Elizabeth’s jaw dropped. “Jane Bennet, you left that letter with me intentionally. You cannot like such subterfuge, indeed. How did you know I would give it to Mr. Darcy?”
Jane smiled. “How did he respond?”
“I am not certain I should tell you, now.”
“Do you think he shall show it to Mr. Bingley?”
Elizabeth just lifted her eyebrows.
“Lizzy,” Jane cajoled. “Please?”
“Mr. Darcy was displeased.” He had been incensed. Poor Miss Bingley would not like it when he had his say. “He would not confess whether he had ever considered Mr. Bingley for Miss Darcy, which I believe indicates that he had. Still, once he had seen Mr. Bingley and you together, he could not fail to understand that any vague notions he had in that direction were bound to be disappointed.”
“He said all this to you?” Jane asked sceptically.
“He said it with his looks,” Elizabeth replied, and Jane laughed.
“Lizzy,” she said, most probably meaning to scold but succeeding only in sounding affectionate. “You really are too much.”
“Yes,” Elizabeth replied. “Those shall be the words on my headstone one day. ‘Elizabeth Bennet, one hundred and fifty years of age. She really was too much.’”
Chapter Eight
AftersittingwithMr.Bennet in his book room for a short time after dinner, Darcy excused himself to go upstairs and speak with Bingley.
“My leg is improving,” Bingley informed him as he stepped inside. He moved the leg and winced. “I am still sporting an impressive bruise, though.”
“Congratulations?” Darcy responded wryly. Bingley rolled his eyes and the valet grinned. “Greyson?” he asked.
“Yes, Mr. Darcy?”
“Thank you. We shall call when you are needed again.”
The valet nodded and stepped smartly out of the room.
“What is it, Darcy?” Bingley asked when Greyson had gone.
“I have some news, though I fear you will not like it.” Darcy unfolded the letter and handed it over, then held the lit candle up so Bingley could see to read it.
Before the letter, Bingley’s energy had been unfocused. After he finished it, a dark shadow passed over his visage. He said, very quietly, “And Miss Bennet has read this?”
“Yes, though it was her sister Miss Elizabeth who brought it to my attention.”
Bingley’s scowl was prodigious, and very out of place on his visage. “Jane would have wished for me to see it. She might not have had the confidence to give it to you herself, though, not after hearing Caroline’s description of me as the worst sort of . . . as unintentionally inconstant.”
Darcy had not realised Bingley knew Miss Bennet so well as all that, and he said so.
As Bingley handed the letter back, he said, “You are surprised, Darcy? Did you think we spoke of nothing but the weather and the state of the roads those evenings we were in company?”
“Well . . . yes.”
His friend laughed softly. “Perhaps those are your preferred topics of conversation, but they are not mine. Miss Bennet is an intriguing woman with an improved mind, Darcy, but I am aware she would not be suited to someone like you. You want a challenge. I already have that in my sisters.” He tapped the edge of the letter against his lips. “And you know, it does not follow that a more predictable character cannot be a complex and estimable one.”
Darcy nodded. “You are correct, of course.”
Bingley stopped tapping the letter and blinked. “It is a shame you did not write that down in a letter. I should so like to have it to gaze at from time to time.”
“Really, Bingley.” Darcy did not know whether he should laugh or be offended.