Chapter 6 #2
“The daughter of a country squire with a meagre dowry and no connections? No. However good Jane may be, she could only harm his prospects—and that is not to mention the embarrassment which the rest of your family must bring upon ours.”
You know, aunt, how easily I am angered by slights to my family, and how rashly I can speak when thus provoked.
For a moment, I could not utter a word. I believe that, while I stood trembling and insensible with rage, Mr. Darcy spoke some remonstrance to Miss Bingley, which she most uncharacteristically waved aside and addressed me once more.
“I trust we understand each other, Miss Eliza.”
At this, speech returned to me. I am never left without words for long, though on this occasion, I wish I had been.
“We certainly do.”
“And you will give up this absurd notion of encouraging any connection between your sister and my brother?”
“I will not.”
She gaped at this but quickly regained her composure.
“I have never understood why some individuals consider you so clever, Miss Eliza. You are clearly incapable of seeing sense. Let me be plain: I will never permit your insipid sister to wed my bother.”
“Would that I could profess myself surprised that you consider kindness and courtesy signs of insipidity, Miss Bingley, but I cannot. Anyone who would prize their social standing above a brother’s happiness—or a friend’s,” I added, determined that Mr. Darcy should not feel himself excluded from my censure, “cannot be considered an adequate judge of character.”
Miss Bingley flushed but showed no other sign of perturbation.
“It is his happiness I think of in keeping him free of your family’s designs.
Pray, do not pretend that your ambitions for your sister arise from any disinterested concern for Charles’ contentment.
However enamoured he may be of Jane now, he will forget her soon enough, and I shall see that he transfers his attentions to a lady with the breeding and connections to forward his interests in society.
My only aim is to save Charles from an entanglement certain to ruin him. ”
“Ruin your ambitions, I suppose you mean.”
Miss Bingley scoffed. “We are not all so indifferent to the opinion of society as you pretend to be, Eliza. You may be content to flout fashion and wed some insignificant tradesman, but some of us are meant for greater things.”
In this interlude, I can approve of my conduct in only one respect: that I did not in that moment throw Miss Bingley’s obvious designs upon Mr. Darcy in her face. What I said next was little better, of course. But please credit me that one moment of restraint.
“I would rather be a respectable tradesman’s wife than a puffed-up social climber who must assert her own status by showing disdain for kind and decent neighbours.”
Another scoff. “I consider your little neighbourhood’s four-and-twenty families to be quite fortunate that we choose to recognise them at all. It is only on account of my brother’s absurd kindness, I assure you.”
“Deign to recognise? You have been welcomed warmly, and you have both met every effort at hospitality with disdain. As though a country gathering ought to look identical to a London ballroom! You ridicule Meryton manners, whilst sneering and giving insult wherever you go.”
Mr. Darcy glowered, leaning forward slightly as though he wished to argue, but Miss Bingley remained unabashed. “I have no regard for the opinions of foolish country squires and grasping, hysterical matrons.”
I quail to relate what I said in reply, for you must certainly think poorly of me. But I shall not obscure any detail of my deplorable conduct.
“A bold proclamation, when the majority of those squires and matrons bear names far older than yours. Remind me, was it your father or grandfather who owned the mill?”
“My family no longer has any ties to trade,” she said.
“Nor does Sir William Lucas, whom you so evidently despise. His kindness holds no value to you because he once owned a shop. Just as you consider Jane’s happiness, and Mr. Bingley’s, insignificant because their marriage could not benefit you.”
That was when Mr. Darcy saw fit to intervene.
“Whatever our different opinions upon the local population, Miss Bennet, you do us an injustice in implying that we are actuated by any motive other than a sincere desire for Bingley’s happiness.”
“You speak of injustice, Mr. Darcy?” I said. In my heightened temper, I considered it base hypocrisy to call me unjust, after his own conduct towards Wickham. He looked at me with confusion.
“I understand that you are distressed, but—”
“Distressed? I am indeed distressed by many things, not least by your implication that my sister would not be able to make your friend happy.”
“She is a vapid, naive girl, who would be more likely to make him miserable than to contribute to his contentment,” Miss Bingley snapped.
I rose to depart, then, in spite of my aching ankle, for I refused to hear Jane slandered further, but Mr. Darcy raised a hand to stay me.
“Miss Jane Bennet is a lovely young lady, but you cannot deny that her equable temper might make her vulnerable to the machinations of those with less generous intentions. Nor, I think, can you deny that the attachment would be to Bingley’s disadvantage.”
“He aspires to join the gentry; she is a gentleman’s daughter. Anyone not blinded by matters of fortune must perceive that it is she who confers the favour in wedding him.”
“Few in the first circles would think as you do,” he said, in a voice of gentle condescension.
“Indeed. And heaven forbid any man should refuse society’s right to dictate how he may be happy.”
“If I believed that your sister truly returned my friend’s affections, I should not fear society’s opinion. But her indifference to him is evident.”
“Indeed,” put in Miss Bingley.
“Her indifference? Jane is reserved, but anyone capable of impartial observation would not call her indifferent.”
He frowned. “I have not allowed my own opinions of the match to influence my perceptions.”
“Have you not? Your opinion of my family has certainly influenced your conduct in every other respect.”
I regretted this remark as soon as it was uttered, but I refused to flee.
“I cannot recall ever expressing any opinion of you or your relations.”
I opened my mouth to remind him of the opinion he had expressed even before our first introduction, but Miss Bingley spared me that indignity.
She had been glancing between us with an expression of increasing satisfaction during this exchange, and at Mr. Darcy’s denial, she gave a small smile and at last spoke.
“Far be it from me to contradict you, Mr. Darcy, but I believe you have expressed some rather strong opinions regarding the Bennet family. Why, some weeks ago you remarked of Miss Eliza, ‘She, a beauty? I should as soon call her mother a wit.’ We were all most diverted, as I recall.”
To my extreme chagrin, tears gathered in my eyes at this insult. Why should it have troubled me, when I have known Mr. Darcy’s low opinion of my person from the first moment of our acquaintance?
The gentleman, for his part, grew very pale and stretched out a hand towards me.
“Miss Bennet, pray, do not heed—”
Determined that he should not perceive my distress, I kept my chin up and my voice steady.
“Pray, do not trouble yourself to make excuses, Mr. Darcy. If you think that your ill opinion surprises me, you are much mistaken. I have always known that you consider me merely tolerable. For my part, I care nothing for the opinion of any man so arrogant and unfeeling as to ridicule a young lady or to destroy a good man’s prospects. ”
“A good man’s—” His horror gave way to perplexity, but I had no desire to extend the encounter by explaining my meaning.
I left the room without another glance at either of my adversaries.
My exit might have been more impressive had I been able to walk without limping, but alas, my ankle would not cooperate.
By the time I reached my chamber, my leg was in such pain that I knew I had aggravated the original injury.
I was not able to go down to dinner, and the thought that Miss Bingley must believe she has frightened me off is a greater wound to my pride than were any of her words.
Even after writing this account, I cannot calm myself.
What a wretched creature I am, aunt—so swift to descend to malicious squabbling at the absurd provocations of a woman for whose opinion I care nothing. Mr. Darcy will certainly consider his censure of my family entirely justified after my uncouth conduct today.
I do not know what else to write, and my head begins to ache.
Yours,
Elizabeth