Page 22 of Miss Bennet's Dragon
I remembered Mr. Wickham’s comment about shouting patriotism while playing cards. “Many gentlemen have volunteered in the militia. And one does not need to be a gentleman, or an officer, to have honor.”
Hastily, Mr. Bingley stepped in. “Miss Bennet, I was very pleased to visit with you and your sister today. It was a joy to see her so improved. I was disappointed that she could not join us for dinner.”
Mr. Bingley disliked argument, and his effort to calm the conversation was so obvious that it was sincere, rather like Mr. Bingley himself. For Jane’s sake, I owed civility to his friends.
“Jane has an appetite now,” I said, forcing a polite tone. “We were able to walk several times around the room. But we will wait till morning before attempting the stairs.”
“She will be down for breakfast then?” Mr. Bingley was so enthused that I expected him to begin toasting bread, even though we just left dinner.
“You have been most accommodating, but our stay is a great imposition. If Jane is well enough, we thought to depart directly in the morning.” I did not mention that I had extracted this promise from Jane. I was eager to escape Netherfield.
Miss Bingley cried, “How wonderful!” even as Mr. Bingley said, “What a shame!” Miss Bingley gave him an angry look, and Mr. Bingley amended, “I mean… I am thrilled your sister is so much better.”
“Miss Eliza Bennet,” Miss Bingley said, but she watched her brother, not me, “I have discovered a pattern to your advocacy. You would educate servants and find honor in common soldiers. It seems you encourage people to rise above their station. Perhaps you are close to someone with such aspirations?”
Her tone was acid—an attack on Jane. But I must be mistaken.Even Miss Bingley would not dare such rudeness in front of her brother and Mr. Darcy. Jane was a gentlewoman, the social equal of Mr. Bingley.
“I cannot imagine to what you refer,” I said coldly.
“Oh, I forgot. It was a conversation we had without you. Charles, do you remember? How an otherwise sweet girl could be ruined by her mother’s scheming for marriage gold?”
Mr. Bingley’s earlobes turned red, a color that spread to his cheeks. Mr. Darcy became as still as ice.
Now I understood her boldness. The too-quick silence of Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy was complicit. They had participated before. Raw embarrassment and sheer fury flushed my skin and left me voiceless.
“Mr. Darcy,” she continued gleefully, “you had an observation about a girl who binds draca for prestige. Do you recall it?”
For all my anger with Mr. Darcy, I could not believe a man of good breeding would answer.
His face paled. When he spoke, his voice was a rough whisper. “A woman who binds draca for prestige is intolerable.”
Miss Bingley turned to me, her smile vicious and triumphant.
Mr. Darcy continued, as if his words could not be restrained. “Even if she were… astonishing… she could never be my wyfe.”
Miss Bingley’s smile vanished. She spun and echoed, “Yourwyfe?”
Into the silence, Mr. Hurst spoke, his port-addled mind stuck on our prior conversation. “Honor is not required in a common soldier. Wellesley tells them to charge, and they do as ordered. Or they are shot.”
My anger at Mr. Darcy and Miss Bingley, which I could not express without profound embarrassment, now flew at a target—Mr. Hurst, whom I detested as much as any of them.
“Mr. Wellesley succeeds because of his regard for his troops,” I said. “He is renowned for his defensive strategy.”
Mr. Hurst blinked at me around a nose crisscrossed with port-colored veins. “Am I to be told military strategy by awoman?”
“I see no uniforms in this room.” I turned to Mr. Darcy, seeking revenge. “But I forgot. Mr. Darcy had an observation on this. Do you recall it? I shall remind you: ‘Honor is measured in the man, not the uniform.’ I thank you for letting me measure the man.”
“Be careful,” Mr. Hurst said with a snort. “Darcy knows Wellesley.”
“Youknow Arthur Wellesley?” I said, incredulous, for Mr. Wellesley was England’s greatest field commander and no socialite.
“I have that honor,” Mr. Darcy said. His gaze had been on the floor since he answered Miss Bingley, and he did not look up.
“And you compare military strategy over cards?” I said, so angry that I was having difficulty restraining myself.
“No.” His gaze, at last, met mine. “Not over cards.”
“Darcy, tell her,” came Mr. Hurst’s slurred voice. “Wellesley succeeds by whipping his soldiers to charge. Not through some pretty idea of ‘regard for histroops.’?”
