Elizabeth sighed. “Then you have heard all myscandalousfamily history.” Her tone was thick with sarcasm.
“She mentioned that Mr. Bennet is not your father.”
“He is not,” she replied easily. “Though he has always behaved as one. I have never once felt less loved or less wanted because we do not share blood.”
The affection in her voice moved him unexpectedly.
“My true surname,” she continued, “is Barnett. Though Hertfordshire abandoned it years ago in favor of Bennet, and I long ago ceased objecting.”
“It suits you no worse.”
She glanced sideways at him. “You are determined to be agreeable this morning.”
He shrugged. “I am attempting reform.”
“A dangerous endeavor.”
Darcy regarded her with a steady gaze. “Would you discourage it?”
“Not entirely.”
The answer pleased him absurdly.
Elizabeth walked several more steps before speaking again. “My father was a tradesman. Imports and exports primarily. He had only just begun to prosper properly when he died.”
There was no embarrassment in her tone. Only honesty.
“My mother sold the business afterward. My uncle Gardiner, brother to the first Mrs. Bennet, eventually purchased it, and through that connection my mother became reacquainted with Mr. Bennet.”
She studied him then, her expression composed though searching.
“There,” she said lightly. “You possess the entire truth. Despise me if you dare, sir, for my low origins. I cannot claim to be the daughter of a gentleman and therefore am decidedly not your equal.”
Darcy stopped again, genuine surprise overtaking him. “I would have thought it obvious by now that I care very little for such distinctions.”
Her brows lifted. “Would you?”
“Yes. Consider the company I keep. Bingley himself is scarcely removed from trade. His father owned mills in the north, and I believe Charles still retains interest in several factories.”
“That makes you unusual among gentlemen of your consequence.”
“Perhaps,” Darcy admitted. “Though I suspect many gentlemen care less than they pretend, provided sufficient fortune accompanies the connection.”
Her lips twisted as though she suppressed a smile. “That is not an especially flattering assessment of your peers.”
“It is an honest one.”
Elizabeth laughed. The sound rested warmly somewhere beneath his ribs.
After a moment, he added more seriously, “For what it is worth, Miss Elizabeth, no one who knows you would mistake you for anything less than a lady.”
The compliment affected her more than she seemed prepared for.
Color rose gradually in her cheeks. “Thank you,” she said. This time the gratitude was genuine.
They continued on at an easier pace now, conversation drifting naturally from subject to subject. Elizabeth spoke warmly of Longbourn and the changes her mother had brought after her marriage. She described her step-sisters with affectionate honesty—Jane’s sweetness, Mary’s seriousness, Kitty’s improving sense, Lydia’s irrepressible energy.
When the twins arose in conversation, Darcy found himself smiling before he could prevent it.
