Singular.
“Pray, tell true.” Miss Bennet sucked her crimson lip under her white teeth. “Is it because you believe us all mercenary that you have not married?” Her lower lip was moist from where her tongue had touched it.
Darcy could not gather himself to speak.
Bingley laughed. “He despises the company of women — you know my sister Caroline, ‘twas quite the joke the way she would chase him from room to room, and Darcy too polite to say he did not wish her company. But shewasmercenary.”
“Unkind! Unkind to say that of your sister! And in front of an avowed misogynist!” Miss Bennet giggled. “The horror is I cannot defend her from the insult in good conscience.”
“I am not a misogynist.”
“But you despise the company of women?”
Miss Bennet’s challenging gaze was back. Darcy could not think when her eyes were turned on him. “No!” There was a pause. He thought Miss Bennet was suppressing another giggle. Darcy added, “My affection for my sister has led me to spend enormous time in her company.”
“Perhaps your love for your own blood overcomes your general distaste for the fair sex? Can you name any other woman who you have spent a great deal of time in the presence of.”
“My mother; my Aunt, Lady Catherine; and—”
“Lady Catherine? Of Rosings Park? Ifshewere who I had to judge the gentler sex by, I would be a misogynist too. Not that I mean to insult your distinguished aunt to your face. But I just did, without intent.”
“I am not a misogynist.”
“Is there any woman who you have spent much time with who was not your near relative?”
Caroline Bingley had been the closest to such a woman. He had hated her.
“Aha!”
“That does not mean I hate women, I enjoy their company, much as any man.”
Her gaze was now frankly skeptical.
Mr. Bennet said in an amused tone, “One can enjoy the presence of women without thinking well of them.”
“I—” Darcy paused. “Miss Bennet, given the nature of this conversation, I hope it does not insult you if I turn the question around. Pray tell, why haveyounever married.”
“Mr. Darcy, an indelicate inquest! Your celebrated frankness returns!”
“Perchance you suffer from misandry?”
“Darcy — I do not know what you two are about,” Bingley exclaimed, “but Lizzy is in the best of health! No sickness ever about her.”
Everyone looked at him. Bingley pulled at his cravat and looked down. “Misandry is not an illness?”
Miss Bennet smiled, flashing her white teeth. “Your friend wished to know if I hate the male sex.”
“Of course!” Bingley laughed good humoredly. “No surprise you both know words I don’t.”
Bingley’s self-effacing expression made everyone laugh, and broke the tension of the argument. They all smiled at each other.
Darcy recollected a discussion perhaps five or six years previous where he could almost swear he remembered Bingley usingmisandry. It would be very like Bingley to make fun of himself to break up what he saw as a too aggressive dispute.
Miss Bennet extended her hand out to Darcy. He took her warm, delicate hand and shook it with a grip that lingered a little long before he let go.
She said, “I accept your apology, Mr. Darcy — though in part because your sister begged me to. She believes the entire matter was her fault, which I take as an extraordinary notion, but she is as sweet a girl as Jane claimed, and I could not deny her earnest request.”
“My sister is the dearest woman in the world. My affection for her is unbounded, and I am pleased you like her.” There was a cast in his tone which reflected his slight skepticism. Likely Miss Bennet wished to enthrall him, and she must know that Georgiana’s affections were the surest way to his own.
