Bingley cleared his throat and reached for his napkin. Jane took a sip of water, serene as a painted Madonna, and Darcy did not know how she was able to keep such composure.
Caroline opened her mouth, closed it, then frowned, uncertain whether she had been insulted or enlightened. She finally recovered herself with visible effort. “It is admirable, I suppose, to cultivate contentment with one’s circumstances.”
Elizabeth smiled faintly. “It is essential. Otherwise, one risks mistaking discontent for discernment.”
Miss Bingley’s fork paused halfway to her plate.
“And of course,” Caroline continued, pressing on, “country habits can be quite… rustic. One cannot expect the same refinements everywhere.”
Darcy nearly gaped at this comment.How is she able to behave as if nothing has changed?
He watched as Elizabeth looked towards Bingley and Jane, who were engrossed in their own conversation, oblivious to the tension at the table. It became clear that they would not intercede, and Elizabeth took a sip of wine before responding.
“No,” she agreed at last. “One finds different refinements in different places. In the country, for instance, people are often judged less by who their relations are, and more by how they behave.”
Miss Bingley forced a laugh. “How very charitable.”
“Charity,” Elizabeth replied serenely, “is generally considered a virtue.”
Caroline tried once more, her tone sharpening. “Still, I cannot imagine being satisfied with so… limited a circle.”
Elizabeth looked genuinely puzzled. “Limited? We dine with neighbors, care for tenants, host visitors, and manage an estate. I should think it rather full. Perhaps it only seems limited when one is accustomed to rooms crowded with people who do not like one another.”
The silence that followed was exquisite.
Caroline flushed scarlet.
Darcy pressed his mouth together and stared intently at his plate.
Mrs. Hurst bit her lip.
Mr. Hurst reached for more potatoes.
Miss Bingley straightened. “I see you value frankness, Miss Eliza.”
“Very much,” Elizabeth replied. “Especially when it spares everyone the discomfort of pretending.”
Darcy had to take a deliberate sip of wine to hide his smile.
There was a long pause.
At last, Caroline looked down at her plate and did not raise her eyes again.
For the remainder of the meal, she confined herself to cutting her food into very small pieces, as though it had personally offended her.
Throughout it all, Bingley sat visibly strained, his usual ease replaced by a nervous attentiveness that never quite resolved into action. Darcy felt a familiar irritation stir. His friend had shown real courage before. He had stood firm when it mattered most.
But it seemed that the effort of placing Caroline in a different chair had exhausted his reserves for the day.
Darcy watched Elizabeth instead. When he finally allowed himself a glance at Elizabeth—and found her calmly buttering a roll, as though she had done nothing more remarkable than comment on the weather.
She met each barb with composure and precision, never raising her voice, never descending into overt rudeness, yet leaving Caroline perpetually off-balance. It was not cruelty. It was not even retaliation.
It was mastery.
He could not remember ever admiring such restraint more.
When at last the final course was cleared and the ladies rose, Darcy found himself breathing more easily than he had in an hour.
