Darcy's eyes narrowed, this time his irritation was not false, there was not the slightest indication of good humor in his gaze.
"No, I cannot think Jane would wish to dance with you," I continued heedless of his growing ire, "Mr. Bingley should dance with her if he does not have a partner for this set."
Mr. Bingley sputtered. "I—well—yes. Miss Bennet would you do me the honor?"
"No!" Jane said far too fervently, "I mean to say, I should stay with you Lizzy."
"Absolutely not. I have Dora and Mrs. Rose and Darcy to keep me company I shall not perish from loneliness in the half hour you are away dancing."
I, however, might perish from the Glare Darcy was giving me. This was the worst one yet.
Mr. Bingley offered his arm, Jane hesitated for a moment.
"Go," I urged.
Finally she took his arm and he led her off to join the dancing.
Defiantly I turned to meet the glare I knew Darcy must be throwing my way. However he was not looking my way, most intentionally. He pushed himself away from the wall and with a bow to Mrs. Rose and Dora (but notably not to me) he said, "Please excuse me." Then he stalked off.
I had just received the cut direct from my own husband.
Oh bloody hell.
After the Ball.
"Might I speak to you before you retire, Elizabeth?" Darcy asked upon our entry to Darcy house.
I consented though I knew this could not be good. The carriage ride back from the ball had been awkward. I had expected Darcy's unhappiness, but even Jane was silently sullen. Dora was uncharacteristically talkative, cheerily reciting all the topics she and Mr. Farthingham had discussed, insensible to the general atmosphere of gloominess.
With envy I watched Jane and Dora mount the stairs to their chambers while I stood on the landing of the first floor, waiting as Darcy lit the lamps in his study. I wanted to go to bed. I wanted to put off this discussion for another day. This argument, I should say. It was certainly going to be an argument. A grizzly one if the wrath radiating from Darcy was any indication.
"Come in," Darcy said. He gestured for me to sit in the chair he had placed across from his desk. I was being called to the carpet like I was a naughty schoolboy and he the grim headmaster.
I sat, but I refused to appear ashamed or cowed. Before I could grow frightened under his menacing scrutiny I said, "If you are going to scold me about arranging that dance for Mr. Bingley and Jane you might as well hold your tongue."
"Because you know how badly you behaved and my breath would be wasted?" He smiled, but his eyes held no warmth.
"I did not behave badly in the least. Or if I did—and I will concede I made things slightly awkward—my bad behavior was necessary to counteract your bad behavior."
"My—" he began, but I did not let him continue.
"I know you have said something to Mr. Bingley, something to make him abandon his pursuit of Jane."
I had not realized until this moment how badly I wanted to be wrong. Because I like him. And not only in a lustful way. I like how kind he is to his relations, how considerate he is of his servants. I like his sharp humor, his superior intellect, and his utterly devastating smile.
I like this horrible, horrible man.
"Can you deny it?" I knew he could not, yet I pleaded for him to do so anyway.
"I cannot deny it and I have no wish to do so," he said harshly, shattering all hope. "Bingley asked my opinion on the matter, I told him the truth."
"And what 'truth' was that?"
"That your sister is indifferent to his advances."
"Indifferent! You think Jane is indifferent to Mr. Bingley?" I asked with great surprise.
"I observed her most carefully. While she is certainly flattered by his attentions, she shows no greater regard for him than any other gentleman. I would call that indifference."
