“Darcy.”
“Miss Bennet.”
“Oh, I am aware.” His smile was sardonic. “Very well, I shall be plain,Miss Bennet. I say that you have created quite the spectacle here. The mysterious Thurnian princess, dispensing charity with a smile while your companion demands every comfort available for your use. It is masterfully done, I must admit. You appear benevolent while enjoying every luxury, and anyone who dares notice the contradiction is made to feel churlish for mentioning it.”
Elizabeth blinked, a little startled by this direct attack. “And by anyone, you refer to yourself?”
The man merely lifted his brows.
Anger and embarrassment tangled her words. “I never wished for such thanks. I specifically requested that my name not be mentioned.”
Mr. Darcy smiled, but there was no pleasure in it. “How convenient. The charitable act enacted in secret becomes even more praiseworthy oncerevealed. Your modesty itself becomes a virtue to be celebrated. Tell me, do you practise that sigh? The wearied burden of unwanted praise? It is particularly effective.”
He was insufferably smug.
Elizabeth stood, her book clutched like a shield against her chest. “You know nothing of me, sir. You have decided upon your interpretation and refuse to consider any alternative. That is your right, but I would ask you not foist your false convictions uponme.”
“False? Let us consider the evidence. Your companion directs this establishment like a feudal manor, demanding the best of everything in your name, whilst you make pretty speeches about sharing what you have. Yet somehow, you retain every comfort whilst appearing magnanimous for distributing what you can easily spare.”
“I have made no speeches at all . . .” Elizabeth’s voice rose despite her best efforts to remain composed. “I have tried repeatedly to moderate Mrs. Hobart’s demands. Do you think I enjoy having her commandeer every pillow in the county? Do you imagine I take pleasure in knowing that people go cold whilst wood burns in my fireplace?”
“If you do not enjoy it, you have a curious way of showing your displeasure.” Mr. Darcy tipped his head to one side. “A true princess would command her servant, not hide behind ineffectual protests while secretly enjoying the benefits of her companion’s excess.”
“Howdareyou presume to tell me what a true princess would do?“ Elizabeth’s cheeks burned. “Do you know any?”
“Doyou?" he asked.
Infuriating man! “You know nothing of me, yet you have spent the entirety of our brief acquaintance making assumptions and pronouncements based on nothing but your own arrogant certainty.”
“Arrogant?” Darcy’s eyebrows rose. “That is a remarkable accusation from someone who has falsely claimed a royal title. You were wise to choose the royal family of another country, for to claim an English title you do not own might send you to gaol as a fraud.” He turned to exit the room as the others had.
A fraud? She mightfeellike a fraud, but in fact she was not. “I am who I say, regardless of what you choose to believe.”
The sneer he tossed at her over his shoulder made her wish to throw something at him. Something hard.
He turned back to face her. “Let us examine your behaviour, shall we? You say you wish to moderate your companion’s behaviour, yet she continues unchecked. You say you wish to remain anonymous, yet the entire inn knows of your royal status. You claim humility whilst accepting every privilege. Is any of this the conduct of a princess?”
Elizabeth felt tears prick behind her eyes, anger and shame warring in her heart. This terrible, bitter man had identified precisely the remorse that had been gnawing at her since their arrival: was she fighting hard enough against Mrs. Hobart’s excesses? Why could she not make the woman listen?
“You are content to be ruled by a woman who relishes power she ought not possess,” Mr. Darcy continued, unaware of or indifferent to her distress. “What does that say of you?”
“I amnotcontent with it.” Elizabeth’s voice shook, her fists curling at her side as she moved closer to him. “But neither will I denigrate a servant in public for wishing to serve me, no matter how she also provokes me. I have my dignity. I would not attack hers. And I would not wish to be a servant of yours if you believe that to do so is a just way to behave.”
They were standing close now, close enough that Elizabeth could see the flecks of gold in his arresting green-brown eyes, could count the stubblealong his jaw that suggested he had not been shaved by a valet, could smell the faint scent of soap and wool.
“A servant of mine,” he repeated, very distinctly, as if he tasted the words and found them disagreeable. “Madam—"
“Do not,” Elizabeth returned, shocked to hear the plea in her own tone. She spoke again with more firmness. “Do not attempt to instruct me in dignity while you make a sport of stripping it from others.”
“You speak very feelingly of dignity,” he said, voice controlled to the point of chill. “I wonder you do not extend it to truth.”
“What truth have I denied?”
His gaze sharpened, and in it was something that felt uncomfortably like accusation and certainty combined. “I see you are unwilling to abandon your game.”
The words hung between them, sharp and cutting. Her hands trembled along with her voice, and she was suddenly, acutely aware that they were alone in this corner of the common room, that the other travellers had all departed, that there was no witness to this confrontation save the dying fire and the winter light.
“And you,” she said, her voice steady despite the fury coursing through her veins, “are unwilling to listen to reason.”