It was all well and good for her, but Darcy had been in the middle of falling for Miss Elizabeth before he knew he had begun, and what was he to do about it? His vaunted self-control would utterly fail him were he to remain in her presence.
To further irritate him, Miss Elizabeth had retired feeling ill, and he was rather anxious about her health. Had he discomposed her with the truth about Wickham? He believed her strong enough to hear it, but his timing could hardly have been worse. There was some argument between her and her mother that he did not understand, and she had been out in the cold more than once today. It had been ungentlemanly of him even to discuss such things with her, let alone heaping his troubles atop the whole.
Darcy sighed. The bed was comfortable, but it took him hours before he was able to sleep.
Elizabeth woke early the following day, much refreshed. Her headache had vanished, and she was better able to consider Mr. Darcy’s words from the night before. In retrospect, ithadbeen very bold of Mr. Wickham to relate all his private history to her so soon after their acquaintance, but she had not been sceptical because every word merely confirmed what she wished to think about Mr. Darcy. In light of Mr. Darcy’s revelations, it was clear Mr. Wickham had understood her better than she understood herself. The handsome officer had played her for a fool, and she did not appreciate it.
Worse, she had only herself to blame. “If I had done what was proper,” she whispered to herself. Had she done what was proper, she would have given Mr. Wickham a cool reply, perhaps a little nod, and then moved away. How could she not have seen that he was merely using her to make his own stay in Meryton more comfortable? It was despicable really, but there were many such men in the world. Aunt Gardiner had made that abundantly clear to both her and Jane when they began to visit London some years earlier. To have become infatuated with a man with a handsome face and a tale of injustice without any proof of his goodness! She felt taken in; she felt stupid.
If Elizabeth confided in Jane, her sister would merely say that anyone might have been fooled, and that she ought to forgive herself for having been wrong before.
She would prefer to be as kind to herself as Jane would be. Alas, there was something she must accomplish before she could forgive herself—she must apologise to Mr. Darcy.
Elizabeth was the first Bennet downstairs, but she found Mr. Darcy already sitting in the drawing room with a book in his hand.
“Good morning, sir,” she said.
“Good morning, Miss Elizabeth,” he said in the grave way that he had. “I trust you are feeling better?”
His dark eyes held hers, and with her new comprehension of Mr. Wickham’s perfidy she believed that she could judge Mr. Darcy more clearly. He was indeed concerned for her health.
“I am quite well, sir, thank you.”
“Then your headache has . . .”
“Resolved itself? Yes. It is only that yesterday was a very long day.”
He nodded, satisfied. “I can imagine. Beginning by saving my friend from the cold by offering him your cloak.”
“That was not the beginning, and it was hardly a heroic action,” Elizabeth replied with a little laugh. “The poor man was turning blue. Clearly, he needed it more than I.”
“Well, it was a fortunate thing that you and your sister took a walk yesterday despite the weather.”
Elizabeth was sure he was thinking “And foolhardy, too,” but she chastised herself. She must learn to think better of Mr. Darcy, for she had been wrong about him. Severe he might be, and difficult to please, but he was not dishonourable. Was he not here for his friend? Had he not been gracious and obliging as a guest last night? Had he not revealed Mr. Wickham’s perfidy to her at the expense of his own privacy?
Before she could begin, Mr. Darcy set his book on a tea table and they both sat. “I now find myself even more impressed by your behaviour at Netherfield, Miss Elizabeth.”
What an odd thing to say. “I am not sure what you mean, sir.”
“I find myself in the same position now that you filled only a few weeks ago, do I not? My friend is ill upstairs, and when I am not required by him, I must find my way in another family’s home. I do not wish to be a burden, yet I do wish to do justice to their hospitality. It is not an easy situation.”
“I hope you do not find your residence here a troublesome one, Mr. Darcy,” she replied, mostly to see how he would respond. He could not deny her visit to Netherfield had been a difficult one. His cheeks flushed, and while she was the tiniest bit ashamed of embarrassing a guest, she was pleased to see it. It made him more . . . human.
Mr. Darcy shook his head. “No, of course not. I meant that you were gracious and polite no matter the situation. At Netherfield, I mean.”
His polite response made her feel a bit guilty. He was attempting to be kind and she had flustered him. “I thank you for the compliment, Mr. Darcy. I hope you will find Longbourn a restful place, but you have met my youngest sisters. I cannot make you any promises.”
Now he smiled properly.
Elizabeth felt something spark inside her.
Mr. Darcy had two dimples, one in each cheek. His eyes were warm with just enough wicked humour in them to tell her what he was thinking. It was a shame that he smiled so infrequently.
Although she had previously believed he disdained her family, the look in his eyes now suggested something different. Despite all their vulgarity, it appeared that Mr. Darcy would rather be in the company of Kitty and Lydia than Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst. Mr. Bingley’s family might have better manners, but manners meant nothing if they were merely a veneer over the sort of meanness those women had displayed. To put aside her note and thus not be aware that their own brother had been in an accident!
“Will you ride to Netherfield today to inform your party and bring them here?” she asked.
“There you are, being polite again,” Mr. Darcy said, tapping the book lightly against his knee. “No.”