“Very well. Since you have been so forthcoming about your own circumstances, perhaps I might reciprocate.”
“I would welcome it.”
“A few weeks ago, I attended a dinner party at Lucas Lodge, the home of a family friend in Hertfordshire. I was seated beside a gentleman, Mr Fletcher, a playwright. I adore books and plays and so I was more than excited to be seated beside him. The conversation was lively, and I became rather animated in my remarks.”
Darcy could easily picture this: Miss Bennet’s words quick and clever, entirely engaged in the discourse.
“At one point, Mr Fletcher made a statement about a historical event that was factually incorrect. I corrected him, gently I thought, but his response was...” She paused, reliving the memory. “He rebuked me publicly. He declared that I was far too forward for a woman, said such behaviour was unbecoming, and that a lady ought to listen rather than lecture.”
Anger flared in Darcy. “What an insufferable—” He caught himself before completing the thought aloud. “Forgive me. Please continue.”
“The worst part was not the rebuke itself, but the silence that followed. Everyone at the table agreed with him. By their silence, if not their words. I realised in that moment that I had overstepped. I had been too much myself, and it was considered a fault.”
“Since then,” she continued. “I have been attempting to be less myself, I suppose. To speak less, to challenge less to simply…” She gestured helplessly. “To be what a lady ought to be rather than what I naturally am.”
“Forgive me, but that is wrong,” he responded. “The gentleman’s behaviour reflected nothing but wounded pride masquerading as propriety. A man who cannot tolerate intellectual challenge reveals only his own inadequacy.”
“You are kind to say so.”
“I am not being kind. I am being honest. Intelligence should never be mistaken for impropriety. The ability to engage in substantive conversation, to correct error, to think independently—these are virtues, Miss Bennet, not faults.”
Her eyes shimmered with gratitude.
“Your conversational nature, your willingness to engage, to challenge, to think. These qualities reveal your wit and character,” he continued. “Without them, I would never have been so engaged in our discussion today. The fault lies not in you, but in those who cannot appreciate what you offer.”
She studied him, surprise evident in her features.
“Thank you, Mr Darcy. Sincerely. I had not expected this much understanding.”
“And I had not expected to find someone in this tedious garden party worth talking to, yet here we are.” He smiled. “I hope you will not allow Mr Fletcher’s narrow-mindedness to diminish your natural inclinations. The world has enough silent, simpering ladies. It could use more like you.”
“You will make me cry if you continue in this vein,” Miss Bennet responded, returning his smile. “I apologise for speaking at length about my troubles. You must think me terribly self-absorbed.”
“On the contrary. You have given me the most interesting conversation I have had in weeks. Most young ladies discuss nothing but the weather and the quality of the refreshments.”
They spoke for several minutes more about lighter subjects—the music, the dancers, observations about Irish customs versus English ones. Darcy relaxed for the first time since arriving at Castlewood, enjoying the company of an intelligent woman who spoke her mind.
“Lizzy!” A voice called across the lawn. “Wilhelmina needs us! Come quickly!”
Miss Bennet’s face fell slightly. “I must go, I am afraid. My cousin requires assistance with an urgent task.”
“Of course. I hope the matter resolves favourably.”
“As do I. And Mr Darcy, thank you. For the dances, and for the conversation, and for reminding me that perhaps I need not diminish myself quite so thoroughly as I had thought.”
“It was my pleasure, Miss Bennet.”
He watched her cross the lawn to join her family, her movements graceful despite her haste. She glanced back once, caught his eye, and smiled before disappearing into the crowd of guests.
Darcy remained where he stood, the sounds of music and conversation washing over him. He felt unexpectedly renewed, better equipped to endure the remainder of the afternoon. Lady O’Brien was approaching with her niece once more, determinedly threading through the guests, the prospect seemed less grim
He had come to Ireland expecting tedium and obligation. Instead, he had encountered Elizabeth Bennet, with her sharp mind and refreshing honesty. Perhaps, he reflected as he braced himself for Lady O’Brien’s renewed onslaught, this Irish venture might prove more interesting than anticipated.
Chapter Three
Elizabeth
“We must do something,” Lydia whispered. She and Elizabeth had watched Wilhelmina, who stood across the lawn, trapped in conversation by Mrs Dempsey for a little while now. “Look at Mr O’Sullivan. He appears ready to abandon the attempt.”
