CHAPTER 12 #3
Elizabeth replied, pausing her tugging for a moment, to speak directly to his back, "I have heard no evidence, sir, to support the notion that women are unsuited to such professions, only that we have been denied the education and opportunity to pursue them. It is not incapacity. It is exclusion."
She heard what sounded like a huff, and noticed his shoulders lurch upwards, "I see Miss Edgeworth's influence upon you plainly, madam. Your argument, then, is that the true trouble lies in education?"
"It does, sir. Deny a woman education, and she will remain confined to occupations that require none. Educate her properly, and I believe you would find her equal to any profession you might name." Elizabeth was satisfied with her response.
Mr. Darcy fell quiet, turning over in his mind the women of his acquaintance; his mother, his aunts, his cousin Anne de Bourgh, his sister Georgiana; Caroline Bingley and the other ladies of his London circle besides.
Nearly every one of them had received some education, whether at school or under a private governess, and yet he had never troubled himself to consider what that education truly consisted of.
Certainly none had been permitted to study the common law, nor sit in on a single university lecture.
His mother and his aunts, at least, had been formidable women in their own right, capable of holding their own in any conversation or undertaking, his aunt Catherine had managed her own estate for years since the death of Sir Lewis.
His cousin and sister seemed, by comparison, less equal to such things, though Georgiana, he reminded himself, was still very young.
Women such as Caroline Bingley, meanwhile, possessed all the polish society required of them, and precious little substance beneath it—vanity and petty jealousy in place of any real ambition beyond securing a fortune of her own.
And then there was Elizabeth Bennet, seated behind him even now, working patiently at the cords about his wrists.
She could do anything, he thought, with something like wonder.
Of every woman he had ever known, he believed that Elizabeth Bennet, given the opportunity, might have matched the finest legal minds in argument, assisted the ablest surgeons, or reasoned alongside the cleverest engineers in England.
The realisation struck him with the force of cold water.
He, who prided himself so much upon principle and character, had never once considered the access, the feelings, or the ambitions of the women in his own life.
He had simply assumed a woman's place at home followed naturally from her delicate constitution; prone, as he had always supposed, to fits of nerves and sentiment, and thereby unsuited to any education fit for a man.
Elizabeth Bennet gave the lie to every part of that assumption.
He could not begin to imagine her succumbing to nervous collapse or hysterical tears; she had endured eight days of captivity and isolation without once dissolving into either.
She was, he understood now, no fragile creature at all, but a woman of considerable strength, sense, and brilliance.
After several moments of silence, he heard Elizabeth say, "Have I made my case, Mr. Darcy?"
He almost smiled at her tone. "I confess I had never considered the matter from your point of view, Miss Elizabeth. I believe I have made a great many assumptions about the women of my acquaintance, without ever pausing to consider how differently education might serve them, were it only offered."
Elizabeth could not suppress a small, satisfied laugh. "I am glad to hear it, sir. Women can prove surprising creatures, given the chance."
"So I am learning," Darcy replied, smiling at her evident pleasure, though Elizabeth was unable to see it.
His answer brought her a deep and unexpected satisfaction.
She felt, for the first time in a long while, truly heard.
Aside from her father, whose recognition of women's difficulties was tempered always by a certain weary resignation.
She had never spoken with a man on such matters at all, let alone one willing to own his own blindness so readily.
That this proud, exacting man, so fond of being right, should admit himself mistaken, and confess so plainly that he was still learning, left her strangely hopeful, and strangely eager, besides, to go on teaching him.
They fell again into companionable silence, each turning over what had passed between them. Mr. Darcy sat with his gaze fixed upon the wall before him, while Elizabeth returned her attention to the leather binding, which had begun, at last, to yield.
Some ten minutes later, he cleared his throat. "Miss Elizabeth, I find myself with a rather unusual request, and I am afraid it cannot be helped."
She frowned slightly, perplexed at his statement, "What is it you require, Mr. Darcy?"
He paused for a moment, before responding, "It is…” Another pause, “I am sorry to say, a matter of some delicacy."