“Miss Bennet,” said Ambrose, “I observe there appears to be a very pretty sort of wilderness at the back of your garden. Perhaps we may continue this discussion there.”
Nothing could have been more agreeable to Elizabeth than a temporary escape from the discussion in the parlour.
“You speak as though inclination were the chief consideration in marriage, Miss Bennet,” he said as they walked toward the garden, “which is a very understandable mistake in a young woman, though not an especially practical one.”
“I think my own happiness a perfectly practical concern.”
“Happiness. You are offered position, consequence, protection, and an alliance your family ought to consider a distinction of the highest order. Few women in your situation would hesitate so long over the matter.”
“I am not most women.”
“No, most women would possess considerably more gratitude.”
“You presume a great deal, my lord, for a man who has known me less than an hour.”
Ambrose broke a branch from a hedge as he passed and stripped the leaves from it with his thumb.
“I know perfectly well what is suitable,” said Ambrose. “The arrangement was approved by your guardians, desired by our families, and settled years before either of us was old enough to interfere with it by developing opinions.”
“I am sorry to disappoint everyone so thoroughly, but I find I have developed them nonetheless.”
They had reached the far end of the path. Ambrose turned back without answering immediately.
“Obstinate, headstrong girl,” said Ambrose. “I have not been accustomed to having my offers refused in this manner.”
Elizabeth’s brows lifted slightly. “Then your lordship has been unusually fortunate.”
He was not pleased by this.
“Tell me once for all,” he said, “to whom have these dangerous preferences attached themselves? Some neighbouring curate? A sentimental militia officer? I should at least like to know the gentleman for whom I am expected to surrender six thousand a year.”
“Mr. Darcy.”
“Darcy,” he repeated. “Of course.”
“You know him?”
“One cannot move in society without knowing Darcy. That solemn creature has spent his entire life being admired for virtues no one else has ever found particularly entertaining.”
“I was not aware amusement formed the foundation of character.”
“No, and Darcy would certainly be the first to prove it. He has no title, Miss Bennet. No distinction beyond a fortune inherited without effort, an excessively correct estate, and the talent for persuading half the women in England that solemnity is a personality.”
“He possesses honour.”
“Yes, yes, Darcy is honourable. He is also insufferably convinced of it. The point remains that he is merely Mister Darcy. I am an Earl. Whatever romantic notions you may presently entertain, society still recognises a distinction between those two conditions.”
Elizabeth made no answer immediately.
“My esteem is not regulated by the peerage.”
“No, but most sensible women eventually discover that comfort and position are preferable to admiration of a gentleman's character.”
“And if I do not?”
“Then you will be a very imprudent young woman.”
Elizabeth almost laughed.
