Page 40 of Beyond Pride, Past Prejudice

“Have you managed to arrange your journey to Bath?” asked Darcy, so impatient that he spoke the words the moment he met the colonel on the steps of their club.

“You are lucky that I received an order to inspect some troops in Bristol. Otherwise, I would not have been able to come with you. You forget that my time is not my own.”

Darcy shook his head without replying. Indeed, the colonel held a position at the Office of the Secretary at War and was, in fact, the only one in the family who worked—a truth Darcy often overlooked.

“Long live Bristol! What matters is that you are coming,” said Darcy with more spirit than Richard had seen in him during the weeks since their return from Kent.

“But I shall not remain in Bath the entire time. After all, why do you wish me to come?” he asked, hoping Darcy might give an answer longer than the brief replies he usually offered when the subject was Miss Elizabeth—for it was indeed about her, of that Richard had no doubt, though he wished to hear it from Darcy’s own mouth.

Darcy drew a deep breath and answered curtly, “I have no idea.”

They both laughed, for it felt good to be in each other’s company again, and at last, something of the heaviness that had weighed upon Darcy seemed to lift.

“She wrote to me almost two weeks ago,” he said, and the colonel’s countenance lightened with joy mixed with a light-hearted reproach, for that confession had come so late.

“And?” he pressed, waiting for more.

“That is all—she wrote,” Darcy answered with a display of apathy, but the colonel knew him well, and never before had he seen those blazing eyes that belied the feigned indifference. “And knowing her family planned to go to Bath—”

“Yes, I know. It was mentioned—” He stopped, horrified that he had blundered once again and revealed Lady Oakham’s plan, but his cousin seemed transported to another world, one in which words reached him only faintly and without any profound meaning, so he continued with equal indifference, though inwardly relieved, “I was also present when Mr Gardiner announced their plans at the theatre.”

Darcy nodded and looked around the room for a long time. There was more, but certainly it was not about Miss Elizabeth or their trip to Bath, which was already arranged.

“We are going to Bath,” Darcy continued hesitantly, but then he spoke more firmly, “However, today is not about me—it is about Bingley. We are meeting him here.”

“Wait,” the colonel called out. “Let me understand this because you have lost me completely. You are jumping from one thing to another.”

“I am jumping from Miss Elizabeth to Miss Bennet,” Darcy said more light-heartedly. “I am doing something I should have done long ago—apologising for having interfered in Bingley’s life.”

“And that is all?”

“Is that not enough? Did I not give him more than enough advice that November at Netherfield when he left Miss Bennet?”

But the colonel did not agree with that opinion.

“Let us be clear. He did not leave her because of you, nor even because of his insufferably supercilious sisters. He left her because he is a weak man who does not know how to stand by his own decisions, or simply because he did not love her enough to continue a flirtation.”

“Wherever the truth lies, I should not have interfered, and he should not have cared so much for my opinion, however it was expressed.”

However, when Bingley appeared at the club, the colonel felt ashamed of his words. Bingley lived in another kind of reality—undoubtedly a better one—where friendship and kinship were never questioned. He would have gladly sacrificed himself to spare others pain.

Although they had seen little of each other lately, he came quickly to greet them and, caring nothing for those around them, embraced them with warmth, exclaiming almost too loudly, “I thought you were angry with me!”

Darcy and the colonel could not help laughing, and Darcy replied with great affection, “Good heavens, Bingley, you ought to be angry with me!”

And in response to his friend’s puzzled face, Darcy offered an apology, the likes of which the colonel had never heard from him.

Deeply moved and certainly in all honesty, he admitted his fault before Bingley, who seemed only then to awaken from some long sleep.

“Does Miss Bennet still love me?” Bingley murmured.

“Do you still love her?” Darcy answered with a question of his own.

“Like a madman!”

And both cousins sighed heavily—with sorrow, frustration, and regret that such clarity had taken six months to arrive.

“But Miss Bennet? What of her? Do you know anything of her?” Bingley asked again, almost frantic.

“I do not know, my friend, and I do not wish to offer any more ill-advised opinion. All I can offer is one final piece of advice if you are willing…”

Poor Bingley smiled and nodded, unable to speak.

“Go to Netherfield. Do you still have the house?”

He nodded again.

“Then do not hesitate. Go. It is best you see for yourself how matters stand. If you still love one another, then time has not been lost. And if not…at least you may part with grace and bring a gentle end to what was once a lovely beginning.”