“You have it nonetheless,” he replied. “Mrs. Collins is a lady of excellent character. Her conduct reflects it, and her circumstances do not diminish her worth.”
Miss Bingley laughed, though there was no mirth in the sound. “You speak as though you believe her an equal.”
“I do.” The simplicity of the answer seemed to strike her more forcefully than any elaborate defense might have done.
She turned toward him fully. “And what of the rest of the family?” she demanded. “Will you defend them as well? The patriarch, a distant cousin who wishes them gone? The mother, whose nerves govern her speech? The younger sisters, whose behavior would scarcely be tolerated in any respectable circle? And Miss Elizabeth—”
Darcy’s expression changed. It was not dramatic. It did not need to be. “You will not speak of Miss Bennet in such a manner,” he said.
Miss Bingley’s eyes flashed. “I will speak as I please.”
“You will not,” he said, his tone still even, though it carried an authority that left no room for interpretation.
For a moment, silence fell.
Miss Bingley held his gaze, as though testing whether he would yield.
He did not.
“And why not?” she demanded at last. “What possible claim can she have upon your regard that would warrant such a defense? How could such a creature demand any sort of regard?”
Darcy did not hesitate. “Because she is strong, capable, and kind. Beyond that, Miss Bennet is one of the handsomest women of my acquaintance.” The words settled into the room with tranquil force.
Bingley’s brows rose. Mrs. Hurst’s fan stilled in her hand.
Miss Bingley stared at him as though she had misheard. “Handsome,” she repeated.
Darcy met her gaze without flinching. “In countenance,” he continued, “in mind, and in character. I know of no lady whose qualities I esteem more highly.”
The color drained from Miss Bingley’s face, only to return in a flush that spoke more of anger than embarrassment. “This is absurd,” she said. “You cannot be serious.”
“I am entirely serious.”
“And you would set her above every lady of consequence you have known? Above me?”
“I would set her above any lady who lacks her sense, her steadiness, and her strength.”
The silence that followed was not merely tense—it was decisive. He had never considered Miss Bingley as a potential match, and her words betrayed her incredulity at that fact.
Miss Bingley drew herself up, her composure returning in a form more rigid than before. “Then we are agreed,” she said. “There is nothing further to be said.” She turned away, her movements precise.
Mrs. Hurst rose more slowly, casting a brief glance toward Darcy that held something like reluctant acknowledgment before following her sister.
The door closed behind them. For a moment, neither man spoke.
Then Bingley let out a breath that bordered on a laugh. “Well,” he said, “that was more decisive than I had expected.”
Darcy did not immediately respond. He remained where he stood, his gaze fixed upon the door through which Miss Bingley had departed, his expression thoughtful.
“At least they are gone,” Bingley continued. “Or soon will be. I cannot say I shall miss these discussions.”
Darcy inclined his head slightly. “Nor I. And you have been subject to far more than me.”
Bingley crossed the room, pouring himself a glass of wine before turning back.
“You have given me much to consider,” he said.
Darcy glanced at him. “In what respect?”
