“She must attend to her needle,” Miss Bennet continued, “or her linen will betray her, however brilliant her conversation; a single loose button will undo more admiration than a perfect French accent.”
“Then there is some hope for those who have no French?” Darcy inquired.
“There is always hope,” she replied, “for those who can sew. I have not observed that admirers concern themselves much with women’s opinions, but they do evaluate her embroidery with exacting detail.”
She looked as if she spoke from experience. He did not doubt it.
Darcy leaned back a little. “In town,” he said, “I hear many gentlemen speak with great warmth of a woman’s accomplishments. They would add Italian, German, an extensive acquaintance with the newest novels. They admire a lady who can repeat whole passages from a poem that no one else has read.”
“And her mind?” Miss Bennet asked.
“Her mind,” he said, “must sit very still. It must never show itself without leave or betray any preference that has not been widely approved.”
Miss Bennet’s eyes danced with amusement. “And having no thoughts of one’s own,” she said, “is accounted a great accomplishment? I fear for England should many ladies practise it.”
“There is a considerable fashion for it,” Darcy replied. He glanced at Mrs. Hobart and briefly caught her eye. “I have observed that it is within the reach of all ranks.”
“Then the country is much like town,” Miss Bennet replied. “We have many who devote themselves to this useful art. Perhaps it is not among a woman’s greatest accomplishments, however, for it demands no practice at all. Unlike dressing entirely for fashion,” she added, “which appears to give a great deal of trouble and inconvenience to those who attempt it.”
“In what way?” he asked.
“I have seen ladies,” she answered, “who will arrange twenty feathers upon their heads in such a way as to be unable to pass through a doorway without bowing more often than they would to the queen.”
“Feathers are one branch of the subject in which I must confess myself ignorant,” Darcy said, a small smile threatening. “I have, however, met ladies whose chief accomplishment appears to be the art of rearranging themselves upon a sofa.”
Miss Bennet laughed. The sound went through him with a kind of clean warmth.
“Well, sir, I have met gentlemen whose chief accomplishment is the art of standing before a fire and saying that nothing is as it used to be. Perhaps they are the same gentlemen who admire very still minds in their companions. It must be a comfort to them to find that nothing changesthere.”
Mrs. Hobart’s lips compressed.
“It is very well for you both to amuse yourselves,” she said. “But mockery can never be the foundation of a proper education. In certain circles, young ladies learn from their earliest years to move with dignity, to speak with propriety, and to show no levity in the presence of duty. There is no place for laughter when a nation watches.”
“There is not much place for comfort either,” Miss Bennet said, low enough that only Darcy could hear. “I suppose that is the point.”
Her eyes met his. There was humour in them, but there was some apprehension as well.
He was struck, again, by the disparity between Mrs. Hobart’s lofty phrases and the young woman who sat beside him.
She bantered with wit and ease. She played sport with the fashion that preferred minds remain blank in company. She spoke with more sense than any number of ladies of his acquaintance who would have taken offence at half her remarks.
Miss Bennet had beauty, wit, and kindness. Were she not enmeshed in . . . whatever this was, he might find himself in some danger.
The coach lurched over a rut. Mrs. Hobart gave a small shriek and clutched her reticule. Miss Bennet slid along the seat by an inch, straight against Darcy, then drew back again at once.
“I beg your pardon, sir.”
“I hope you are not hurt, Miss Bennet,” he said. “This has not been a smooth journey.”
The words collided in the air between them, invested with more meaning than Darcy had intended. Then Miss Bennet’s mouth curved into a private little smile, and Darcy felt his own lips answer.
They had driven another stretch of road when Miss Bennet spoke again.
“After such a formidable list,” she said, “I think I had better learn what expectations may await a young lady elsewhere. You have told me what England requires, Mr. Darcy. I am very ignorant of other countries. I ought not to remain so.”
She turned towards Mrs. Hobart with a composure that Darcy thought he could not have managed in her place.
“Mrs. Hobart,” she said, “you have often mentioned the training required of ladies of . . . superior condition. What is expected of a young woman who is to live at a foreign court? What should she be besides obedient? For there is little hope I shall ever attain that skill.”