The dismay on her face suggested she had just swallowed something exceedingly sour.
Darcy nodded, keeping his expression nonchalant. “If she possessed the qualities I valued.”
Bingley clapped his hands once, delighted. “Well said! I declare, I am in the same happy situation. Perhaps not with a milkmaid, for I have no particular acquaintance with any, but certainly with whomever I esteem most.”
Mrs. Hurst regarded her brother with dry amusement. “Take care, Charles. Caroline may begin inspecting the dairymaids before breakfast.”
Elizabeth’s laugh escaped before she could prevent it. It was not loud, nor was it meant to flatter. It was honest, and Darcy felt the sound with absurd satisfaction.
Miss Bingley recovered herself with effort. “How very liberal we have all become this evening.”
“Not liberal,” Elizabeth said, still smiling slightly. “Merely practical. If gentlemen of fortune are to marry only where fortune and birth dictate, they might spare themselves the trouble of conversation altogether and let their solicitors arrange the matter.”
Bingley chuckled again. “Miss Elizabeth, you wound us.”
“Only those who require wounding.” She chuckled again. The sound affected Darcy more deeply than he anticipated.
His mouth curved. “A narrow class, I hope.”
“That depends upon the room.” Their gazes met and she regarded him steadily.
For a moment, the conversation around them seemed less immediate.
Then Miss Bingley intervened. “Mr. Darcy,” she said, with determined brightness, “you must clarify yourself. Since you reject my definition, what is your idea of an accomplished woman?”
Darcy should have withdrawn. He knew it. The safer answer was general. A collection of virtues without application. A smooth statement that could not be turned against him.
Instead, his attention settled on Elizabeth. “An accomplished woman,” he said, “must possess a mind capable of improvement and a temper capable of generosity. She must read not to boast of having read, but to enlarge her understanding. She must be able to converse without vanity, to disagree without malice, and to offer wit without cruelty.”
Elizabeth’s needle slipped. She caught it quickly, lowering her head to hide her face.
Miss Bingley’s expression hardened.
Darcy continued, unable to stop now that truth had been given permission to speak. “She should have courage enough to be herself, even where others might prefer performance. She should value affection without display, duty without complaint, and kindness without the need to be praised for it.”
Bingley’s expression had changed into something like wonder. Mrs. Hurst's gaze moved between Darcy and Elizabeth with growing interest. Miss Bingley said nothing, silently seething as she absorbed the reaction of everyone present.
Elizabeth’s cheeks were now unmistakably flushed.
Darcy gentled his tone. “If she walks often, dances well, or plays competently, those are pleasing additions. But without character, they are ornaments hung upon an empty frame.”
Silence followed. Not long, but long enough.
Elizabeth raised her eyes at last. “You have created a lady very difficult to find, Mr. Darcy.”
“I disagree.” She was sitting before him.
“Then you are more fortunate in your acquaintance than most gentlemen.”
“Perhaps.” He regarded her solemnly.
Her gaze flickered, then dropped again.
Miss Bingley rose abruptly. “I believe music would improve the room.”
Mrs. Hurst murmured, “It often does.”
Caroline crossed to the pianoforte with more purpose than grace, though she recovered before seating herself. The opening notes came sharp, then steadied into a polished performance that demanded admiration more than it invited pleasure.
