Page 141 of What Change Entails

Temporary.

The word entered Elizabeth’s chest like a pin.

Miss Bingley continued before she could answer. “You possess wit and liveliness. Naturally such qualities amuse him. But Pemberley receives many visitors. Mr. Darcy’s position requires graciousness.”

Elizabeth’s throat ached unpleasantly.

Because part of her—small, frightened, humiliatingly vulnerable—had already wondered this.

Miss Bingley watched her too carefully.

“He would never intentionally encourage expectations unsuitable to his situation,” she said gently.

Unsuitable.

Elizabeth stared at the stream, babbling and flowing away from her.

Several ducks moved lazily through the reeds beneath the bridge. One disappeared underwater before resurfacing several feet away. The absurd normality of it steadied her slightly.

“He has shown your family exceptional consideration,” Miss Bingley continued. “Indeed, more consideration than most gentlemen of his consequence might extend.”

That hurt.

Not because Elizabeth believed it fully.

Because some part of her feared she might.

She remembered Kent with awful clarity. Remembered his proposal. Remembered every painful word regarding inferiority, family impropriety, obstacles overcome.

Had anything truly changed except his manners?

Miss Bingley stepped nearer.

“I would dislike seeing you mortified publicly, Miss Elizabeth.”

Elizabeth raised her head.

That expression.

Pity.

She would rather have endured cruelty.

“You are very obliging,” Elizabeth replied. Her voice sounded strangely calm to her own ears.

Miss Bingley appeared encouraged by that composure. “I speak solely from concern.”

“Of course.”

“I hope you understand.”

Elizabeth smiled then.

Not because she wished to.

Because pride demanded it.

“I understand perfectly.”