"I should not have behaved thusly. I should not have dismissed your family so callously, so definitively. An inflexibility of opinion is a form of ignorance, I know this to be true and yet I often fail to reexamine my own beliefs, to challenge my own prejudices. It is not required of me because no one dares to question me. Except you.
"I can promise never to harm you with intention, mine is not a malicious disposition whatever you may think, but I cannot promise that I will never injure you with unintended cruelties, products of a faulted character. I will endeavor to improve upon my deficiencies, and I hope you will encourage me in my further betterment by pointing out when I am being a snobbish arse so I can tell you I am sorry, as I am telling you now, and beg your forgiveness."
I must say this for Darcy when he sets out to do a thing he does it thoroughly. I had hoped he would apologize, but I never believed he would fully understand the cause of my resentment (I had not fully understood it myself until I spoke of it). I know people sometimes apologize disingenuously for the sake of peace, but Darcy had meant his words, I know he had.
Now I was at a loss for words. It was not that I could think of nothing to say; I was biting back a jest, several actually. But now was not the appropriate time for my humor. Darcy had made himself so vulnerable with such eloquence, my flippancy would be a poor reward. However I was not quite ready to declare him forgiven. Old resentments had been answered, but there was a lingering distrust I could not quite vocalize.
Yet I was grateful for his apology and I wished I could find the proper words to explain my feelings, however I was discovering that though expressing opinions came very easily to me, expressing my emotions—especially in the face of Darcy's raw honesty—was a daunting task.
So instead of untangling my inner turmoil, I reached out to him. His brow scrunched beneath my fingers as I swept them across it, but then relaxed. Apparently any confusion he felt at the gesture resolved itself and he was determined to accept my attentions inwhatever form they came, even if it meant having his brow caressed as if he were an overwrought child or possibly a good dog.
I hardly knew what I was about or why I should feel the irresistible impulse to touch him, but I had so I did and here we are.
I searched for something to say because one cannot just sit in silence petting someone's forehead, it just isn't done.
"You have the most expressive brow, did you know? You could not lie to anyone. I thought your face so inscrutable at first, but now. . . ."
Having spoken it now seemed like the forehead caressing had to stop.You've said your piece, Lizzy, if you keep doing it you will have to say something else and things will only become awkward from there. Briefly I considered if I might transition from forehead petting to hair stroking but I determined, curiosity about the texture of his hair aside, he wasn't a dog and this wasn't the time.
I dropped my hand to my side.
Does he seem disappointed? Yes, I see it, there it is, disappointment lurking in his eyes. I suppose stopping as I had so suddenly might seem a little abrupt. Cold almost. One should not be cold when one is trying to demonstrate one's affection-but-not-quite-forgiveness.
In an effort to combat any perceived coldness, I touched my lips to his brow, which was, incidentally, quite warm. Perhaps he was taking ill. Merely for the sake of his health, I repeated the gesture and this time found he was precisely the temperature he ought to be.
Good.
Wonderful.
Perfect.
But perhaps—just perhaps—I maybe should probably kiss him? On the lips. You know, as an olive branch. Belinda did say she was not going to let us out until we kissed and made friends.
His lips were as warm and soft as I remembered and it would have been so simple to allow myself to melt into him—especially if he had done the thing with his tongue, which I had found so shocking the first time, but now quite appreciated—had he not pulled away after the briefest of kisses and asked, "Is this forgiveness?"
"No," I replied merrily, "I am still horribly angry with you."
I dipped a finger under the top of his waistcoat and pulled him to me once more. Darcykissed me back this time, but his lips moved hesitantly over mine. This would not do at all. If he wasn't going to do the thing with his tongue, I would have to try it. With an experimental flick I tasted his lips. They were pleasantly salty and I was proud of myself for my bravery, but I think I ought to have pressed the point when his lips parted to draw a surprised breath.
It is all in the timing. I am certain an ill-timed tongue intrusion could lead to accidental biting, unimaginable pain, and the inability to speak properly for weeks.
I needed to practice. But first I needed to relocate because if I did not one of us was going to end up on the floor and it would not be at all humorous if it were me.
Darcy displayed some astonishment as I settled onto his lap, but accepted the change in arrangement with all eagerness. Still there was a pronounced absence of tongue.
It was as if he was trying to restrain himself. And indeed he must have been for the next moment he broke away and asked, "Are you?"
"Are you still angry with me?" he clarified seeing my confusion.
"Yes, absolutely seething. Can you not tell?" I replied distractedly as I debated hiking up my skirts and straddling him, abandoning all pretense of propriety in the process. Or perhaps it would be more expedient to simply request that we take to the floor now before we found ourselves there by adventitious means.
"I must admit I cannot."
"Well I am," I said as I tried to kiss him again.
He dodged me. "Why?"
I sighed to indicate my displeasure. He wanted to discuss this now? Reluctantly I returned to my chair.
