He took the paper wordlessly.
"Someone so helpfully circled the pertinent information," I said as his eyes roved the page. I thought I knew who that someone was.
"Interesting," he said after a moment.
"Yes, most flattering is it not? To know our misfortunes are worthy gossip sheet fodder."
"Misfortunes?" He pronounced the word caustically, every syllable a sharpened blade. I faltered.
He spoke again before I could recover. "You found this here?" he asked, his tone regulated, betraying none of the sharpness he had expressed only a moment before.
"As I said."
"I am sorry if it has upset you. I will take care of it."
At first I thought he meant take care of it as in pistols at dawn with Lady Whisperton. Or perhaps less sensationally, taking care of it by filing a suit of libel against the printer.
"My sister will apologize," he assured.
Of course. Being a rational man, he meant take care of it by scolding his sister. Yet again. He returned just in time for dinner last night with a sullen Georgiana in tow. She had evidently been hiding at the Bingley's all day, no doubt discussing my perfidy with Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst. The siblings appeared none-too-pleased with each other, which made me certain Mr. Darcy had scolded his sister for decamping.
Without the slightest bit of conviction I said, "You cannot be certain it was Georgiana who left it here."
There was really no one else it could have been. If Mrs. Vane were to lower herself by admitting to purchasing a gossip sheet, she would hand it to me directly just to see the look on my face. And if Dora has any awareness that there is such a thing as a gossip sheet, or indeed gossip in general, I should be heartily surprised.
It occurred to me that another round of scolding would turn Georgiana unalterably against me. "Please, Mr. Darcy, do not mention it to your sister. I am not at all upset and really it is actually helpful to know what is being said."
"It was not meant to be helpful."
"No, but sometimes it is better to ignore bad behavior. Sometimes to deprive the offender of a reaction is punishment enough." I tried to tug the sheet from his grasp, but he pulled it away from me.
"I think I know best how to deal with my own sister," he said coldly.
Frustrating man! Why was he speaking to me as if I had been the naughty one? And why did every conversation between us turn into an argument?
Not bothering to keep my sarcasm in check I said, "I am sure you are right."
In reply he rolled his eyes.
It is difficult to explain why this particular gesture annoys me so much when Darcy does it. Lydia rolls her eyes at me all the time and it gives me only amusement. Perhaps because when my husband casts his eyes in a heavenward direction he silently says, "I cannot put into words how exasperatingly ridiculous you are." Or worse and perhaps more likely, "You are not even worth me putting into words how exasperatingly ridiculous you are." Ofcourse this is probably what Lydia means by the gesture as well, but Lydia is Lydia; one cannot be wounded by the derision of a silly child.
Mr. Darcy's derision however. . . . The man makes me feel inferior. It is not that I think Mr. Darcy is my intellectual superior. Certainly not.
Probably not.
That is to say he is certainly better educated. Obviously. I didn't even have a governess. But that does not mean he is cleverer than I.
Does it?
And why should it matter if he is cleverer? It should not. It does not. Only. . . .
Only he does not think me clever enough to understand his feelings, he dismisses me with a roll of his eyes. It is most unfair. Well, perhaps not. I have given him reason to doubt my sense. Twice now.
"Well. . . ." he let the word hang there, drawing out the awkwardness of the moment as only Mr. Darcy can. "I have things I must attend to. Good morning," he gave me a nod and turned on his heel.
"Will you not take breakfast?" I asked, nearly shouting in my desperation to halt him.
"I've already eaten," he replied without turning back. He left as imperiously as he had entered.
