He considered, then, the conversation at breakfast before their guest had joined them.
Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst had spoken of Mrs. Collins’s family connections with a degree of amusement they had not troubled to conceal.
“An uncle in Cheapside,” Miss Bingley had said, her tone carrying a faint note of disdain.
Mrs. Hurst had smiled. They had exchanged a glance.
Darcy had observed it. He had said nothing at the time. He had not thought it necessary. Now, he found his thoughts returning to it with a different perspective.
What, he wondered,did it signify?
That a man engaged in trade possessed less worth than one who did not? That a family’s value might be measured solely by the occupations of its relations?
Darcy did not dismiss the importance of connections. He understood them well. He had been raised within their influence, guided by their expectations.
But there were other measures. He had seen them that morning, in the conduct of two sisters. In the contrast between them and those who had presumed to judge them.
Darcy turned from the window entirely. He moved to the small table near the hearth and rested his hand lightly upon its surface, his thoughts settling into a clearer form.
He wished to know them better. Not from hearsay, nor from the observations of others, but from his own experience.
Miss Bingley’s opinions did not hold the authority she seemed to believe. Nor did Mrs. Hurst’s agreement lend them greater weight. Darcy had formed his own judgment and it was not easily altered.
He thought of Miss Elizabeth Bennet’s expression as she had stood in the doorway. Composed. Controlled. There had been something else there, too. Something beneath the surface, held firmly in place.
Pride, perhaps. Not of the sort that demanded attention, but of the sort that refused to yield it unnecessarily. Darcy found himself respecting it. More than that, he found himself interested.
The rain had ceased. Beyond the window, the grounds lay still, the damp earth darkened by the morning’s weather. The path Elizabeth had taken would not yet have fully dried. And still, she had walked it.
Darcy drew a breath. Yes. He would call. And he would not be deterred by the opinions of those who had shown so little understanding of what they observed.
The evening at Lucas Lodge did not begin as Darcy would have wished.
Miss Bingley had found much to object to before they had even left Netherfield. The invitation itself had been received with a degree of resignation that soon gave way to complaint. The hour was inconvenient. The company uncertain. The weather, though improved, was still discussed as though it posed a personal affront.
Darcy endured it with as much patience as he could command.
Bingley, for his part, attempted cheerfulness. “It will be a pleasant evening,” he said, for perhaps the third time. “Sir William is most obliging, and the ladies are always very agreeable.”
Mrs. Hurst smiled faintly. “You find everyone agreeable.”
“Because most people are,” Bingley returned, with easy conviction.
Miss Bingley gave a soft sound that might have been a laugh. “Your standards are remarkably accommodating.”
Georgiana said nothing. She sat beside Darcy in the carriage, her posture attentive, her hands folded neatly in her lap. There was an animation in her expression that she made little attempt to conceal. This was to be her first social event, and she was ecstatic.
When at last they were settled and the carriage set in motion, she turned slightly toward her brother. “Thank you,” she said. “For allowing me to attend.”
Darcy glanced at her, his expression softening. “There is no great sacrifice in it,” he said. “We are in the country. Such gatherings are entirely suitable.” And he rather hoped that Miss Bennet and her sisters would be there.
Miss Bingley gave a small snort. “My dear Miss Darcy,” she said, “a country assembly is hardly a society event. You must not expect too much of it.” She sniffed, her nose so high in the air, Darcy wondered if she would hit it on the ceiling of the carriage.
Georgiana’s expression faltered only slightly.
Bingley leaned forward at once. “I cannot agree,” he said. “I have never met with more agreeable people than those who have so warmly welcomed us to Meryton.”
Mrs. Hurst adjusted her shawl. “It takes very little to please you, Charles. You are hardly an authority.”
