Page 26 of The Lost Prophecy

Miss Elizabeth attempted to direct the conversation to the weather.

Mrs Bennet converted the weather into another excellent reason Miss Bennet must remain indoors.

Miss Mary introduced a boring moral observation concerning illness.

Mrs Bennet cheerfully converted illness into solid proof that Miss Bennet required the best care available, which Netherfield fortunately offered in abundance.

Miss Lydia waited impatiently until her mother paused for a single breath. “Mr Bingley, you promised that you would give a ball.”

Bingley brightened instantly. “I did? I must have, if you say so.”

Miss Lydia clapped her hands. “You promised it at the assembly, and Kitty heard you. There must be dancing, a large supper, and enough officers to prevent anyone sitting down.”

Miss Elizabeth’s colour deepened furiously. “Lydia, Mr Bingley has a sick guest resting upstairs. This is hardly the moment to demand entertainment.”

Miss Lydia cast her eyes heavenwards. “I am not demanding it today. Jane must recover first, or she cannot dance with him.”

Bingley was delighted by the reasoning. “Then Miss Bennet shall choose the date when she is well enough. Netherfield will host a ball at the earliest opportunity she approves.”

Miss Lydia cheered, Miss Kitty joined her, and Mrs Bennet informed Bingley that Miss Bennet had excellent judgement in all matters, including dates. Miss Elizabeth lowered her mortified eyes to her hands.

Darcy had previously considered the Bennet family’s unhinged conduct a great argument against any attachment to them. Watching Miss Elizabeth endure that conduct changed the conclusion. She corrected without humiliating, redirected without exposing, and absorbed each embarrassment because refusing to manage it would allow the damage to spread. Her mortification was not evidence that she shared her family’s want of restraint. It proved that she perceived every breach far more than anyone else present.

The visit eventually reached its formal conclusion, although Mrs Bennet required another full quarter-hour to leave the drawing room. Her gaze travelled across it like a professional auctioneer preparing a detailed catalogue. She admired the French candelabra, tested the weight of a curtain between her fingers, enquired whether the carpet had been specifically ordered for the room, and estimated that the sofa must have cost a considerable sum.

Miss Kitty and Miss Lydia waited at the door, while Miss Mary examined the pianoforte. Miss Elizabeth stood near her mother, attempting to subtly move her to the entrance without appearing to shove her.

Mrs Bennet paused near the candelabra. “Such excellent, fine workmanship. Jane has always admired fine silver.”

Miss Elizabeth closed her eyes in silent prayer.

Bingley promised to send word after Mr Jones’s next visit. Mrs Bennet finally departed, carrying her three daughters and an itemised inventory of the estate’s principal furnishings.

Miss Elizabeth stayed behind because Miss Bennet was still resting upstairs. The front door had barely closed before Miss Bingley returned to the drawing room with her sister and arranged her fine skirts. She offered a brittle laugh. “What a charming family. They are refreshingly outspoken. Not to mention loud.”

Miss Elizabeth’s shoulders stiffened into a rigid line.

Darcy interrupted before she could defend them. “That is enough, Miss Bingley.”

Miss Bingley’s mouth tightened. “I beg your pardon, Miss Elizabeth, but I merely uttered exactly what we all witnessed.”

Miss Elizabeth turned to her. “Observation does not compel rudeness, Miss Bingley.”

Hurst pressed a linen handkerchief to his bitten tongue. “It may compel basic self-preservation. You should remain silent while still capable of it, Caroline.”

Miss Elizabeth straightened her shoulders and moved to the door, but Darcy crossed enough of the room to address her before she left. He kept his voice low, granting privacy without creating an intimacy that propriety could question.

“None of us chooses every relation allotted to us. We may answer only for our own conduct, not theirs.”

She turned to look at him. Surprise softened the strain in her face, followed by an understanding he had not expected. He had offered no condescension, no excuse for her family from a position far above them—and she had heard it: he had placed himself under the same judgement.

She offered a small smile. “That is a generous principle, Mr Darcy.”

“It is common sense.”

She stared at him for another long moment. “Then I shall endeavour to summon it when needed.”

She inclined her head gracefully and left the room, leaving Darcy with the hope that she carried a kinder opinion of him upstairs. The strength of that hope displeased his pride considerably.