She crossed her arms over her chest. “There is a great deal about me you do not know, sir.”
There was a little sound, and Elizabeth saw, over Mr Darcy’s shoulder, another piece of plaster decoration giving way and falling to the floor in a pouf of dust. She pretended not to notice.
“Yes, apparently that is true,” he said coldly. A creeping flush had arisen on his countenance. “The man from last night, is it?”
“Mr Hartham?”
“Is that his name?” Mr Darcy sneered. “I did not care to listen to the introductions.”
“Mr Hartham’s aunt, the Dowager Countess of Preston, lives next door. He is staying with her.”
“How exceedingly convenient.”
Elizabeth hesitated, feeling there was a hidden meaning in his words that she did not comprehend. “I beg your pardon?”
“I could not have imagined—” He cut himself off and silently shook his head.
“Of what do you accuse me, sir? You seem to have ascribed some manner of misdemeanour to me, but I fear I do not at all understand you.”
Mr Darcy took a step closer to her and, in a lower voice, said, “This is his doing, is it not?” He gestured about him. “He is settling you here.”
At once, she understood him perfectly and her jaw dropped. Rage swelled in her breast, and for a brief moment, she feared she might slap him. With cool dignity, she said, “You are grievously mistaken in both your assumption and your understanding of my character. This house was left to me by my aunt. Not that it is any of your business.”
“Your aunt?”
She could almost hear his incredulity, the disdainful curl of his lips all but shouting, ‘Mrs Philips?’ or ‘Your aunt in Cheapside? I think not!’ She gave a tight nod. “Mrs Agatha Bennet. Widow to my father’s elder brother.”
“I was not aware your father had an elder brother.”
“Why should you be?”
“Well then, why did you not tell me this was your house when we met yesterday?” he demanded.
“I did not knowthenthatmyhousewas whereyouwere staying! Why should I think it had anything to do with you?”
“Because Saye is my cousin!”
“And I was meant to know that? Other than Miss de Bourgh and the colonel, and some mention of a younger sister, I know next to nothing about your family circle.”
“He never mentioned that he was a Fitzwilliam?” Mr Darcy crossed his arms over his chest, mirroring her pose. “Not once?”
She raised one shoulder and allowed it to fall, hoping it communicated her disdain. “Perhaps familial pride is less important tohimthan it is to some others. In any case, might I ask that you summon him for me? I came here to speak with him, not to have my character defamed.”
She turned her back on him, and began to slowly move about the vestibule, pretending to examine things here and there but in truth, attempting to overcome her anger.
He did not leave. She heard no footsteps, and in fact could clearly hear his respirations, quick and a little ragged, behind her.
“I owe you an apology,” he said finally.
“No matter,” she said airily. “It is what you and I do, is it not? Misunderstand, judge, and then hurl insults at one another.” She came to a stop in front of a window casement and turned to regard him. “I confess, I had believed you did your worst at Hunsford, but I congratulate you for having pained me even more.”
He ran a hand through his hair and sighed heavily. “That was not my intention.”
“Allow me to offer you some counsel in your doingswith the fairer sex. Think long and hard before accusing a woman of being kept.”
Mr Darcy permitted his shoulders to slump, and he sighed heavily again. He walked slowly to the window on the opposite side of the front door from the one she was pretending to examine. After a short hesitation, he leant his forehead against the glass and closed his eyes before softly saying, “Jealousy is the green-eyed monster, which doth mock the meat it feeds on.”
“I beg your pardon?”
