Chapter Three #2
Elizabeth glanced down at her morning dress, noting the grass stains acquired during their earlier games and the wrinkles from sitting close to Ambrose.
She looked, she realized, like precisely what she was—a country girl who had been playing with a child rather than maintaining proper drawing room deportment.
“Children have a way of disarranging even the most careful toilette,” she replied mildly, making no effort to smooth her skirts or adjust her hair.
Mrs Hurst joined her sister, both women presenting perfect examples of morning elegance. Their gowns remained spotless, their coiffures intact, their expressions politely condescending.
“How fortunate that some people feel comfortable in such… informal circumstances,” Mrs Hurst stated with a meaningful glance at Elizabeth’s appearance.
Elizabeth smiled pleasantly, recognizing the attack for what it was. “Indeed. I have always believed comfort with children reflects well upon one’s character. Though I suppose not everyone possesses such natural inclinations.”
The subtle return volley hit its mark. Miss Bingley’s smile tightened perceptibly, while Mrs Hurst’s fan snapped open with unnecessary force.
“Charles has suggested we might enjoy a game of loo this afternoon,” Miss Bingley said with renewed determination. “Though perhaps Miss Bennet would prefer to tend to the child’s needs?”
“On the contrary,” Elizabeth replied, rising gracefully despite her dishevelled state. “I should be delighted to join you. Ambrose, perhaps you might continue practicing your reading while we play? I shall be eager to hear how well you manage when I return.”
Ambrose nodded solemnly, clutching his book with renewed purpose, while Miss Bingley’s expression suggested she had not anticipated this response. The afternoon promised to prove interesting indeed.
The drawing room gradually filled as the party assembled for their game.
Mr Bingley greeted Elizabeth with his characteristic hospitality, while Mr Hurst merely grunted acknowledgment from behind his wine glass.
Georgiana took her place with quiet grace, and Elizabeth noted how the younger woman’s confidence had improved since their earlier conversation.
A tall figure approached the table with measured steps, his dark clothes and serious demeanour creating an impression of austere elegance.
Of course, she thought with a sinking feeling, it was the disagreeable Mr Darcy.
He took his seat across from her with a brief nod of acknowledgment, his movements precise and controlled.
“Darcy,” Mr Bingley said cheerfully, “you remember Miss Bennet from the assembly?”
Mr Darcy’s eyes met Elizabeth’s briefly, and she felt an unwelcome flutter of awareness.
His gaze held an intensity that made her suddenly conscious of her disordered appearance and informal manner with Ambrose—precisely the sort of superficial judgement she had expected from him.
“Indeed,” he replied with cool politeness. “Miss Bennet.”
The formal acknowledgment carried all the warmth of winter frost, confirming Elizabeth’s opinion of his disagreeable nature. She lifted her chin slightly, refusing to be intimidated by his austere disapproval or feel ashamed of her dishevelled state from playing with a child.
“Well, Miss Bennet,” Miss Bingley said with false brightness, “I trust you are prepared to lose your pin money? Loo can be quite unforgiving to inexperienced players.”
Elizabeth smiled as she examined her cards.
The game itself proved simple enough, though she quickly identified the various players’ strategies and weaknesses.
Mr Darcy played with the same careful precision that marked his every gesture, his cards selected and placed with deliberate thought.
Miss Bingley favoured bold plays designed to draw attention, though her strategy often sacrificed advantage for theatrical effect.
Mrs Hurst proved more calculating, watching others’ reactions before committing to her moves, while Mr Hurst appeared more interested in his wine than his cards.
Georgiana played with quiet competence, her natural intelligence evident despite her modest demeanour.
More interesting was the conversation that developed around their play.
“Such a pity that children require constant supervision,” Mrs Hurst observed, playing a careful card. “Thank goodness for devoted governesses and nursemaids to manage such burdens.”
“Burdens?” Elizabeth’s voice carried a note of surprise. “Surely children are among life’s greatest blessings, not obligations to be delegated?”
Miss Bingley laughed with practiced condescension. “How charmingly naive! No lady of quality personally tends to such matters. That is precisely why we employ servants.”
“But surely maternal affection cannot be purchased?” Elizabeth played her own card with deliberate precision. “A child needs love and attention from those who truly care for his welfare.”
Mr Darcy’s dark eyes lifted from his cards to study her face, though he remained silent.
“Love is all very well,” Miss Bingley replied dismissively, “but proper education and discipline require professional expertise. Emotional attachment often interferes with necessary correction.”
Elizabeth thought of Miss Francesca’s rigid methods and Ambrose’s eager response to tenderness. “I would argue that affection makes correction more effective, not less. A child who feels loved is far more likely to trust guidance than one who fears punishment.”
“Sentiment over sense, I fear,” Mrs Hurst interjected with a superior smile. “Children are naturally wilful creatures requiring firm management.”
“Perhaps,” Elizabeth conceded, winning another trick while aware of Mr Darcy’s continued scrutiny, no doubt finding fault with her opinions as he had with her appearance, “but wilfulness often stems from unmet needs rather than inherent wickedness. A child who receives adequate affection and understanding typically responds with greater cooperation than one subjected to mere authority.”
Mr Bingley nodded thoughtfully. “There is wisdom in that observation. I recall my own childhood—the lessons I learned from kindness stayed with me far longer than those imposed through fear.”
To Elizabeth’s surprise, Mr Darcy spoke quietly. “Experience suggests that children respond most favourably to consistency paired with care. Authority without affection breeds resentment rather than respect.”
Miss Bingley looked startled by this unexpected support from such an unlikely quarter. “Surely you do not advocate coddling children, Mr Darcy?”
“I advocate treating them as rational beings capable of understanding expectations when those expectations are explained with patience rather than imposed through intimidation,” he replied evenly, his gaze meeting Elizabeth’s with what appeared to be approval.
“I speak not of indulgence, but of balance,” Elizabeth added, gathering the cards for the next hand while processing this surprising alliance. “Children flourish when they feel secure in their guardians’ affection while understanding clear expectations for behaviour.”
The debate continued alongside their card play, Elizabeth growing more passionate in defence of her views despite—or perhaps because of—the stakes involved.
She won trick after trick while the Bingley sisters maintained their superior smiles, though their arguments grew increasingly weak.
Even Mr Darcy’s occasional agreement could not diminish her satisfaction at exposing their callous attitudes towards children, though she wondered what game he was truly playing.
As the afternoon waned and their play concluded—with Elizabeth’s decisive victory in both cards and conversation—she reflected on the day’s curious developments.
Ambrose’s innocent affection had warmed her heart, while Georgiana’s growing confidence proved deeply satisfying.
The Bingley sisters’ calculated coldness surprised no one, yet Mr Darcy’s occasional support of her arguments puzzled her considerably.
Perhaps he simply enjoyed contradicting his hostesses, or sought to appear more agreeable than his true nature allowed.
Whatever his motives, she remained unconvinced that a few well-chosen words could compensate for his fundamental lack of civility.
The carriage ride home could not come soon enough, yet Elizabeth felt oddly reluctant to leave. Something important had shifted during these hours at Netherfield, though she could not yet name what changes lay ahead.