Page 62 of Elizabeth Bennet Says Yes to Mr. Darcy

Bingley regarded me with a patience I probably deserved.

“She accepted you freely. She has faced down Wickham, her mother, Lady Catherine, and half of Meryton. What more should she do to convince you?”

“Nothing.”

“Then why do you look as though you are waiting for a servant to arrive with a letter calling off the engagement?”

Because I had received such a gift without ever fully believing that happiness could be granted me without condition. Because I had begun our story by supposing that my rank, my fortune, and the intensity of my affection would suffice to make my suit desirable. Because I had then discovered that Elizabeth had been prepared to sacrifice her life for me, and that knowledge had left within me a mistrust of any consent that worked in my favor.

“I do not want her to wake tomorrow regretting that she chose me,” I said.

Bingley leaned forward.

“Jane told me that Elizabeth has been counting the days since the date was set.”

I looked up.

“She said that?”

“Jane perceived it. Which is worth more than any declaration from anyone else.”

I thought of Elizabeth in the pavilion, her cheeks flushed, telling me that two weeks and five days remained. The memory of her hand guiding mine to her breast made me take a second sip of cognac.

Bingley followed my gesture with a smile.

“Ah. A worry of a different nature.”

“I have no idea what you mean.”

“Naturally.”

“Charles.”

He raised his hands.

“I shall ask no questions. I shall merely remind you that a wife is not a fragile creature who must be protected from every emotion. Jane hates it when I ask her ten times a day if she is tired.”

“Miss Bennet is too gentle to say so.”

“Mrs. Bingley told me quite clearly yesterday morning.”

I could not suppress a smile.

“Marriage is developing your discernment.”

“Above all, it is developing my ability to recognize the moment when a woman is about to throw a cushion at me.”

He refilled our glasses, less generously this time.

“You will make her happy, Darcy.”

“I hope so.”

“No. You will work to make her happy, she will work to make you bearable, and you will quarrel when neither of you succeeds perfectly. That is more reliable than hope.”

I looked at him.

“Since when have you become wise?”