“Is it true, Darcy? Good for you, chap. She is a bonny lass.”
“Thank you, Hurst.”
“But Mr. Darcy,” Miss Bingley continued, her composure tightening, “she is a nobody. She has not even been to London for the Season. She has no notion of society, no elegance, no connections. Do you truly mean to make such a girl the mistress of Pemberley?”
Darcy did not answer.
Caroline went on, encouraged by his silence. “You cannot suppose she would acquit herself with any distinction. Her family…” she hesitated only briefly, “is hardly fit to be received. Her mother – her younger sisters – such behaviour! And Miss Eliza herself, though she may possess a certain… liveliness, has neither the refinement nor the understanding required of your situation.”
Mrs. Hurst shifted. “Caroline.”
“No, Louisa, I must speak. It is not only his own consequence at stake. It is ours. It is Charles’s. What will people say when they see him so closely connected…”
“That will do.”
Darcy had not raised his voice, but the effect was immediate.
Caroline stopped.
He looked at her then – no longer with indifference.
“You forget yourself.” The words were quiet, but unmistakable. “I do not require your opinion,” he continued, “and I will not hear Miss Bennet spoken of in such terms.”
Caroline flushed. “I speak only out of concern.”
“As you did,” he returned, “when you wrote to Miss Bennet of an attachment between Bingley and my sister?”
Caroline gasped.
“That was beneath even you, Miss Bingley. And yes,” he continued, with a steadiness that cut through her words, “you presume to speak of what is none of your business.”
Silence fell.
Even Mr. Hurst looked up.
Caroline stared at him, her composure shaken at last. “None of my…? When your actions must affect us all?”
“They do not.”
“They must! You cannot imagine that Charles will remain untouched by this-this partiality. He admires you – he follows you. If you persist in such a connection, what is to prevent him from forming one equally imprudent?”
“I will be in my room.” He turned to leave.
“Mr. Darcy – Why?” Caroline asked.
Darcy half turned. “I believe,” he said, “I should like to be happy.”
***
Mrs. Bennet had scarcely waited for the carriage to come to a full stop before she hurried out, gathering her skirts with uncommon energy and making directly for the house.
“Mr. Bennet! Mr. Bennet!” she called, even before she had reached the drawing-room. “Where is he? – Mr. Bennet!”
He was, as might have been expected, in his library.
Mrs. Bennet entered without ceremony. “My dear Mr. Bennet, what is the meaning of this? Why was I not informed? Why was I left entirely in the dark?”
Mr. Bennet, who had been seated with a book, looked up with composed curiosity. “My dear, I was not aware that I had concealed anything of consequence.”
