“It was, but as it wasyouraunt towards whom the officiousness was directed, you must not think of apologizing tome.”
Darcy laughed. “This reminds me of something I had been considering. About your future.”
A frisson of something, Elizabeth did not know what, went through her. But sheknewthat Darcy would never make any sort of proposal that was not fully respectable, and also that he would never make that proposal, which she would most dearly like to hear.
She smiled at him but could not make a joke.
He swallowed as well looking at her, and then he looked aside. “What you said, the previous day, about how you could have made a living easily enough as a man made me think.”
That prompted a laugh from Elizabeth, and that tension through her left. With such a beginning, she did not know where he would end, but it was not likely to be with any sort of offer that was principally about her being awoman.
“It is likely that whatever plan Mr. Bennet has for your maintenance will be one that you like, but if you do not, there is a school for girls in London, it is in fact where both my mother and sister were educated, that has a bluestocking reputation. My family has supported this school for many years, and the headmistress is well known to me. I think, I am confident, at least if I was to provide the proper encouragement to the idea, that she would happily add a teacher of Greek and Latin to the school.”
“Imight be that teacher?” Elizabeth replied with some surprise. “But I was sure, from what your aunt said the previous night, that a lady ought to never know more Greek than was necessary to disclaim all understanding.”
Darcy grinned at her. “Not every parent has the same notion about how their daughter is to be educated. For my part I would quite like a girl who could run around shouting, ‘Sing Muse of the rage of Achilles,’ but in the original.”
“I would be terrified ifmychild shouted that at me.” Elizabeth giggled. “Meeninhas such an extra tone of horrors to be imposed upon feckless parents. The English rage simply cannot compare.”
“You agree then as to the goodness of the suggestion,” Darcy said with a smile. “And as a learned master at a school, you would deserve a better salary by far than a governess. It would be at least a hundred pounds a year for a learned man, and as you are a woman, you could board in the school and provide additional services that way. I think the amount would be substantially higher.”
“What nonsense. That would be far too much.”
“I am serious. There is great variance in such matters, but such would not at all be odd for a professor or tutor who fluently spoke both Greek and Latin.”
“Yes, but—” Elizabeth paused. Studied Darcy. Studied his face. “You mean the offer. You mean to get me such a position if I ask for it.” Elizabeth felt that thing in her stomach again, that fluttering, and that warmth. She looked at him with a glow in her heart.
“I do.”
“But...such a wage is too much.”
“An ordinary rate. I assure you that Mrs. Castle would not think it an odd salary.”
“And if she did you would offer the difference.” Elizabeth sighed.
“I would not need to. I could convince people enough of the goodness of the idea. I assure you, Mr. Bennet is not theonly gentleman in England who likes the idea of a daughter who speaks Greek.”
Elizabeth touched her face. “He did not teach that to his own daughters.”
“Did any of them have the same interest? Would Mrs. Bennet have permitted him without a struggle?”
“Mr. Darcy, I—” She suddenly started crying. She could imagine herself doing such a thing. Perhaps it would be a half made up thing, only existing because Darcy wished to find something for her, but it would also be partly real, and use her real knowledge to gain independence, or at least an independent sort of dependency.
“Just promise me that if you ask Mr. Bennet about what he means for you to do, and you do not like what he suggests, you shall remember that I will find you such a place. Perhaps even if he gives you a small fortune like his daughters, you would still like to do it.”
She shook her head. “I could not. I am so grateful. It is so kind—I wish I could tell you that I would happily do so. But the matter is impossible. I cannot.”
“Elizabeth—Miss Elizabeth, tell me what is the matter.” He took her hand. “What makes you draw back?”
Tears fell thickly. She felt this sickness in her, about the secrecy. About how she had always known she musthide. She was tired. Tired of hiding herself.
“I beg you,” Darcy asked again, squeezing her hand more tightly. “Tell me. Whatever it is, I promise I will help you to face it.”
“I am a bastard. I am illegitimate. A natural child. A sinful branch. A...bastard.”
She is a bastard. Pain in her side. Sound of fist hitting flesh.
She looked up at Darcy to see how he would treat her now that he knew.
