I realize that all adds up to one and seven eighths, but it is a complicated glare.
And Darcy is a complicated man.
And my feelings for him are complicated . . . to say the least.
"Should we perhaps find someone to perform a formal introduction?" I asked after a long bout of silence.
The Lizzy Glare shifted to a look of bewilderment, another expression he wears so often in my presence I might as well call it his Look of BeLizzyment.
"We see so little of each other lately I thought perhaps you no longer recognized me and needed to be introduced," I explained.
"No matter how much you might endeavor to avoid me, do not think I will so easily forget you," Darcy said in a low, teasing tone. His eyes glittered with that alluring smolder, touched with an edge of warning.
"I am the one doing the avoiding?" I asked, lowering my own voice. I should have been more careful. I had forgotten how very interesting we are. All the conversation around us had taken on that distracted, stilted quality conversation so often does when its participates are just using it as a cover for their eavesdropping.
"Of late? Yes, I should say so."
Perhaps Ihadbeen the one doing the avoiding. Lately. But it was not intentional. Fine, not completely intentional. Not seeing much of Darcy was an unintended advantage of having so very much to do. Not an advantage, I do not mean that. I want to spend time with Darcy. I want to get to know him. Probably. . . .
I want to get to know him if he is the person I want him to be rather than the person I thought he was when I first met him. Does that make sense? No, I know it does not, but it does not matter. Between preparing for our Twelfth Night ball and chaperoning Dora and Jane to various events I have barely seen him much less spoken to him. Which is good. Because we are at odds. As usual.
He is keeping Jane and Mr. Bingley apart. Not in the obvious, idiotic way he tried the evening of Jane's arrival. No, this time he has carried out some insidious plan and it has worked masterfully. Probably. . . .
I have no proof of any nefarious schemes on his part. How could I have any such evidence? As I've said, I have barely seen him. But I have observed Mr. Bingley quite closely and the change in him is undeniable. He has grown colder and colder towards Jane throughout this past week and, though I know Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst would do anything to keep their brother from making an alliance with the Bennets, I do not think they have enough influence over him to have brought about such a dramatic alteration.
Darcy, however, could persuade Mr. Bingley so completely. He told me as much when I was staying at Netherfield during Jane's illness. Of course he was not speaking of his own influence in particular when he revealed how easily Mr. Bingley could lead by a friend, we were speaking hypothetically. Probably. . . .
I wish now I could better remember his exact words. I know it was a silly conversation. Or rather, it was a silly argument, for we were always at odds even then. But I wonder now if Darcy might have been trying to warn me. Amiable as Mr. Bingley is, he is, like all of us, not without deficiencies of character. And this malleability he has demonstrated is a dreadful deficiency. At the time, I believe, I contended that to readily surrender to the persuasion of a friend was virtuous, displaying a deeper regard for the affection between friends than for the satisfaction having one's own way.
Now I feel Darcy might have had a point about the importance of well-reasoned arguments and adhering to one’s convictions no matter how minor.
I hate it when Darcy has a point. I also hate the way he is looking at me. He isn't glaring anymore. His gaze has gone all soft and concerned . . . and proprietary. From the look on his face one would think he took some sort of binding vow to be responsible for my health and happiness till the end of his days.
"Are you injured?" he asked with a glance to my foot, which I had quite forgotten until he mentioned it.
"I am fine," I replied. I may limp for the rest of my life, but I am fine.
"You appeared distressed."
"Not distressed. Only slightly pained."
"I meant earlier. You appeared to be in distress—searching for someone."
"I wasn't," I said perhaps too curtly.
"I thought perhaps you needed me."
"I didn't," I said most certainly too curtly.
"Of course not," Darcy said with equal curtness.
I should tell him what has happened. He could probably find her easily in the crowd. He is so tall, he has a much better view but. . . .
I don't want to fess up to my negligence. I should have kept my eye on her, I should have paid attention. Yet I never expected her to wander off. I am certain she could not have gone far. If I could just find her before Darcy notices—
"Where is Dora?"
Damn him. Damn him to the bloodiest circle of bloody hell.
