I have read your letter with the greatest care, as I always do, and I can see how earnestly you feel about this visit. Let me say first that I would never press you to do anything I believed to be truly against your well-being. You are my highest priority, always.
You know, however, how deeply I believe in your strength and goodness, even when you do not see it yourself. The family of Mrs. Pomeroy are well thought of in every respect, and I assure you, you will be as safe with them as you would be at Pemberley itself. The daughters of the house are known for their cheer and good nature, and I feel it would be a great opportunity for you to grow comfortable in the company of your peers.
It is only natural, after all, to feel uncertainty about unfamiliar surroundings, but those uncertainties often prove baseless when we face them. I hope you will think on this, my dearest sister, and know that I trust entirely in your ability to meet any challenge with grace and courage.
If, however, after giving it all due consideration, you still feel strongly against the visit, I will not press you further. Your peace is more important than any plan, and I trust your instincts implicitly.
Yours always,
Fitzwilliam
Darcy blotted the ink and folded the letter, slipping it into an envelope and sealing it with a firm press of his signet. As he held the envelope for a moment longer, his mindturned, inexplicably, to Elizabeth Bennet. She would be here at Netherfield tomorrow with her family for dinner, so he must face her again, and soon. An odd thought pierced him, that his anxious dread of that scenario was a sort of mirror for how his sister must be feeling about going with the Pomeroys.
But that was… well, it was preposterous. The two situations were nothing alike! One was the growth of an impressionable young lady, and the other was the dignity of an eligible gentleman. In one instance, a little boldness in the face of trial was perfectly wise, but as for the other…
He shook the thought away and placed the letter with the others to be sent. This was no time for distraction.
The clink of silverwareand the hum of conversation filled the air at Netherfield’s dining room, the candlelight flickering over fine china and polished crystal. Elizabeth could feel the heat of it flaring against her skin—the weight of too many stares, too many opinions.
At least two of those stares belonged to Mr. Darcy and Miss Bingley, though their purposes could not have been more opposite.
Miss Bingley was on the offensive tonight, her tone sharp and her remarks carefully aimed. And it became rapidly apparent what the point of this dinner party was meant to be—Miss Bingley was claiming her turf, exerting her superiority, and every other female in Meryton was meant to feel it. From the moment Elizabeth had stepped into the room, Caroline Bingley’s smile had been too sweet, her comments too pointed. The subtlemockery in her voice was an art form, and Elizabeth could not deny its skill, though she had no intention of losing to it.
She lifted her glass of wine with practiced ease, tilting her head just so as Miss Bingley leaned forward with a conspiratorial air.
“Do you not find it charming, Miss Eliza,” Caroline said, her voice dripping honey, “how country gatherings such as these bring out such... candid personalities?”
Elizabeth’s lips thinned, the beginnings of a smile forming. “I suppose it is rather charming. One does learn so much about one’s company when people speak freely.”
Caroline’s smile tightened, but she pressed on. “Indeed. Of course, there are times when one wishes for a touch more... refinement.”
“Refinement is an admirable goal,” Elizabeth said lightly, “though I confess I find it less entertaining than honesty.”
Across the table, Mr. Darcy’s fork paused briefly above his plate. His eyes flicked toward Elizabeth, not so much with surprise as with interest—as though her words were pieces of a puzzle he had not yet solved.
Miss Bingley laughed. “Oh, Miss Eliza, you are too generous. Surely you would agree that a certain level of refinement is necessary for—well, for harmony.”
“Harmony is a fine thing, but I fear too much of it leads to dull company. Do you not agree, Mr. Darcy?”
His gaze held hers for a moment longer than was proper, his fork now forgotten. “I believe harmony and honesty are not mutually exclusive, Miss Bennet.”
“Indeed? Then perhaps we must agree to disagree. I find too much harmony quite stifling.”
Darcy’s cheek twitched, the faintest trace of amusement crossing his otherwise serious face. “Then I suspect you are never stifled, Miss Bennet.”
Elizabeth felt a small jolt at his reply—not just at the words themselves, but at the way he delivered them. She detected no mockery in his tone, no disdain. If anything, it was... admiring.
Miss Bingley’s laugh, however, was quite the opposite. “Oh, Mr. Darcy, you are far too indulgent. Miss Eliza has quite the way with words, does she not?”
“She does,” Darcy said simply, his gaze never leaving Elizabeth.
Elizabeth blinked, caught off guard by the frankness of his statement. There was no irony in his voice, no polite veneer. He meant it. She felt the warmth of it spread through her chest… and she hated that she felt it at all.
But then Mrs. Bennet’s voice broke through like a thunderclap. “Of course, Mrs. Hurst, everyone dearly loves my Lydia. She does have such a lively nature. Just this morning, she was quite determined to go to Meryton, and you know I could not possibly stand in her way. All the officers would have been so disappointed to miss her, you know!”
Across the table, Sir William Lucas gave a hearty laugh. “Lively spirits are the heart of any gathering, are they not, Mrs. Bennet? And I daresay all the young men must surely agree. Why, I remember many such youthful excursions in my day!”
Elizabeth’s stomach churned as her mother prattled on, unaware—or worse, uncaring—of the glances her words invited. Mrs. Goulding, seated further down, whispered something to her husband, who nodded gravely while reaching for his wine. Lydia, perched near the end of the table, was too busy giggling with Kitty to notice the mortified expression on Elizabeth’s face.
