Page 8 of He Insulted My Entire Family Before Proposing

Darcy looked at Elizabeth with expectation barely restrained by dignity.

"In such cases as this," she said, "it is, I believe, the established mode to express a sense of obligation for the sentiments avowed, however unequally they may be returned."

His face changed at once.

She almost regretted the pain, except that he had brought so much of it with him and set it down between them.

"It would be dishonest in me," she continued, "to say I feel gratitude. I have never desired your good opinion, and you have certainly bestowed it most unwillingly."

"Miss Elizabeth -"

"You chose to tell me that you loved me against your reason, your character, and every objection my family could provide. I cannot accept such a compliment, though I admire its efficiency. Few men can combine a proposal and a family condemnation without pausing for breath."

Darcy stared. Color rose along his cheekbones, then faded.

"I had hoped," he said stiffly, "that your generosity might overlook the frankness with which I spoke of unavoidable difficulties."

"Unavoidable? Were they?"

"Your family -"

"Ah. We arrive at them again. They must be exhausted from being dragged into rooms where they were not invited."

His jaw tightened. "You cannot be unaware that your mother's behavior, your younger sisters' want of discipline, your father's neglect -"

"And my uncle's address?"

He stopped.

"Do include Cheapside, Mr. Darcy. It would be a pity to grow delicate halfway through the inventory."

"I did not come to insult you."

"No. That is the remarkable part. You came to offer marriage and could not help bringing the insults as attendants."

He took a step back, as if struck by the vulgarity of being understood.

"You have said enough," Elizabeth told him. "More than enough. But since you have spoken with such candor, allow me the same economy."

His eyes flashed. "Economy?"

"Yes. I will not take as long to refuse as you took to condescend."

There. It was unkind. It was also accurate, and accuracy had become her only luxury.

Darcy bowed slightly. "Say what you must."

"You ask for my hand after insulting my family in public and private. You ask for gratitude after separating Mr. Bingley from my sister, whose heart you misread because her manners were gentler than your pride could interpret. You ask me to admire the strength of your attachment when you have spent more words on its inconvenience than its honor. You have injured those I love, then presented your desire as proof that I should forgive the injury."

"You know nothing of Bingley."

"I know my sister."

"I believed her indifferent."

"You preferred to believe her indifferent. It made your interference cleaner."

He recoiled. "That is unjust."