“I had counseled Bingley to not marry Miss Bennet,” he suddenly said. “But I now think that it was a mistake to have done so.”
Elizabeth looked at him with some surprise. “And why did you do so?” She grinned. “Were the Bennets too low for a friend of the grand Mr. Darcy, whose aunt is the mistress of Rosings Park?”
“Rosings Park hardly deserves to be compared to my own estate of Pemberley,” Darcy replied with mock haughtiness. “But think of it from my perspective. How could a man favored with my friendship even glance towards a girl whose dowry is not at least...say forty thousand.”
Elizabeth laughed. “Bingley, not understanding his own worth—but why not fifty?”
“That would be better,” Darcy replied seriously. “But there must be some scope left for Bingley’s preferences in terms of character and person.”
As Elizabeth showed every sign of amusement at this, Darcy felt the need to ask her, “I would have expected you to be offended on the behalf of...well they are your family.”
She was thoughtful. “You meant to offend me?”
“I meant to apologize for something you might find offensive. I do not quite know why I spoke.”
She looked down. Her cheeks were red. There was a mysterious small smile.
They walked on for a little, and Darcy was intensely aware of her presence at his side.
That awareness had always been there, since the day he met her. He always had a known sense that she was...shaped perfectly. Had perfect hands. He’d always felt an intense stirring deep inside, the sort of thing that he never felt with women who he might marry. It was something about her eyes, and the way that she wore her clothes, and the ivory curve of her neck.
And her mind.
At one time, he’d wondered if the attraction wasbecauseshe dressed strangely. Yet, here in Kent she dressed as any fashionable young gentlewoman might, but that sensation was yet stronger than ever before.
It had made it impossible for him to speak to her when he first saw her, and he suddenly again felt tongue tied.
He wished he could take her hand and hold it.
“I dread returning to Longbourn,” Elizabeth said. She touched the side of her lace trimmed blue bonnet. “I...I can’t do that again.”
“Dress to please Mrs. Bennet?”
She touched her hair, the curls falling over her cheeks. And then she nodded. “That was not so mysterious as I thought it would be.”
“You should always be who you wish to be. Mr. Bennet will support you. And besides, Mrs. Bennet has already married two of her daughters, she must be—”
“I would be too scared. Or maybe not—I sometimes wonder if my fear of her as ever been abouther, or about something else.”
“Your memory of being beaten?”
“You know about that?”
“One time I asked Mrs. Bingley—though this was before shewasMrs. Bingley—about your childhood.”
“I didn’t know Jane knew.” Elizabeth was pensive. “Yes, I think that.” She took a deep shaky breath. “Yes. That. That.”
“Mrs. Bennet cannot hurt you if you do not allow her.”
“Not,” she replied with a smile, “unless she convinced Mr. Bennet to let her—unlikely. Marylikesit when I am admired. It is almost odd to me. She teased me about how all of you gentlemen eagerly hung about me—she made more of it than is reasonable.”
“Did she?” Darcy’s voice was involuntarily low.
“See, evenyouare doing it! I hardly know what to do when a gentleman flirts with me. No, no. With you at least, I beg for seriousness. None of those meaningful yet meaningless sentences and glances. I can amuse myself in such a manner with yourcousin. I expect something different, more substantialwith you.”
“More from me?” Darcy said with some surprise. “And what do you mean?”
“I expect you to be my friend,” Elizabeth said seriously.
