“Papa,” she began carefully, “Mr. Darcy intends to call tomorrow. He asked permission—of me—to do so. I accepted. I believe… I believe he means to court me.”
Silence.
Utter, complete silence.
Mr. Bennet stared at her as though she had begun speaking in Latin. At length, he blinked. “Mr. Darcy.”
“Yes.”
“The very same gentleman who possesses ten thousand a year and a countenance permanently arranged in superiority?”
“The very same.”
He leaned back slowly in his chair, then let out a bark of laughter. “Ha! You are teasing your old father.”
“I am not.”
Another silence followed, heavier than the first. He searched her face as though expecting to find a telltale smirk. Finding none, his expression altered—not to amusement, but to something sterner.
“Elizabeth,” he said at last, “are you quite certain of what you are telling me?”
“I am.”
“And nothing—” he paused, the words clearly chosen with care, “—nothing improper occurred at Netherfield?”
Her spine stiffened.
“Papa!”
“I ask only because such declarations do not arise from nowhere,” he replied evenly. “I would not have my daughter compromised through ignorance or folly.”
Her cheeks flushed—not with guilt, but indignation. “There was nothing of the sort. Mr. Darcy behaved with perfect propriety. As did I.”
“I am glad to hear it.” He removed his spectacles and set them upon the desk, folding his hands before him.
“You understand,” he continued, “that men of wealth—and women of wealth—are not always as we are. They have their own customs, their own expectations. You may amuse him. You may intrigue him. But intrigue is not permanence.”
Elizabeth’s hands tightened in her lap. “He is not trifling with me.”
“You believe that.”
“I know that.”
Mr. Bennet’s gaze softened only slightly. “I would not see you hurt, Lizzy. You are my most spirited child. A rich man may admire such spirit for a season. It does not always follow that he will cherish it for life.”
She rose abruptly.
“He is not like that.”
“Then we shall discover it,” her father replied calmly. “I will speak with him when he calls. If he is sincere, he will be able to withstand a few questions. If he is not—” he shrugged lightly “—then better you learn it now than later. Provided, of course, that he arrives at all.”
The implication struck like a slap.
“He will come,” she said tightly.
“I hope so.”
The faint doubt in his voice stung more than she cared to admit. Unable to endure another moment, she gave stiff nod of her head before turning and leaving the room.
