No. I will not think of it. I have promised myself I would not think about it.
But heisa bloody bastard.
And worse still I love him.
Yes, that's correct. I love Fitzwilliam Darcy, greatest idiot on earth.
He doesn't deserve me in the least. And I should have told him that as soon as he uttered his cruel words, but I said nothing because. . . .
Well, I do not exactly know why. I supposed I was shocked that his words should hurt me so much. It should not have hurt. I knew he never would have proposed to me if we had not become entangled in scandal. And if by some mad circumstance he had proposed I would never have accepted him.
But that was before.
Before our marriage. Before our friendship. Before I realized I loved him.
If he was as sensible as he claims to be, he would have noticed the effect his thoughtless words had had upon me and he would have immediately apologized and said something like, "But that was before I really knew you, now I see you for the glorious woman you are and I am so proud to call you my wife."
But as I said . . . world's greatest idiot. Instead he sipped his tea and started reading the newspaper. Seriously. The bloody newspaper.
Grrrrrr. I must not think of it. Every time I think of it I want to bite something and presently there is nothing around to bite. I was too feverish with dueling excitement and despair during the supper break to partake of much so now I am ravenous and the leavings I found in the refreshment room are far too picked over to even consider eating. All the remaining little sandwiches look as if a drunken surgeon has hacked at them to remove their cheese and the lemonade is down to the dregs.
So now I wait, hoping that the servant I sent off for fresh refreshments will get back from the kitchen soon, and for the first time all evening I have too much time to think. Since eight o'clock last night I have been smiling at, speaking to, and herding around guests. Being hostess is much more work than I realized, but it is wonderfully distracting as well. I was able to spend the first hour of the evening standing shoulder to shoulder with Darcy as we greeted our guests without thinking of him and his idiocy at all.
We have only danced one dance together thus far and I did not have to pay him any mind, preferring to speak to the ladies on both sides of me as we waited our turn to go down the dance. But now it is well after midnight and the guests' enthusiasm is beginning to wane, and everyone who was so eager to speak to me upon first arriving is now engaged with their own friends. Leaving me time to think.
I never would have proposed to you at all.
"Bloody bastard," I muttered to myself because sometimes it feels better just to say it out loud even if it makes you look mad.
"Pardon?"
I didn't even scream or gasp in surprise or anything because of course he is standing right behind me, of bloody course he is. "Speak of the devil," I said in a low grumble, not bothering to turn around.
"What?" asked Darcy, now standing in front of me, blocking my intense surveillance of the refreshments table.
"Nothing."
"A successful evening, I think," Darcy said after several moments of awkward silence during which I continued to stare at the refreshments table as if he were not there.
"A great many shepherdesses," he observed after several more silent moments.
He was correct, there were many promiscuous shepherdesses in attendance this evening, but I was not about to give him credit for his predictions.
"I'm sorry, have I offended you somehow?"
"Not at all," I replied because I have too much dignity to admit that he could injure me so deeply with just one unconsidered sentence.
"Are you certain? You have been a bit tense since this morning."
"Everything is fine."
"Only you seem—"
"It is all fine,Darcy."
"Indeed."
He stopped speaking at least, but he continued to just stand there.
