Page 10 of Shadows Of Rosings Park: Part 2

"Conversation can be a powerful medium. Particularly when it reveals truths about character that might otherwise remain hidden."

He stopped. The retort was better than anything he would have delivered. Sharper. More dangerous. It carried, beneath its social grace, a veiled reference to Collins's death and Darcy's role in concealing it, a reminder that Elizabeth possessed information that could destroy him as thoroughly as he could destroy her. She used the truth like a fencer finding an opening, and the effect on Caroline, who understood nothing of the subtext but felt its force, was immediate.

Darcy marked the moment as both advantage and danger.

Dinner. He watched Elizabeth act. She laughed at the right moments, deflected questions with grace, managed her mother's excesses with practised ease. She was good. She was better than good. She was performing with a fluency of manner that most wives achieved only after years of practice. She had learned it in three weeks, under duress, because he had required it of her.

He kept the observation to himself and returned his attention to his plate.

Mr. Bennet, over port, went straight for the throat.

"You are unusually attentive this evening, Mr. Darcy. One might almost suspect you fear my daughter will vanish if not continually observed."

"I find Miss Elizabeth's company stimulating."

"Natural, certainly. I confess I was slow to see the attraction, though my wife assures me the signs were always plain. Women observe these matters better than men."

Meryton. The assembly. Mr. Bennet's mention of attraction brought back tolerable, the single stupidest remark Darcy had ever made in public, and he had said some remarkably stupid things. He let the blow land. Absorbed it. Returned serve.

"First impressions are often unreliable. Depth of character reveals itself gradually to those patient enough to observe."

"And you have been most observant of late." Mr. Bennet swirled his port. "Speaking of Kent — the neighbourhood must feel the loss of Mr. Collins acutely. I understand your cousin has been most attentive to the widow. Grief draws people together in curious ways."

Dangerous. The question connected Elizabeth's engagement to Fitzwilliam's claim on Charlotte, which connected both to the events at Hunsford. Mr. Bennet was building a chain of implication, link by link, and Darcy could see exactly where it led.

"My cousin possesses a strong sense of duty. Mrs. Collins's situation naturally evokes sympathy from gentlemen of principle."

"Sympathy. Yes, I suppose one can only admire such constancy of purpose."

Bingley, God bless him, chose this moment to interject with enthusiasm about the local hunting. The tension broke. Darcy drank his port. His own strategy sat in his mouth like a stone. Mr. Bennet had looked at him across the table and connected the two courtships without naming his suspicion, and the accuracy of it, the surgical, effortless precision, had produced a sensation Darcy rarely experienced: the feeling of being outmanoeuvred by someone with no power at all.

He revised his assessment of Mr. Bennet considerably upward. The man was not merely perceptive. He was dangerous. He would require watching, not management, because Mr. Bennet was not a man who could be managed, but the kind of sustained attention Darcy usually reserved for opponents rather than fathers-in-law.

When they rejoined the ladies, Darcy found Elizabeth talking to Mrs. Hurst. She looked tired. The effort was wearing on her, he could see it in the tightness around her mouth, the tension in her hands. She was running out of smiles.

Caroline approached him. "What a charming domestic scene. Though I confess myself still astonished by your choice."

"You mistake the matter entirely."

"Discretion, indeed. Or perhaps... expediency? One can't help but wonder what transpired in Kent to precipitate such a dramatic reversal of fortune."

Anger cooled his voice until the conversation itself seemed to frost.

"You presume too much, Miss Bingley. I suggest you direct your speculations elsewhere, lest they lead you into territory you might find uncomfortable."

Caroline paled. Retreated. He watched her go and thought: Settled.

From across the parlour, he heard her parting shot at Elizabeth, "I do hope the country air continues to agree with you, Mrs. Darcy. One hears that transplanted flowers sometimes struggle to bloom in unfamiliar soil", and watched Elizabeth handle it with a calm that stopped him in his tracks.

"How reassuring, then, that Mr. Darcy prefers flowers with deep roots to hothouse blooms. It speaks to his taste, does it not?"

Caroline flushed. Elizabeth held steady. The exchange was swift, and Darcy learned something about Elizabeth Bennet that he had not previously understood: she needed none of his protection. She was fully capable of dismantling Caroline Bingley without assistance, without heat, without breaking character.

He disliked the lesson. He adjusted his cuffs and refused to ask why.

He found her at Mrs. Hurst's side and extracted her with a fiction about wedding arrangements. They stood in the manufactured privacy of a crowded room, and he asked about Caroline's earlier approach.

"Nothing beyond what one might expect from a disappointed aspirant to your hand. Her barbs were subtle enough to maintain deniability."