“It was her sister that Bingley was in love with?”

“I thought she was indifferent to him, and apparently I was wrong.” Do you think that any consideration would tempt me to accept the man, who has been the means of ruining, perhaps for ever, the happiness of a most beloved sister?

“What did she say when you explained it to her?”

Darcy stared into his wineglass. “I was too angry to explain at the time. I wrote her a letter afterwards, telling her the truth about Wickham, and my reasons for separating Bingley from her sister. If she believed it, if she did not tear it up without reading it, then perhaps she no longer thinks quite so ill of me, though that does me little good now.”

“What—do you mean to tell me that you are giving up on her so easily?” asked Colonel Fitzwilliam.

“What other choice do I have? I have told her everything I can say in my own defense, and as for the rest, I can try to change my behavior, but she will never see the results. I hardly think it likely that our paths will cross again.”

“You could go to her and let her see you as you really are. Perhaps your letter did change her opinion, but you will never know unless you make the effort. It is not as if she can write to you, nor can she call on you or attempt to move into your social circles. You cannot expect her just to appear on your doorstep one day.”

“You do not understand. I am quite resigned to never seeing her again,” Darcy said wearily, his words causing a wrenching pain inside him. “She made it quite clear that she dislikes me, and frankly, I think she is right to do so. I do not deserve her love.”

“Good God, if your father had thought the way you do, you would never have been born! How many times did he propose to your mother before she accepted him?”

“That is hardly the same. When she refused him, it was because she was already promised to another, not because he was the last man on earth that she could ever be prevailed upon to marry!”

“I still say your father would have told you to keep trying, if you love her that much.”

Darcy ran his fingers through his hair. “I cannot,” he said grimly. “She holds too much against me.”

“You have defended yourself against whatever Wickham charged you with, and presumably Bingley and her sister have their chance to work things out now. Do you think she will not be able to see what you have done?” he challenged, increasingly frustrated with Darcy’s self-pity.

“Bingley knows nothing of this.”

“You haven’t told him that you were mistaken? Why ever not?”

“Fitzwilliam, he would be justifiably furious with me.”

“So you leave him suffering?” he said with some incredulity. “My apologies; you were right all along, and you should give up now. You certainly do not deserve her.” He set his glass down carefully, and stood to leave. “And be careful with that port; you haven’t the head for it. Good night, cousin.”

Darcy reflected bleakly that he had not even told him his most dishonorable reason for not talking to Bingley. If Bingley married Jane Bennet, Darcy would perforce have at least occasional contact with her family, and would someday be subjected to the agony of seeing Elizabeth married to another man. He cradled his head in his hands, wondering if it were indeed possible to feel any worse than he did now.

*   *   *

Georgiana anxiously awaited the arrival of Colonel Fitzwilliam in the breakfast room the next morning, hopeful he would have some kind of information for her. When he finally arrived, she barely let him sit down before beginning her questioning. “Did he tell you anything?”

“Good morning to you, too, Georgiana. Please, I need some sustenance before tackling difficult discussions. And I would advise against trying to talk to your brother this morning. He should have the dickens of a headache when he finally wakes up.”

“Actually, he has been awake for some time and has already gone out.”

He looked at her in surprise. “Where would he go at this hour of the morning?”

Georgiana shrugged. “To see Bingley, apparently. I told him I thought it was a little early for social calls, and he said he thought it was actually rather late, whatever that may mean at seven in the morning.”

“To see Bingley, eh? Good for him. Maybe there is hope for the boy after all.”

Georgiana sighed dramatically. “Are you going to be mysterious as well?”

He laughed. “Afraid so, sweetheart. I did get him to talk, but I believe that what I heard is confidential. You are going to have to trust your old Cousin Richard to take care of it this time, at least insofar as your brother allows me to help.”

“I hate it when you treat me as if I were still only eleven,” she said with a scowl. “You can be even worse than William as far as that goes.”

“Worse than William in what way?” asked Darcy from the doorway.

Georgiana jumped. “Back already? Was he not at home?”

“Oh, he was there, all right. What I had to tell him did not take long,” Darcy said grimly with a sidelong glance at his cousin.

“I imagine that even Bingley has little to say this early in the morning.”

“If you say so. Do you not have some business in town today, Fitzwilliam? Or even better, some that will take you very far away?”

“William!” Georgiana cried.

The colonel patted her hand. “No need to worry yourself, sweetheart. This is how your brother and I stay friends, now that we are too old for fistfights.”

“Speak for yourself, cousin. Given how I feel this morning, you should feel fortunate that it is not pistols at dawn.”

“I told you he would be grumpy, did I not?” the colonel asked Georgiana. “Never mind, I know when to retreat. It is one of the other things they teach us in the army.”

She glanced from her brother to the colonel. “Will you be back for dinner?”

“I expect I will have to dine with the Major General, though the very idea is enough to make me lose my appetite. I should be back in the evening.”

“If you live that long,” grumbled Darcy.

Colonel Fitzwilliam smiled beatifically. “Glad to know you are feeling better, Darcy.”

As he left, Georgiana turned to Darcy. “What was that about?”

He gave her an oblique look. The last thing he needed was a disagreement with his sister, given that she seemed to be the only person he cared about who still thought he had any redeeming features, now that Bingley had joined Colonel Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth in the ranks of those who were disgusted with him. “Ask me again when you are older—say, after your first grandchild is born.”

“William, I worry about you,” she said softly.

Her gentleness was more than he could handle. “I appreciate your concern, but you need not worry. If you will excuse me, I have some business I need to tend to.”

She watched his retreating back, wondering if he would ever think her old enough to trust.

*   *   *

Contrary to his expectations, Colonel Fitzwilliam was able to return to the Darcy home by early afternoon, although he could hardly claim that it was in the best interest of his regiment for him to do so. However, his words to Georgiana notwithstanding, he was worried about Darcy’s state of mind, and felt it behooved him to be available in case matters deteriorated due to the apparent quarrel with Bingley. Thus he found himself penning a long overdue letter to his parents while surreptitiously eyeing his cousin, who was so deeply engrossed in a book as to have completely ceased turning its pages, when the arrival of Mr. Bingley was announced.

Without looking up, Darcy said, “Tell him if he wants pistols at dawn, he shall have to wait his turn behind you, Fitzwilliam.”

“Why pistols? You have choice of weapons if he is challenging, and you could take either of us apart with a rapier.”

“Who says I want to win?” said Darcy grimly.

“Please stop it, both of you,” said Georgiana in a trembling voice. “It is not funny.”

Both men looked over at her to see tears in her eyes. The colonel was immediately kneeling by her side. “Georgiana, sweetheart, this is just playing! Dueling is illegal, remember?”

“I hate it when you fight,” she said faintly.

Darcy put his book down. “I apologize, Georgiana. My mood is beastly, and I have been taking it out on Richard, but no, we are not fighting. There is no need for you to worry. Look, we can be friends,” he said, holding out a hand to his cousin.

“There is no need to patronize me, William!” she responded with a degree of defiance that startled both gentlemen.

“Mr. Bingley,” Philips said from the doorway as Bingley entered with his usual eagerness, oblivious to the tension in the room.

“Colonel Fitzwilliam!” Bingley said with pleasure, advancing to greet him. “I had not heard you were in town! And Miss Darcy, how pleasant to see you again!” He turned to Darcy, whose demeanor suggested that he was expecting at the very least some form of violence, and rocked up on his toes. “Well?” he asked enthusiastically.

“Well what?” Darcy’s voice was carefully neutral.

Bingley smiled broadly as if this were a foolish question. “Are you coming to Netherfield with me, or not?”

There was a minute of silence as Darcy carefully regarded Bingley, oblivious to his cousin’s sudden attention. “Is it your wish that I come with you?” he asked stiffly.

“Of course!” Bingley said earnestly. “You really must come, you know.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam whispered something to Georgiana that caused her to look at him in some surprise, but Darcy and Bingley were oblivious to the exchange.

“I suppose I could come for a short while,” Darcy said slowly, as if the words had to be pulled out of him.

“Excellent, excellent!” Bingley was clearly delighted.

“May I come as well?” Georgiana’s voice came timidly.

Darcy looked at her in surprise. It was rare enough for her to say anything in company, and making such a request in public was completely novel. “I am not sure that would be a good idea,” he said, thinking of one particular member of the militia billeted at Meryton.

“Nonsense,” said the colonel energetically. “It will do her a world of good to get out of London during the summer. I could hardly believe you planned to stay here through the hot weather. That is, if Mr. Bingley has no objections?”

“Of course not!” Bingley said. “It would be delightful if you would join us.”

“Good, umm… I mean thank you,” she said in a near-whisper, clearly having exhausted her store of courage. Darcy opened his mouth to speak, but then limited himself to a significant stare at Colonel Fitzwilliam.

“Wonderful!” Bingley said. “Shall we consider our plans?”

*   *   *

A fortnight after the removal of the regiment from Meryton, the normal good humor and cheerfulness that had disappeared from Longbourn with the departure of the officers began to reappear. The discontentedness of Kitty and Mrs. Bennet had waned, the families who had been in town for the winter came back again, and opportunities to display their summer finery were frequent. Elizabeth anticipated with pleasure her tour to the Lakes with the Gardiners, and could she have included Jane in the scheme, every part of it would have been perfect.

Mrs. Bennet was distracted as her querulous spirits were opened again to the agitation of hope, by an article of news, which then began to be in circulation. The housekeeper at Netherfield had received orders to prepare for the arrival of her master, who was coming down in a day or two. Mrs. Bennet was quite in the fidgets. She looked at Jane, and smiled, and shook her head by turns.

Elizabeth did not know what to make of the news, but found her mind traveling to the events in Kent and wondering what role Mr. Darcy might have played in the return of his friend to Hertfordshire. Had her information regarding the state of Jane’s affections caused him to reconsider his interference, and perhaps even to take action to reverse it? She had studied every sentence of his letter, and her feelings towards its writer were at times widely different. When she remembered the style of his address, she was still full of indignation; but when she considered how unjustly she had condemned and upbraided him, her anger was turned against herself, and his disappointed feelings became the object of compassion. His attachment excited gratitude, his general character respect; but she could not approve him. Nor could she for a moment repent her refusal, or feel the slightest inclination ever to see him again. Yet should he be the instrument that reunited Bingley and Jane, such an effort could not but be rewarded by a certain warming of her regard. But when she recalled that effort would not have been required had he not interfered in the first place, her thoughts bent further toward resentment.