Anders nodded and went back through the passage.
At the sound of footsteps, Darcy glanced towards the door that led to the staircase. Mrs. Hobart and Miss Bennet soon walked through the doorway, Mrs. Hobart first, wrapped in shawls and complaints, Miss Bennet in her dark pelisse, holding her bonnet, her eyes a little shadowed, but clear.
“Another day of sacrifice, Mr. Darcy,” Mrs. Hobart announced. “I declare the English roads are a disgrace. Sir Reginald will be quite beside himself when he hears of all that we have suffered upon this journey. He has always said that nothing is more delicate than the health of a young lady of rank, and I shall have much to say to him upon the subject.”
She drew breath.
“For any young lady,” Darcy said before the woman could continue, “rank or no, the road in January is an ordeal. We must hope that the next inn will offer better comfort.” He allowed his gaze to rest upon her for a moment, steady and unamused. “It is at least one with which I am acquainted. If we can travel without interruptions today, I can promise a good room and excellent fare tonight.”
The older woman coloured and said no more.
Darcy offered his right arm to Miss Bennet. She laid her gloved fingers upon his sleeve. Mrs. Hobart followed, her shawls fluttering and her mutters filling the passage.
Miss Bennet took her seat opposite him at the small table, her bonnet laid aside, a curl or two shaken loose by the morning’s haste. When themaid brought in ham and toast, Darcy, almost before he knew it, moved it nearer to her rather than to himself.
“You should partake, Miss Bennet,” he said. “The road is long, and the next posting inn may not be equal to this.”
Her brows rose a little at the unusual courtesy, but she smiled and obeyed. The glance she gave him over the rim of her cup held a shade of surprise, and something warmer.
Mrs. Hobart spoke with great animation of the hardships of travel while she pretended not to look at either of them. Darcy noted the effort.
The yard outside was hard with frost. Darcy handed Miss Bennet into the carriage, then Mrs. Hobart, and climbed in after them.
He took his place as usual upon the forward facing seat, ignoring Miss Bennet’s smirk as he did so. Outside, Anders spoke to Johnson. A whip cracked, and they rolled out of the yard.
Miss Bennet placed her hands in the muff in her lap. It was plain but well-kept, much like the rest of her person; nothing in her dress cried out for notice, yet nothing was careless. She cast a brief glance at his left arm, then looked away as if she did not care.
The carriage had gone some miles in near silence. The wheels beat out a steady measure; the leather creaked; Mrs. Hobart sighed at intervals.
At length Miss Bennet looked up. “I believe,” she said, “that we must have some conversation, Mr. Darcy, or we shall rattle ourselves quite out of spirits before noon.”
“Very proper,” Mrs. Hobart observed. “An accomplished young lady ought always to be able to converse upon polite subjects suited to her sex and station.”
“Accomplished women, then,” Miss Bennet replied. “An excellent subject.” She glanced towards the window, where her own reflection sat wrapped in cloak and shawl. “I begin to suspect that the true hardship ofan English winter does not lie in the cold, but in the injustice it does to young ladies’ accomplishments.”
Well, he would play this game. It would at least pass the time. “Which accomplishments would you say suffer most under such strictures?” Darcy asked.
Mrs. Hobart drew herself up. Her reticule rustled as she began to answer the question he had posed to Miss Bennet. Would she do so if Miss Bennet were truly a princess?
“A young lady must play the pianoforte with taste, draw with elegance, speak French, sew with neatness, dance with grace, and know her station, whether that station be low or”—her eyes slid towards Miss Bennet—“high. She must be attentive to religious instruction, assist with charitable works, and comport herself in a manner that reflects honour upon those who have the care of her. In some situations, she must learn to receive foreign ministers, and—”
“Mrs. Hobart,” Miss Bennet said, with a slight bow of her head, “you make me afraid to move. If one poor girl must perform all this in public, I do not wonder the nation complains of a want of accomplished women.”
“A girl who has had proper training from her cradle,” Mrs. Hobart persisted, “will not find it so impossible. In certain courts, the ladies of the royal house—”
Darcy raised his gaze from the window and met Mrs. Hobart’s. He did not say a word. He did not have to. The warning was clear.
She swallowed the rest of the sentence. “Ladies of superior condition,” she amended, “have particular duties. It is proper that they should be prepared.”
Miss Bennet’s mouth curved. She turned her attention back to Darcy.
“For myself, sir,” she said, “I should define an accomplished woman differently. She must play the pianoforte well enough to please her relations,and not so well that she is asked for six pieces in succession by every lady who wishes to dance at her expense.”
“An important distinction,” Darcy observed.
“She must draw so as to satisfy her friends that the object is a tree,” Miss Bennet went on, “and not so exactly as to offend the people she draws, for every person alive believes themselves handsomer than the glass will allow.”
Darcy felt the corner of his mouth move. He did not interfere.