First Impressions: A Modern Pride and Prejudice Adaptation

Chapter 34.2

It would have been far too easy, he supposed, if he could see Elizabeth without some amount of panic. As soon as she was gone, the familiar tightness returned, like his heart was too big for his chest. It strained against the barrier of his ribs.

Darcy waited a long time after their car disappeared around the corner to move. When he tried to, his limbs felt stiff, as if he had been standing in the cold—though it was unseasonably warm for March. Everything felt slow and dim after his brief time with her. Perhaps Apple knew what he needed, for the dog walked much slower than his usual pace, moving along step by step rather than his usual frenetic pace.

Somehow, in some unknowable amount of time, whether it was minutes or hours, he couldn't be sure, he made it back to the house. It was not nearly so gloomy as he feared it would be. There was more warmth in it than he expected; with the curtains open, sun streamed across the wood floors, highlighting caramel and cream in the light planks. Darcy let himself fall into the couch without even unpacking.

It took a long time to rouse himself from his near-stupor, but there were a number of errands he needed to run to make the house ready for guests. Though he was half afraid that if he left the house, he would run into her again. But he made it to the grocery store and back with little more than the usual friendly greetings from those who had known him as a child.

He thought about calling Bingley. Considered it seriously enough that he found himself looking at the recent calls log in his phone, finger hovering over the number. Perhaps he was thinking too much of himself, but he was a little afraid that if he warned him ahead of time, Bingley would cancel on them. And as much as he wanted Bingley to come, to be able to present him to Elizabeth, he wanted his presence at the house even more.

If Bingley refused the invitation, so be it, but at least he would be there.

He supposed, distantly, that he might have given Elizabeth some forewarning that he wished to invite his friend. That would have meant, though, that he had had the thought of inviting him. Darcy wasn't entirely certain when the idea crossed his mind—it felt like it had just appeared there, fully formed. If he was to get a second chance, then surely Bingley deserved just the same. If surprise got Darcy what felt like redemption, then maybe it would work a second time.

Closing out of the log, he opened his texts. He didn't need to consult Georgie on the restaurant. That was the easy part. But the little thrill that shot through him as he typed the message was absurd. Touching a few buttons on a cellphone screen and receiving a response within minutes had no right to make him feel half the emotion that he did.

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Louisa No-Longer-Hurst-but-Bingley-again sighed and rested her temple against the glass of the train window. Greenery, intermixed with houses, flashed by. The houses were growing increasingly prominent as they neared Baltimore; soon there would be only gray buildings and black powerlines. Caroline's constant stream of sound buzzed in her ear as Georgie nodded along, puppyish and with wide eyes.

She wasn't sure which was worse; the panicked attempts Georgie had made to sympathize with her over the divorce or her sister's seemingly effortless exercise in entirely ignoring Louisa's presence as she went along as usual, continuous prattle and all.

She was already very much regretting agreeing to join them at Pemberley; it had been a bad idea to come. She slumped further in her seat. The movement of the carriage buzzed through the glass and into her forehead. The only thing she was looking forward to was seeing her brother. Ever since the Christmas fiasco—what he had been thinking, calling out their father's ethics, she couldn't fully comprehend—he had been withdrawn and moody. She used to dread his sometimes bi-weekly phone calls, when, without some excuse to hang up, he would talk uninterrupted for an hour. Now, she had to call him. He was always scatter-brained—more so than before, but with a melancholy edge to it. He outright refused to come up to the city for their mother's birthday.