Page 8 of The Briar Bargain
Bingley laughed to himself. “I never believed I would see the great Fitzwilliam Darcy brought low like the rest of us.”
"Miss Elizabeth Bennet is a gentleman's daughter,” Darcy said coldly, “but her connections are unsuitable, and other than Miss Bennet, her family is vulgar. She has no fortune, no connections of any value."
"None of which addresses her personal merits," Bingley pointed out with an irksome reasonableness.
Personal merits. Those Miss Elizabeth had in abundance. Courage, intelligence, loyalty, kindness, and the ability to make him want to smile even when she was being thoroughly provoking.
Especially then.
"Her personal merits are irrelevant in the face of such disadvantages," Darcy insisted, though the words felt hollow. How he wished they were not.
"Are they?" Bingley raised an eyebrow. "You have always prided yourself on your rational judgement, Darcy. Yet here you list a catalogue of external factors while studiously avoiding discussion of the lady herself."
When had Bingley become so perceptive? It was extremely inconvenient.
"There is nothingtodiscuss."
A not quite muffled snore rose from the settee near the hearth. Mr. Hurst shifted, opened one bleary eye, and said with great solemnity, “When a woman saves a maid from catching fire, manages to look attractive doing it, and humbly returns to her meal after, a man ought to just surrender with dignity.”
There was a brief silence, and then Bingley laughed. “Well said, Hurst! Remarkably insightful for someone who has had three glasses of port and is half asleep.”
“Remarkably insightful,” Darcy repeated sardonically. “Next he shall be quoting Socrates.”
Hurst waved a lazy hand. “Wisdom comes to those who conserve their energy.”
Darcy did not respond, but he felt heat rising up the back of his neck.
“And really,” Bingley added, swirling the port in his glass, “I think Hurst may be right. You may be outmatched at last, my friend.”
He wasnotoutmatched. A Darcy was always in control of himself.
When Darcy did not respond, Bingley shrugged and changed the subject. Still, his knowing smile suggested the conversation was far from over. Darcy remained unsettled, partly by his friend's uncomfortably accurate observations and partly by his own reaction to them.
Miss Elizabeth Bennet would not penetrate his carefully maintained defences. If his resolve happened to waver whenever she entered the room, well, that was simply a feeling he would have to conquer.
He would be master of himself. He would. In this struggle, he would emerge victorious.
Chapter Three
"Here, Mrs. Anson, let me help with the baby while you rest," Jane said, scooping up a wailing infant with practiced ease. The woman nearly wept with gratitude.
They were in the servants’ quarters in the west wing, where four women and sixteen children now filled every empty room.
"You are an angel, Miss Bennet," she murmured as the infant settled, and Jane smiled her gentle smile, the one that transformed her face into something almost too beautiful to bear.
Elizabeth escorted Mrs. Anson to one of the small bedchambers so that she could sleep for a time. She exited the room and closed the door softly behind her.
"Miss Elizabeth?" came a small voice behind her.
She turned to find young Peter Farrow, his serious eyes wide with worry, small fingers twisting the hem of his shirt.
"What troubles you, Peter?" she asked, kneeling to his level.
"It's Midnight and Snowball," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "My rabbits. They're in the briar patch by the river."
"Are you concerned about them after all this rain?"
Peter nodded gravely. "Papa went back last evening to move our animals, but I forgot to ask him about the rabbits. Mamma is too busy to help me look for them." His lower lip trembled slightly. "The briar patch is very close to the water."
