An End to Estrangement - A Pride and Prejudice Variation

Part 26

It oughtn't to have surprised Darcy to see Bingley so easily persuaded into joining the Bennet party once more. Indeed, it seemed as if scarcely an hour passed when he did not think of their near neighbours, nor construct some excuse to speak of them or see them again. If Darcy had not spent all morning at his friend's side he might even allow himself to think that Bingley had somehow arranged this chance meeting all by himself to see Miss Bennet once more before the evening they were to spend together.

His friend was guileless, however, and Darcy was forced to concede to coincidence. Particularly when his eyes rested on one particular figure amidst the group of young ladies. His frown darkened into a scowl. It could not be...

"You -" he began, but Wickham -if it had indeed been Wickham and not merely the product of Darcy's own fevered mind - had vanished, slipping away and into the crowd so that the only way Darcy might have ascertained the man's identity for himself would be to chase after him. Instead, he stayed rooted to the spot, only looking up when Bingley addressed him directly, and somehow forcing something like a smile onto his features.

"You don't mind it, do you, Darcy?"

Before Darcy could respond, Bingley had turned back to the young ladies, allowing Lydia to steer him towards a tea room. There was nothing for it but to fall in step with the rest of the group. He happily took his place in the rear, accompanying no-one, but free to observe the others without drawing any undue notice to himself.

Elizabeth walked arm-in-arm with one sister, Jane, as if Darcy should ever neglect to know her name, for it was the one most often on Bingley's lips. How well he recalled that walk, how well, at that moment, he could recall walking alongside her himself, hearing her whisper and striving to offer his own witty counterpoints to her own clever observations. His lips quirked. He had fallen short on most opportunities and regretted the easy manner Wickham had had that he did not. Fortunately, Wickham had scarcely met Elizabeth, and Darcy was determined to keep it that way, certain that his friend would, intentionally or otherwise, succeed in winning Miss Elizabeth's affections for himself. The vague smile on Darcy's face collapsed further into a scowl. Had it been Wickham standing with them just now? That painted the whole recollection in an altogether different light. It was one thing for Elizabeth to tire of him, to realise how unsuited they were, to choose a life of pleasure and parties above waiting while he returned to Pemberley to settle his father's affairs. He could not begrudge her that. Their parting had been sudden, and they were still but little acquainted. He could not have expected her to remain faithful on nought but the promise of a letter. But if she knew Wickham now, surely she had known him then. Surely her decision to ignore Darcy's letter, to let him disappear from London without even a word of goodbye had been a choice. She had chosen Wickham over him. And been thrown over herself, for her trouble. In spite of himself, Darcy's heart lurched. He knew how Wickham worked, now better than he had years before. In London, he had considered Wickham a friend. Back then, he could scarcely blame him for the women that lost their hearts to him so readily, for his friend was charming and amusing and certainly well able to win affections of anyone he met. It was only now that Darcy could see him for what he was: cruel and callous and eager only to secure his own happiness and fortune.

"Mr Darcy?"

Darcy stirred, startled to recognise the voice that addressed him. He glanced up, surprised to have reached the pretty little tea shop that had been Lydia's intended destination and still more surprised to see Elizabeth lingering at the doorway, her cheeks pale, and her eyes darting everywhere but him.

"Miss Elizabeth." He inclined his head slightly. An acknowledgement, no more. When she did not immediately move away, he continued. "Was there something you wished to speak to me about?"

Elizabeth's eyes met his, then. Darcy did not move. He couldn't have, even if he had wanted to. His breath caught, and he feared if he said or did anything that the spell that bound them together would be broken. They would be strangers again. Worse than strangers, for they were so careful not to even acknowledge one another in public or in private, lest it betray them.

"Eliza!"

A snide voice reached Darcy's ears and he straightened, slipping almost unconsciously back into the stiff, unyielding stranger he had been since his arrival in Hertfordshire had brought him back once more into Elizabeth Benet's sphere.

"And Mr Darcy!" Caroline Bingley's voice warmed as she spoke his name, a habit he had noticed her forming lately, a silent claim she laid to him whenever they were amongst friends. "What a surprise to see you here together!"

She smiled, but the expression was somewhat dangerous. Darcy took a step back, ushering her and Mrs Hurst to the tea room.

"Quite by chance, Miss Bingley," he said, his voice brisk and disinterested. A masterful piece of acting. "Your brother has gone in to secure us a table. You will join us, I hope?"

He posed the question to Caroline but could not quite help his gaze straying to Elizabeth once more. How he had once longed to utter this same question to her in altogether different circumstances! My father is unwell and I must travel north to be with my sister. It is a presumption, but perhaps one I might dare to make if we were but a little better acquainted. I would so like to invite you to join me...

He shook his head, ridding his thoughts of those words he had written so many years ago. She had discarded them completely enough. What good would it do to dwell on them now?

"Come, Miss Bingley, I see you are laden with packages. Do allow me to be of some assistance."

Caroline shot him a dazzling smile and piled his arms high with parcels so that he was quite content to focus his attention on this and not on his memories, which sought only to plague him with what might have been, but had not, and never would.