Had Fitzwilliam developed feelings for Elizabeth? The possibility had never occurred to Darcy before, or if it had, he had dismissed it as unlikely. His cousin was a second son, dependent on his military career and whatever portion his father might settle on him. He could not afford to marry for inclinationalone. Elizabeth’s circumstances made her an impractical choice for Fitzwilliam, however much he might enjoy her company.
But practical considerations did not prevent feelings from forming. Darcy knew that truth intimately, having spent months trying to master his own unsuitable attachment through sheer force of will. Yet Elizabeth’s behaviour was incomprehensible regardless of Fitzwilliam’s feelings. Elizabeth had always responded to Fitzwilliam with warmth, had clearly enjoyed his company. Why would she suddenly treat him with such marked indifference while simultaneously showing increased warmth toward Darcy himself?
“The weather has been remarkably fine,” Elizabeth said, directing the observation toward Darcy with focused attention that suggested she intended to hold his notice regardless of other claims on it. “Do you think it will hold through the week? I should like to continue my regular walks.”
It was banal conversation, the sort of empty pleasantry that might fill silence but served no purpose beyond that. Elizabeth typically scorned such exchanges, preferring substance over social nicety. Darcy had once heard her say that she found discussions of weather to be the refuge of people with nothing interesting to say.
“I expect it will hold,” Darcy replied, aware that his responses had become increasingly mechanical. “The spring has been mild thus far.”
Elizabeth smiled at him again, that same warm, encouraging smile that made his stomach twist with discomfort. She looked pleased, as though he had said something particularly clever rather than offering the most pedestrian observation imaginable.
Across the table and down several places, Fitzwilliam had turned his attention to Anne, engaging her in some question about the gardens. Anne responded in her usual soft voice,barely audible over the general conversation, but Fitzwilliam gave her his courteous attention. Darcy noted the contrast. His cousin, rebuffed by Elizabeth, had turned to someone else with determined politeness. While Elizabeth seemed to have eyes only for Darcy, ignoring everyone else at the table.
The wrongness of it crashed over Darcy with renewed force, each piece of evidence accumulating. Elizabeth’s lack of wit. Her warmth toward him when she should be angry. Her coldness toward Fitzwilliam when she had previously enjoyed his company. Her complete transformation from the sharp, independent woman he had come to admire into this pleasant, docile stranger who smiled too much and said nothing of substance.
This was not Elizabeth Bennet. Could not be Elizabeth Bennet. Yet she sat before him wearing Elizabeth’s face, using Elizabeth’s voice, inhabiting Elizabeth’s body. How could she be anyone else?
Lady Catherine’s voice cut through the general dinner conversation with its usual authority, drawing attention to herself as she posed some question about the parish to Mr. Collins. Darcy watched his aunt’s profile as she spoke, noting the rigid set of her jaw, the way her fingers gripped her wine glass with unnecessary force. Something had displeased her, though whether it was related to Collins’s obsequious response or to something else, Darcy could not immediately determine.
The candelabras positioned along the table’s centre threw wavering light across the assembled company, their multiple branches holding candles that had burned down unevenly,creating shifting shadows. The flames reflected in the crystal glasses and caught the gold rim of the fine china, each piece bearing the de Bourgh crest. Everything in this dining room existed to impress, to remind guests of Lady Catherine’s consequence and the long history of the de Bourgh family’s position and wealth.
Lady Catherine’s attention had shifted from Collins to Elizabeth, and Darcy saw his aunt’s expression tighten with unmistakable displeasure.
“Miss Bennet,” Lady Catherine said, her voice carrying the sharp edge of someone who had been observing unacceptable behaviour and could no longer contain her criticism. “I notice you have been monopolising Mr. Darcy’s attention throughout the meal. Perhaps you might consider that conversation at dinner ought to be more generally distributed, not focused so exclusively in one direction.”
The rebuke was direct enough that several people shifted uncomfortably. Mr. Collins made a small sound that might have been agreement or simple anxiety. Fitzwilliam paused with his fork halfway to his mouth, his expression suggesting he was preparing to intervene if the situation escalated.
Darcy waited for Elizabeth’s response, for the flash of spirit that such a remark would inevitably provoke. He expected her to defend herself with wit, to point out that conversation required two participants and perhaps Mr. Darcy bore equal responsibility, or to turn the criticism back on Lady Catherine with some observation about the freedom of dinner guests to speak with whom they pleased.
Instead, Elizabeth simply smiled and turned her attention briefly toward Lady Catherine before looking back at Darcy. She did not respond at all, did not acknowledge the rebuke beyond that momentary glance.
The deliberate dismissal was so complete that Darcy saw Lady Catherine’s face flush with genuine anger. His aunt was not accustomed to being ignored, particularly not at her own table, particularly not by young women of no particular consequence who were present only through her sufferance. Lady Catherine’s fingers tightened further on her wine glass, and for a moment Darcy thought she might actually throw it.
“I do not believe Miss Bennet heard me,” Lady Catherine said, her voice rising slightly with barely controlled fury. “I was commenting on the impropriety of focusing one’s attention so exclusively on a single dinner companion. Such behaviour suggests a forward nature that I cannot approve.”
Forward. The word hung in the air like an accusation, carrying implications of improper pursuit, of scheming unbecoming to a gentlewoman. Darcy felt his own jaw tighten at the insult, felt an instinctive urge to defend Elizabeth even as he acknowledged that his aunt’s observation was not entirely inaccurate. Elizabeth had been behaving with unusual focus.
But this time Elizabeth did respond, though not in the way Darcy expected. She looked at Lady Catherine with that same pleasant smile and said, “How kind of you to concern yourself with my behaviour, Lady Catherine. You are always so thoughtful.”
The words were perfectly civil, perfectly polite. They were also completely wrong, carrying none of Elizabeth’s characteristic spirit, no hint of the independence that would have bristled at being corrected like a wayward child. It was as though she had not registered the insult at all.
Darcy watched his aunt’s face cycle through several expressions, confusion and increased anger among them. Lady Catherine opened her mouth to deliver what would undoubtedly be an even more cutting remark, then seemed to think better of it. She turned her attention to Anne instead, demanding toknow whether her daughter had eaten sufficient dinner, her voice containing the forced solicitude of someone redirecting frustration.
Further down the table, Mr. Collins had been watching this exchange with an expression Darcy could only describe as grimly satisfied mixed with obvious disapproval. The parson’s small eyes moved from Elizabeth to Lady Catherine and back again, his lips pressed into a thin line. Darcy had observed Collins watching Elizabeth throughout the meal, had noted the frequency of those disapproving glances, but now the man seemed unable to contain himself.
“Miss Bennet,” Collins said, his voice carrying pompous authority. “I must say I am surprised by your conduct today. First this morning’s impropriety, and now this display at dinner. I had not thought you so lost to propriety as to require such correction from Lady Catherine, but it seems my concerns were well-founded.”
Darcy’s attention sharpened. This morning’s impropriety? Collins had interfered with their walk earlier, had lectured Elizabeth about walking with him and Fitzwilliam without proper chaperonage. But the way Collins spoke suggested something more, some additional grievance.
Elizabeth turned to look at Collins, and Darcy watched her expression shift into something approaching contrition. “I apologise if my behaviour has been inappropriate, Mr. Collins. I certainly did not intend to cause offence.”
The meekness of her response struck Darcy like a physical blow. Elizabeth apologising to Collins, accepting his pompous criticism without challenge? It was perhaps the most impossible thing yet in an evening full of impossibilities.
Collins appeared somewhat mollified by her submission, though suspicion remained evident in his expression. He made a sound of grudging acceptance and returned his attention tohis plate, though Darcy noticed he continued to direct frequent glances toward Elizabeth throughout the remainder of the meal.
The servants had begun clearing the previous course when Darcy’s gaze drifted toward the head of the table where Anne sat in her usual position beside her mother. His cousin appeared even more pale than usual, her face nearly translucent in the candlelight, and as Darcy watched, he saw her hands trembling where they rested on the table’s edge.
Anne was frightened. Not merely uncomfortable or anxious, which would be unremarkable given her delicate constitution and the tension that had characterised dinner. She looked genuinely terrified, her pale eyes wide and fixed on Elizabeth with an intensity that suggested she was witnessing something deeply disturbing.
