Chapter Six #2
“Indeed,” Miss Bingley continued, warming to her subject. “Lady Darlington mentioned that Lord Marbury’s eldest son has finally chosen a bride—Miss Ashworth of Yorkshire. A most advantageous match, with twenty thousand pounds and excellent connections.”
The conversation continued in this vein for several minutes, touching upon various social connections and upcoming events in town.
Elizabeth contributed little to the discussion, her thoughts still occupied with Ambrose’s condition and the strain of recent days.
The subject then turned to literature and that drew her into spirited participation.
“I confess myself puzzled by the recent trend towards anonymous publication,” Miss Bingley was saying, her tone suggesting she considered herself quite knowledgeable on literary matters. “Surely an author of merit would wish to claim credit for their work?”
“Perhaps,” Elizabeth replied, “but there may be compelling reasons for such discretion. A lady author, for instance, might face prejudice that would prevent fair consideration of her work.”
Mr Darcy, who had been silently reading in his corner chair, looked up at this comment. “Or perhaps such authors recognise that their work lacks sufficient merit to bear scrutiny under their true names.”
The dismissive tone gave her pause. “That seems a rather severe judgement, sir. Anonymity may reflect an author’s desire to be judged purely on the strength of their writing, rather than upon their reputation or social standing.”
“An idealistic notion, Miss Bennet, but hardly practical. Anonymous publication more often serves to protect authors from the consequences of controversial or inferior work.”
“Controversial? What constitutes controversy in literature? Perspectives that differ from established thought?”
A slight smile played at the corners of Mr Darcy’s mouth, though whether from amusement or condescension, she could not determine.
“I speak merely of literary quality, Miss Bennet. Anonymous works are frequently the product of hasty composition, lacking the polish that comes from an author’s commitment to their reputation. ”
“Yet some of our most celebrated works were initially published without attribution,” she responded. “Their quality was not diminished by the absence of a name upon the title page.”
“You make a compelling argument,” he acknowledged, though his tone suggested he remained unconvinced. “However, I maintain that true literary achievement requires the courage of conviction. The willingness to stand behind one’s work publicly.”
“That may be easily said by those blessed with every social advantage. But surely it requires different forms of courage for those whose circumstances make public acknowledgement challenging.”
The silence that followed carried an undercurrent of tension. Miss Bingley cleared her throat with obvious disapproval, while Mr Bingley shifted in his chair, clearly seeking to restore harmony.
Mr Darcy set down his book with deliberate precision. “You suggest, then, that merit alone should determine a work’s reception? That circumstances of birth and station should bear no weight in literary judgement?”
“I should like to think so,” she said confidently. “A profound truth remains profound regardless of its source. Wisdom may be found in unexpected places.”
“Yet experience and education surely contribute to the quality of one’s observations. Someone with limited education, however well-intentioned, may lack the breadth of knowledge necessary to comment meaningfully upon complex matters.”
Elizabeth considered his statement. “Maybe. But different forms of experience offer valuable insights. Matters of the heart, of human nature and the daily struggles that shape character. These too are worthy subjects for literary exploration.”
Georgiana, who had been listening with rapt attention, ventured carefully, “Surely both perspectives have value? The educated gentleman brings learning, while common experience brings its own wisdom.”
“An admirable sentiment, Miss Darcy,” Elizabeth acknowledged with a warm glance towards the younger woman. “I confess I am somewhat surprised that not all share such an inclusive view of literary merit.”
“I believe in maintaining certain standards,” Mr Darcy replied with deliberate aloofness. “Not every sentiment, however heartfelt, merits publication.”
“Naturally,” Elizabeth continued with more heat than she’d planned. “Yet I wonder who determines these standards? I should hope that merit might occasionally triumph over prejudice, though it appears that there are many who wish for unpleasant ways to remain the same.”
Mr Darcy’s expression had grown decidedly cooler. “You speak as though you possess intimate knowledge of the literary world’s prejudices, Miss Bennet.”
“I speak as one who observes the world beyond the narrow confines of privilege, sir.”
The words hung between them like a gauntlet thrown down, and Elizabeth immediately regretted her sharp tongue. Yet she could not bring herself to withdraw the challenge, not when his arrogance seemed so complete, so utterly without consideration for perspectives different from his own.
“Indeed,” was his only reply, but the single word carried volumes of dismissal.
The conversation limped forward from there, with others attempting to bridge the uncomfortable gap her exchange with Mr Darcy had created. Elizabeth participated minimally, her thoughts churning with frustration.
Whatever Mr Wickham’s revelations had suggested about Mr Darcy’s character, tonight had proven him capable of concern for Ambrose’s welfare—yet also revealed him to be every bit as proud and condescending as her first impressions had indicated.
As she settled into the chair beside Ambrose’s bed for another night of watching, Elizabeth reflected on the strange contradictions the evening had revealed.
The man who had spoken so harshly about her judgement was the same one who had personally tested the temperature of cooling cloths for a fevered child’s comfort.
Which version represented his true nature remained an unsolvable mystery, though one that increasingly occupied her thoughts despite her best efforts to dismiss him entirely.