Page 114 of Companions of Their Youth
Would Papa evenwanther to tell? She had never asked. He would say it was her life now—her husband’s house, her husband’s name. He would not wish to cause scandal, not even for his own sake. But she did not know what he would say aboutthis.
Would he want me to risk it? Or would he rather I stay silent and safe?
She leaned back against the pillows, curling slightly to her side, her bandaged arm cradled carefully atop the coverlet.
Whoever she married would deserve to know the truth, would they not? Her loyalty would be to her husband, and the scriptures do say that a man should leave his parents and cleave unto his wife.
But Darcy’s anger that afternoon tormented her.
There were moments—just brief glimmers—when she could almost believe he might understand. That perhaps love might soften his sharp edges, or that the strength he had shown these last days might stretch wide enough to hold even this.
But then she remembered the garden.
I will not call light what the Lord Himself has called darkness.
She turned her face into the pillow and drew a long, trembling breath.
She did not want to lie.
She did not want to lose him.
Please, Lord… what do I do?
∞∞∞
A few days later, Elizabeth was no closer to a determination than she had been the evening of her argument with Mr. Darcy. It did not help that she was reminded of him constantly with his sister living with them. This particular morning, Georgiana had already completed her first lesson and was sitting amiably with Lydia and Kitty, helping them sort music for their practice hour.
Hill entered the drawing room to announce that Mr. Bingley and his party had arrived to pay a call. Mrs. Bennet bit back a squeal, and Jane flushed with anticipation. The Netherfield occupants had not been to Longbourn since that wretched morning, having been guilted into visiting the other residents of Meryton.
Elizabeth rose at once, smoothing her skirts. A flicker of something fluttered in her chest—anticipation, or perhaps unease. It had been two days since she had seen Mr. Darcy, and though she told herself she had no reason to dread the meeting, her steps were slower than usual as she went to greet their guests.
Mr. Bingley was his usual cheerful self, Jane's blush upon seeing him matched by the warmth in his eyes. Beside him stoodhis sisters, wrapped in fine shawls and hauteur, Miss Bingley's expression pinched from the start. Darcy, a step behind, inclined his head to Elizabeth with the barest smile.
“Miss Bennet,” he said, voice low and steady.
“Mr. Darcy,” she replied, curtsying. “It is a pleasure to see you.”
They looked at one another, and his gaze held hers—steady, intense. The air between them felt strained, as if both sought the right words and found only silence. There was something unreadable behind his expression, something that felt like yearning barely contained. She could scarcely breathe.
And then it passed. He looked away, and her lungs remembered their function.
Mr. Bingley, undeterred, launched into his reason for the visit. “We have come to issue our formal invitations. My sisters and I will be holding a ball at Netherfield on the twenty-sixth of November. We very much hope the entire Bennet family will attend.”
Mrs. Bennet all but squealed in delight. “A ball! Oh, how lovely! Such news, such happiness!” She turned and beamed at Jane, who was already turning pink.
Elizabeth, meanwhile, had barely heard the details. Mr. Darcy had stepped slightly closer—so close that the back of his fingers brushed against hers as she folded her hands before her.
The touch was nothing. Accidental. Fleeting.
And yet it sent a current through her that made her fingers tremble.
“I hope,” Darcy said in a low voice, “that my sister is continuing to conduct herself well.”
“She has done quite well,” Elizabeth said softly. “These past days have shown marked improvement. There is still some spiritedness, of course, but no tantrums. And she has begun helping Kitty and Lydia, even offering guidance with the pianoforte.”
Darcy turned to her more fully then, and the look in his eyes startled her—relief, perhaps even a glimmer of pride.
“She is befriending your sisters, then?”
