Chapter 7 #3
“I am fortunate enough to marry according to my own wishes.”
Miss Bingley’s smile faltered.
He turned his head then, meeting her gaze directly. “Which means, Miss Bingley, that I might marry a milkmaid if I chose.”
For the first time since Darcy had known her, Caroline Bingley appeared unable to produce an immediate answer. Her lips parted, closed, and then parted again.
“A milkmaid,” she managed at last.
The dismay on her face suggested she had just swallowed something exceedingly sour.
Darcy nodded, keeping his expression nonchalant. “If she possessed the qualities I valued.”
Bingley clapped his hands once, delighted. “Well said! I declare, I am in the same happy situation. Perhaps not with a milkmaid, for I have no particular acquaintance with any, but certainly with whomever I esteem most.”
Mrs. Hurst regarded her brother with dry amusement. “Take care, Charles. Caroline may begin inspecting the dairymaids before breakfast.”
Elizabeth’s laugh escaped before she could prevent it. It was not loud, nor was it meant to flatter. It was honest, and Darcy felt the sound with absurd satisfaction.
Miss Bingley recovered herself with effort. “How very liberal we have all become this evening.”
“Not liberal,” Elizabeth said, still smiling slightly. “Merely practical. If gentlemen of fortune are to marry only where fortune and birth dictate, they might spare themselves the trouble of conversation altogether and let their solicitors arrange the matter.”
Bingley chuckled again. “Miss Elizabeth, you wound us.”
“Only those who require wounding.” She chuckled again. The sound affected Darcy more deeply than he anticipated.
His mouth curved. “A narrow class, I hope.”
“That depends upon the room.” Their gazes met and she regarded him steadily.
For a moment, the conversation around them seemed less immediate.
Then Miss Bingley intervened. “Mr. Darcy,” she said, with determined brightness, “you must clarify yourself. Since you reject my definition, what is your idea of an accomplished woman?”
Darcy should have withdrawn. He knew it. The safer answer was general. A collection of virtues without application. A smooth statement that could not be turned against him.
Instead, his attention settled on Elizabeth.
“An accomplished woman,” he said, “must possess a mind capable of improvement and a temper capable of generosity. She must read not to boast of having read, but to enlarge her understanding. She must be able to converse without vanity, to disagree without malice, and to offer wit without cruelty.”
Elizabeth’s needle slipped. She caught it quickly, lowering her head to hide her face.
Miss Bingley’s expression hardened.
Darcy continued, unable to stop now that truth had been given permission to speak. “She should have courage enough to be herself, even where others might prefer performance. She should value affection without display, duty without complaint, and kindness without the need to be praised for it.”
Bingley’s expression had changed into something like wonder. Mrs. Hurst's gaze moved between Darcy and Elizabeth with growing interest. Miss Bingley said nothing, silently seething as she absorbed the reaction of everyone present.
Elizabeth’s cheeks were now unmistakably flushed.
Darcy gentled his tone. “If she walks often, dances well, or plays competently, those are pleasing additions. But without character, they are ornaments hung upon an empty frame.”
Silence followed. Not long, but long enough.
Elizabeth raised her eyes at last. “You have created a lady very difficult to find, Mr. Darcy.”
“I disagree.” She was sitting before him.
“Then you are more fortunate in your acquaintance than most gentlemen.”
“Perhaps.” He regarded her solemnly.
Her gaze flickered, then dropped again.
Miss Bingley rose abruptly. “I believe music would improve the room.”
Mrs. Hurst murmured, “It often does.”
Caroline crossed to the pianoforte with more purpose than grace, though she recovered before seating herself. The opening notes came sharp, then steadied into a polished performance that demanded admiration more than it invited pleasure.
Bingley drew nearer to Darcy under the cover of the music.
“You are making yourself very plain.”
Darcy kept his gaze forward. “Am I?”
“To everyone but perhaps Miss Elizabeth.” Bingley grinned.
“She understands enough.” I hope.
“Then speak to her.”
Darcy shrugged. “I have tried.”
Bingley’s mouth twitched. “Try in a way that does not involve announcing before the whole room that you would marry a milkmaid.”
Darcy gave him a look.
“I thought it well done,” Bingley added, unrepentant. “Caroline may never recover. And to think Hurst slept through it all. He would have been vastly amused. Anything that upsets my sister is his delight.”
“That was not my object.” He had meant to convey his thoughts to Elizabeth.
Bingley chuckled again. “No. That is why it was enjoyable.”
Across the room, Elizabeth folded her work with deliberate care.
Darcy saw the movement and knew she would depart.
She rose. “Pray excuse me,” she said. “I should return to Jane.”
Bingley stepped forward. “Of course. Please give her my best wishes.”
“I shall.”
Miss Bingley continued playing, though the firmness of the notes suggested she had heard.
Elizabeth moved toward the door.
Darcy rose. “Miss Elizabeth.”
She paused.
He had not intended to speak so openly before them all.
Still, there she stood.
“I hope Miss Bennet improves by morning.”
Her expression eased, though only slightly. “Thank you.”
The reply was brief, but it was far from insignificant.
She left.
Darcy remained standing until the door closed behind her.
The room seemed altered by her absence.
Miss Bingley’s music continued. Mrs. Hurst resumed her seat. Bingley appeared thoroughly pleased with the world, though Darcy suspected his satisfaction had more to do with Jane Bennet than with anything said in the drawing room.
Darcy returned to his chair, but his thoughts followed Elizabeth upstairs.
She had listened.
She had understood.
Whether she approved remained uncertain.
And he still owed her a true apology—one spoken directly rather than implied through general observations.
That conversation would have to come later.
If the weather permitted, he would suggest a walk the following day. The gardens would answer perfectly well, and Miss Elizabeth was a woman who clearly preferred air and movement to unnecessary confinement.
There, beyond Miss Bingley’s interference and Bingley’s well-intentioned interruptions, he might finally say what ought to have been said days earlier.
He would apologize.
Not as a formality.
Nor simply to correct a social error.
Because she deserved it.
Because he could not endure the thought that she might continue to regard him as the man who had dismissed her with a careless word and then lacked the courage to repair the injury.
Darcy turned his gaze toward the door once more.
Tomorrow, then. He would find a way.
Elizabeth closed the door behind her and stood for a moment with her hand still upon the latch.
The music from below reached her only moderately now, the distance between floors muffling its edges until it became little more than a pattern of sound without shape. It suited her. She had no wish to hear it more clearly, nor to return to the room from which she had just withdrawn.
Jane stirred as Elizabeth crossed to the bed.
“Lizzy?”
“I am here.”
Jane’s eyes opened, though they did not fully focus on her sister “Has the evening gone on long?”
“Not very. You have slept.”
Jane smiled weakly. “That is something.”
Elizabeth drew a chair closer and sat. “It is a great deal.”
Jane’s hand found hers, the touch warmer than it had been earlier. “And how have you passed your time?”
Elizabeth wavered. It would have been simple to answer lightly—to speak of Miss Bingley’s music, of Bingley’s kindness, of the general comfort of the room. Any fuller answer would have demanded a steadiness she did not presently possess.
“It has been… instructive.”
Jane studied her more closely. “In what way?”
Elizabeth released a breath that came very near a laugh. “I am not fully certain.”
Jane’s fingers tightened around hers. “Something has occurred.”
Elizabeth rose and moved to adjust the coverlet, buying herself a moment before answering. The act required no thought, though she performed it with care, smoothing the fabric where no smoothing was needed.
“Mr. Darcy spoke,” she said at last.
Jane’s interest heightened despite her fatigue. “To you?”
“Not directly. Not—at first.”
She resumed her seat.
“There was a discussion. Miss Bingley began it. You may imagine the subject.”
Jane’s lips curved slightly. “Accomplishments? She seems rather set on proving herself the most accomplished lady in the land.”
Elizabeth tilted her head to one side. “Naturally. She described her definition of them at length and with great conviction.”
“And Mr. Darcy?”
Elizabeth paused. “He disagreed.”
Jane’s brows lifted. “Disagreed?”
“In part. He added to the list. Reading, he said. And—other things.”
Jane watched her. “What sort of things?”
Elizabeth stared down at her hands. “Character. Judgment. The ability to think before speaking.”
Jane’s smile deepened. “All very sensible.”
“Yes.” It had been very peculiar.
“And you do not approve?”
Elizabeth lifted her head quickly. “I did not say that.”
“No,” Jane said gently. “You did not.”
Elizabeth rose again, unable to remain still. She paced the room, her steps measured, her thoughts less so.
“It was not merely what he said,” she continued. “It was how he said it.”
Jane waited.
“He spoke as though—” Elizabeth stopped, searching for the words, then began again. “As though the things Miss Bingley values were insufficient. As though they were of no consequence unless something else existed beneath them.” As though he spoke directly to me.
Jane regarded her with quiet interest. “And you disagree?”