Chapter Four

“How could Mama say such a thing!” Elizabeth groaned. “Poor Mr. Darcy. Poor man. I never was so shamed!”

“It shocked me as well, but you must understand—”

“I do not wish to understand!”

“Your mother has a particular way of seeing the world, and she believed, rather with reason, that Mr. Darcy admires you.”

Elizabeth groaned. “If he ever did, which I doubt very much, he certainly does no longer.”

“Was he not polite when you went outside to speak with him?”

Elizabeth shrugged. “He is all politeness. But he must despise us all.”

“I would not think so.”

“If he does not despise us after what Mama said, he is bereft of sense.”

“You think a man cannot take such things in stride? — or consider the daughter separately from the mother?”

“He is a proud man. Oh! — I am determined to think nothing more about the events of that horrid evening.”

“I think Mr. Darcy admires you, and a man in his position, whatever he says, must be in want of a suitable wife.”

Elizabeth laughed. “No matter what he says? — you now speak as my mother does. You are the female variant of those gentlemen who are convinced that when a girl refuses their suit, it is merely for the sake of increasing their affection by suspense. Whether it be a mistake or not, I shall do Mr. Darcy the honour of treating him as a fellow rational creature, even though he is a man, and believing him when he says that he has no interest in marrying again.”

“You like him as well.”

“That has no bearing on the matter — he does not mean to marry again.”

“But you must marry. You hardly can like the precarious situation you all live in, and when your sister has children, the resources available for your already reduced support will become yet more sharply constrained. Until you marry you can never be the mistress of your own home.”

“I am determined to never marry for purely material concerns. And if I were tempted, Jane’s fate would be ample warning.”

“She is content.”

“Content? Is that all one can expect from a marriage?”

“It is all I would demand — in truth it is more than I would expect.”

“She sacrificed her hopes of happiness for the family, and it was a mistake for her to do so. I never could have.”

“Then you are a fool, and what is more, you are selfish. But I do not believe you. It is easy to speak as you do when such a sacrifice is unnecessary. But if you had really been faced with the choice to marry Mr. Collins, or to see your whole family thrown nearly destitute onto the charity of your relations who barely could afford the expense, I do not think you would have remained so haughty.”

Rather offended by her friend, Elizabeth replied, “Not all of us are wise.”

Charlotte stopped Elizabeth as they reached the door of the circulating library, with a hand on Elizabeth’s arm. “I beg you, Elizabeth, to understand that I think chiefly of your well-being in saying this. You see me — I am unmarried at an age when I would far prefer to be the mistress of my own household. I beg you to think of what you are about, and to not be a fool upon the matter — if I had half as much encouragement from a man as you have had from Mr. Darcy, I would assiduously seek to cultivate him.”

Elizabeth ventured not reply, and they entered together the musty confines of the store that combined a bookstore with a circulating library.

One half of the room had a collection of small tables with chairs put up around them, where those subscribed to the circulating library could sit and read through the books hidden within the shelves behind the desk or locked in glass display cases.

This had become necessary for Elizabeth’s happiness, as Mr. Collins had decreed that they would not keep novels in his house — following advice received from his patroness. It was passing odd to Elizabeth to think about how Mr. Darcy’s sweet child was the granddaughter of that woman who Elizabeth had never met but always assumed was a dragon.

Elizabeth found to her enormous surprise the girl who she had just been thinking of sitting happily on one of the wood backed chairs, munching cheerfully upon a crust of toast while looking at an open book filled with illustrations of animals. This despite Mr. Morris’s well known prohibition on the consumption of any food or beverage within the confines of his establishment.

Mr. Darcy stood by the desk being served by Mr. Morris, who had piled seven books on the counter next to him, several of them large sets of prints, and another a thick book bound in Greek. Mr. Morris eagerly spoke to Darcy as the gentleman fingered his way through the book he held.

Upon perceiving the gentleman’s presence, Charlotte nudged Elizabeth. Following their previous conversation, Elizabeth knew her friend meant to push her to use this opportunity to speak to Mr. Darcy.

Being of a contrary inclination, Elizabeth went to walk to the other side of the room, watching Emily as she went.

The girl looked up, and when she saw that Elizabeth watched her, she immediately looked down and away. Elizabeth chuckled, it would take a few more meetings before she was considered by Emily as one of the personages whose presence she immediately welcomed.

Mr. Darcy’s eye was drawn by the sound, and he looked over at her. He inclined his head to both of them. “Miss Bennet. Miss Lucas.”

“You have found the best place in town,” Elizabeth replied. “My favourite haunt.”

“Mr. Morris has an impressive selection of interesting books. Quite unusual for anyone outside of one of the bigger cities or London,” Darcy replied.

“It is easier to keep an excellent selection because we are not so far from London,” Mr. Morris replied. “A man can easily enough make the whole journey on foot in a day if he pushes himself.”

“Quite true.” Darcy smiled closely at Elizabeth. “And what books are your favourites, Miss Bennet?” Then seeming to recollect himself, he added, “Or yours, Miss Lucas?”

“Oh, do not mind my taste in books at all. Mine tends to the improving. Elizabeth’s tastes are more fascinating by far.”

“Oh?” Darcy asked with a smile.

Elizabeth’s stomach fluttered.

She liked Mr. Darcy far too much, and Charlotte’s advice to cultivate him with hopes of marriage struck her as too appealing. But he would not marry again, because he had said as much, and she would do him the honour of treating him as a rational gentleman who knew his own mind.

In any case, even if he had been looking for a wife, it was exceedingly unlikely that such a great gentleman would settle upon the second prettiest of an oversized group of poor sisters.

“I confess to preferring novels. It is a low taste, I know. They are more to my taste than improving tomes.”

“She can read Latin, French and German all well enough,” Mr. Morris said, as though he was in conspiracy with Charlotte to push her forward.

Elizabeth flushed. “I have to work at the Latin and German too much to enjoy the experience.”

“Latin?” Darcy grinned at her. “Most unusual — be careful with the pages.”

Darcy took a long easy stride to the table where his daughter sat. He took her hands in his own. “If you rip at it, I shall take the book away.”

The father and the daughter stared at each other, and something in the girl’s expression made Darcy say, “I see, darling.”

He pulled the book away from her without giving her the chance to put his proclamation to the test, and he closed the volume with a firm clap.

Emily immediately began to cry, and Mr. Darcy picked her up and bounced her a few times, murmuring, “There, there, sweet. There, there.”

The girl quieted and nibbled once more on her bread.

As he held her Darcy said to Mr. Morris, “These shall be ample for today.” He picked up the book in Greek and gestured at the rest of the pile. “Have them packaged, and hand them to my footman. Thank you.”

“Of course! Of course!” Mr. Morris said, eagerly nodded. “And a good day to you.”

“And Miss Elizabeth,” Darcy said cheerfully to her. “What did you plan to acquire today?”

Elizabeth flushed and looked at Mr. Morris. He smiled at her and pulled from a shelf the book. “The final volume has returned.”

She half eagerly, half embarrassedly grabbed the book.

Darcy of course saw the title. He asked with raised eyebrow, “ The Monk ?”

“I have already confessed to liking novels.”

“I imagined something by Frances Burney, or Belinda . Perhaps even Robinson Crusoe .”

Elizabeth laughed. “Will it shock you yet further if I confess that this is not the first time I have read it?”

“Not at all, the shock was already complete. And now I wonder,” Darcy said, “What books do you imagine I read?”

“Agricultural manuals, books upon the proper management of an estate, and, ah, Robinson Crusoe .”

Darcy laughed. “A little too accurate.”

“I cannot forget!” She gestured at the book Darcy held in the hand that was not holding his daughter, “Diodorus’s histories.”

“You can read Greek as well?” Darcy asked in surprise, but Elizabeth did not think it was a disapproving tone. Unfortunately, if he hoped to be delighted by the discovery of a gentlewoman who could read Plato in the original, she was required to disappoint him.

“Just a little Latin. No, I, ah, recognize the book itself.” She flushed and looked down. “It was in my father’s library. Mr. Collins sold all the ancient histories as they have many tales of improper behaviours in them.”

“Ah.” Darcy’s tone was clipped. Then he said after an additional moment, “I am sorry that your loss is to be my gain.”

“Eliza,” Charlotte interrupted their conversation. “I see that you will be engrossed in discussion of books for the next half hour, so I shall go and buy my ribbons from across the street and return in a while so we can share the walk home.”

Elizabeth smiled and nodded to her friend. To Darcy she said, “You have fairly purchased what was fairly sold.” Elizabeth laughed. “Papa did tell me some of the tales in Diodorus, in what I believe was a somewhat Bowdlerized form. But they were shocking enough. Naked emperors, harems, the most shocking murders, and all other manner of delightful foulness.”

Elizabeth felt an odd flutter at the way that Darcy smiled at her. “And The Monk ? I cannot imagine that a cousin who disapproves of a book written in Greek, no matter how scandalous it is — I have not yet read Diodorus’s histories, so I only know the text by reputation — would approve of that famed novel.”

Elizabeth lowered her voice and glanced back and forth before saying in a quiet voice, “I only read it while sitting in the library.”

“I see.” Darcy put Emily down in a chair again and opened the book that he’d removed from her again.

The little girl immediately pointed at a lion and unleashed a small roar.

“How frightful!” Elizabeth exclaimed and sat next to Emily. “I was briefly in terror for my life! And do you know what sound a snake makes?”

“Sssss,” was the reply from the girl, who then turned the page to admire a sheet filled with several varieties of horse. She nibbled at the bread she held in her other hand.

“What shocks me is that Mr. Morris did not complain about Miss Emily’s bread. He usually is most insistent that no one shall eat or drink in his library.”

“It is a dry food, he only needs to sweep it,” Darcy replied as though that were of no concern. Then he added slowly, “Unless she takes it into her mind to smear it into the books.”

Elizabeth laughed. “You are such a great gentleman, and I suppose he worried that he might lose the sale if he complained — Emily, what sound does this animal make?”

The girl had changed the page to one which had images of sheep, with a shepherd with a crooked staff leaning against a rock observing them.

“Baaaa,” was the instant reply.

“I shall,” Darcy said, “have Emily fed elsewhere next time.”

“Are you not concerned that she shall tear the book?” Elizabeth watched as Emily turned the page.

Darcy shrugged. “I prefer to buy books for her that have no value beyond the text itself. The easiest way to give her the feel of how to manage a book is to let her tear a few.”

Elizabeth studied him in bemusement. “My father was quite tolerant of us, but I believe the only time he tanned any of us was when Lydia was five and tore up several of his books on purpose.”

“Emily knows that if she intentionally tears at a book, I will remove it — You disapprove. It is wasteful, but… I am a wealthy man. I will not pretend I am not. If I must spend a half dozen guineas on a book that my child mangles, but the gain is that she becomes well used to handling books from a young age, I consider my expense amply compensated.”

“She has torn books?”

“Not recently, and not on purpose.”

“What an odd and unique philosophy — do you intend to punish her at all? To spare the rod and spoil the child? — or is your view the opposite. One should spoil the rod and spare the child?”

Darcy shrugged. “There will be, I am certain, occasions when it is necessary to punish her. I will see her raised with a good character, and a solid understanding of true and good moral principles, but teaching a child to be terrified of their parents will not lead to good outcomes.”

“Were you frightened of your own father?” Elizabeth flushed. The question was too intimate to ask.

“No.” Darcy’s manner showed thoughtfulness, not offence. “I respected him enormously. A quiet man. But never frightening. I worried… that I would disappoint him. That I would not be what I ought to be, that I would fail to fulfil all of my obligations, and that I would not be worthy of his name and his pride… I still worry. I still…”

His voice hung, and he frowned.

“What do you worry about?”

Darcy shook his head. “Does The Monk in fact have immoral tendencies?”

“Oh, no.” Elizabeth laughed. “It is a book of moral education, presenting an endless array of behaviours one ought not engage in, with their punishments following promptly.”

Darcy raised his eyebrows. Emily quickly flipped through the pages of her collection of plates. “Your father did not prevent you from reading it?”

“You do judge me for reading it.”

“I ask as a parent curious about another father’s reasoning. Did you benefit from reading The Monk ?”

Elizabeth laughed. “I derived great entertainment from it, I felt shivers of horror and shock, and the most pathetic scenes bring me to tears. The whole is so ridiculous that it beggars belief. We live in a delightful age, and a delightful country where such nonsense can be published, peddled, and find great fame.”

“I have not heard the proliferation of such novels described in such terms of unreserved commendation before,” Darcy replied. His eyes were smiling.

“The purpose of reading novels is not to benefit the reader.” Elizabeth shook her head at the thought of such nonsense. “Reading The Monk does not even give distinction. Almost no girl memorizes Milton or quotes Homer. That would impress at least. But my friends have all read The Monk themselves, and those who have not are no more impressed by the accomplishment than you are.”

“Your view then,” Darcy replied in that tone of voice that showed him to be half serious and half making a joke, “is that your father ought not have permitted you to read it?”

Elizabeth cracked into laughter.

The two of them grinned at each other, and Elizabeth felt a sense of joy in being able to simply speak freely about something that mattered to her, and perhaps no one else. Despite what he had said, it was clear from Darcy’s manner that he did not judge her severely for her taste in literature.

He seemed fascinated. Perhaps the women he met pretended exclusively to a higher taste. Or worse, maybe they did in fact only have excellent taste in literature.

“My father never made a great effort to manage our reading.” Elizabeth smiled fondly at the memory. “Not after I reached my fifteenth year. Before that he insisted we discuss all novels I read at length — he had this passing odd notion that I might gain a distorted understanding of the ways of the world if the voice of reason did not specify what was unrealistic in novels.”

“That is my worry as well.”

Emily had flipped to the middle of her book and stabbed her finger repeatedly at the image of a frog. Darcy told her, “A frog.”

“Croak. Croak,” was the girl’s reply.

“Very good imitation.” Darcy flipped the page and said to Elizabeth as he did so, “I never had the impression that The Monk would be worth my time.”

“It is a novel which involves a woman, disguised as a man, who becomes a nun, who is actually a demon in the employ of Lucifer himself, and all this to gain the soul of a monk via seduction, a monk who does an exceedingly poor job of bargaining when he finally sells his soul to the devil. I assure you, the time spent reading it would have given you an excellent return.”

Darcy grinned at her. If it was not for the little girl with him, that smile could have belonged to a rake who made a solemn duty of causing every untried virgin’s heart to flutter.

“No one, not the most credulous and foolish young girl — not even my sister Lydia — could confuse The Monk for reality.”

“You convinced me to never permit Emily to read it.”

Elizabeth laughed. “It is one of my favourite books, though it causes embarrassment to admit the preference. My preferences in literature are not refined. Judge me if you choose.”

“For finding pleasure in that which pleases you? Never,” Darcy replied. “But your father’s policy that you might read anything once you were fifteen seems too liberal to me.”

Emily flipped to a page near the beginning of the book that contained a picture of a unicorn underneath one of a rhinoceros, but she then left off her perusal of the text and turned to her father, and sobbed out, “Ap, Ap, Ap. Ap!”

Darcy reached over, ruffled her hair, and pulled from a pocket of his coat a paper bag that turned out to contain thinly sliced and peeled apples. The girl immediately left off her sobbing, and happily munched.

Elizabeth said, “That could leave enough of a mess to bother Mr. Morris.”

With a frown, looking between Emily and the table, Darcy then shrugged. “Mayhap it is rude on my part, but I would rather not hear my child shriek and sob due to an irregular interruption of her eating, and Mr. Morris has made a great deal of money off me today, I am sure.”

“High-handed wealthy man!” Elizabeth laughed.

“I have my own deficiencies. But upon what subject had we been speaking?”

“Novel reading,” Elizabeth replied chirpily.

“Such an evil. Novel reading.” Darcy theatrically shivered. “Greater than the vices of gambling, excessive drinking, and dancing past midnight.”

Elizabeth giggled. “And have you gained any profoundest wisdom from the books you intently studied on the rearing of the young?”

“Profoundest wisdom? No,” Darcy replied. “I made a proper survey — the most surprising was Wollstonecraft. Despite the immorality of her own conduct what she wrote is ordinary, moralistic, religious. She evinces a constant anxiety about allowing female passions to govern the behaviour of young women. Perhaps because — you have a thought on your mind from your smile.”

“Did you not fear that you would be drawn into licentious behaviour by reading a book written by such a notorious person? Is there not danger that you cannot perceive the difference between the text and reality?”

Darcy laughed. “I am a man, the master of my own estate, and a father. If I cannot do so we can expect no one to succeed.”

“I certainly do not,” she immediately replied. “Good sense? In a human?”

Darcy grinned. “It is not wholly impossible.”

“I have never encountered such a creature. I do not expect to—” Elizabeth sat up straighter. “You expressed a notion that I do not like. A woman is a fully rational creature, able to know her own mind, to use her own understanding. That you are a man should make no difference.”

Darcy shrugged.

“You do not agree?”

“I do not know.”

“When you look at little Emily here, you must believe that she will grow up to be as worthy as any man.”

“Worthy, yes. I wish her to have a full sense of her own value and importance, yes. But such value does not require an equality in capability, sense, or reason. When I look at the women I am surrounded with, I rarely see much… A woman who can write cogently upon matters scientific, philosophical, or logical is a rarity.”

“Have women been given ample chances to strive to their utmost?” Elizabeth replied. “To enlarge their abilities? Would a man listen to a woman even if she had much to say, and that of good sense?”

“At first, it might be treated more harshly.” Darcy shrugged. “But most great ideas face fierce opposition. A willingness to fight is required for any greatness.”

“And you say women are unwilling to fight? — In the matters of morality, in distinguishing the fanciful from the real, in the most essential matters, a woman is the equal of a man. Here I can martial every example of good sense in a woman which I see in my life and set against it every foolishness we have observed in a man. Thus, the case is proven.”

The way Darcy sat, his tone, his alertness. He enjoyed arguing. She felt a delight in discourse that she could not remember since Papa had died. Elizabeth’s loneliness became a little less.

Their eyes met again, and Elizabeth began to fear she was thinking too much of Mr. Darcy. She turned to his daughter, “Emily, what do you think?”

The girl in reply showed Elizabeth a heart stopping grin. She was an adorable fairy. Mr. Darcy was fortunate to have such a child. The little girl put down her apple slice on the wooden table and tried to climb off the chair she had sat on.

“She agrees with you,” Darcy replied as he held out his hand to help Emily down. The girl began to run around. “And she demanded yesterday that I let her wear blue stockings.”

Elizabeth giggled.

“The male and the female operate in different spheres,” Darcy said slowly. “And comparison is difficult. There are female writers who have a formidable reputation. The deficiency of women in the sciences may be caused by convention, not nature. The case could not be proven for either side — I tend strongly to think it is a matter of nature. But maybe…”

Darcy frowned.

“Then I shall cling to the view that it is purely a matter of education.”

“Just when I began to doubt that myself.”

“Oh, I can argue for the side of nature,” Elizabeth replied quickly, “if you require it of me.”

“Do you enjoy being contrary?” Darcy’s smile was appreciative.

“Exceedingly.” Their eyes met, and Elizabeth felt a thing in her stomach once more.

“ That matches the portrait I have painted of your character.” Their eyes held.

“Am I so transparent?” Elizabeth’s heart was beating oddly.

Darcy at last broke the gaze. He looked aside at his child. “If you wish to be more difficult to see through, you must occasionally do what is expected. If you only do the opposite of what is ordinary, you shall become predictable.”

Elizabeth felt flushed and her color was high. “You would have liked my father. Your sense of humour is similar to what his was.”

“That is a high compliment from you.” Darcy’s eyes met hers again.

A sound from where Emily walked in circles pulled his eyes away from hers.

“He meant a great deal to you,” Darcy added.

“He did.”

The two of them were quiet.

The conversation must be made lighter. Elizabeth asked, “Do you insist she eat with your guests whenever you dine with friends?”

Before Darcy replied, Emily tripped over a clear and flat floor. Rather than rising to her feet again, as she had done twice earlier, Emily sat on the floor and wailed.

Darcy quickly pushed his chair back and stood to pick her up, smiling and saying, “Em-Em. Dear, dear, dear. Here is Papa. Here I am, it is all right.”

He put her against his shoulder, and while whispering to her began to bounce her up and down. The girl quieted almost at once and laid her head on Darcy’s shoulder.

“She is quite sleepy — I dare say she shall be asleep in five minutes.”

“So fast?”

Rather than reply Darcy began to croon in a low voice. “Ba-ba black sheep, why are you awake? Have you not already been sheared?”

The girl stirred and buried her face deep into Darcy’s coat, and her eyes fluttered shut as Darcy continued into the next verse.

“Yes, sir, yes, sir. I am still awake, for three, three reasons. One to keep the master singing, one to keep my sweet nurse busy, and one for the happy little girl who lives down the lane.”

Darcy stopped his song for a moment, and then the girl pushed herself up on his chest and exclaimed, “Ge, ge, ge!”

Darcy began the song again, and each time he’d finished a rendition she said, “Ge, ge, ge.”

Eventually though Emily did not make a fierce complaint upon the end of the song. Darcy sang it through once more to be sure, and then he sang one time through the original words of “Baa, Baa, Black Sheep.”

He quietly asked, “Can you see if her eyes are shut?”

Elizabeth replied in a whisper, “For the last few minutes.”

“All quite satisfactory then.” Darcy’s voice was louder than Elizabeth expected given the general parental terror of waking the baby . Perhaps correctly understanding her expression, Darcy added, “We can speak in an ordinary soft voice. Once she is asleep, she does not awake so easily.”

He sat down on the chair, carefully keeping Emily cradled against his coat. “What subject had we been canvassing?”

“I do not believe,” Elizabeth replied, “that is the version of the song in Tommy Thumb’s Song Book .”

Darcy laughed, though he repressed the motion to avoid shaking the baby. “She demands I repeat her favourite songs endlessly.”

“I observed,” Elizabeth replied dryly.

“Yes, well.” Darcy had a half embarrassed smile. “It would tire me beyond imagining, and it would pain my very soul if I could insert no variety into these songs. And she often prefers my little compositions to the originals, in any case.”

“Which I also observed.” Elizabeth pressed her lips together to hide her smile.

“Let me see if I can recall — you asked if I have her dine with guests.” Darcy leaned further back into the chair, changed the angle at which Emily lay on him, so that he did not need to work so hard to keep her stable on his shoulder. “I do not. Emily could not like a meal if I expected her to deny the dictates of nature.”

“The dictates of nature? Whatever do you mean?”

“The need to throw the pudding against the wall, the porridge upon the floor, and to put the meat by hand into the mouths of all other persons present, whether they desire to eat more or not.”

Elizabeth laughed at hearing all of that described as “dictates of nature”.

“Her nature further requires that she toss the gravy over all her face and clothes.” Darcy lowered his voice. “She is not tidy at her plates.”

“At her age!” Elizabeth replied in a faux shocked whisper. “You must be exceedingly shamed to have a child past a year of age who does not manage her forks more neatly than a French nobleman.”

“I am too confused to feel shame. Is it not etiquette inborn in those gentle born?”

“And at what age are children expected to have mastered every etiquette? Seven?”

“Would it not be excessive to expect them to master every etiquette?”

Elizabeth nodded seriously in reply. “ I am a vulgar hoyden as well. I have no notion of how a woman in China or in unexplored Africa ought to go about the delicate task of proper eating.”

“There would be nothing wanting at any table you graced,” Darcy replied, and then he flushed and looked down.

Elizabeth flushed as well.

It was impossible to not suspect that Charlotte’s view that he admired her was correct.

After an awkward pause, Darcy said, “My clothes have not infrequently become wholly covered in food, to the despair of my valet. When Emily was very young, and expelled her milk constantly, I bought several coats of cheaper materials to wear while I held her.”

Elizabeth sighed laughingly. “You are the perfect father. I understand why you insist that she does not need a mother.”

Mr. Darcy’s face stiffened. Elizabeth realized this was a subject he did not like.

Your spirits are always too high! Be more cautious when you speak with him .

Except Elizabeth thought that advice to herself was quite misguided. What was the point of conversation with an interesting gentleman such as Mr. Darcy if she must remain guarded the entire time? Why would she wish to deepen the acquaintance if she could not speak freely?

A view much the opposite of Charlotte’s advice. And thus, Elizabeth would end her life as a spinster, and she was resigned to it.

“It is my view,” Darcy said after contemplation, “that a man can do anything of importance for a child that a woman can. Emily would gain no great benefit if I remarried.”

Darcy’s stated intention to never marry again made Elizabeth feel sharper and annoyed. “But if a man can do everything that a woman might do, you must also think that a woman can do anything of importance that a man can do. As a matter of symmetry.”

“That does not follow at all,” Darcy said. “It would be possible for a man to be superior in some respects, and equal in all others. Note: I do not say this is the case.”

“You think it is the case,” Elizabeth insisted, suddenly wanting him to say something that would give her a good and proper cause to be annoyed with him. “You do think that men are superior to women in every important point.”

Darcy shrugged. “I do not know.”

“I see the true reason you shall not marry again — you do not like the fairer sex.”

Darcy frowned.

Elizabeth realized her tone had been rather too harsh, and she began to apologize.

However, Mr. Darcy held up his hand, and shook his head. “I am not offended. No, what you said only made me wonder…” After a handful of seconds, he slowly continued, “I suppose… I do not. With exceptions. Anne was one… Women often practice deceitful arts and allurements for the sake of attaching eligible men — nearly every unmarried woman I have met since Emily was born sought to make a display of how strong her maternal instincts are. I have heard a dozen women’s long speeches about a woman’s desperate desire to take care of a child, any child.”

Elizabeth pressed her lips together. She was suddenly quite amused. “I now can sketch your character.”

“Yes?” Darcy tilted his head curiously.

“Let me gladly inform you that I know nothing about children. I confess to having the same warm glow in my breast upon holding an infant that almost every woman has, but it is not an experience I unceasingly seek out or even have thrust upon me frequently. I do not know for certain that I would be an excellent mother, perhaps I am too flighty, or too cheerful for a task requiring such seriousness, diligence, and unceasing devotion to the wellbeing of another, and beyond that…”

She frowned and lapsed into silence.

“Beyond that?”

Elizabeth wanted to say this to someone. She had never spoken it before.

She leaned up closer to Darcy’s head, to ensure that Mr. Morris couldn’t hear her, nor Mrs. Long’s niece sprawled in a chair on the opposite side of the room with a copy of Udolpho’s second volume in front of her face. “I truly do not wish to become like my mother.”

Darcy looked at her steadily. Then he said quietly, “I hope that Emily will never have a similar thought about me.”

Charlotte returned to the room, and Mr. Darcy left to take his carriage back to Netherfield. Even though she had not had a chance to read further in The Monk , Elizabeth found that she was quite pleased with the afternoon.