"She is an agreeable enough young woman, I shall allow. And Miss Bennet is certainly handsome, I have no dispute with that. But the family as a whole..." She shook her head, as if unwilling to grant even that much. "The mother is insufferable. The younger girls are scarcely out and seem to possess no notion of propriety. And their connections are hardly distinguished. A solicitor uncle and another, I believe, engaged in trade somewhere in Cheapside."
"Gracechurch Street," Miss Bingley supplied, with a satisfaction that suggested she had taken pains to discover the fact. "Which tells one a great deal about the society to which they are accustomed." She turned towards Darcy with an air of confidence. "And Miss Eliza in particular. I have always found something rather affected in her manner. The way she isforever observing, forever surveying a room and placing herself to advantage. It is hardly becoming. There is a degree of presumption in it, as though she imagines herself superior to the company around her, though I cannot conceive what has given her such an opinion of herself."
Darcy set down his cup with deliberate care.
He had not intended to speak. He had endured the conversation with patience, expecting it to pass as so many similar discussions had done before. Yet there was something in the ease with which Miss Bingley dismissed Elizabeth, something in the confidence with which she disguised hostility as reasonable observation, that exhausted his patience before he had consciously resolved to answer.
"Miss Elizabeth observes a room," he said carefully, "because she pays genuine attention to it, which is more than may be said of most people within it."
His voice remained perfectly even.
"I consider it one of the more admirable qualities a person may possess."
Miss Bingley stared at him as though he had spoken in a foreign language.
Mrs. Hurst cleared her throat. Twice.
"As for her family's connections," Darcy continued, "I fail to see what bearing they have upon her character. Indeed, I have never understood why any person should be judged by the occupations of their relations. Bingley himself derives his fortune from trade. Would you wish either yourself or Mrs. Hurst to be judged on that account?"
Had a breeze crossed the room at that moment, it would have been plainly audible.
The silence was absolute.
Darcy resisted the urge to close his eyes.
Ordinarily he would not have spoken so directly. Yet he had done so because Miss Bingley's remarks had called to mind too many similar observations made years ago regarding his mother. He remembered the careful glances, the thoughtless comments disguised as wit, the assumptions made by those who understood nothing of what they observed. At the time he had been too young to answer them. He was no longer young.
Bingley appeared suddenly fascinated by his plate.
Mrs. Hurst reached for her coffee.
Mr. Hurst reached for another piece of toast, seemingly indifferent to the entire exchange.
Miss Bingley recovered herself with visible effort and redirected the conversation towards the modiste with a brightness that suggested the previous five minutes had never occurred.
Across the table, Georgiana briefly caught her brother's eye.
She said nothing.
Yet there was unmistakable approval in her look, accompanied by a degree of surprise.
Darcy finished the remainder of his breakfast with greater haste than usual, pushed back his chair, and rose in search of his coat.
He suspected the morning ahead would prove unusually interesting.
˜ ˜ ˜
Longbourn
Elizabeth
It was not unusual for Longbourn to receive Mr. Bingley, with notice or without. The gentleman was paying his addresses to the eldest Bennet daughter and had long sinceceased to occasion surprise. What was surprising, however, was his arriving in company with the very man Meryton had unanimously declared the proudest gentleman in the neighbourhood.
Mr. Darcy.
Elizabeth was walking in the garden, a book in hand, when two horses came through the gate. A stable lad appeared to take them. She closed her book the instant she recognised the riders.
What was Mr. Darcy doing here?
