Through the Lens of a Letter

Part 3

Thanks again for all the reviews, etc. this week! Seriously, your feedback helps the story so much-whether it's encouraging me so I keep up my writing pace or pointing out where the story needs a little TLC, I really, really appreciate it! 

Thanks to my betas, Sara and Dawn, without whom I could not have done this :)

If you do notice any issues, please let me know! typos, historical errors, poor writing; I'm open to whatever.

Copyright 2020 Elizabeth Frerichs

Darcy stepped into the carriage with a sigh of relief. The evening was finally over, or at least nearly so. He just had to endure the undoubtedly barbed comments with which the carriage would overflow as they returned to Netherfield. The Bingley sisters fulfilled his every expectation when they began ripping into their neighbours—criticising everything from their dress to their speech.

He had long since ceased to be surprised by their observations or by Bingley's good-humoured tolerance of them. Their father had made his fortune in trade and had hoped to catapult his children into the first circles by providing them with wealth and a good education. Thus, the sisters had been educated at one of the finest private seminaries in London, had a fortune of twenty thousand pounds each, and were used to orbiting people of rank. As a result, they had no qualms about thinking meanly of everyone else around them—despite the fact that these poor country gentry had better bloodlines than their own.

"Come, Mr. Darcy, you must agree with me," Miss Bingley cried.

Darcy, who had been woolgathering as he looked out the window, shifted to face her. "About what?" he asked.

Miss Bingley's eyes tightened. "About who was wearing the worst dress at that—assembly."

"I am sure that your opinion is more informed than my own. I neither pay attention to female fashion in general nor noticed what anyone was wearing at the ball tonight," he said, trying to end the conversation. He had seen little in the way of refinement and nothing to interest him while in Meryton but was unwilling to participate in Miss Bingley's mean-spirited critiques.

Miss Bingley smirked as though he had just supported her position. "You see, Louisa? I am sure it was the woman in that puce monstrosity—the one with the double chins."

"Oh, were they double chins? I thought I saw more than two, but of course, you got much closer to her," Louisa replied with faux innocence.

"Perhaps you are right—she may have been treble-chinned."

"Well, I think it was a wonderful assembly," Bingley said stoutly. "Everyone was so pleasant. I am sure I have never met pleasanter people, nor prettier girls, in my life."

"You always say that, Charles," Miss Bingley drawled.

Darcy had to agree with her, but refrained from giving her the satisfaction of doing so out loud.

Bingley shrugged one shoulder. "It is true in this case. Everyone was most kind tonight. I felt as though I knew everyone in the room before long."

Darcy held in a snort. Of course Bingley had felt that way—everyone in the room had introduced themselves the first moment they conceivably could, all eager to grasp at Bingley's five thousand pounds a year.

"And, as for the young ladies," Bingley continued, "I'm quite sure that even an angel could not hold a candle to Miss Bennet."

"Mr. Darcy, what did you think of Miss Bennet?" Miss Bingley asked.

"As Bingley said, she is lovely; however, she smiles too much," Darcy said after a moment's thought.

"I quite agree," Miss Bingley said firmly. "Although she is rather sweet."