Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry.
So, so sorry it took so long. I could offer several excuses, but none of them are particularly good so I will just say, "There were things I needed to attend to," and leave it at that.
Special thanks to ELN5 for the suggested waltz video.
General thanks to everyone for putting up with my delay.
Did I mention I was sorry?
23rd December 1811
I turned away from the door to find Darcy making Bored/Irritated/Tired/Condescending/Haughty Face at me.
"We do need to talk," he said, his tone everything reasonable and mature. Yet this show of equanimity is a lie.
He wants a row.
Other people might not see it, they might look at him and think him the picture of relaxed composure, but I can see from that blazing look in his eyes (a look similar, yet so different from the blaze of desire) he wants another argument as if a rematch might have some other outcome, like he might find himself cast in a better light if he can draw me into battle, force me to unleash all this venom I am holding, making myself as villainous as he made himself last time.
This could easily happen if I do not keep my temper. Which is exactly why I am so determined to do so.
I know now I was wrong about some things: Jane's indifference, my own foolish schemes to get Mr. Bingley and Jane together. I was wrong.
But Darcy was wronger.
He said hurtful things without care for the pain they would cause, if my distress bothers him now—well, splendid. I am glad to know he can be concerned for the feelings of others. But his discomfort at my wounded feelings is not enough to absolve him. Not yet.
For now he can just sit there in his wrongness and be wrong.
Or stand there, as it were, since that is what he is doing, standing there all haughty and looking at me. I tamp down another flare of rage. This is why I have been avoiding him. This is why I didn't even want to hear his name. Just seeing him makes me want to do violence to him.
Because everyone thinks he is so bloody great. So much the gentleman. And he is.
But he also isn't.
I was so wrong about him. But I was also right. It is all too confusing. I cannot think properly. I cannot feel properly.
I just so cannot right now.
Ignoring his invitation to converse (argue), I walked past him. He sighed dramatically in response. The man practically begs to be coshed over the head. His is a murder that will be easily solved. Mrs. Darcy—in the library—with the candlestick.
I am jesting. Mostly. I did not used to be such a violent person. Of course I did not used to be Mrs. Darcy.
"What are you doing?" he asked as if I had not made my intentions obvious by picking through the shelves for something to read.
"I am going to read until Georgiana returns."
"We do need to talk," he said again, just in case I had not heard him the first time. I suppose, a failure to hear properly is probably the only reason he can think of that a person would not mark his opinions. Intentionally not being listened to must be an extremely rare circumstance for Darcy.
"You may say whatever you like," I said, choosing a book at random. "I cannot stop you." I mean I could . . . with a candlestick of sufficient weight.
I settled into my favorite chair. It was already warm which meant he had not been brooding at the desk as I had thought but in this chair. My chair. The rational part of my mind knew he had lived in this house long before I had and thus it was truly me who had taken his chair. But I was far beyond being rational.
I did not want to share things with him. Not things so much in terms of material goods, but likes, dislikes. I want nothing in common with this man who thinks so little of my family. So little of me.
I cannot get comfortable in this chair without the ottoman. Where is the bloody ottoman? Of course, there it is, on the other side of the room with my husband blocking my path to it. My bloody husband who is just standing there staring at me.
Well, there is nothing for it. The solution to my problem is completely indecorous, but then Darcy already thinks my behavior indecorous, doesn't he?
I felt rather than saw Darcy's brow rise when I threw my legs over the arm of the chair. Indecent display of ankles aside, this is much more comfortable than propping my feet on the ottoman anyway. It is my chair in my library in my house (fine all of those things actually belong to Darcy but he is my horrible husband so that makes them mine) and there are no guests about so I can sit however I like propriety be damned.
He can raise those eyebrows as high as he likes, I hope they get stuck in his hairline.
"Good book?" he asked after what felt like several hours of silence had elapsed.
"Yes." I had not read one word. I had been too busy ignoring him to read.
"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 I think you look at me, it is how 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 certain misconceptions 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.
With great care, he placed the book on the floor, never taking his eyes off of me as if I were a wild animal who might strike at any moment.
"You say there are misconceptions on my part?" I asked, my tone hinting that there was only one acceptable answer which was of course: "No, I am very sorry, I did not mean that. I am an idiot."
"Yes, your part," Darcy replied because he is, in fact, an idiot, "You seem to hold the strange belief I despise you, despite the many indications I have given you to the contrary."
Well . . . fine. He has done things, said things that indicate he may not completely despise me. But feeling something slightly more positive than outright loathing for each other is hardly an achievement in a marriage. And it doesn't mean I have to forgive him for anything.
"I never meant to hurt you," Darcy continued, "I should not have worded my rebuke of your behavior so harshly. I should not have said what I said about your family. I should not have made any mention of your family at all—"
"Why ever not? If you thought your words to be true, why not speak them?" I demanded.
"One does not need to say everything that comes to one's head."
"No, but you have made your disdain for my family so obvious it was almost a relief to here you speak of it. I had nearly fooled myself into believing you are not a snobbish arse," I said. If Darcy was shocked by my coarse language he did not show it.
"I do not disdain your family," he said very carefully, the way a person speaks when they want to convince the listener they are not lying. Which of course was the surest sign he was lying.
"I have the utmost respect for your family—"
However. I just know there is going to be a however.
"However—"
Told you.
"—I cannot pretend the conduct of your mother does not distress me—"
Of course you could.
"—or that your father's negligent attitude concerning the finances of his estate and the behavior of his wife and younger daughters does not irritate me."
How dare he say such things about Papa . . . even if they are true.
"My perturbation is on your behalf. That your parents should act thusly without consideration for your reputation and prospects pains me—"
"It pains you for my sake, does it?" I interjected, unable to listen to any more of this nonsense. For a man who claimed to value candor he was awfully good at deluding himself about his own motivations.
"It does, and you cannot deny it pains you as well. I saw the look in your eyes when your mother spoke foolishly. I witnessed you trying to rein in your sisters as your father ought to have done."
"Yes, I sometimes find my mother and younger sisters ridiculous, and sometimes I wished Papa would be more attentive and intervene. But they are my family to find ridiculous—"
"They are my family now as well."
"Yes, and that is truly what bothers you, isn't it? That you are forevermore associated with the Bennets."
"I respect your family," Darcy reiterated.
I laughed hollowly. "Yes, yes you respect my family but you cannot rejoice in the inferiority of my connections. Have you ever considered that I perhaps do not rejoice in my new Darcy connections?"
"Indeed?" Darcy asked incredulously, unable to disguise a sneer.
"Though I certainly like all of your family—most of your family," I amended thinking of Lady Catherine, "You cannot deny they come with their own absurdities, their own unfortunate circumstances."
He is going to say 'indeed' again in his usual haughty tone.
"Indeed." There was no question in the word this time, nor was it a statement of agreement. He might as well have said, "Your ideas are most foolish but I will humor you by pretending to listen."
"Yes, indeed. You have one aunt who condescendingly graces everyone with her inane opinions whether they wish to hear them or not, another who will not leave the house for the shame of being made destitute by her husband—speaking of said husband however much you would like to pretend you have thrown off any connection to Mr. Vane he is your uncle and, if your great aunt is to be believed, he may rise from the dead at any moment.
"And while we are on the subject of your great aunt it should be noted that she is thought of as a bit of a public nuisance, her wit is apparently is not to everyone's taste, but her notoriety is nothing compared to that of her dog who is best known for doing something indelicate to Lord Barrymore's leg. Then there is your uncle James, though I have heard nothing to impeach his character, he did threaten to kill Mr. Vane in my presence and I do not think he was jesting. And I have yet to address the milder eccentricities your bloodline seems rife with—Dora—need I say more?"
"I think it would better serve you to say less." Darcy looked thunderous, though he kept his rancor in check. Pity that. I wanted a row now.
"Have I offended you? It isn't pleasant, is it? Hearing your family spoken of in such a manner."
"It is not," Darcy replied. His tone was contemplative and perhaps a little abashed. I did not want that, not at all. He was on the cusp of apology and here I was all riled again.
"All that separates your family from mine is money and illustrious ancestors. Do not pretend the Darcys are perfect—"
He interrupted, "I never claimed—"
"—because they are not. Despite all their ridiculousness, not a single one of my silly sisters has ever made plans to elope with an unsuitable man—"
"Tread carefully," Darcy warned. Any hint of contrition was now quite gone from his visage. His temper was hanging on by a thread.
"I will tread as I like. Have I mentioned it since you told me? Have I ever given Georgiana the slightest indication that I knew, that I judged her for her mistake?"
Darcy kept his silence and his temper.
"Well have I?"
"You have not," he acknowledged at long last.
"Of course I haven't. What good could have come from holding it against her? By treating her as if her mistakes, her imperfections were so absolute that there was no need to get to know her because nothing could compensate for them?
"I was determined from the first to treat her as I would my own sisters, to treat all your family as if they were my own. In the beginning I did it for your sake, for the sake of our marriage, but as I have said, I have grown to like your family, they are all rather absurd, but of course I have had a great deal of practice loving absurd people." My voice broke and I gasped for air in an attempt to hold back tears. I would not weep in front of him. Not again.
"Elizabeth, I am—"
"No, you don't even know what you are apologizing for. My point is—oh God what is my point?—the point is I am so angry with you and it isn't even about Jane and Mr. Bingley or what you said about my family—well, it is about that but I have been angry with you since before that, since before I even really met you.
"I hate the way you treat people, and I hate the way you judge people and then dismiss them forever. My family is ridiculous, yes. Mortifying, sometimes, yes. But there are so many wonderful things about them you will never know because you have already decided they are not worth knowing.
"When I think about the wedding breakfast—how you sat there silently, grimacing at every word from my mother's lips, making it perfectly clear that you hated us all, confirming everyone's belief that I trapped you—I want to slap you. And I know you will say that it is your nature, that you meant no offense. But you can be pleasant, I have watched you. You can at the very least sit there with a smile on your face and look pretty, but you couldn't do it then, not for me."
"Elizabeth—"
Suddenly the thought of hearing the apology I had so wanted these last three days was repulsive to me. Here I had this lovely grudge and I wanted to shine it and put it on a shelf and admire it forever.
"I do not want to hear it."
"Elizabeth—"
I tried to make my escape but Darcy grabbed both of my hands.
"Release me."
He held gently but fast. I looked away, unable to meet his eyes.
"I'm sorry."
So he has said it. Now I must decide whether to accept it or not.
Sensing an apology was not quite enough, Darcy added,"I am an idiot."
"Finally you say something sensible." I did not smile, but there was a hint of absolution in my tone. Just a hint, mind you.
"You were correct, I am arrogant and conceited. I resented you for daring to accuse me of such faults yet the only inadequacy of your accusation was you neglected to mention the worst of my deficiencies. Arrogance and conceit, yes, but also selfishness blights my character. That day I thought only of my own discomfort never considering how my cold manner would wound you.
"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 in whatever 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. Darcy kissed 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 find 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.
One cannot be expected to properly lecture someone from their lap.
"I am still angry with you because you believed the worst of me. How could you ever think I would pressure Jane to pursue Mr. Bingley for mercenary reasons?" Ire flooded me at just the thought of his accusations.
"I should not have accused you of such fiendish motives, yet you were so dogged in your scheming despite her obvious discomfort I did not know what to make of it.
"Her discomfort was not so obvious."
Darcy arched a brow.
"Fine, it was fairly obvious. But you do not know Jane. You do not understand how modest she is. I knew it was not an absence of sentiment for Mr. Bingley that fueled her reluctance rather it was a foolish belief that he did not return her affection. And I was correct. Not only had Jane's own modesty thwarted their courtship, but the deceit of Miss Bingley played a significant, arguably the principle, role."
I briefly laid out Miss Bingley's perfidious letter to Jane. Now that Darcy was being so apologetic it was not as great a triumph to condescendingly declare, "I told you so," however I did it anyway because it needed doing.
"I must apologize again," Darcy said when I had completed my tale and subsequent gloating. "I made assumptions I should not have. I know you well enough that I should not have assumed nefarious intent on your part despite your strange behavior."
"I did not behave that strangely."
I did not even need him to arch a brow at me this time.
"Fine," I conceded, "I can imagine how it looked. I made myself appear foolish. You must have been so embarrassed of me at Mrs. Hamilton's ball."
"More embarrassed for you than of you, I assure."
I laughed.
"You have the most beautiful laugh in the world, Mrs. Darcy."
"Flatterer!"
"I speak only the truth."
He leaned forward, looking at me with blazing eyes (desire this time). I pulled away before our lips could touch. I had something I needed to say before we ended up on the floor.
"I suppose I should apologize as well," I said. I looked at the carpet as I spoke. It was a difficult task apologizing, but I felt better for having done it.
I met Darcy's eyes to find him still staring at me expectantly.
"You know my dear declaring that you should apologize does not count as an apology."
Can you believe this man?
Do not answer that.
"You will note I did say 'I suppose'. I was not certain if I wanted to apologize and now I am quite certain I do not."
Darcy grinned.
"Stop smiling," I groused.
He continued grinning. Really, what woman could endure such tempting torture? All I can think about when he smiles so charmingly is kissing him. It is most disarming!
"All right, here it is: I am slightly sorry."
"Just slightly?" Darcy asked teasingly.
"Only slightly and getting less sorry by the moment. I was not half so wrong as you. But I will admit I misjudged you from the first. Had I not assumed the worst of you, had I revealed my concerns about Jane to you instead of assuming you plotted against me, our disagreement might have been avoided entirely."
"So I am to understand that you are a bit sorry for thinking I was a horrible brute whose every action was undertaken for the singular purpose of ruining you and your sister's happiness?"
"I never thought you were quite that terrible. But I am sorry. Slightly."
"And I am sorrier."
"Good, you should be."
Darcy chuckled at my jest.
"Really I am still quite mortified when I think of how I behaved recently. Especially at the Hamilton ball. I do hope there were not many witnesses. I fear marriage has turned me into my mama."
"Never say that," he quipped. Fearing he had offended me he immediately began to apologize, "I am sorry I did not mean to imply—"
"You did and it is quite all right. I know how she is. And if you were not her awe-inspiring son-in-law
Mama would find it equally difficult to find a kind word for you. She quite despised you when you first arrived in Hertfordshire.
"She mortifies me most of the time, but I was proud of her for despising you. One passing insult of my beauty was all it took for her to dismiss you entirely as a potential suitor for any of her daughters. And she doesn't even like me all that much. Some mothers with five unmarried daughters would ignore such a slight and simply throw a different daughter your way but not Mama. Wealth and prestige could not blind her to poor manners."
"When did I ever say you were not beautiful?"
"At the assembly the evening we were introduced I overheard you telling Bingley 'She is tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt me; I am in no humor at present to give consequence to young ladies who are slighted by other men.'"
"My God, did I really say it like that?"
"Yes, exactly like. I have an excellent memory and I entertained half of Hertfordshire by doing impressions of you saying it in your haughty voice. Everyone agreed it was the most pompous thing they had ever heard."
"Elizabeth, I am sorry."
"You seem to be saying that a lot lately," I teased.
"You must know by now you are certainly handsome enough to tempt me. I think you the most beautiful woman of my acquaintance who has the finest eyes in all of England."
"My eyes are only the finest in England but my laugh is the most beautiful in the world. Who is this foreign woman whose eyes are more beautiful than mine? And how is it that you have become so well traveled that you can speak of all the world so confidently? Are you a spy like your uncle?" I asked archly. I was infinitely please by this compliments but I could not help but tease him.
He attempted to kiss me in reply. I dodged him again.
"You are trying to distract me. You are a spy, aren't you! Is that what you were doing when you had things to attend to?"
"I was walking Sir Sebastian, as you well know."
"I did not know. You walked him an awful lot."
"He is an energetic dog."
"And on these walks I suppose you met with other operatives in the park to exchange secrets."
"I am sorry to disappoint you, but I am nothing so dashing as a spy."
"That is probably for the best. It would be difficult to resist you if you were dashing."
"You can resist me now?"
"Oh, yes."
"Mrs. Darcy, I think you lie."
This time when he tried to kiss me I let him.
At long last he did the thing with his tongue
