Page 24 of Not Without Me, Miss Elizabeth

Looking between the spoon and Mr. Darcy, she said, "You will need to come closer, sir, or I shall spill this upon you."

"Very well." He leaned forward, and she carefully filled the spoon before raising it to his mouth. He opened it obligingly, and she managed, with some awkwardness, to see him properly fed.

After several such spoonfuls, he seemed satisfied. "There, let us return to the work at hand, Mr. Darcy."

She fell silent, returning her attention to the small progress she had made before their meal arrived.

"What do you read?" he asked, rather suddenly.

Caught off guard, she echoed him. "What do I read?"

"I have heard you are a great reader," he added, somewhat lightly.

As she focused on her task of tugging, Elizabeth responded absentmindedly, "And who, pray, told you that, Mr. Darcy?"

He considered the question a moment. "A friend," he replied simply.

"A friend? Which friend?" She asked, uncertain of who he could mean.

Attempting to change the subject, and sounding somewhat annoyed at the interplay, Darcy replied, "Does it signify? Are you a great reader, or are you not?"

She laughed, turning over in her mind which friend of a friend might have carried such intelligence to him. "I would not call myself a great reader, sir, though I take pleasure in it, among a great many other things."

What, precisely, constitutes a great reader?he wondered, but thought better of pursuing the point. "What do you enjoy reading, then?"

"A great many things.Evelinais a favourite, as isThe Absentee. I have always loved a good Shakespearean sonnet.As You Like ItandMeasure for Measurehave entertained me a great deal. I have read Lord Byron, and Sir Walter Scott, but I confess Miss Edgeworth pleases me most of all."

"I confess I am not surprised." He considered a moment. "I admire Edgeworth's consistency of character, and her moral seriousness, but I am less persuaded by her insistence upon a woman's self-governance. I do not think it positions women so very well in society."

"I beg your pardon, sir? You believe a woman's independence poorly positions her?" She asked, with a knowing tone in her voice.

"I think her view somewhat unrealistic. Consider what independence is available to a woman in our society, save that of the widow, or the woman of ill repute? Edgeworth would have women yearn for a great deal more than society is presently prepared to grant them."

"I must disagree with you entirely, Mr. Darcy. Scripture itself describes man and woman as equal in creation, and it follows that we ought to enjoy equal access and opportunity in society, whatever our sex. Edgeworth makes precisely that argument, and in doing so, challenges society to reconsider itself."

"You may be right in principle. But I think Edgeworth writes from the ideal, and not the practical. In theory, certainly, men and women stand equal. In practice, society does not regard them so. One need only consider occupation, as men pursue a great variety of professions, while women areconfined almost entirely to the domestic sphere, held up as models of propriety rather than participants in the wider world. It may not be just, but it remains the reality we live in."

She pushed back directly, "What occupations, precisely, are men suited to that women are not?"

"I do not say women are incapable of such work, only that, in practice, one finds no women in the law, in medicine, or in engineering." He sounded honest.

Elizabeth replied, pausing her tugging for a moment, to speak directly to his back, "I have heard no evidence, sir, to support the notion that women are unsuited to such professions, only that we have been denied the education and opportunity to pursue them. It is not incapacity. It is exclusion."

She heard what sounded like a huff, and noticed his shoulders lurch upwards, "I see Miss Edgeworth's influence upon you plainly, madam. Your argument, then, is that the true trouble lies in education?"

"It does, sir. Deny a woman education, and she will remain confined to occupations that require none. Educate her properly, and I believe you would find her equal to any profession you might name." Elizabeth was satisfied with her response.

Mr. Darcy fell quiet, turning over in his mind the women of his acquaintance; his mother, his aunts, his cousin Anne de Bourgh, his sister Georgiana; Caroline Bingley and the other ladies of his London circle besides. Nearly every one of them had received some education, whether at school or under a private governess, and yet he had never troubled himself to consider what that education truly consisted of. Certainly none had been permitted to study the common law, nor sit in on a single university lecture.

His mother and his aunts, at least, had been formidable women in their own right, capable of holding their own in any conversation or undertaking, his aunt Catherine had managed her own estate for years since the death of Sir Lewis. His cousin and sister seemed, by comparison, less equal to such things, though Georgiana, he reminded himself, was still very young. Women such as Caroline Bingley, meanwhile, possessed all the polish society required of them,and precious little substance beneath it—vanity and petty jealousy in place of any real ambition beyond securing a fortune of her own.

And then there was Elizabeth Bennet, seated behind him even now, working patiently at the cords about his wrists.She could do anything,he thought, with something like wonder. Of every woman he had ever known, he believed that Elizabeth Bennet, given the opportunity, might have matched the finest legal minds in argument, assisted the ablest surgeons, or reasoned alongside the cleverest engineers in England.

The realisation struck him with the force of cold water. He, who prided himself so much upon principle and character, had never once considered the access, the feelings, or the ambitions of the women in his own life. He had simply assumed a woman's place at home followed naturally from her delicate constitution; prone, as he had always supposed, to fits of nerves and sentiment, and thereby unsuited to any education fit for a man.

Elizabeth Bennet gave the lie to every part of that assumption. He could not begin to imagine her succumbing to nervous collapse or hysterical tears; she had endured eight days of captivity and isolation without once dissolving into either. She was, he understood now, no fragile creature at all, but a woman of considerable strength, sense, and brilliance.

After several moments of silence, he heard Elizabeth say, "Have I made my case, Mr. Darcy?"