“A well-planned strategy,” he confessed. “And an excellent suggestion, Miss Elizabeth. I think I met more people today than I even knew lived in Meryton.”
“And what of the invitations?” Jane asked. “Did anyone give their reply?”
“Ah, well,” Bingley began, casting a sidelong glance at Darcy. “There were, shall we say, some initial hesitations. But once we explained the full scope of the evening—”
“And promised the finest musicians and refreshments,” Darcy interjected.
“—they were quite eager to attend,” Bingley finished. “I daresay even the most austere matron we ever saw was tempted to send her acceptance after some cajoling.”
Elizabeth arched a brow. “Let me guess. Mrs. Purvis? That must have been a sight worth seeing.”
“It was indeed,” Darcy said, his tone wry. “Though I believe the promise of hothouse flowers from London might have sealed her approval.”
“Ah, yes,” Sir Thomas chimed in, his gaze thoughtful. “Flowers can do wonders for softening even the hardest of hearts.”
At that, Mrs. Bennet clapped her hands together. “Oh, flowers! Yes, we must have them everywhere—on the tables, on the mantels, perhaps even in the chandeliers! Oh, Mr. Darcy, do you think there will be enough for all that?”
“I am certain there will be plenty, Mrs. Bennet,” Darcy replied with a slight bow.
Elizabeth stifled a laugh, shaking her head as her mother launched into a detailed list of additional suggestions. Across the room, she caught Darcy’s gaze again. This time, he met her eyes fully, his expression calm but unwavering, and Elizabeth felt an odd flutter in her chest. It was a sensation she could not entirely name—but one she found increasingly difficult to ignore.
The muffled sound ofvoices drifted into the hall as Darcy descended the grand staircase, pulling on his gloves. He had intended to meet Sir Thomas in his study to speak of the temporary relocation of the children’s nursery so that the party might not keep the little ones awake and restless all hours of the night. Fortunately, there were, at the moment, only three children under the age of two requiring the care of a nurse, and Darcy meant to propose the large sitting room between his room and Bingley’s. It would accommodate them handsomely and afford them privacy, quiet, and a large hearth for warmth.
Yet, as he approached the study door, he caught the sharp, cutting tone of an unfamiliar voice.
“…and I protest again, Sir Thomas, that your efforts are nothing more than a vain attempt to cloak your depravity in the guise of charity.”
Darcy stiffened, his steps halting.
“This party, this…spectacle, is an insult to the moral order of this community. You cannot buy your way into acceptance, and you cannot cleanse your reputation with ribbons and garlands. Heaven and earth, you have couples living here, right now, as man and wife who are not lawfully wed!”
Darcy’s brow furrowed. A glance across the hall revealed young Mrs. Jackson standing stiffly, her hands clasped tightly before her, her face pale as her eyes glittered oddly. The study door was slightly ajar, allowing the words to spill out into the corridor.
“You are so concerned about ‘morality’,” Sir Thomas’s voice replied wearily. “But it was you, Reverend, who refused to marry Mr. and Mrs. Jackson in your church. Was I wrong to purchase a common license and find an officiant willing to unite them?”
“Do not twist the matter, Sir Thomas,” the vicar snapped. “A union outside the sanctity of our parish is no union at all. It is your arrogance that leads these people further into sin.”
Darcy’s jaw tightened. He had heard enough. His hand twisted the latch and stepped into the room. “Sir Thomas,” he said smoothly, “you wished to see me?” He glanced at the vicar, his expression one of polite curiosity. “Ah, I did not realize you had company. Should I return later?”
The vicar, a stout man with ruddy cheeks and an ill-concealed sneer, pointed a trembling finger at Darcy. “It isyouwho has emboldened him—this ridiculous party, this show of extravagance. You, with your wealth and influence, have brought this charade upon us!”
Darcy’s gaze hardened, though his voice remained calm. “You accuse me, Reverend, of supporting a cause that seeks to uplift those in need. And what, may I ask, is so offensive about that?”
“Offensive?” the vicar sputtered. “Before you arrived, Netherfield was a stain upon this community, yes, but it was contained. The people there knew their place. Now, they dare to walk the streets of Meryton, parading as equals! Have you no decency, no thought for propriety?”
“On the contrary.” Darcy crossed his arms. “I hold ‘decency’ in highest regard. And it is not ‘decent’ for good men to turn their backs when they have the power to help the less fortunate.”
“It is not fortune but depravity which has sunk them so. What place do they have among the good people of Meryton?”
Darcy took a measured step forward. “True religion,” he said, his voice lowering to a growl, “is to look after orphans and widows in their distress. Is that not what your own scripture teaches in the book of James?”
“That, sir, is a laughable twisting of the verse.”
“Is it?” Darcy tilted his head, his eyes flipping back and forth as if he were reading that same verse in context at that moment. “How else does one interpret the phrase ‘orphans and widows’?”
“They are not widows!” the vicar spat. “They are fallen women, and the men they consort with under this very roof are no better than beggars!”
Darcy’s jaw clenched, but he did not raise his voice. Instead, he turned and gestured to the door. “I think, Reverend, that you have said quite enough. Sir Thomas is a man of unimpeachable honor, and your accusations do nothing but tarnish your own. Kindly see yourself out.”
