Darcy sat at a table in his club, sipping port. His fingers drummed on the table as he impatiently waited for his friend to arrive. He had invited Charles Bingley to lunch three separate times over the past week, but Bingley had postponed each time citing pressing business.
Darcy did not doubt the importance of his friend’s business, but he had a nagging thought that Bingley was avoiding him on purpose. For what reason, he could not imagine. Now, the man was twenty minutes late and Darcy felt his frustration rising.
In all fairness, his frustration was not directed at Bingley—he knew his friend well and punctuality had never been Charles’ strong suit. No, Darcy was frustrated at the situation in which he found himself.
When he’d left Kent all those weeks ago, he had never thought to see Elizabeth Bennet again. He had tried to make peace with that reality and attempted to begin the task of mending his heart. However, her reappearance in his life was such an astounding coincidence that it was difficult not to label the event as miraculous or destiny.
Her abrupt departure made it easier to avoid such terms.
Despite her absence, Darcy felt as though there was something unfinished between them. While Elizabeth had made it clear that her feelings had not changed, she had also made it clear that her opinion of him had risen. She obviously believed Darcy and Georgiana’s story about Wickham and that belief had translated into a congenial politeness. Perhaps even a modicum of affection.
That Darcy had taken pains to correct her other accusation, the breaking apart of Bingley and Jane, to have it come to naught was almost unbearable. Not only for his hope that Elizabeth would come to regard him, but for Jane and Charles’ happiness as well!
Darcy tried to convince himself that it was Jane and Charles that he cared more for, but he knew it to be false. He loved his friend, but he loved Elizabeth more. Everything he did, he did for her.
But the missed opportunity for Jane and Bingley nagged at him. An idea had come to him in the days following the opera, and he had been excited to share it with his friend. Darcy decided there was only one logical course of action after the failure of the opera—Charles must know the extent of Jane’s affection. With that certainty, he would no doubt return to Netherfield at once and thus Darcy could be certain that the two would be reunited.
And if Bingley wished to invited Darcy to join him at Netherfield, such an invitation would not go amiss. For a week had now passed and Darcy could no longer contain his eagerness to re-engage with Elizabeth Bennet. But she was home to Hertfordshire and he had no excuse to visit. He could hardly show up at her door after she had made her preferences so clear. Darcy had come to know Elizabeth well enough to know that such behaviour would only drive her further away. And so, Darcy had come up with another plan.
However, it would only work if Charles agreed. And Charles could only agree if he would join Darcy for lunch.
Darcy checked his watch with annoyance and saw that his friend was now thirty minutes late. He lifted his finger and signalled for more port—he did not usually drink so much in the afternoon, but in his current mood he welcomed the dulling effect of alcohol on his racing mind.
As the servant was bringing him his drink, he saw finally saw Bingley walk into the dining room. Darcy stood and smiled in greeting. Charles, seeing Darcy, walked stiffly to the table and gave a half-hearted smile in return. Darcy took his seat once more, confused by his friend’s lukewarm greeting—it was most unlike him.
“Darcy,” Bingley said with a nod, motioning to the servant to bring him a glass of port as well.
“Charles,” Darcy replied slowly. “How are you? Business going well?”
“Just fine,” Bingley replied, not meeting Darcy’s eye. Darcy waited for him to elaborate, but when no other explanation came, he nervously asked another question.
“Are you quite alright? You seem most unlike yourself.”
“I tell you I am fine, Darcy,” Bingley said, sounding annoyed.
“Very well,” Darcy said, not believing his friend in the slightest. “It’s just you seem quite distracted and you’ve cancelled lunch several times. I have begun to wonder if I have offended you.”
Bingley did not say anything, and continued to avoid Darcy’s eye. A certainty sunk over him at that moment, and he knew he must confront the truth of it: He had offended his friend. But how, he did not know.
Neither Darcy nor Bingley spoke aside from ordering their meals. After the servant left, Darcy allowed the silence to linger. Normally, he was quite comfortable with eating a meal in silence—even with a companion. It allowed him time to sit with his thoughts and to savour the flavours of his food. But Bingley was the opposite. Darcy was trying to remember the last time he and Charles had sat together without speaking for so long and he could not recall such a time. This was unprecedented in their long friendship.
“Charles,” Darcy said, unable to bear the mood any longer. “I have offended you. It is clear. However, I do not know how—I cannot make amends if I do not know how I have upset you. Please, tell me.”
Bingley sighed, and Darcy saw a wall fall within his friend. Anger painted Charles’ face, but Darcy was confident he would get the truth from his friend.
“You really want to know?” Bingley asked through gritted teeth. Darcy nodded. “Alright, I’ll tell you. Never before have I seen the depths of your selfishness. And the willingness you have to put yourself ahead of anyone else—especially me.”
Bingley’s words hit Darcy like a punch. Selfishness? What was Charles talking about?
“I don’t understand,” Darcy said, confusion painting his face.
“For months, you watched me writhe in pain and heartbreak over Jane. You saw me become listless and depressed. I have been miserable, but I persisted in the course I had chosen because you and my sisters had convinced me it was the right choice,” Bingley said, his face growing redder. He kept his voice low and tightly bound. He was angry, but he did not wish to draw attention. “I was convinced that you, that everyone, had my best interests at heart. Until last week when the truth was thrown in my face.”
“The truth?” Darcy asked, feeling thoroughly confused.
“When you invited me to the opera, to reunite with Miss Bennet, I had convinced myself that you had decided to put me out of my misery and throw social pressures to the wind. That you decided to put my happiness above everything else. You cannot imagine my devastation at learning that she was unable to attend. That, I know, was not of your doing,” he allowed. “But how long had you known she was in London?”
Darcy didn’t answer. The truth was, he had known of Jane’s presence before he had left for Rosings but kept that information to himself.
“Darcy, how long?!” Bingley slammed his fist on the table. “The truth, if you please!”
“Since before I left for Kent,” he admitted.
“Yes, I know,” Bingley said with a tight smile. “My dear sister revealed as much.”
Darcy stiffened at the revelation. He had been uncertain about the wisdom of continuing to conspire with Caroline Bingley and it seemed his suspicions were justified. However, he did not understand how all this was selfish. He had acted in Bingley’s best interest, and how the man could turn it into anything but, Darcy could not comprehend.
“Your surprising invitation gave me the opportunity to talk with Jane’s relatives. With Georgiana. Imagine my surprise to learn that you had begun to pursue the very course that you declared was so foolish for me. Imagine my disgust at learning that it was alright for you to love a Bennet when you had determined it wholly unsuitable for me!”
“What makes you think I love a Bennet?” Darcy asked, his posture suddenly rigid. He had only revealed his affections to two people: Elizabeth and Georgiana, and he did not believe either would betray his confidence. So how did Charles know?
“Come on, Darcy,” Bingley said bitterly. “How long have we known each other? I admit, I do not know all the particulars of this, but I do believe I have pieced it together quite well in my mind. First, you issued an invitation for them to join you for dinner. I cannot recall the last time you gave such an invitation. Then, Georgiana let slip that the day of the opera included an outing. An outing during which Georgiana and Jane talked the entire time. Which left you and Elizabeth together.” Bingley took a deep drink of his wine. “Then there was your attitude at the opera—you seemed as disappointed as I that the Bennets could not attend. Everything was tied together by several snide comments from Caroline—I had forgotten how much she disliked Elizabeth Bennet until I mentioned that you had invited her to the opera.”
“And from this you have deduced that I am in love with Elizabeth Bennet?” Darcy asked quietly. In truth, all the signs were there and Charles was adept at reading such signs.
“It was either Elizabeth or Jane,” Bingley said resignedly. “And not even I could think low enough of you to believe you’d steal Jane away.”
“And if you are correct,” Darcy said slowly, still not affirming his friend’s conclusions. “Please tell me how this is selfish?”
“Because, Darcy,” Bingley said through gritted teeth. “By your actions in keeping Jane and I apart, yet not acting in the same way for yourself and Elizabeth, you put your own happiness above my own. For me, marrying a Bennet is out of the question for the social implications of it, despite the fact that I love her. And yet for you, whose stature is even well beyond my own, such a marriage would not be quite so inconceivable after all, for you love her? Do you not see the hypocrisy in this? And worse still, you did not even bother to consider the ramifications upon our friendship. In fact, I do not believe you even realise your wrong until this very moment.”
Darcy heard each word like a blow, wounding his soul. Charles was hurt—hurt by him. And he was right, Darcy had no idea of the pain his actions had caused until that very second. In truth, he had never considered his actions in relation to Charles, only between himself and Elizabeth.
His friend was correct, Darcy realised, in all ways: his actions were deeply self-centred and inconsiderate. He recalled, with shame, the thoughts he’d had that very afternoon—his ulterior motives in reuniting Jane and Charles. He had attempted to convince himself that his actions and plans were pure—and perhaps in the beginning they had been—but Charles had stripped the scales from his eyes. The picture of himself that was revealed was shameful.
“Charles,” Darcy said, not quite knowing what to say or how to respond. He opened his mouth several times as if to say something, only to close it when he realised he had no words. Instead, he leaned heavily on the table, his face in his hands, feeling overwhelmed by the shame of the situation.
“Don’t bother saying anything,” Bingley said bitterly. “There is nothing you can say in this moment that will redeem the situation.” He pushed his chair back and stood. “I’ve lost my appetite, you will be so kind as to excuse me.”
“Please,” Darcy said, a begin note in his voice. “Please, you must allow me to apologise.”
“An apology will not assuage my anger right now,” Bingley said. “I’m going to Hertfordshire. Your invitation had one good result and that is to convince me that you have seen how wrong you were about Jane’s affections. I knew she loved me, and I should have listened to myself—not you or my sisters. There is hope for my happiness—for our happiness, Jane and I. So I will return to Netherfield and pray to God she forgives me my stupidity.”
Darcy heard Charles’ plan and an unwilling spike of eagerness arose in him—his friend was thinking along the same lines that Darcy had hoped he would. And even more, Bingley’s presence at Netherfield would give Darcy a reason to visit Hertfordshire! To possibly see Elizabeth again.
At the thought, he was disgusted with himself. This was the mindset that Charles had been so hurt by; this was the mindset that he was sure contributed to Elizabeth’s previous disdain.
“I see the hope in your eyes, Darcy,” Bingley said, anger rising in his voice again. “I have no wish to cause you harm, but neither can I be around you. You will not receive an invitation to Netherfield. You will not join me in Hertfordshire.” He bowed stiffly to his friend. “Goodbye, Darcy.”
Without waiting for a reply, he turned on his heel and walked out of the dining room.
Despite Bingley’s efforts to avoid notice in the dining room by reining in his anger, he was not successful, and Darcy now saw that his fellow diners were shooting him curious looks and whispering amongst themselves. He tried to ignore the looks, but when the servant arrived bearing two meals for the single diner, Darcy knew that he would not escape gossip. However, he hardly cared.
He had always considered himself an altruistic man. He was generous with his time and money. He wanted what was best for his friends. Never before had someone accused him, in such a forthright manner, of abject selfishness. And yet, as he replayed Bingley’s words in his mind, he knew his friend was correct.
Darcy could see that he had a tendency to think of himself first. He was kind and generous to his friends and family, of that there was no argument, but how much of that generosity was self-serving? Not all of it, he was certain, but enough to give him pause.
It must be this weakness that Elizabeth saw in him. No wonder she had rejected him, he thought miserably. It did not matter if his selfishness was something that only surfaced on occasion, it had arisen enough for Elizabeth to see—and draw her own conclusions. He was confident that he did possess the generous heart he had thought, but he had to figure out how to show that: both to Charles and Elizabeth.