Page 20 of The Briar Bargain (The Rom Com Collection #3)
Mr. Darcy nodded at her, and although she felt as though she were skating on rather thin ice, Elizabeth continued.
"Indeed, whilst one must admire his technical skill, there is something rather self-indulgent about his claim that all of nature's beauty is rendered meaningless by the absence of a single person.
A more mature sensibility might find solace in spring's return regardless of one's romantic circumstances. "
"And yet," Mr. Darcy said thoughtfully, "is there not truth in the observation that love transforms our entire perception of the world? When we are truly attached to someone, their presence does indeed colour everything we see."
Elizabeth stared at him. Was Mr. Darcy defending sentimental excess? "But surely," she said, feeling increasingly disconcerted, "there is great risk in allowing one's happiness to depend so entirely upon another person? Shakespeare's speaker seems to have no independent capacity for joy."
"Perhaps," Mr. Darcy replied, his voice growing softer, "but there is also honesty in admitting that some attachments become so central to us that their absence leaves the world feeling fundamentally altered. Is it not better to acknowledge such feelings than to pretend indifference?"
Miss Bingley, who had been standing forgotten during this exchange, cleared her throat with obvious irritation.
"How . . . philosophical," she said through gritted teeth.
"Though I confess I find such overwrought sentiment rather tiresome.
Surely respectable people do not allow themselves to be so completely overcome by emotional attachment? "
Mr. Darcy turned to her with polite interest. "I have often found, among the members of my club, for instance, that those who claim immunity to deep feelings often simply lack the capacity for them."
Miss Bingley fell silent. Elizabeth could not tell whether she had understood the barb.
She found herself studying Mr. Darcy's profile with a new appreciation. "You speak as though you have experience with such attachments," she said.
His eyes met hers with an intensity that made her breath catch. "I begin to understand Shakespeare's speaker better than I once did."
She felt a surprising flash of envy for the lady who had engendered such feelings in the staid Mr. Darcy. Best not to examine it too closely. "Surely," Elizabeth persisted, "there must be some proper medium between feeling nothing and feeling so much?"
"Must there?" Mr. Darcy's gaze remained fixed upon her face. "Perhaps the risk of such dependence is the price one pays for the possibility of happiness."
Miss Bingley made a sound that might have been a shriek had it not been so quickly repressed.
"I should think sensible people would prefer to maintain some dignity in their attachments. I know, sir,” she said placatingly, “that you will take the side of an argument you do not favour only to benefit the debate. I shall leave you to it.” She left them there, Mr. Darcy standing, Elizabeth still in her chair and looking up at him.
“Miss Bingley seems to have mistaken me for you,” Mr. Darcy said with only a hint of amusement. “For I always speak to my own position.”
Elizabeth shook her head. “And you maintain that I do not?”
He chuckled. “I need only appeal to your honesty, Miss Elizabeth.”
Very well then. She did often take the opposing side of an argument. “It helps me to see the issue from more than one viewpoint,” she told him primly.
“Is that your excuse?”
“It is my explanation.”
“Ah.” He nodded at the door through which Miss Bingley had disappeared. “How well did I perform?”
"I fear," Elizabeth replied, her voice barely above a whisper, "that we may have rather abandoned Shakespeare in favour of more personal philosophy."
"Have we?" Mr. Darcy moved closer, close enough that she could catch the scent of bergamot. It reminded her of the white linen she had dreamed of after . . . She glanced away.
"I thought we were discussing the sonnet most thoroughly," he said.
"Were we indeed?" Elizabeth moved her gaze to the open volume in her lap, though the words seemed to swim before her eyes. "I confess I can no longer recall precisely what point we were debating."
"I believe," Mr. Darcy said with the ghost of a smile, "we were exploring whether it is better to feel deeply and risk appearing foolish, or to maintain dignity at the expense of genuine attachment."
"And what conclusion did we reach?"
"I think, Miss Elizabeth, the question requires further study."
Elizabeth closed the book of sonnets. "Perhaps it does, Mr. Darcy." She paused. "I suppose I should confess that I have not actually read Shakespeare’s Sonnet 98 carefully in some time."
"Have you not?" Mr. Darcy's lips twitched with suppressed amusement, as though he had already surmised as much. "How remarkable. Your critique was extraordinarily perceptive for someone unfamiliar with the text."
"I fear I was simply inventing criticisms that might sound plausible," Elizabeth admitted. "Though I begin to suspect that such criticism may be more art than science if one can improvise it so successfully."
"On the contrary," Mr. Darcy said with evident satisfaction, "I believe you have demonstrated that genuine intelligence can recognise the flaws in even unfamiliar works. Your observations were quite insightful. I suspect Miss Bingley will think twice before challenging you again."
She doubted that, but Elizabeth laughed, feeling better than she had since arriving at Netherfield. "I thank you for the sport, Mr. Darcy."
He walked to her side and held out his hand to help her up. "I hope you will allow me to remedy your unfamiliarity with this particular sonnet. Come, it is warmer by the fire.”