"I did not know you had a particular interest in methods of irrigation."
Ah, so that was what the book was about.
"There are a lot of things you do not know about me," I replied primly.
"That is true."
Another eternity of silence.
"I must admire your diligence, even those of us who find agricultural treatises stimulating must admit that book is awfully dry. Especially for a book about irrigation."
Oh my God. A pun. That was just pathetic. Even if I wasn't angry with him I wouldn't even give that a pity laugh. And yet I felt a tug at the corner of my lips. Just a little tug.
To keep myself from smiling, I turned my ire on him. Yes, there he is grinning at me. Boyishly. Probably thinks he's quite clever. So irritating.
"Why are you smiling, Mr. Darcy? How dare you smile at me. Go back to Bored-Irritated-Tired-Condescending-Haughty Face immediately."
The grin instantly dropped from his face, replaced with an expression of beLizzyment.
"Bored-irritated what face?" he asked.
"That unpleasant face you make."
"I did not know I had an unpleasant face. I rather thought my face was one of the few things about me you approved of."
I would not give in to his teasing tone and his smile. "You have a face—your social face, the face you make in company. Or at least the face you make when you are in company you consider undeserving of your notice."
"And you think I look at you this way, with bored-irritated-condescending-whatever face, as though I consider you beneath my notice?"
"It is not how Ithinkyou look at me, itishow you look at me, Mr. Darcy."
My statement was not quite true. He had given me all manner of looks—that moment when he declared me glorious it had almost looked as though he cared for me, and since the wedding he has regarded me with expressions of at least toleration (because I am so very tolerable) if not true liking—but I was thinking about the haughty gaze he had cast upon me when we first met. He had not even cast it upon me. Not directly. I was just part of the general mass of uncouth people he did not wish to associate with.
"I see," said Darcy, his smile and all levity gone. Good.
I went back to not reading about irrigation.
"We do need to—"
"Talk, yes, you have asserted that several times now, yet you have not managed to say anything substantial," I snapped. Darcy flinched. I, too, was surprised by my own severity. Usually even angry Lizzy is humorous Lizzy, kind Lizzy, nice Lizzy. Wrathful, grudge-holding Lizzy is new. I never thought I could hold a grudge. It always seemed so silly.
Yet here I am, clasping the grudge to my bosom like a flower gifted to me by a suitor (Darcy has noticeably neglected to bring me flowers—if ever there was a time to get a lady flowers it would seem it would be after insulting her family). Really, I should be proud of myself for my grudge holding abilities. Despite all my internal blustering about never forgiving him, I thought I would relent the moment he started apologizing.
Which he has yet to do.
"Elizabeth," said Darcy, speaking my name like a directive. That did not sound like the penitent tone of a person about to apologize.
I forced myself to focus on my book. Embarrassingly I realized I was holding it upside down.
Darcy crossed the room and picked up the ottoman I had wanted for my feet, placing it in front of me he sat down upon it. Still I refuse to look at him.
"Elizabeth," Darcy repeated, this time pleadingly. I spared him a glance. He did look properly contrite sitting there lower than I, staring up at me beseechingly. It is a good start, I'll grant you. But I expect more.
I returned my attention to my upside down book. For the sake of appearances I turned the page.
"I knew I had hurt you but I did not realize. . . . I think there might be certainmisconceptions on your part."
Misconceptions indeed!In my wrathful shock I dropped the book. Darcy caught it. The flash of a grin that this small accomplishment brought to his features was quickly annihilated by the Stare of Madness I centered upon him.
