“How strange that you think he would be,” Elizabeth interjected. “Being high-born does not predispose Mr Darcy to regard with contempt anyone whose situation in life differs from his own.”
Every stroke with which she defended Wickham galled Darcy more, and he responded heatedly.“Neither does inferior birth predispose anybody to probity.”
“What did he say?” Mr Ormerod enquired.
Elizabeth concealed her pique well; Darcy fancied only he might observe the steely glint in her eyes or how very still she held herself as she answered with affected indifference, “Oh, he agreed with me that every person ought to be judged by the same standards, regardless of descent.”
“Quite right,” said Stratton. “I see many types of people in my shop, and I can assure you, ’tis manners, not money, that maketh man.”
“Manners can be misleading,” Darcy mouthed, looking at Elizabeth. “People often put too much sway in charm and good looks.”
“What was that?” Stratton asked.
“He said people ought not to be judged on their appearance alone,” Elizabeth explained icily. “With which I could not agree more. Think of how many fewer ladies would be slighted at balls if men could be tempted to give consequence to those who were only tolerably handsome.”
It took a long moment, and Elizabeth watched him piercingly the whole while, but eventually the fog in Darcy’s head lifted sufficiently that the pertinent memory surfaced. The first evening that ever he laid eyes upon her, he had spurned an introduction on the basis of her looks. He had been perfectly aware she was within earshot when he said as much, too. It had been his design to erase all expectation, to spare himself the indignity of dancing with a stranger. It seemed he had donefar better: he had erased all expectation of any manner of connexion whatsoever. Marrying him could not be farther from Elizabeth’s mind, in which he had apparently fixed himself as an ill-tempered, ill-mannered creature from the very first moment of their acquaintance. And in doing so, he had all but secured Wickham’s place in her heart as the natural foil to his own irascible incivility. He suppressed the groan that would only choke him were he to allow it voice and opened his mouth to apologise, but it was all far too late.
“Pray, excuse me, I am tired after my walk to the village. I should like to lie down for a while.” Elizabeth pushed her chair back noisily and stood up from the table. When Darcy made to do likewise, she waved him back into his seat. “You had far better stay here. I mean to rest. I would be no company for you at all.” She thanked Carver for the meal, sent a wan smile in the direction of the other ladies, and left without another word.
“’Tis little wonder Mrs Darcy is tired,” said Mr Stratton to nobody in particular. “It was not an easy walk to Spencer’s Cross.”
“I must say, I am surprised she went so far,” Mrs Ormerod said in another of her indelicate asides.
“She was hoping to find an apothecary for Mr Darcy,” Stratton replied awkwardly, sending him an apologetic look. Darcy forced himself to smile in acknowledgement.
“Ah yes,” Mrs Ormerod said to him directly, abandoning all semblance of discretion. “She has been excessively concerned for you this week, sir.”
Darcy was acutely aware of everybody’s attention—his own rasping breath accentuated their silent wait for his answer—yet he knew not how to reply. Elizabeth thought him arrogant, prideful, and ungracious. She believed him capable of wilfully and wantonly throwing off the companion of hisyouth, of ruining the immediate prosperity and blasting the prospects of her apparent favourite George Wickham. She had called him out for egregiously ungentleman-like behaviour. How concerned could she truly be for a man she held in such poor esteem?
He swallowed painfully. Concerned enough to walk to this place that first day, through a snowstorm, to secure him aid, then return with the men to fetch him.Concerned enough to have risked her reputation to singlehandedly and bloody-mindedly nurse him back from death’s door. Concerned enough to walk out again today in search of further assistance.
Looking at nobody in particular, he mouthed,“She is exceptionally compassionate.”
That was why he loved her.
“What was that?”
“Did you catch what he said?”
“I cannot comprehend a word that passes his lips!”
“I must say,” Stratton remarked over the plethora of questions, “I cannot blame her for having been anxious. If you will pardon me, Mr Darcy, you do look rather ill.”
“Hush now,” his wife replied. “Lizzy said he is well, and she knows him best.”
“I agree with Mr Stratton,” Carver opined, sidling awkwardly into Elizabeth’s vacant chair. “You look decidedly unwell, sir.”
Darcyfeltunwell, though whether his injury or his conscience were responsible was difficult to discern. Mrs Stratton was right; Elizabeth did know him. He had accused her of being a poor studier of character, but of course, that entirely missed the point. Studying characters was precisely what she did—and what she had been doing. Rather than blithely accept Wickham’s account of him, she had spent the better part of a week questioning him, that she might judge forherself. If she had still found him wanting, could he justly lay any blame at Wickham’s door?
“You’ve not touched your soup, either,” Carver observed.
Darcy grimaced weakly and mouthed, “Not hungry.” Without much forethought, he added, “Has she been cooking for everyone?”
Carver peered closely at his lips. “Cooking for everyone?” When Darcy confirmed that had been his question, the lieutenant’s expression softened to one of surprising sympathy. “I see you are worried, but there is no need. We’ve not taken advantage. With Timmins’s sister being snowed out, and him being about as good a cook as I am a dancer, we’ve mostly dined on his bread and cheese—and meat and fruit ’til that ran out.Youcould not swallow, though, by all accounts. It was my understanding that your wife prepared something less likely to finish you off than a great hunk of cheddar. She was good enough to share it with the rest of us each time she made more.”
Darcy sighed heavily. The sound it made caused him to feel bilious and a deep frown to crease across Carver’s brow. “Thank you for clarifying, Lieutenant. And I apologise for ruining your shirt.”
Carver’s face made obvious his incomprehension, and Darcy lifted an elbow and tugged his sleeve to indicate the article of clothing to which he referred.
