“Yet experience and education surely contribute to the quality of one’s observations. Someone with limited education, however well-intentioned, may lack the breadth of knowledge necessary to comment meaningfully upon complex matters.”
Elizabeth considered his statement. “Maybe. But different forms of experience offer valuable insights. Matters of the heart, of human nature and the daily struggles that shape character. These too are worthy subjects for literary exploration.”
Georgiana, who had been listening with rapt attention, ventured carefully, “Surely both perspectives have value? The educated gentleman brings learning, while common experience brings its own wisdom.”
“An admirable sentiment, Miss Darcy,” Elizabeth acknowledged with a warm glance towards the younger woman. “I confess I am somewhat surprised that not all share such an inclusive view of literary merit.”
“I believe in maintaining certain standards,” Mr Darcy replied with deliberate aloofness. “Not every sentiment, however heartfelt, merits publication.”
“Naturally,” Elizabeth continued with more heat than she’d planned. “Yet I wonder who determines these standards? I should hope that merit might occasionally triumph over prejudice, though it appears that there are many who wish for unpleasant ways to remain the same.”
Mr Darcy’s expression had grown decidedly cooler. “You speak as though you possess intimate knowledge of the literary world’s prejudices, Miss Bennet.”
“I speak as one who observes the world beyond the narrow confines of privilege, sir.”
The words hung between them like a gauntlet thrown down, and Elizabeth immediately regretted her sharp tongue. Yet she could not bring herself to withdraw the challenge, not when his arrogance seemed so complete, so utterly without consideration for perspectives different from his own.
“Indeed,” was his only reply, but the single word carried volumes of dismissal.
The conversation limped forward from there, with others attempting to bridge the uncomfortable gap her exchange with Mr Darcy had created. Elizabeth participated minimally, her thoughts churning with frustration.
Whatever Mr Wickham’s revelations had suggested about Mr Darcy’s character, tonight had proven him capable of concern for Ambrose’s welfare—yet also revealed him to be every bit as proud and condescending as her first impressions had indicated.
As she settled into the chair beside Ambrose’s bed for another night of watching, Elizabeth reflected on the strange contradictions the evening had revealed. The man who had spoken so harshly about her judgement was the same one whohad personally tested the temperature of cooling cloths for a fevered child’s comfort.
Which version represented his true nature remained an unsolvable mystery, though one that increasingly occupied her thoughts despite her best efforts to dismiss him entirely.
Chapter Seven
“Lizzy!” Jane’s gentle exclamation from the entrance hall below brought Elizabeth hurrying from Ambrose’s chamber, her heart lightening at the familiar sound of her dearest sister’s arrival.
She descended the stairs with unseemly haste, propriety forgotten in her relief. Jane stood in the marble foyer, still in her traveling pelisse, speaking quietly with Miss Bingley, whose expression bore the strained politeness reserved for guests one feels obligated to receive.
“I came as soon as I received your note,” Jane said, embracing Elizabeth as she spoke. “Though I confess I was surprised by your request for fresh clothing and personal items. I hope all is well?”
“I fear my stay has extended far longer than anticipated, and my limited wardrobe has proven inadequate for the circumstances,” Elizabeth replied. “I did not wish to impose further on Miss Bingley’s generosity.”
Miss Bingley’s smile appeared somewhat fixed. “Indeed, I thought it prudent that Miss Bennet should attend to such practical matters herself. Mr Bingley was most insistent that family should provide whatever support was needed.”
The woman’s emphasis on ‘practical matters’ carried a subtle note of disapproval, though whether directed at Elizabeth’s extended stay or her limited wardrobe remained unclear. Elizabeth chose to ignore the subtle censure.
“How thoughtful of you, Miss Bingley. Jane’s assistance is exactly what I require.”
Once they had gained the privacy of Elizabeth’s temporary chamber, Jane’s careful composure gave way to sisterly concern. She settled beside Elizabeth by the window side, her blue eyes searching her sister’s face with the practiced attention of one who had nursed four younger siblings through countless ailments and anxieties.
“Tell me truthfully, Lizzy. How do you fare? Miss Bingley’s letter mentioned Ambrose’s illness, but I sense there is more troubling you.”
The gentle enquiry proved Elizabeth’s undoing. Tears she had held in check for days spilled forth as she leaned against Jane’s shoulder, drawing comfort from her sister’s steady presence.
“Oh, Jane,” she whispered, her words muffled against the soft wool of Jane’s shawl. “I cannot bear to see him suffer. When his fever was at its worst, and he called for me with such piteous weakness… I felt as though my heart might break entirely.”
Jane stroked her sister’s hair with soothing motions. “But he improves now, does he not? Children are remarkably resilient creatures.”
“Yes, thank heaven. His appetite returned yesterday, and this morning he demanded to know when he might venture outdoors again.” Elizabeth drew back, accepting Jane’s offered handkerchief. “Yet I cannot shake the dread that something else might befall him. He is so small, Jane, so vulnerable.”
“You speak as though you were his mother,” Jane observed gently.
The words struck deeper than Elizabeth had anticipated. “I know it is foolish. He has guardians, a governess, every material comfort. Yet when he looks at me with such trust, such affection… I cannot help but wish…”
