Mr. Collins hovered, visibly horrified—though Elizabeth did not know if his sentiments concerned Mary’s disrespect or the fact that someone such as Mr. Darcy was a heretic.
Darcy’s jaw tightened, though he spoke without heat. “I attend Anglican services, as by law they are the ones held inEngland. I honor my sovereign. And I endeavor to live with integrity. Beyond that, my conscience is my own.”
Mary drew herself up. “If you are a papist, sir, then you are in grave error, and it is my duty to say so.”
Fortunately, the door opened, and Mr. Bennet entered, spectacles in hand. “What grave errors are being corrected before luncheon?” he asked dryly.
Mary turned at once. “Papa, Mr. Darcy may be a Catholic.”
Mr. Bennet paused. His eyes flicked from Mary to Darcy to Elizabeth’s flushed face. “And is he to be drawn and quartered for it in my drawing room?” he inquired mildly.
Mary stiffened. “It is not a trifling matter.”
“No,” Mr. Bennet agreed calmly. “It is not. Which is precisely why it shall not be shouted across carpets and tea tables.”
Mary opened her mouth.
“That is enough,” he said, his tone hardening. “When you are mistress of your own house, you may regulate the theology of your guests. Until then, you will regulate your tongue.”
Silence fell.
Mary’s cheeks burned crimson. “Then I shall remove myself from a conversation that offends my conscience.”
She swept from the room.
Mr. Collins hesitated, bowing repeatedly to Darcy. “I entreat you, sir, to understand my position—my veneration for your titled aunt is unshaken, yet doctrinal irregularities—”
“Quite,” Darcy replied faintly.
The door closed behind them.
Mrs. Bennet fluttered. “Pray forgive her, Mr. Darcy. Mary has always been… intense.”
Jane, in an effort to restore harmony to the room, asked her mother if she had an opinion on the furnishings of Lady Lucas’s drawing room.
Once her mother was sufficiently distracted, Elizabeth turned her attention to Darcy. His hand was clenched tightly upon his knee. Without hesitation, she laid her fingers lightly over it.
“I am very sorry,” she said softly.
His eyes lifted to hers, searching. “Has this driven you away?” he asked quietly.
The question startled her.
“I was about to ask the same of you,” she replied.
Something in his expression eased.
“For my part,” she continued, steady now, “I care more for how a man conducts himself than for the exact phrasing of his catechism. Your character, Mr. Darcy, is not in question with me.”
His breath left him slowly. He turned his hand beneath hers, covering her fingers, and gave them the faintest squeeze. “Thank you,” he murmured.
Across the room, Mr. Bennet watched with thoughtful speculation.
The storm had passed—but Elizabeth suspected it had revealed more than anyone had intended.
∞∞∞
The following morning Darcy remained at Netherfield.
