And then to his description.
At the memory, warmth rose once more to her face.
“You are flushed,” Jane said gently.
“I have been sitting near the fire.”
Jane’s smile suggested she was not deceived. “Of course.”
Elizabeth rose once more and crossed to the window.
The rain continued, lighter than before but steady enough to blur the view beyond the glass. Darkness had deepened, and the outlines of the gardens were scarcely discernible.
She pressed her hand briefly against the cool pane.
This was folly.
She knew it perfectly well.
A gentleman who had once pronounced her merely tolerable had no rightful claim upon her thoughts. Whatever he had said since, and whatever he might say, could not erase that first impression.
He had attempted to speak with her on more than one occasion.
Those attempts had come to nothing, though circumstances bore part of the responsibility.
Elizabeth shut her eyes briefly. That was the true difficulty.
Everything would have been far simpler had he remained indifferent, had his manner continued unchanged, and had he offered no indication of reconsidering his original judgment.
Instead, he had altered.
He had sought her out.
He had spoken plainly and earnestly, in a manner wholly inconsistent with the opinion she had formed of him.
It unsettled her. Worse—it interested her.
Elizabeth turned back to the room.
Jane watched her with quiet patience.
“You are thinking of him again,” Jane said.
Elizabeth faltered, then inclined her head. “I am.”
“And you are determined not to like him.”
“Yes.”
Jane’s lips curved slightly. “You sound very certain.”
“I must be.”
“Must you?”
Elizabeth drew a breath.
“He is proud,” she said. “He is reserved to the point of rudeness. He formed an opinion of me without knowing me and spoke it without consideration.”
