“Your mother’s sister married her father’s clerk; do I have that right?”
“I heard from an acquaintance that you and your sisters will each have five thousand pounds upon your mother’s death. She must have brought quite a dowry with her, seeing as the estate is entailed. Given the recent news about Jane…” Miss Bingley’s voice trailed off suggestively.
It was this last statement that pushed Elizabeth’s temper further than she had patience for. Her anger about her sister’s impending death, coupled with the snide comments all evening, had worn her down. Her feet were aching quite dreadfully, and she wished for nothing more than to be back in her room.
“I believe it was only five thousand pounds,” Elizabeth replied coolly. “I must admit, I find your questions somewhat surprising, Miss Bingley. I would have thought you to have more confidence in yourself.”
“What do you mean?” Miss Bingley’s eyes widened at this rebuttal.
“Only that it’s peculiar for so many personal questions to be asked on so short an acquaintance. I can only conclude that the fact you are a tradesman’s daughter has left you insecure, and you are eager to learn how the daughters and wives of gentlemen live.”
Miss Bingley’s gaping mouth reminded Elizabeth of a toad, but she pushed her humor away and continued, “It is either that or your seminary truly did not do an adequate job of preparing you to engage in conversation. After all, true ladies know how impolite it is to discuss something as vulgar as money with anyone other than an intimate friend.”
“Elizabeth!”
“Caroline!”
The three ladies turned towards the door, where the four gentlemen were standing in the open frame.
Miss Bingley’s face, which had turned an alarming shade of purple during Elizabeth’s diatribe, was the first to respond. “Oh, Brother! You will not believe what this… this chit said to me!”
“Not. One. Word.” Mr. Bingley seethed. His voice trembled with fury, and his face was as red as his hair.
Mr. Bennet’s voice, on the other hand, was firm. “Elizabeth, I believe you are exhausted. You must be wishing to retire to check on Jane.”
Elizabeth hung her head and nodded mutely. Shame washed over her, replacing the indignation that had consumed her only moments before. She attempted to stand, but as no stool had been offered to keep her feet elevated, the sudden pressure almost caused her to collapse.
For the second time that day, Elizabeth found herself in Darcy’s arms. Miss Bingley gasped, then narrowed her eyes. “I believe a servant could do that, Mr. Darcy. Or perhaps Mr. Bennet.”
Darcy looked over at the heavyset Mr. Bennet, who clearly spent more time in his bookroom than on his horse, and said icily, “It is the gentlemanly thing to do, Miss Bingley, as any lady would know.”
Stricken, the woman clamped her mouth shut. She turned pleading eyes to her sister and brother in turn, but they deliberately avoided meeting her gaze.
As Elizabeth was carried from the room, she heard Bingley say, “Well now, I think that we are all rather done for the day. I recommend everyone go to bed.”
She sighed. It was going to be a long night.
Chapter 7
Elizabeth sighed with relief as she sank back into the overstuffed down pillow on the bed at Netherfield. As much as the maid had tried to be gentle, Elizabeth’s feet were throbbing after being bathed, covered in a poultice, and bandaged.
Three quick raps, followed by three slow knocks, came at the door. A smile crept across her face. Her father had instilled this childhood tradition when she sought entrance into his private library.
“Come in, Papa,” she called.
Mr. Bennet entered, his brow furrowed. For the first time, Elizabeth was struck by just how old her father was. He had married later in life—preferring books to balls—and was now almost sixty. Deep creases in his forehead and around his eyes, coupled with the stark white of his hair, made him look positively ancient compared to the energetic Papa of her youth.
He sat down heavily on the chair next to her bed. “How are your feet?”
“They ache quite fiercely, but I daresay I deserve it,” she said lightly, trying to ease his spirits.
To her chagrin, the furrow in his brow only deepened. “Yes, Elizabeth, I daresay you do deserve it. Not only for your wildbehavior—as your mother would call it—in running outdoors without the proper footwear, but your wild behavior in running on at Miss Bingley.”
Elizabeth winced. Her father had echoed a commonly used refrain from Mrs. Bennet about her second daughter’s character.
“I did not mean to, Papa,” Elizabeth said. “The words just came out. I couldn’t stop them.”
“Lizzy,” he warned.
