Chapter Seven #2
Bingley laughed softly. “Miss Elizabeth is a young woman of lively understanding!
There, you see? You begin exactly where I expected.
I have seen you admire women before. Any man with eyes could see you thought Miss Langley handsome, and I remember perfectly well your slight admiration for Lady Anne Morton's daughter, though you attempted to conceal it under an air of complete indifference.
But admiration has never made you forget your own manners, and it has certainly never made you quarrel with a lady in a drawing room. "
Darcy's expression darkened. "I have no wish to discuss that incident."
"No, I daresay not. But the fact remains that I have never known you so affected by any woman's words. Miss Elizabeth speaks and you attend. Miss Elizabeth laughs and you look round to discover the cause. Miss Elizabeth leaves a room and, before you are aware of it, your eyes follow her."
"Your imagination is unusually active this morning."
"My imagination has nothing to do with it. Jane sees it. Mrs Makepeace sees it. I strongly suspect Mrs Bennet sees it, though Heaven knows what use she intends to make of the information."
"That is a very pretty speech.”
"It is also true.”
"It is incomplete.”
"Then complete it.”
Darcy did not speak at once. When he did, his tone had changed. The warmth she had heard when he spoke of Jane, and the reluctant admiration that had entered his account of herself, withdrew behind something harder.
"I came to Lyme for Georgiana. You know why. Her peace is my first concern, and I will not have her made uneasy by any conduct of mine. She has already suffered more than she ought, and if this place offers her even a little recovery, I will not jeopardise it by indulging a passing inclination or becoming distracted by a pair of fine eyes”
"A passing inclination,” Bingley repeated, with disbelief.
"Yes.”
"I do not believe you.”
"That is your privilege.”
"Admiration may be sincere without being wise.”
"And is wisdom always to have the final word?”
"In my position, it must have a considerable one.”
Bingley seemed to hear it too, for his answer came with unusual sharpness. "Your position. Yes, I wondered how long it would be before Pemberley entered the room.”
"Pemberley is never out of it.”
"It is an estate, Darcy, not a jealous aunt.”
"It is a responsibility.”
"So is every estate.”
"Not every estate is Pemberley.”
Elizabeth could imagine his face as the words formed. His arrogant reserve a mask.
Bingley sighed. "Very well. Pemberley is Pemberley, and you are its much afflicted master. What has that to do with Miss Elizabeth?”
"Everything.”
"Nothing.”
"A man does not marry for himself alone.”
"No, but he ought to consider himself in the bargain.”
Elizabeth felt very still. Marriage? Had they jumped to matrimony so very fast? She was not aware she had applied for the position but here she was being rejected from it.
Darcy went on. "The woman who becomes mistress of Pemberley must understand what it requires. She must be equal not only to the household but to the position. She must be prepared for the consequence of it, the obligations, the expectations, the connections. She must have been formed for such a life, or at least accustomed to something near it.”
Bingley was quiet for several seconds.
Then he said, "And you think Miss Elizabeth unequal to it.”
"I think,” said Darcy, with intolerable deliberation, "that Miss Elizabeth has not been bred to it.”
Not bred to it. Elizabeth looked at the partially closed door blankly. Arrogant, hateful man.
Bingley said, "That is a poor argument, Darcy.”
"I do not mean that she lacks understanding. Quite the opposite. Were she placed in any situation, I believe she would master more of it than most women who had spent their lives in preparation. But that is not the same as belonging to it. Pemberley is not merely a house to be admired or a fortune to be enjoyed. It is a name and a duty. Georgiana’s future is tied to it.
My family’s honour is tied to it. I cannot pretend such considerations vanish because a pair of fine eyes happens to unsettle my judgment. ”
A pair of fine eyes, indeed! Elizabeth almost laughed and she did not know whether the impulse sprang from anger or humiliation.
Bingley’s voice lost much of its cheer. "You disappoint me.”
"I daresay I often do.”
"Not often. But at present, yes. Very much. You speak of Miss Elizabeth as though she were some charming danger to be avoided, and of yourself as though you were already sacrificed upon the altar of your own consequence. I do not say a man should marry foolishly. I have given you cause enough to know I am not always the best judge of first impressions, and perhaps I have mistaken admiration for love more than once. But if I spoke of Miss Bennet as you have just spoken of Miss Elizabeth, I should deserve to lose her.”
"You are determined to misunderstand me.”
"I understand you perfectly. You admire Miss Elizabeth. You are drawn to her. You think her clever, affectionate, courageous and unlike anyone else in the room. But because she is not a woman of the ton, because her family is not grand, because she has not been trained from infancy to preside over Pemberley, you have decided the matter before it has begun.”
Darcy’s reply came after a pause, low and firm. "I have decided nothing. There is nothing to decide.”
"Then you are a much less sensible man than I thought.”
Elizabeth had heard enough. More than enough. She stepped back from the door, carefully, though there was no danger of either gentleman hearing her. Mr Bingley had begun again, his voice earnest and rapid, but the words no longer reached her distinctly.
She had not thought herself vain. Not particularly. She was not Jane, to be admired wherever she went, nor Lydia, who expected admiration as her natural due. Yet to hear herself measured and placed aside with such composure produced a heat in her chest that she did not like.
The worst of it was not that he had insulted her.
Had he merely insulted her, she might have laughed, or sharpened herself upon the offence and gone into breakfast with every intention of making him regret it.
But he had not spoken with cruelty. He had praised her first, and then dismissed the very possibility of her with the cool reasonableness of a man closing a book and returning it to the shelf.
She went upstairs. At the turn of the staircase she met Mrs Bennet, who was descending with Miss Darcy beside her. Her mother wore her pale shawl and carried a bonnet with a yellow ribbon which had certainly not been in her possession the day before.
"Lizzy, my dear, there you are. We were beginning to wonder whether you had been carried off by smugglers, though Miss Darcy and I agreed they would return you very quickly once you began giving your opinions. Are you not coming down?”
Elizabeth looked from her mother to Miss Darcy’s anxious face and forced a smile.
"In a moment, Mama. I have forgotten my gloves.”
“Mrs Bennet looked at her for a moment. Once, such a reply would have produced some fluttering exclamation, but Lyme had altered even that. She merely tilted her head a little, her eyes searching Elizabeth’s face.
"Very well,” she said. "But do not be long.”
Miss Darcy smiled faintly.
Elizabeth made some answer, though she could not afterwards remember what it was, and continued up the stairs.
In her room she shut the door and stood with her back against it.
She had not been bred for Pemberley. That was true enough.
She had been bred at Longbourn, amid noise and nonsense.
She had not been formed for consequence.
She had no notion how a woman became worthy of a house like Pemberley.
She crossed the room and found her gloves exactly where she had left them. For several minutes she simply looked at them. Then she took them up and went down to join her family.