Mr. Bennet regarded him with a look of mild contemplation. “You know,” said he, “you have been the subject of considerable discussion in this house already, Mr. Darcy.”
Darcy inclined his head. “I hope not unfavourable.”
Mr. Bennet smiled faintly. “Oh, well, you will be the judge. It was most certainly memorable.”
Darcy waited.
“My daughter Elizabeth,” Mr. Bennet continued, “is not a young lady easily persuaded of a gentleman’s merits when he begins by declaring her tolerable.”
Darcy stiffened – not visibly, but enough.
“Nor,” Mr. Bennet added, “is she particularly inclined to forget being pronounced insufficiently handsome to justify the trouble of dancing.”
There was the briefest pause.
“If my wife treated you well, then in that case she was indeed gracious.” Mr. Bennet’s eyes twinkled. “Regard yourself, sir, as properly chastised. To say such falsehoods about my Elizabeth – why, it was quite imprudent.”
Darcy allowed himself a breath. “I am not accustomed to being reminded of my own folly.”
“No,” Mr. Bennet replied pleasantly. “Few men are.”
Darcy met his gaze, then bowed slightly. “I deserve the rebuke. In that instance, sir, my judgement was neither just nor accurate.”
Mr. Bennet’s eyes sharpened a fraction. “Fortunately, my daughter is fond of forming her own opinions. Unfortunately, she forms them very thoroughly.”
Darcy allowed himself a measured breath. “I hope to correct hers of me.”
Mr. Bennet raised an eyebrow. “That would be a novel undertaking. I wish you success.”
Mr. Bennet, entirely at ease, leaned back in his chair, satisfied. Darcy was visibly thoughtful – and, for the first time that evening, unmistakably aware that he had been weighed not by Elizabeth alone, but by her father as well.
After exchanging a few polite words with the other gentlemen, Mr. Bennet returned to his seat beside Darcy, settling himself with an air of deliberate ease.
“You are from Derbyshire, I hear,” said he. “I travelled through Derbyshire once, when I was young enough to suppose that changing one’s scenery might improve one’s judgement. The scenery succeeded admirably.”
Darcy’s mouth curved, almost imperceptibly. “Yes, I can imagine it does that. I like to travel, and I have seen many places, but in that respect, scenery admits of little comparison.”
“Hear, hear. I shall not argue with you,” Mr. Bennet replied. “I am fond of Hertfordshire; it has the merit of being my birthplace, and of offering comfort in abundance. Its rolling fields, arable land, and neat villages are quite sufficient for domestic happiness. Yet they do not rival the rugged wild of your county.”
Darcy inclined his head, accepting the distinction without vanity.
“Still,” Mr. Bennet continued, turning his glass slowly in his hand, “it is curious how counties will produce men as various as their landscapes. Mr. Wickham, for instance, is also from Derbyshire. Do you know each other?”
“We do.”
“Oh?” Mr. Bennet glanced at him with renewed interest. “That is a coincidence worth remarking upon.”
“His father was the steward of our estate.”
“Indeed,” said Mr. Bennet. “A small world, as they say.” He paused, then added lightly, “I could not help but observe that you have not exchanged any words this evening. Pray forgive the curiosity of a man with nothing better to do.”
Darcy did not answer at once.
Mr. Bennet smiled. “I understand, sir.”
Darcy looked at him. “You do?”
“I believe so. He is not of your circle.”
