Every atom of judgement, sense, self-concern, and even dignity told Fitzwilliam Darcy that his connection with Elizabeth Bennet was wholly ended, and he should in no way let the knowledge that she was in London — an hour's walk away from his apartments — affect him.
This determination to not seek her out lasted a day and a half.
But then he found himself, almost by accident, travelling to the City to speak with his agent at the Royal Exchange upon a bit of business regarding the disposition of a small sum of money in the funds. This matter did not require his personal attention, and what attention it required from his man of business could have been managed more conveniently for all by letter.
His trivial task managed, Darcy strolled around the beating heart of the commerce of England, his feet taking him across Cheapside, and then down Gracechurch Street.
He strolled the whole of the street twice, from the bridge past the Monument to the Great Fire, through Leadenhall market — the second time he bought a meat pasty — past the yard of a fine Church, and up deeper into London, and then back.
There was neither rumor nor report of Elizabeth.
With a sigh Darcy turned onto Threadneedle to walk back towards his part of town, going past the East India offices and the Bank of England.
Wandering around the neighborhood of a lady in hopes of an "accidental" meeting was a behavior that was below his dignity. His father's ghost would sneer at him more fiercely than ever, if Darcy had still cared to pay attention to that ghost.
Especially when the lady had her quarters in such an unfashionable and commercial area as this.
He'd half crossed the square mile of the city when a voice stopped him. "Hello, Mr. Darcy."
A flaxen head of hair framed by a fine blue straw bonnet. Lovely curls falling around an angelic face. Miss Jane Bennet bowed to him and gave one of those wide yet somehow merely polite smiles that seemed to always be on her face. "I apologize for bothering you if you are upon business."
"Merely returning from a matter." Darcy was quite awkward and uncertain of himself. The idea that he would accidentally meet the other Bennet sister had not occurred to him when he formed the notion of walking around where she was now quartered. Miss Bennet was followed by a smiling maid, and they both carried a collection of parcels of cloth and some pieces of clothing that appeared to have only just been purchased.
"You look well," Darcy said.
That was not wholly true.
While the woman was as ethereally beautiful as she had been the first time Darcy saw her months earlier, she appeared somehow less in bloom and with less cheerfulness in her expression. She looked at him sadly. But then she smiled. "I thank you. I hope you are well as well?"
"I heard," Darcy looked away from her clear gaze, "from our common acquaintance, Miss Bingley, that you were present in London with your sister Miss Elizabeth."
"Yes, I was happy to see Caroline… though, I had not expected her to take so long to return my visit. But one is always so busy in London." Miss Bennet showed him a smile that did not reach her eyes. "We did not know that you were in London — you left quite suddenly. But I understand."
"What? — and how are your family? I hope they are well."
"Yes, they are all well, we live at Gracechurch Street with our uncle. The whole house is unsettled though, as my uncle unexpectedly took a governess on for his eldest daughter yesterday."
"I heard that — oh a governess? Very good. And your father? He is well?"
"Very. But at home in Longbourn."
"And your mother?"
"Likewise."
"Your sisters?"
"All well."
"Miss Elizabeth, how does she do?"
"Well," Miss Bennet replied with a soft, understanding smile. "She is one of my sisters, who are all well."
Darcy flushed and looked down.
"I rather think," Miss Bennet added in a slow and contemplative tone, "that whatever she says, Lizzy would not dislike it if she were to see you again. She misses you and your conversation, I think."
"She well might," Darcy replied. "But it is not by my choice we are not in closer communion."
"Ah, I know. I know. But you ought to call on us. I think you would like my uncle. He is a clever man, and Lizzy would like to see you. But do not tell her I said that if you do come. She would not like to think I said so much. She seldom speaks of you, but unless I mistake my sister greatly, she often thinks of you."
Suddenly, Darcy realized that Miss Bennet spoke with knowledge.
Of course, Elizabeth had told her favorite sister about his failed request for her hand. Perhaps she had even told her about the way that he had spoken of her family.
Darcy felt a sort of shame at that memory, and if Elizabeth had given her sister the details of everything that he said, Miss Bennet was treating him with far more kindness and consideration than he deserved.
It was a quite crowded street with a herd of carriages running back and forth under the bare branches of the many trees lining the avenue. The sky was beginning to threaten another rain.
"I might," Darcy said. "I will consider calling. What precisely is the address?"
After she gave him the house number, Miss Bennet smiled at him, a broad, real smile. "I would be happy if you did."
They both bowed their heads, and Darcy turned to go, but before he stepped away from her, Miss Bennet suddenly asked, in a wholly different tone of voice, "But Mr. Bingley — did he call on you when Caroline did, have you seen much of him? Is he even in London at present?"
"The winter has agreed with him," Darcy replied absently, his mind full of trying to decide whether he would call on the house at Gracechurch Street tomorrow or not.
Miss Bennet flushed, and her cheeks were spotted with crimson.
"I haven't been about much this winter. But when I saw him, he seemed…" Darcy frowned. In truth Bingley had seemed quite down. Melancholic. "Less cheerful than usual, but it is a dour season. So far as I have heard he is still in London."
And suddenly Darcy remembered: Bingley had meant to ask Miss Bennet to marry him, and then changed his mind when he became uncertain about her feelings.
Bingley had talked about lost hopes, and the need for time to heal wounds. He had certainly not, two weeks ago at least, forgotten Jane Bennet.
"I wish him every happiness!" Miss Bennet said. "Please do tell him I said that when you should see him again. Will you?"
"I will."
"It was so sudden," Miss Bennet added. Her voice slowed. "We danced three times that night, and then… he was gone. Three times. It seemed to mean something. I would have wished… I wish I could have at least said some parting words before he left the neighborhood. Just a few words."
It was impossible for Darcy to reply to that. But it seemed certain that his guess that Jane Bennet was indifferent to Mr. Bingley had in fact been incorrect.
The two again nodded, Darcy bowed, Miss Bennet curtsied, and then they hurried off, parting, and cold sprinkles began to fall from the sky.
Darcy watched her walk away. As Jane Bennet's figure receded away, with the cheerfully bounding maid hopping along beside her, he realized that he was in fact duty bound to call on Bingley before he called at Gracechurch Street.