To Elizabeth's reckoning of time, dinner progressed at a speed somewhere between glacial and at a snail's pace. Mr. Darcy seemed to feel that all the proper behavior due to a real date was likewise due to her. In any other man, Elizabeth would have approved such a gentlemanly attention to propriety. But where this man was concerned, she rather wished he would simply ignore her and devote his attention to his friend, rather than continue to attempt to make polite conversation with her.
Every topic they tried following the waiter's interruption of her line of inquiry regarding Bingley's character had been nearly a social disaster. This was largely Darcy's fault, since he seemed to take a perverse delight in referencing their last – and only – previous meeting.
"Your hair looks different," had been his first remark along these lines. "It's a lot longer now."
She had hardly known how to reply and had forced herself to swallow the worst of several unkind remarks, the bitterest of which would have been a statement about how long it had been before she had cut it into something more fitting for a professional environment, all to no avail since she had been fired a mere half an hour into her employment. She still mourned the loss of that length and was determined to grow it back out to its former glory.
Instead, proud of herself for being able to remain mostly polite, she had made some non-committal response about hair having a tendency to grow when left to its own devices.
Hardly a witty statement, but he had smiled in reply. If Elizabeth had been able to accurately guess his thoughts at that moment, she would have taken a razor to her head and shaved herself as bald as an egg out of pure, horrified spite.
After the third instance of their conversation coming inexorably back to their first meeting or what her current employment situation was, Elizabeth finally suggested as sweetly and politely as she could that perhaps they might find a topic of conversation that involved neither painful subject.
At least, that was how she saw it. "Look," she had sighed, "do you think we could talk about something that doesn't revolve around the bones of a bare five minute's acquaintance? It really isn't much to go off of."
Given the not-at-subtle elbow Jane had dug into her ribs, that hadn't been viewed as particularly polite.
And that insufferable Mr. Darcy had actually looked between them and flashed a smug smile at her.
"Perhaps we could speak of literature," he suggested. "Do you read much, Miss Bennet?"
"When I have time for it, yes." In truth, she hadn't so much as picked up a book since she had started at Blue Line, having been too exhausted in the first few weeks to do so and having since begun to cultivate a friendship with Charlotte since Jane was increasingly spending her own free time with her Mr. Bingley.
"What sort of things do you enjoy?" Darcy pursued, seeming not at all discomposed by her increasingly terse attitude.
"All sorts of things," Elizabeth hedged. "Genre fiction, mainly."
"Do you?" Darcy leaned forward, dark eyes intent. "Have you ever read anything –"
He was cut off by the arrival of the food. He and Bingley had followed his recommendation of the beef tenderloin medallions in a red wine sauce reduction. Their plates were presented artfully, with piped mounds of mashed potatoes ladled over with rich gravy and a selection of steamed vegetables off to one side. Jane had also followed his suggestion, but had gone with the chicken picatta. Perfectly golden brown and sliced atop pasta in a white wine sauce with a scattering of capers, the sight of it was enough to make one's mouth water.
Only Elizabeth had declined to follow where Darcy pointed, though her defiance had not encompassed ordering the lobster simply because it was sure to be one of the most expensive entrees on the menu. Determined to tread where he would or could not, she had at last settled on pecan crusted salmon.
Conversation at the table turned blessedly more general for the next few minutes as the food was exclaimed over. It really had been beautifully – even artfully – prepared and presented. Darcy poured wine for everyone himself, the amount in each glass being generous.
Bingley raised his glasses and merrily toasted them all and his hopes for a most enjoyable evening. Caught up in his infectious good humor, Elizabeth forgot herself long enough to bestow a genuine smile on each person as they mock formally clinked their glasses together. Even Darcy.
His return smiled seemed equally genuine and for a moment she could only stare. He really was a very good looking man when he wasn't staring down his nose at someone.
Good sense quickly reasserted itself and Elizabeth mentally scolded herself, telling herself she should not be so weak as to let a smile make her forget the really very despicable way he had treated her.
All too soon, Jane and Bingley were wrapped up in another conversation that held no room for anyone else. Elizabeth smothered a sigh, planning on giving Jane not only a piece of her mind that night, but also issuing an ultimatum. She, Elizabeth, would not come along for any more dates unless Jane swore on her hope of dignity to not leave her to the task of being pleasant with Mr. Darcy, alone and with no support.
Especially since his sense of behaving appropriately with a date – even a blind, set-up, favor to his friend date – seemed to involve a great deal of awkwardly persisting in trying to make conversation. Either he was very bad at the exercise generally speaking or he thought he had to keep the topics simple enough for her to understand. Given his earlier eloquent discourse on matters of business or the few conversations he had had with Bingley, Elizabeth suspected it was the latter.
Really, it would be less rude of him to ignore her altogether.
He was even now trying to engage her in conversation regarding the theatre.
"Tell me," he commanded, looking down his nose at her, "do you actually read The Stage Review?"
"I never claimed I did," she replied, a touch defensively.
He seemed mildly nonplussed for a moment before recovering. "Do you see many plays?"
Elizabeth put her fork and knife down and finished chewing and swallowing her mouthful of salmon before looking directly at him to answer. "No," she said dryly. "I don't typically have either the time or ability for such pursuits."
Darcy reddened slightly and Elizabeth wondered if she had managed to embarrass him or if the color came from some other source. He seemed to be unable to think of anything else to say and Elizabeth hid a grim smile.
Jane had not been paying very close attention or her rudeness – she was being rude and she did not feel sorry enough to stop or to apologize – would have been called to account in some way or another.
Returning determinedly to her food, she did her best to ignore the man across from her and prayed again for the night to end.
Dinner finally did, mercifully. Darcy seemed increasingly unable or unwilling to make conversation and the last quarter hour was spent in almost perfect silence as they each pretended to be engrossed in Jane and Bingley's conversation. Unable to help herself, Elizabeth would occasionally dart a glance across the table; more often than not it seemed Darcy was glancing back at her. No matter how Elizabeth squirmed internally in embarrassment for being caught looking at him, she could not seem to discipline herself enough to keep her attention on Bingley and Jane. Despite appearances, she couldn't have said what they were speaking of had she been asked.
Well, damn the man for being attractive! And damn her, too, for being even partially susceptible to it.
She was castigating herself so fiercely on this account that she found herself back on Darcy's arm and escorted halfway through the restaurant before she realized dinner had ended. This brought another self-inflicted mental shake and she found to her dismay as he handed her into his waiting automobile that it was her turn to color slightly.
And then matters grew worse as Jane slipped in after her and took the seat opposite her.
"What are you doing over there?" Elizabeth hissed.
There was just enough light to see Jane's green eyes widen in surprise before Bingley followed, glancing left and right before making the choice to sit right next to Jane.
All of which left only the seat next to Elizabeth for Darcy to take.
Scowling briefly at Jane – who was too busy making eyes at Mr. Bingley to even notice – Elizabeth pressed closer to the wall of the automobile's interior as Darcy stepped in and suddenly seemed to fill all of the available space and then some. Elizabeth's mood blackened still further as she found herself wedged tightly between the solidity of the hard wall and the solidity of Darcy's frame. He seemed larger than ever with the length of his leg pressed firmly against her thigh and the touch seemed to burn her skin, right through the layers of her clothing. She wished desperately to be able to shift away, but there was nowhere at all to go.
The silence from their dinner prevailed between them for several minutes and Elizabeth feigned interest in a story Jane was telling Bingley, about something one of her students had done a few weeks ago. She had heard the story before and didn't see the same humor in it that Jane seemed to. Bingley, however, was in tune with her sister and seemed to find the tale far more interesting than its contents permitted. He was besotted, clearly.
"Miss Bennet," Darcy's voice came suddenly to her ear. "Are you well?"
Startled, Elizabeth turned to look at him in surprise. He was so very close that their faces were bare inches apart and had she not been drowning in his intent gaze, she would have blushed in horror when she found herself staring at his face as though she had just seen it for the first time.
Much too belatedly for her liking, she found her voice. "I'm perfectly well," she informed him faintly. "Why ever do you ask?"
His dark eyes seemed to search hers for the veracity of her statement. "You have grown more and more quiet as the night has gone on," he observed. "After your – remarks, shall we say – to Miss Bingley, I had thought you perhaps more naturally lively." His eyes tightened briefly at his own remark. "I mean only to express my hope that you are not unwell," he finished stiffly.
"I suppose I am only somewhat tired," Elizabeth lied. He hoped she was not unwell? Did he fear she might infect him with her no doubt common illness? Or did he fear she might make a regrettable mess in his precious automobile?
"And perhaps I am not as lively as you think," she added. Her quietness was a sign that something was wrong, and it unnerved her that he should guess so accurately. He did not know her and he would never know her. Because, of course, she was not ill of anything other than the strain of remaining polite to the insufferable prig.
"It is some distance to the theatre," he replied, his deep voice low and uncomfortable intimate in their cramped setting. "You might rest your eyes."
She was sure she was gaping at him in the darkness. "I will be well, thank you."
He chuckled in response, though she could find nothing funny in this bizarre exchange. It struck her suddenly that he might be quite mad. He seemed to run very hot and cold, going distant at strange times and seeming unbearably intent at others. She had heard of similar types of mania, but had never encountered it herself.
To Elizabeth's profound relief, Darcy turned his attention to Jane and Mr. Bingley, inquiring what they knew of the play and speaking intelligently about some of the principal actors and earlier work they had done.
"I have read glowing reviews regarding Abel Markham's performances," Jane commented, excitement evident in her voice.
Elizabeth glowered. The insufferable man must think her a halfwit to have not even attempted anything but the most vapid of conversation with her. True, speaking of actors was hardly intellectual discourse, but he seemed to think that she was only capable of vague generalities on a topic which everyone else might be reasonably trusted to have more intimate knowledge of the topics he chose.
"Georgiana will be devastated to have missed his performance," Darcy was saying in reply to Jane. "She is quite enamored of him."
"Georgiana?" Jane inquired, saving Elizabeth the trouble of having to be curious. She would not have asked for anything.
"My sister," Darcy said proudly. "She is at school now."
"I did not realize you had a sister, Mr. Darcy."
Elizabeth felt him stiffen and then shift around uncomfortably, reminding her acutely of how very close she was to having him sit on her.
"She is much younger than I am," he explained at last. "And I take great pains to keep her from the public eye."
"Of course," Jane murmured in sympathetic tones. "I imagine it would be difficult to deal with so much exposure."
"Just so," Darcy agreed stiffly.
"It seems an odd thing to be famous for," Elizabeth found herself musing aloud. "Making good business decisions, I mean," she amended.
Beside her, Darcy seemed to vibrate briefly, but it was Bingley who answered, rejoining the conversation. "I think Darcy here is more famous for being wealthy than he is for making sound business choices."
That had been her own point, of course, but she would not have dreamed of putting it so indelicately.
"Of course, if he ever finds a woman who will tolerate his ways long enough to agree to marry him, he will become a less interesting object to the press."
Elizabeth found herself having to stifle a sudden giggle, the manner of Bingley's speaking had been so flippant. But even concentrating very hard on not laughing was not enough to make her miss Darcy's low murmur, undoubtedly meant for only his own ears.
"Ah, but I already have."
Mentally wishing him as happy as he might be with a woman as miserable as Miss Bingley, Elizabeth settled back to endure the rest of the ride in silence.
AN: Apologies for the long delay from the last chapter to this one and for any mistakes I missed in my very hasty edit of this chapter before publishing. That thing we call Real Life continues to baffle and beat me, and I have interesting days ahead. I hope I'll be able to find more time to write than I did these past three weeks. Hope you enjoy this, despite Elizabeth remaining frustratingly silent with Darcy. They'll spar soon! Thanks for reading, for reviewing and for being awesome.