Her expression brightened, mistaking his entrance into the discussion for alliance. “Of course. You are the very person to refine it.”
“Reading,” Darcy said.
Miss Bingley appeared perturbed. “Reading?”
“Yes, a familiarity with the written word is essential to any claim of true accomplishment. A lady must read widely and with understanding—not merely to possess books, or to quote them when convenient, but to allow them to improve her judgment.”
Elizabeth lowered her gaze, though not before Darcy caught the quick flicker of amusement in her eyes.
Bingley leaned forward. “That excludes me altogether, I fear. I rarely possess the patience to finish a book, whether it be a novel or a weighty tome.”
“You were never under consideration,” Mrs. Hurst murmured, casting her younger brother an exasperated, affectionate look.
Bingley accepted the observation with perfect good humor. “Quite true.”
Darcy continued. “I would add steadiness of character—the habit of thinking before speaking, the ability to distinguish kindness from display, and the inclination to act rightly when admiration is unlikely to follow.”
The atmosphere in the room shifted.
Miss Bingley’s fan became perfectly still in her lap.
Elizabeth kept her eyes lowered.
Darcy was fully aware that he spoke with unusual directness.
He was equally aware that he did not regret it.
“Such qualities are certainly admirable,” Miss Bingley said after a moment, “but I am uncertain whether they may properly be called accomplishments.”
“Then perhaps accomplishments are of less consequence than we have been taught to suppose.”
Darcy answered with increasing satisfaction.
Elizabeth lifted her gaze.
This time, she met his directly.
Mirth danced in her fine eyes. A deeper color rose in her cheeks, though whether from surprise, discomfort, or something warmer, Darcy could not determine.
She broke eye contact first, though not before making it clear that she understood him perfectly.
Miss Bingley tittered.
The sound was distinctly hollow.
“Mr. Darcy, you cannot seriously mean that fortune and birth carry little consequence. Even you, surely, attach some importance to such matters.”
Darcy leaned back slightly, his attention remaining fixed upon Elizabeth rather than upon the woman who had addressed him.
“I am fortunate enough to marry according to my own wishes.”
Miss Bingley’s smile faltered.
He turned his head then, meeting her gaze directly. “Which means, Miss Bingley, that I might marry a milkmaid if I chose.”
For the first time since Darcy had known her, Caroline Bingley appeared unable to produce an immediate answer. Her lips parted, closed, and then parted again.
“A milkmaid,” she managed at last.
