Caroline, however, was not to be quelled.
‘Do you always write such charming long letters to her, Mr Darcy?’
‘They are generally long,’ I replied, not being able to avoid answering her question. ‘But whether always charming, it is not for me to determine.’
‘It is a rule with me, that a person who can write a long letter, with ease, cannot write ill,’ she said.
‘That will not do for a compliment to Darcy,’ broke in Bingley,‘ because he does not write with ease. He studies too much for words of four syllables. Do you not, Darcy?’
‘My style of writing is very different from yours,’ I agreed.
‘My ideas flow so rapidly that I have not time to express them, by which means my letters sometimes convey no ideas at all to my correspondents,’ said Bingley.
‘Your humility must disarm reproof,’ said Elizabeth, laying her needlework aside.
‘Nothing is more deceitful than the appearance of humility,’ I said, laughing at Bingley’s comments, but underneath I was conscious of a slight irritation that she was praising him. ‘It is often only carelessness of opinion, and sometimes an indirect boast.’
‘And which of the two do you call my little recent piece of modesty?’ asked Bingley.
‘The indirect boast,’ I said with a smile. ‘The power of doing anything with quickness is always much prized by the possessor, and often without any attention to the imperfection of performance. When you told Mrs Bennet this morning that if you ever resolved on quitting Netherfield you should be gone in five minutes, you meant it to be a sort of compliment to yourself, but I am by no means convinced. If, as you were mounting your horse, a friend were to say, “Bingley, you had better stay till next week,” you would probably do it.’
‘You have only proved by this that Mr Bingley did not do justice to his own disposition. You have shown him off now much more than he did himself,’ said Elizabeth with a laugh.
‘I am exceedingly gratified by your converting what my friend says into a compliment on the sweetness of my temper,’ said Bingley merrily.
I smiled, but I was not so gratified, though why this should be I do not know. I am sure I like Bingley very well, and I am always pleased when other people value him, too.
‘But Darcy would think the better of me, if under such a circumstance I were to give a flat denial, and ride off as fast as I could!’ he added.
‘Would Mr Darcy then consider the rashness of your original intention as atoned for by your obstinacy in adhering to it?’ asked Elizabeth playfully.
‘Upon my word, I cannot explain the matter. Darcy must speak for himself.’
I laid down my quill, all thoughts of my letter forgotten.
‘You expect me to account for opinions which you choose to call mine, but which I have never acknowledged,’ I said with a smile.
‘To yield readily to the persuasion of a friend is no merit with you,’ said Elizabeth.
Despite myself, I was drawn into her banter.
‘To yield without conviction is no compliment to the understanding of either,’ I returned.
‘You appear to me, Mr Darcy, to allow nothing for the influence of friendship and affection.’
I saw Caroline looking horrified at our exchange, but I was enjoying Elizabeth’s stimulating conversation.
‘Will it not be advisable to arrange the degree of intimacy subsisting between the parties before we decide?’ I asked her.
‘By all means,’ cried Bingley. ‘Let us have all the particulars, not forgetting their comparative height and size, for I assure you that if Darcy were not such a great tall fellow I should not pay him half so much deference. I declare I do not know a more awful object than Darcy, at his own house especially, and of a Sunday evening when he has nothing to do.’
I smiled, but I was offended nonetheless. I feared there was a grain of truth in what Bingley said, and I did not want Elizabeth to know it.
Elizabeth looked as though she would like to laugh, but did not. I hope she is not afraid of me. But no. If she was afraid of me, she would not laugh at me so much!
‘I see your design, Bingley,’ I said, turning his remark aside. ‘You dislike an argument, and want to silence this.’
‘Perhaps I do,’ Bingley admitted.
The liveliness had gone out of the conversation, and an awkwardness prevailed. Elizabeth returned to her needlework, and I returned to my letter. The clock ticked on the mantelpiece. I finished my letter and put it aside.
The silence continued.
To break it, I asked the ladies to favour us with some music. Caroline and Louisa sang, and I found my gaze wandering to Elizabeth. She is like no woman I have ever met before. She is not beautiful, and yet I find I would rather look at her face than any other. She is not gracious, and yet her manners please me better than any I have met with. She is not learned, and yet she has an intelligence that makes her a lively debater, and renders her conversation stimulating. It is a long time since I have had to fence with words, indeed I am not sure I have ever done it before, and yet with her I am frequently engaged in a duel of wits.
Caroline began to play a lively Scotch air, and moved by a sudden impulse I said, ‘Do not you feel a great inclination, Miss Bennet, to seize such an opportunity of dancing a reel?’
She smiled, but did not answer. I found her silence enigmatic. Is she a sphinx, sent to torment me? She must be, for my thoughts are not usually so poetic.
Instead of disgusting me, however, her silence only inflamed me more, and I repeated my question.
‘Oh,’ she said, ‘I heard you before; but could not immediately determine what to say in reply. You wanted me, I know, to say “Yes”, that you might have the pleasure of despising my taste; but I always delight in overthrowing those kind of schemes. I have therefore made up my mind to tell you, that I do not want to dance a reel at all – and now despise me if you dare.’
Did I really seem so perverse to her? I wondered. And yet I could not help smiling at her sally, and her bravery in uttering it.
‘Indeed I do not dare,’ I said.
She looked surprised, as though she had expected a cutting retort, and I was glad to have surprised her, the more so because she is forever surprising me.
I find her quite bewitching, and if it were not for the inferiority of her station in life I believe I might be in some danger, for I have never been so captivated by a woman in my life.
It was Caroline’s intervention that broke my train of thought and prevented me from saying something I might later have regretted.
‘I hope your sister is not feeling too poorly,’ said Caroline. ‘I think I must go up to her room and see how she does.’
‘I will come with you,’ said Elizabeth. ‘Poor Jane. I have left her alone too long.’
They went upstairs, and I was left to wonder whether Caroline had turned Elizabeth’s attention to her sister deliberately, and to think how close I had come to betraying my feelings.
It was a fine morning, and Caroline and I took a walk in the shrubbery.
‘I wish you very happy in your marriage,’ she said as we strolled along the path.
I wish she would leave the subject, but I fear there is little chance of that. She has been teasing me about my supposed marriage for days.
‘I hope, though, that you will give your mother-inlaw a few hints, when this desirable event takes place, as to the advantage of holding her tongue; and if you can compass it, do cure the younger girls of running after the officers.’
I smiled, but I was annoyed. She had hit on the very reason I could not pursue my feelings. I could never have Mrs Bennet for a mother-in-law. It would be insupportable. And as for the younger girls, to make them sisters to Georgiana – no, it could not be done.