“Only if she is prepared to have her lips, and any other delicacies, complimented unceasingly until he leaves.”
“Some ladies enjoy compliments.”
“I think every lady must enjoy a sincere one. However, endless homage uttered for the sake of admiring one’s own voice? I cannot think of anything less appealing.”
They walked for several moments before she realised Mr Darcy would give no reply because there was nothing courteous he could think to say.
From the moment she had met Mr Collins, and even since she read his first letter, Elizabeth’s opinion had been that such a preposterous nature deserved any mockery it provoked.
I copy my father’s behaviour in that, she thought, suddenly ashamed of her manners, if not the sentiment behind them. She had always enjoyed the thought that she was similar to her father; it was lowering to find it no longer an ideal to be proud of.
On the heels of these thoughts, a new one occurred to her. She perfectly remembered everything that had passed between Mr Wickham and herself their first evening together at Mr and Mrs Philips’s home. She was struck by the impropriety of such communications to a stranger and wondered it had escaped her before. She saw the indelicacy of putting himself forward as he had done, and the inconsistency of his professions with his actions. In comparison, Mr Darcy seemed always to conduct himself with refinement.
She glanced at her once-again silent companion, her brow furrowing as she questioned Mr Wickham’s version of their history.
“Did Mr Wickham attend Mr Bingley’s ball?” she asked, before she could think too much about it.
The effect was immediate. A deeper shade of something—hauteur? anger? resentment?—overspread his features, but he said not a word, and Elizabeth regretted asking.
At length, however, Mr Darcy spoke and in a constrained tone, said, “He did not. Mr Wickham is blessed with such happy manners as may ensure his making friends—but neither Bingley nor myself is amongst them.”
“Why, Mr Darcy! How awful a man he must be, to have earned such disparagement!” Elizabeth heard the tease escape from her own lips and was rather astonished by it. Such behaviour seemed to belong to the ‘old’ version of herself.
He looked at her in surprise and then, somewhat sheepishly, said, “I have reason to believe you, of all people, know that I am no saint, especially when it comes to opening my mouth when it would be much better shut.”
It took her a moment to understand him. But of course, she did know. With everything that had happened lately, his insult the night they first met had faded into insignificance. “I suppose I ought not to have repeated what you said at the assembly, words I imagine you spoke thoughtlessly. I am no saint either, it seems.”
“Any scorn I face is deserved.”
She ought not to be surprised by his sentiments, but she acknowledged that, except for the night of the ball, she had looked to him only to find fault.
Another of Papa’s bad habits. It is past time to forget that stupid insult.I have far more important matters with which to occupy my thoughts.
“Miss Bingley believes I am remiss in my duty,” he said, in what seemed to her an abrupt change of topic. “She believes her brother is in danger. Is he?”
“I am afraid I do not understand your question, sir. In danger of what?”
“I had not been long in Hertfordshire, before I saw, in common with others, that Bingley prefers your eldest sister to any other young woman in the country. I have often seen him in love before, but Miss Bingley believes he has behaved in such a way as to create a general expectation of marriage. Has he?” His tone had grown harsher, as if the very idea were repugnant.
She had been enjoying his company too well, and though she knew it to be foolish, was hurt by his sudden return to severity. “What if he has?” she asked sharply. “Jane is not committed to another. Ishe? Her birth is better than his, and even though she has no fortune, any man would be privileged to win her regard!”
He stiffened and, if possible, grew even more formal. “Bingley’s partiality for her is beyond what I have ever witnessed inhim. I have observed Miss Bennet closely of late. Her look and manners are open, cheerful, and engaging, but without any symptom of peculiar regard. I am left to wonder whether she returns his sentiments. It is plain your mother wishes for the match, but does your sister? Has her heart been touched? In my opinion, it has not. It might be rude of me to ask, but Bingley relies on my guidance. My inclination is to advise him to instantly show the world it was nothing beyond an acquaintance, perhaps even departing the area and giving up the lease. I have not been pleased with the condition of Netherfield in many respects, which was misrepresented to me when I sought to help him lease a property.”
Elizabeth’s mouth gaped open in astonishment. “You would rely on your observations to determine what my sister, whom you have known scarcely more than a month, feels? Is her future happiness, and that of your friend, to be decided by you because, in your judgment, she does notlooklike she is in love with him? Tell me, Mr Darcy, what must a woman do to show she cares for a gentleman? How would you know if a lady feels affection foryou?”
A certain sadness had crept into her tone; just when she had begun to think better of him, her opinion abruptly sank. She would not let him see it, however, and covered those feelings with a rising anger.
“I suppose Jane could compliment Mr Bingley’s penmanship, his letters, or at least the speed with which he writes them,” she cried. “Perhaps she should note his fine figure as he strolls about a room? Or add a few indirect boasts, whereby he might particularly notice her most worthwhile qualities?” Elizabeth shook her head. “But no, these are the means by which others call attention to their feelings—not Jane, the refined, genteel Jane, who strives, even when very much in love, to be an example all of her sisters might be pleased to follow.
“If you expected flirtation instead of sincerity or flattery instead of graciousness, you would miss any sign of her feelings she is ever likely to give. But then,sheis thoughtful and good-natured. No wonderyoucould not see them.” Elizabeth looked at him unflinchingly, her chest heaving with anger.
He stared back, astonishment visible upon his face.
With a sickening rush, she realised she had done Jane no favours today. With Herculean effort, she grappled with her temper and leashed it.
“I apologise, Mr Darcy,” she forced the words out from behind the lump in her throat. “I ask you not to blame my kind and gentle sister for my unruly tongue. My feelings have been too troubled of late for other reasons, and I have forgotten myself. Pray forgive me.” After the briefest of curtseys, she fled at the fastest pace she could manage without breaking into a run. She felt his eyes burning into her back until the woods closed behind her
Elizabeth did not expect to see Mr Darcy on her next ramble two days later. She had told him that she walked this particular path frequently, specifically so that he could avoid meeting her. After their last encounter, nay, their lasttwoencounters, he must doubtlessly have no desireeverto see her. Even so, she was curious and could not prevent a desire to talk to him again.
