CHAPTER 6 - Darcy

Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley rode in silence for several minutes after the carriage began to move. Darcy stared just above Bingley's head, resolutely not catching his friend's eye. Bingley drummed his fingers on the seat beside him, as if trying to grab his gaze. Darcy heard the drumming, but stayed inside his own thoughts.

Not just a letter, but a valentine! From Elizabeth!

If not for the burning disgrace of the last hour, his heart would have been leaping in joy. To hear her words, not just of atonement, but of affection and possibly—dare he think it?—words of love?

He felt his emotions at war within him—elation over the contents of the valentine, and anger over the manner in which he had learned the contents.

"Are you going to say anything about this evening?" Bingley burst out all of a sudden, breaking the silence of the carriage.

"It was a fine dinner," Darcy replied after a pause. He was annoyed to be pulled from his contemplation and purposely avoided the topic which the other man was undoubtedly referring to. "Yes, a fine meal indeed."

Bingley threw his hands in the air, the darkness in the carriage not quite blotting out the gesture. "Really, that's the only comment you have?"

"What would you have me say, Charles?" Darcy shot back, feeling his temper rise. "Would you like me to discuss my humiliation at length? To talk about the frugality of manners displayed tonight?"

"Darcy…" Bingley began. "You know that is not what I was referring to. And you have no need to be embarrassed. This is clearly a situation where the only humiliation lies with the girl and her parents. I shall discuss the matter with Mr. Bennet the next time I meet with him."

"No, there is no need for that," Darcy sighed. "It is my sincere desire that this never be brought up again."

"Alright, I shall abide by your wishes," Bingley agreed.

They continued to ride in silence for another few minutes. Darcy's mind raced through the various responses he could give to Elizabeth. Should he write her a letter? A valentine, as well? Should he speak with her in person? Or would she prefer to pretend he did not exist, and completely erase the memory of both her valentine and the dinner?

Before he could make a decision about his course of action, Bingley broke the silence again.

"So, you really are not going to discuss the letter—the valentine—with me? You must know how cruel it is to not assuage my interest."

"There really is no point in my not saying anything, is there?" Darcy asked resignedly. "You will continue to ask until I give a satisfactory response to the debacle?"

"I consider it my duty as your friend," Bingley replied in mock solemnity. "We can begin with the most basic question of all—who gave it to you? It was quite a risk for any young woman to send you such a card. Unless… Darcy, are you engaged without telling me?"

"Of course not," Darcy answered shortly. "What foolishness."

"Well then," Bingley pressed. "Who sent it?"

Darcy shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"A young woman," he acknowledged. "Of good birth… In fact, I am supremely uncomfortable dragging her name down in this manner. She should not be thought of in a deriding manner for this act. It obviously took her great courage to deliver it to me, even if its deliverance was clearly against all rules of propriety."

He rubbed his face with his hands, hiding a smile. Such courage! For him! From Miss Elizabeth Bennet. His anger was now completely gone, replaced by pure bliss and contentment within his being.

"Well, Darcy," Bingley replied. "I shall not require you to divulge her name."

"Thank you," Darcy said, relaxing significantly.

"No, you shall not have to tell me her name, for I believe I can puzzle it out."

Darcy tensed again at his words, but Bingley was not to be stopped and he began to think aloud.

"You, Darcy, are a man of logic," he said. "And it makes no logical sense to carry about such an incriminating letter. So, since you had ample opportunity to divest yourself of the letter before we left Netherfield, the only logical conclusion is that you received the note after we left the estate."

Bingley paused, as if waiting for Darcy to contradict him. He said nothing.

"Ah, by your silence, I will assume that I am on the correct track, yes?"

Darcy cleared his throat, feeling more and more uncomfortable by the minute, but still refused to speak.

"Well, between leaving Netherfield and arriving at Longbourn, you met with myself and my driver. I do not think that Jenkins would give you a valentine, and I don't believe he has any daughters that might trick him into delivering you a message. Which means that you must have been given the note at Longbourn." He tapped his chin in thought. "Six women at Longbourn, but we can automatically eliminate Mrs. Bennet and Jane…"

He stopped sharply. "We can eliminate Jane, can't we?" he asked desperately.

"Do not be ridiculous, Charles," Darcy huffed. Bingley sighed with audible relief.

"So, we can eliminate Mrs. Bennet and Jane. That leaves four daughters… Now that I've narrowed it down, would you care to give any evidence?"

Darcy gave Bingley a dirty look, but Bingley either didn't see it in the darkness of the carriage or ignored him, quickly continuing his verbal investigation.

"Four daughters: Elizabeth, Mary, Catherine, and Lydia." Darcy stiffened slightly at the mention of Elizabeth's name, and prayed that Bingley hadn't noticed. "I do think Lydia is out; she would not have read out her own valentine in such a manner, and I do not think her clever enough to devise such a scheme as to throw suspicion away from herself. Elizabeth, Mary, or Catherine…"

Bingley tapped his finger against his lips, seemingly deep in thought.

"I am not familiar enough with the younger Bennet girls," he mused.

Darcy's heart leapt in hope. Could it be that his friend was not be able to figure out the author of the valentine? Could he possibly spare Elizabeth the humiliation he was enduring?

"But I know you," Bingley said at last. "And, forgive me for saying this, but the letter made it sound as though you and she are not strangers. For this reason alone, I believe I can safely eliminate Catherine and…"

He stopped without finishing his thought, and stared openly at Darcy. The moonlight filtering through the shade illuminated Bingley's face just enough to reveal a huge grin. Darcy's heart raced and he held his breath, waiting for Bingley to finish.

"Elizabeth. It is Elizabeth, isn't it?" Bingley said in a knowing manner.

Darcy let out his breath heavily, the frozen cloud hanging between himself and Bingley. He opened his mouth to reply, but Bingley cut him off.

"No, don't say anything. I have satisfied my curiosity, and I shall not make you break whatever confidences you share with her."

Darcy shook his head. The relief he felt for someone finally knowing, to finally be able to discuss the situation, outweighed his previous concerns.

"Charles, I fear we share no confidences," he said.

"What could you possibly mean?" Bingley asked with surprise. "The letter tonight clearly indicated an acquaintance between you and her. And she wishes it to continue! Of course you share a confidence."

"That was before," Darcy said miserably, every worry and ill-thought crashing upon him. "After my inconsiderate mistake, my utter idiocy, and my inability to properly guard such a letter, I would suspect that she would rather not see me ever again."

As he spoke the words, his heart sank toward despair. Much as he might wish them to be untrue, he felt the stab of the fact in his heart. Elizabeth might never want to see him again.

"If I might supply a different interpretation of the evening," Bingley said gently. "I admit, I only connected you to Miss Elizabeth in the last few minutes, but I remember her reaction. I remember her face. She did not look angry at you. Her anger was reserved for Miss Lydia and no other. For you, she only had… fear, I believe. Despair. My friend, I suspect that she has the same fear that you have—that you will not want to see her."

Darcy mulled over Bingley's words and observations, trying to match his recollections to his friend's. It was true that Bingley had been quite foolish to not see Jane's regard for him in the beginning, but he normally possessed a keen eye for human interaction. In many other situations, Darcy had trusted Bingley's judgement of character and expression without hesitation. In fact, there were certain circles in London that would no longer entertain Bingley at their card tables because of the man's ability to observe.

But to trust Bingley in this would be to take his heart, still beating, from his chest and lay it out for all to see. This was no game with simple money at stake, this was much more dangerous.

"You have given me much to think over, Charles," Darcy finally said.

"I want you to have a chance at happiness," his friend countered with a smile.

"Ah yes, but you have offered me something far more dangerous than a chance at happiness. You have offered me the sharp dagger that is hope. And should I take it, I may be happy with the blade and the use it provides, but the far more likely outcome is that I shall be cut or stabbed in the heart. And with that is sadness."

"Darcy, since our school days, I have watched you refuse to become excited or joyous at anything," Bingley sighed. "I know you feel within yourself, and perhaps you feel quite deeply. But if you will not make your feelings known to Miss Elizabeth, I fear that you will never find contentment."

"I did make my feelings known," Darcy replied quietly, closing his eyes against the painful recollection. "Charles, I proposed to her—months ago! And she refused me. I made my feelings known and she rejected them."

Bingley was startled to hear both the confession of proposal and the pain in his friend's voice. For a long time, it seemed as if he did not know what to say.

Finally, he replied, "The words I heard tonight did not sound like the words of a woman ready to reject, condemn or belittle."

Darcy did not respond. He felt them turn off the main road, and begin up the drive to Netherfield. Inside, he struggled to defeat his fear. Bingley's words made sense—rationally, he could be correct in his interpretation of both Elizabeth's actions and words. But for the first time in Darcy's life, rationality did nothing to abate his feelings.

"I don't know that I can do it, Charles," Darcy admitted aloud. "I do not know if I possess the strength of will or of spirit."

Bingley reached out and briefly squeezed Darcy's shoulder.

"I understand," Bingley said sadly as the carriage pulled to a stop in front of Netherfield.

"What are you plans for tomorrow?" Darcy asked as the two of them exited the carriage. He hoped his friend might join him for some diversion.

"I am to Longbourn," Bingley smiled broadly. "There is still much for Jane and I to discuss."

Darcy nodded his understanding, but could not help but feel disappointed. Crunching across the drive, he thought about his plans. Perhaps he should leave Netherfield tomorrow. The idea brought both relief and sadness—if he left tomorrow, he'd never have the opportunity to discuss the valentine with Elizabeth.

But to stay… He might face an even worse of a rejection than he did nearly a year ago at Rosings, when he had laid his heart open to her for the first time. And this time, he wasn't sure whether he could survive it…

Charles' words, along with Elizabeth's, echoed in his mind as he climbed the steps toward the house. With each stair, he thought of the other times and fears that he had faced, and had triumphed over: Riding a horse as a child. Going away to school. Running the estate after his father's death. Raising Georgiana.

Each experience, full of uncertainty, danger, anxiety and fear. And yet, he had faced each of them with honour and success. Never before had he allowed himself to fall prey to the beast of fear.

"Charles," Darcy called suddenly, stopping Bingley before he entered the house. "You're to Longbourn tomorrow?"

"Yes," he said slowly. "I'm to go after breakfast."

"I will join you," Darcy said, making up his mind.

Bingley smiled broadly at him, although his expression also revealed a hint of surprise.

"Well done," he said with a hearty tone. "Well done indeed." He reached out to shake Darcy's hand and pulled him up the last step and through the door into Netherfield Hall. "You shall see, it will all work out. You shall see."

Darcy allowed himself to be towed through the hall, half listening to Bingley's reassurances. Inside, he felt the anxiety welling up. Swallowing hard, he refused to give it any credence. If Miss Elizabeth Bennet could display such courage, then he, Fitzwilliam Darcy, was required, by conscience and honour, to match it.