Page 72 of A Most Unwelcome Acquaintance

Bingley began, “No sensible person could believe—”

“Many sensible people believe what fits their expectations,” Elizabeth said.

Darcy heard no accusation in the words, which did not make them easier to receive.

“I gave the story its foundation,” he said.

Her eyes held his. “And someone else built upon it.”

“You know who.”

“I spoke with him.”

Bingley stared. “Did he admit it?”

“He admitted speaking to Kitty. He promised to correct the account.”

Darcy doubted the promise, and Elizabeth appeared to share his doubt.

“I am sorry,” he said.

“For what part?”

The question struck with the accuracy she often used against him.

“For speaking as though Longbourn’s failures gave me authority to judge your place within it.”

Bingley shifted, then found reason to inspect a window display.

Elizabeth’s expression changed. “You did judge it.”

“Yes.”

“And you still believe the gate should not have remained broken.”

“Yes.”

A reluctant humor touched her mouth. “Then your repentance has limits.”

“My judgment of the gate does not trouble me.”

“No. I suspected it would not.”

“The rest does.”

Along the road, two passing women lowered their voices.

“Mr. Wickham’s version hurts because it resembles the truth,” she said. “That is what gives it strength.”

Darcy had no defense against that.

“He made your concern into contempt,” she continued. “But he could not have done so had contempt not seemed possible.”

“Because of the assembly.”

“And because you judged my family before you knew them.”

“I knew enough to form an opinion.”