"Oh, indeed," I agreed sarcastically. "Are you certain your observations were not tainted by your own prejudice?"
Frustratingly, he had the gall to ask, "To what prejudice do you refer?"
"Come now, you have never bothered to pretend. It is obvious you think my family beneath you. Perhaps you wished to save your friend from the misfortune of such low connections."
"While I cannot be said to rejoice in the inferiority of your connections, it was not Jane's undesirable circumstances which influenced my conclusions. Her own impassivity paired with your mother's and—much to my embarrassment—your own indecorous insistence in forwarding the match led me to believe there could be no happiness in a union between Bingley and your sister."
"My indecorous insistence!" It was not enough for him to speak of my inferior connections and undesirable circumstances, he had to make this outrageous accusation as well.
"Indeed, I cannot comprehend it. While your mother certainly made clear an advantageous match was most desirable for one of her daughters—necessary even, I do not know why you, having accomplished that essential task, feel the need to push your own sister into a marriage for the sake of mercenary considerations."
"Is this what you think of me? That I would do such a thing, place wealth over the happiness of my sister and push her to make a match with a man she is merely indifferent to?"
"I do not wish to think thusly of you, however from your behavior of late I can only conclude—"
"Really?" I screeched, interrupting him, "That is theonlyconclusion you can come to? And I thought you were clever. Did you ever consider that perhaps you do not know mysister as well as I do? That she perhaps does not display her feelings as openly as others, but nonetheless feels deeply.
"And she does feel deeply about Mr. Bingley, though why she should ever care for a man stupid enough to be persuaded out of his affection for her I do not know. She thinkshenever cared for her—that she is some unwanted acquaintance, which is why she has been distancing herself from him. It was not you who put such falsehoods into her head, was it?" I asked suspiciously.
"I have not said anything to your sister," Darcy replied gravely.
"Yes.Quite. You would not wish to speak to someone so inferior to you. It is a miracle you speak to me, but I suppose I am a Darcy, however much you might wish otherwise."
Darcy opened his mouth as if to argue. Then closed it. I was still clinging to hope he would make it all better. Silly of me. As if there was some phrase he could offer in apology that would change anything that had passed between us. There could be no apology for his words.
"You must excuse me," I said hardly managing to hold back my tears, "I cannot bear to look at you a moment longer."
Fifteen
23rdDecember 1811
Morning
Jane says the most absurd things sometimes.
Like just a moment ago when He Who Must Not Be Named entered the room and ever-so-casually took a muffin from the sideboard and then ever-so-slowly buttered it even though I know he had already taken breakfast because I had my maid go speak to his valet and make sure he had eaten so I would not have to break my fast with him because the very sight of him makes me want to scream, but of course—oh, of course—he had to come strolling in as if he owned the room (which of course he does, but no matter) and start lavishly buttering things with indecent slowness as if everything were perfectly normal and he had not a care in the world and did not notice at all that I was silently seething, which of course hedidnotice because he looked right at me all impassively as though I am the unreasonable one—me!
Anyway . . . what was I saying? Oh, yes, Jane—
Jane said, "Good morning, Mr. Darcy."
Patently absurd.
That person—whose name I had specifically asked her not to speak in my presence because the very mention of it causes me homicidal rage—is incapable of having a good morning even if anyone should sincerely wish him one (and why Jane who has the most to accuse him of should do so I do not know) and though she certainly sounded sincere she could not possibly have been because I had just finished sharing with her the extent of his perfidy and even she—all goodness and sweetness that she is—could not be anything but incensed by it.
Yet she did say it. And he replied, "Good morning, Miss Bennet . . . Elizabeth."
Outrageous.
And then he said, "I am going to be in the library this morning if you need me."
As if I would possibly need him. Fortunately after making this declaration he quit the room, taking his overly buttered muffin with him.
"You spoke to him!" I said accusingly to Jane.
"Of course I spoke to him. As should you."
I scoffed.
