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“Usually in his library, unless I had come too early and found him looking for Elizabeth. He says she is the only person in the house who can be trusted to return a book to the proper shelf.”

“Is she?”

“I should not know. I have never found her returning one. She is generally taking another.”

Bingley smiled at the recollection. “You would like his library. You might not like everything he said while you were in it. He took some pleasure in asking me a question and waiting while I tried to decide whether he wished for an answer.”

“That cannot have recommended him to you.”

“I was in love with his daughter. He might have asked considerably more of me.”

Darcy knew the result of the courtship, the date of the ceremony, and what had been written in the letters announcing both. Until now, he had not tried to imagine the house in which Bingley had spent so much of that winter.

“There are three younger sisters?”

“Mary, Kitty, and Lydia. You would have learned their names very quickly had you come to the wedding. Lydia wished to know which of my friends danced best. Kitty wished to know whether they were coming. Mary had practiced music for us and was very much afraid there would be no opportunity to play it.”

“Was there?”

“Jane made one. After we returned from church she asked Mary herself, before anyone could propose something else. I was impatient to have Jane to myself, and there she was making certain her sister should not be disappointed.”

He spoke with an affection Darcy could not dismiss as the enthusiasm of a newly married man. Bingley had seen the small delay, resented it, and loved his wife for causing it. Darcy could imagine that much without having stood beside him.

“And Miss Bennet?”

“Elizabeth kept Lydia from following us to the carriage. I believe she promised to hear everything Lydia had wished to tell me, which was generous when you consider she must already have heard it once.”

Bingley looked down at his hands. “I did wish you had been there.”

“I was sorry to miss it.”

“I know. Your letter came the evening before. Jane was very sorry about your sister’s health.”

Darcy rested his hand upon the closed account book. Bingley knew that Georgiana had been unwell. He had accepted each explanation of Darcy’s absence without asking more than Darcy could bear to answer, and had written again after her death. The letters were still in the drawer beneath his hand.

“I could not leave her,” Darcy said.

“I never thought you should.” Bingley allowed a moment to pass before continuing. “I only wished you could have known Jane then. And that you might have had some happiness with us.”

Darcy could find no answer that would not either dismiss the kindness or reveal too much of what it cost him to receive it.

Bingley looked about the room, then back at his friend.

“You sent us a very handsome wedding present. But this means more to me. Jane can rest here. I can look for a house without fearing that she is being made uncomfortable while I am gone. And we shall have your company, if you will allow us a little of it.”

“I did invite you, Bingley.”

“Yes. I am hoping you will not immediately retreat to your accounts and leave Caroline to entertain us.”

Darcy’s hand was still upon the book. He removed it.

“You may have me at billiards this evening.”

“I shall tell Jane you demanded it.”

“I should prefer you told her the truth.”

“She would suspect it in any case.” Bingley unfolded the paper at last. “Now, I have brought you something you may legitimately disapprove of. The agent thinks this house would suit us.”