“That was the arrangement upon which we all agreed. But then, none of us anticipated Miss de Bourgh’s little expedition, nor that we should follow her here. Poor Mr Darcy,” she said, turning to him with an exaggerated pout. “You were resolute in your plan to spend Christmas with us, were you not? And instead, you were obliged to spend it here, without any of your friends.”
“I imagine there are few people who do not consider it an inconvenience when their plans are overthrown,” Darcy replied, “but it would be wilfully obstinate to continue to disapprove merely because it was not what was originally intended. My time here has proved uncommonly agreeable, and I would not change a moment of it.”
Elizabeth made no effort to disguise her delight with his answer. Miss Bingley made no effort to disguise her displeasure with it.
“And you, Miss Eliza? I do hope the presence of two such prominent guests did not interfere with your fascination with Mr Wickham.”
How Miss Bingley could not perceive Darcy’s furious incredulity was a mystery, but she seemed pleased with her attack, smirking as though she had scored a great victory.
“Not at all. Neither Miss de Bourgh nor Mr Darcy stayed at Longbourn. If there was any inconvenience, it belonged entirely to Lady Lucas. In any case, the neighbourhood had quite exhausted Mr Wickham’s rather shallow reserves of charm long before that,” Elizabeth replied.
“But not before my ball,” Miss Bingley persisted. “You were asking a thousand questions about him then, I recall, and were quite determined to be pleased with him.”
“I was determined to judge him fairly, a courtesy I wish I had extended to all my new acquaintances, but we live and learn.” Elizabeth smiled warmly at Darcy, who returned the gesture with something more than warmth—an exchange that brought a spiteful sneer to Miss Bingley’s countenance.
She turned slightly to dismiss Elizabeth and speak exclusively to Darcy.
“I meant to say when you came down earlier that your man has done a wonderful job of selecting a waistcoat in a shade so similar to my gown. What a pleasing coincidence.”
Elizabeth struggled to contain her amusement as Darcy looked first at Miss Bingley, then between both garments with an expression of bewildered disdain. She shared his confusion. It would have been a curious non sequitur anyway, but it was rendered nonsensical by dint of his waistcoat being dark green and Miss Bingley’s gown a dusky pink.
Perhaps seeing their puzzlement, Miss Bingley peered more closely at Darcy’s waistcoat and then let out an affected and somewhat feverish titter. “A trick of the light. I thought before that your waistcoat was plum. It hardly signifies. I have never much cared for such fripperies as clothes anyway. You agree, I am sure, Mr Darcy?”
“No, I am quite fond of clothes.” He betrayed no hint of amusement, which impressed Elizabeth no end.
Miss Bingley’s eyes widened in alarm. “I did not mean that I do notlikeclothes. I only meant I do not care what I look like in them.”
Miss de Bourgh joined them in time to give a tart hum of concurrence to this remark which, along with her contemptuous glance at the gown in question, threw Miss Bingley into ever more agitated spasms.
“That is, I meant that I am not vain.”
“Then you are dishonest,” Elizabeth said, tired of Miss Bingley’s attempts to work on the man for whom she felt a new but formidable possessiveness. “Nobody is wholly without vanity.”
“Nobody?” Darcy enquired.
He regarded her with that same burning attentiveness she adored, and she felt a thrill that he had so readily taken up the debate. She turned in the same way Miss Bingley had, excluding both other ladies and speaking for Darcy’s pleasure alone.
“I never met anybody who did not care at least a little what others thought of them. People who boast of being unconcerned for other people’s opinions, in truth, desire to beperceivedas hard-hearted. Those who claim to be too modest to care how they are perceived are, by definition, concerned that others shouldnotperceive them as self-interested.”
“You are speaking of character, then, not appearance,” he replied. “Not everybody is concerned about the latter.”
“You speak from a position of luxury there, sir. It is all too easy to declare oneself indifferent to people’s opinions when all opinions are guaranteed to be favourable.” Elizabeth did not miss that Miss Bingley’s eyes widened divertingly at this. Or that Darcy’s darkened, his mouth lifting at one corner into a slight but captivating smile.
“Are you proposing that vanity is an immutable aspect of human nature—something to be accepted and not repressed? I seem to recall you telling me one night at Netherfield that vanity was a weakness.”
“No, sir,yousaid it was a weakness. I merely pointed out that it was one from which you suffered.”
Miss Bingley sucked in her breath. Even Miss de Bourgh raised an eyebrow. Elizabeth did not care. All she knew was that Darcy was savouring the debate with palpable satisfaction, his gaze unblinking, his attention riveted. The thrusts and parries of the exchange reminded her, for reasons she dared not consider in Netherfield’s drawing room, of their kiss the previous day. Her heart was certainly pounding with the same rapidity as it had then. She would happily have argued that vanity was second only to godliness if it meant she could continue the argument.
“You have not lost your penchant for turning everything into a debate, I see, Miss Eliza,” said Miss Bingley.
“Better than turning everything into a blandishment,” retorted Miss de Bourgh.
It was likely a good thing they were called into dinner at that moment—not only to avoid a more serious disagreement but to enable Elizabeth to eat something. She had drunk her wine too quickly, it seemed, for she was hot and breathless and unreasonably conscious of Darcy’s unwavering stare.
19
“You must be relieved that Mr Collins was not kept away by the weather, Miss Lucas,” said Mrs Hurst. “When is your wedding?”
