When they had reached a bend in the path that took them out of view of the Pemberley garden where Georgiana had stopped and now stood watching them go, Mr. Darcy spoke.
“Why was my sister intent on going to my uncle’s home alone and on foot this afternoon?”
In her nervousness and excitement at the prospect of being in his company, alone in his company, Elizabeth nearly forgot what had brought them together in the first place. She did not want to betray her new friend’s confidences, but she was also loath to simply deny Mr. Darcy any sort of answer.
“She did not explain it to you?”
“No,” he replied, his tone now devoid of any softness. “She said nothing of import before she dragged me to you.”
Perhaps it was how put out he sounded at the prospect of meeting her or his dismissal of Miss Darcy’s words, or perhaps it was the fact that she had not eaten in quite some time that led Elizabeth to respond thusly:
“Well, I doubt then, sir,” she emphasised the address with false sincerity, “that anything I would say could be of sufficient import to warrant your attention. In light of this, might I suggest we continue on in silence, or if you’d prefer, you may turn back now.”
“I will do no such thing, and it is unreasonable to refuse to answer my questions. Miss Darcy is my sister and my responsibility; you have known her for less than an hour. I must be acquainted with all her concerns.”
“And yet you are not acquainted with this one,” she responded, picking up her pace. It did no good, of course; his legs were nearly twice as long as hers and she would not out-walk him.
“Which is why I asked you to tell me,” he responded with obvious impatience. “I cannot understand your unwillingness.”
“You cannot understand my unwillingness to reveal things told to me in confidence? It is a pity you, in your advanced years, have not known the joy of friends who would keep your secrets. I feel sorry for you.”
“Miss Bennet, I must insist.” He stopped walking and gently tugged at her elbow so that she had to do likewise.
“Insisting again, Mr. Darcy?”
Although she stood facing him, Elizabeth did not look him in the eye. She was afraid she would lose her resolve if she did so—he really was too handsome. It was an unfair advantage.
“You should remember your insisting has no effect on me. You may be used to young women bending to your will, but I will not be moved. Unlike Miss Devon, obtaining your good opinion is not my primary goal.”
“Miss Devon?” he replied, clearly confused.
Elizabeth cursed her temper. It so often led her to do and say things she later regretted.
“Never mind, I should not have said that. Leave it be,” she huffed, turning to resume their journey.
“Miss Bennet.” The soft, almost apologetic way he said her name caused Elizabeth to stop, though she did not turn back to him. Instead, he came to stand in front of her.
“I apologise for my manner of address. I understand I can be somewhat ... “
“Direct.” and “Rude,” they said at the same time.
“Rude?” he questioned with marked incredulity.
He sounded so genuinely perplexed that Elizabeth softened a little. That, combined with her determination not to be ruled by her temper, had her conceding where she might otherwise have her opposition. She still felt she was right. He had been rude, but perhaps she could find a compromise.
“Fine, direct then.” She nodded and waved her hand for him to continue. “Please proceed with your apology.”
“I was done.”
“I am not surprised. You are not very good at it.” She resumed walking, and he fell into step beside her.
“At what?”
“Apologizing,” she told him, expending considerable effort to hold onto her temper, which was rising again.
He was nearly as exasperating as he was handsome. Nearly.
“I have never considered apologies a skill one could excel at,” he said, sounding genuinely curious.
