Page 64 of Pride and Prejudice Resolutions

"I am in London. I saw her here. Today. In fact, she took tea at my house this afternoon."

For a moment, Bingley seemed genuinely stunned. His mouth opened and closed. "Miss Bennet? Jane Bennet? In London? At your house?"

"Yes. Along with her sister and aunt."

"Good heavens." Bingley shifted in his chair. "I had no idea they were in town. Caroline did not mention... but then, she would not know, would she?"

"She is staying in Cheapside." Darcy watched him closely. "With her uncle."

"Cheapside," Bingley repeated. The word hung in the air, heavy with class implication. "Ah. Yes. Of course."

"She is well," Darcy continued, twisting the knife he was not sure why he was holding. "Though she seemed quieter than usual."

Bingley cleared his throat and adjusted his cravat. He took a sip of his drink. "Well. That is... that is good to hear. That she is well."

"I mentioned I was seeing you tonight," Darcy lied. "I asked if she wished to convey a message."

"And?" Bingley looked terrified.

"She said nothing. She merely wished you well."

Bingley exhaled a massive sigh of relief. "Oh, good. Good. That is very civil of her. She was always a civil girl."

Darcy waited. He waited for Bingley to ask where she was staying exactly. He waited for him to demand the address. He waited for him to jump up, declare his undying love, and rush out into the London night to throw pebbles at her window in Gracechurch Street.

Instead, Bingley smiled brightly.

"Well, that is a relief! No hard feelings, then. That is splendid." He tapped his fingers on the table. "You know, Darcy, since they are in town, maybe we should call? For old times' sake?"

"You wish to call?"

"Certainly! It would be the polite thing to do. Maybe... oh, I do not know. The calendar is so full right now with Christmas and the New Year balls. Maybe at the end of January? When things calm down? We could pay a morning visit. Keep it brief. Civil."

The end of January.

Darcy stared at his friend. He saw the shallowness of him, the easy charm that covered a lack of any real substance. He saw the man he had idolized for his easy temper, and realised that easy tempers often meant easy detachments.

"The end of January," Darcy repeated. "Yes. That sounds appropriate."

"Excellent!" Bingley beamed. "Now, tell me, have you heard about the new alto at the King's Theatre? Miss Ellington says she is divine."

Darcy stood up. He could not do this. He could not remain here and listen to Bingley chatter about sopranos while Jane Bennet was nursing a heart this man did not deserve.

"I must go, Bingley," Darcy said abruptly. "I have a headache."

"Oh. Bad luck, old man. Lavender water helps. Or so Caroline says."

"I shall try it. Goodnight, Bingley."

"Goodnight! And do give my regards to... well, to everyone!"

Darcy walked out of the club and into the cold night air. He felt sick. He felt vindicated. And more than anything, he felt a desperate need to apologise to Elizabeth Bennet—not for separating them, but for thinking so little of her sister that he believed she was the one who did not care.

Darcy House was quiet when he returned, the frantic energy of the morning replaced by the heavy silence of a sleeping household. He handed his coat to a footman and made for the stairs, intending to go to his study and drink a very large brandy.

"Fitzwilliam?"

Georgiana was standing at the top of the stairs, wrapped in a dressing gown, a candle in her hand.