at the far side of the room. Darcy and Bingley turned to the last two. Miss Bennet and Elizabeth stood together, the color in their faces rising ever so slightly as they offered their curtsies. The picture of grace and modesty Elizabeth presented sent Darcy’s heart thudding so loudly against his ribs that it hurt. He allowed himself the luxury of a few moments’ gaze, searching for a look, a smile that might indicate the state of her heart, but Elizabeth seemed distracted. He forced his eyes away and commanded his heart to be still.

“Please, be seated,” Mrs. Bennet spoke again. “Mr. Bingley, you must sit here out of the sun.” She guided him to quite the most comfortable chair in the room. “There, is that not pleasant? And so convenient for conversing. Should you like some refreshment?” It was only after Bingley had murmured a denial that she finally turned to Darcy. “And Mr. Darcy.” She waved her hand vaguely about the room before seating herself close to her preferred guest.

Free to see to himself, Darcy found a chair that was admirably situated for his purposes yet close enough to Elizabeth to allow some conversation without demanding it. He sank gratefully into its contours and waited a few ceremonious moments before leaning in Elizabeth’s direction with what he considered must be a safe topic. “May I inquire after your aunt and uncle, Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner? Are they well?”

Elizabeth started and colored before informing him breathlessly that yes, her relatives were well and would desire her to thank him once again for his courtesies to them at Pemberley.

“It was my pleasure,” he assured her, then looked away, puzzled that she should be disconcerted by a question so customary as to be trite. He looked down at the floor even as all his inclinations yearned to discover what she was thinking. Steeling himself against them, he turned back to Bingley only to be surprised by a question from Elizabeth in turn.

“And Miss Darcy? Is she well?”

“Thank you, she is very well,” he answered, “and sends her greeting with a wish that you might visit again someday.”

“Oh, she is very kind.” She may have intended to say more, but he was not to know.

“It is a long time, Mr. Bingley, since you went away,” Mrs. Bennet declared, overriding all conversation. “I began to be afraid you would never come back again. People did say, you meant to quit the place entirely at Michaelmas; but, however, I hope it is not true.” She looked at him slyly. “A great many changes have happened in the neighborhood since you went away. Miss Lucas is married and settled. And one of my own daughters. I suppose you have heard of it; indeed, you must have seen it in the papers.” Bingley could offer no comment on this assertion, for she gave him no opportunity. “It was in The Times and the Courier, I know; though it was not put in as it ought to be. It was only said, ‘Lately, George Wickham, Esq., to Miss Lydia Bennet,’ without there being a syllable said of her father, or the place where she lived, or anything.” She leaned toward him, shaking her head pettishly. “It was my brother Gardiner’s drawing up too, and I wonder how he came to make such an awkward business of it. Did you see it?”

While Bingley replied that he had and made his congratulations, Darcy could only sit, struggling that his astonishment should not show in any part of his person. He had anticipated a discreet mention of Lydia’s marriage in explanation of her absence, delivered, of course, with a painfully acquired circumspection of manner. But, no, there was to be none of that! A glance at Elizabeth showed her struggling with embarrassment at her mother’s words. She glanced at him briefly and then quickly returned to her needlework.

“It is a delightful thing, to be sure, to have a daughter well married,” Mrs. Bennet continued with not the slightest indication of prudence, “but at the same time, Mr. Bingley, it is very hard to have her taken away from me.” They were gone to Newcastle, she informed them, where his new regiment would be for some time. “I suppose you have heard of his leaving the —— shire, and of his being gone into the Regulars. Thank Heaven, he has some friends, though, perhaps, not so many as he deserves.” Her eyes traveled past Bingley to scour Darcy’s stony face.

Disbelief warring with indignation, Darcy stood and moved to a window as he labored to retain his self-possession under her condemning eye. As his gaze traveled over the last flowers of the season in Longbourn’s garden, it struck Darcy how extraordinary it was that this woman could be Elizabeth’s mother! Mrs. Bennet’s self-delusion was complete, her experience of the last weeks incapable of reforming her opinions or teaching her prudence. His pique cooled; its place was taken by a compassion for what Elizabeth and her sisters must always suffer because of their mother.

“Mr. Bingley.” Elizabeth’s tremulous voice recalled him, and he looked up at her profile. “Do you mean to make any stay in the country at present?”

“I believe we shall stay a few weeks. The hunting season, you understand.” He looked at Miss Bennet during his reply and might have said more, but her mother pounced upon his words.

“When you have killed all your own birds, Mr. Bingley, I beg you will come here and shoot as many as you please on Mr. Bennet’s manor. I am sure he will be vastly happy to oblige you, and will save all the best of the covies for you.”

“You are very kind, madam.” Bingley responded to her absurd speech with remarkable grace. He turned to the sisters. “But I do not anticipate being forever in the field. Is there anything, Miss Bennet, that will call all the countryside together?”

Ah, here at last was what he had come to observe! As Bingley engaged Jane Bennet in conversation, Darcy considered them both. Bingley was flushed, his eyes cautiously hopeful as he carefully drew her out from her mother’s shadow. His feelings were unmistakable. Miss Bennet’s responses were, by contrast, measured but gracious. Bingley persisted. Her eyes warmed a little as he teased her on some point, then she laughed. A smile spread across Bingley’s face and his shoulders straightened, at which Miss Bennet blushed and looked down, but not before Darcy saw the shining eyes and gentle smile that accompanied it. A beginning that held promise, he decided and wondered how he ever could have imagined Jane Bennet scheming to trap his friend into a socially advantageous marriage.