Page 103 of What Change Entails

“I know.” Bingley rotated the untouched brandy glass slowly between his hands. “For a little while after we left Netherfield, I thought perhaps you had done me a kindness.” He gave a short shrug. “Then I began wondering whether I had simply lacked courage.”

Darcy remained silent.

“I loved her,” Bingley admitted. “I think I knew that even then.”

Darcy understood too well the cost of doubting oneself where love was concerned. “I am deeply sorry,” he said at last. “More than I can express.”

Bingley stared at him with such unguarded honesty that Darcy had to turn toward the window. “You are forgiven,” he replied. “Or you shall be eventually. I may remind you of it occasionally for the next twenty years.” A faint smile bloomed. “Provided this does not end with Miss Bennet refusing to see me.”

Darcy exhaled slowly. “That,” he admitted, “remains a possibility.”

Then more seriously, Bingley added, “I hope I have not ruined my chances.”

Darcy thought of Elizabeth upon the path in Lambton. He remembered the feel of her hand and the startled color rising in her cheeks before Miss Lydia’s interruption shattered the moment.

He had come far too near to losing her already. “I hope not either,” he said.

And privately, with gratitude sharp enough to unsettle him, Darcy acknowledged how narrowly he himself had escaped losing one forever.

Chapter Twelve

By the end of their fortnight at Pemberley, breakfast had become a battlefield disguised beneath silver coffee urns and excellent marmalade.

Lydia enjoyed it immensely.

She arrived late enough to create irritation and early enough to secure the seat beside Georgiana before Miss Bingley descended. This required strategy. Lydia congratulated herself upon executing it beautifully.

“You promised ribbons,” she informed Georgiana before anyone else had fully filled their plates. “Blue ones. And perhaps green. Though I am undecided on the green because Mama says green makes me look unruly, which I think is nonsense because I already am unruly and no ribbon could worsen it.”

Georgiana smiled into her teacup.

Across the table Darcy glanced up over the edge of a letter he had been reading. The look lasted scarcely a second, but Lydia had become very good at recognizing when Mr. Darcy attempted not to smile.

“It depends upon the shade,” Georgiana replied. “Soft green would suit you.”

“No soft anything,” Lydia declared. “If I wear green, it ought to be bold enough to alarm people.”

“An admirable philosophy,” Mr. Gardiner murmured.

Elizabeth hid her amusement badly.

Miss Bingley entered then and paused just inside the doorway, no doubt expecting the room to rearrange itself around her presence. Lydia took another spoonful of preserves and continued speaking.

“I mean to buy enough ribbons to force Kitty into despair when she next writes. Perhaps gloves also. Though gloves are dull because one ruins them instantly.”

Miss Bingley seated herself beside Mrs. Hurst with deliberate elegance. “I confess myself surprised by such enthusiasm for Lambton shopping. Rural villages rarely provide anything approaching true fashion.”

Lydia stared at her blankly.

“Well,” she said after a moment, “we are not attempting to impress London.”

Mrs. Hurst coughed into her coffee.

Miss Bingley ignored this. “One must still maintain standards.”

Georgiana’s hand shook lightly as she folded her napkin and set it beside her plate. “Did you not say yesterday that you wished to visit the modiste in Lambton?”

Silence.