Chapter 6

Elizabeth could feel Charlotte’s amused stare behind her the entire half-hour she suffered through John Thorpe’s non-stop chatter. If Bill Collins the paper guy had had hobbies, John Thorpe had himself, and his passion for anything with wheels. Astounded that she had never been on a motorcycle, he set off on a long monologue about the joy of riding without a helmet out in the countryside.

“It’s very sensual, you know,” he purred, “feeling the wind caressing your skin like that.”

His words brought only horrifying images to mind, and she had enough problems detangling her curls every morning. She tugged her left ear, a signal to Charlotte—sitting two tables away—to call her with ‘an emergency at the office’. She met her highly amused friend outside and they made quick work of the next two blocks to ensure John didn’t follow.

“What a tool. Thanks for your speedy rescue.”

“I could see he thought he was impressing you and drilling down on his creepy charm skills.”

“If I’d looked at you, I would’ve lost it.” As they walked, Elizabeth played with a thread hanging on the cuff of her jacket sleeve. She’d begun worrying the fraying denim during her interminable meetup with John, but stopped when she saw him watching her fingers, seemingly turned on by their movements.

Charlotte bumped her with her elbow. “I thought Darcy promised he wouldn’t set you up with any serial killers.”

“He didn’t promise me there wouldn’t be jerks.”

“But he knows you hate him and his type, so he’s finding you the exact opposite of tall, dark, handsome, rich, smart, successful, ripped...”

“You forgot logical. Darcy is always logical.” Elizabeth steered Charlotte around an older couple strolling slowly with their dog. “Setting me up with men I cannot like, let alone want to date, makes no sense.”

“That’s why he went for whatever seems like his exact opposite, figuring that at the very least, you wouldn’t be offended. Or that he’d come off looking better in comparison.”

“Well, he’s sabotaged two Saturday mornings.”

“Rather like what you’ve done to his. Sorry I missed it last week. He sounded like a real winner, too.” Charlotte led Elizabeth over to a food cart, clearly set on breaking her diet to enjoy a bag of vinegar dill potato chips. Elizabeth considered them vile, especially before noon, but they were Charlotte’s favorite and Charlotte had rescued her from John Thorpe, so she could tolerate them—at least outside in the fresh air.

As Charlotte tapped her card to pay, she observed, “You set him up with Claire Elliott. Everything you’ve ever said about him applies to her, too.”

“Meaning?”

“They could be a perfect match—or they could rip each other to shreds. Possibly while naked.” Charlotte laughed. “They are both intense, undeniably attractive people.”

“Obviously.”

“But he’s avoided Charlie’s sister all these years and he’ll likely evade Claire, too.” Charlotte tore at the chip bag as they headed up the street. “Darcy is rather good at making a bad impression, what with being so rich and good-looking and tall.”

“Yes, he is dreadfully burdened,” said Elizabeth drily.

“That’s not what I mean.” Charlotte ate a few chips before she finished her thought. “He must attract attention all the time, and likely hates it as much as any introvert does, so he acts?—”

Elizabeth frowned. “Introvert? He’s difficult to talk to, but?—”

“That too. All the social interaction and constant demands on his time must be very draining on him. It would be a lot even for an extrovert. Honestly,” she said, offering Elizabeth one of the horrid chips, “it’s bizarre that he ever created this matchmaking scheme, putting himself in these awkward situations with women you—a woman who says she dislikes him—get to choose. Seems like he’s trying to do penance or something.”

“Hmm.” Maybe?

“Oh look, there’s a band at Oz Park. Let’s go sit.”

She followed Charlotte to the grassy common and sat next to her. As her friend swayed to the music, Elizabeth leaned back on her elbows and sorted her muddled thoughts. Things were shifting and rearranging themselves in her head. Conclusions she’d jumped to and never bothered to question now seemed tenuous, if not flat wrong.

She remembered Darcy standing apart from the crowd at a holiday party. When he wasn’t looking disdainfully at Charlie and Jane and the other overzealous partygoers, he was glaring at her. No, not glaring. Staring. He must have been deeply uncomfortable in such a loud, boisterous crowd—a crowd that included her two over-served younger sisters.

I was wrong. He’s not the last man in the world I’d ever go out with—he’s setting me up with men far worse.

She was ashamed that she’d said so many cruel things to him. It was painful, realizing she had misjudged Darcy right from the beginning. He was not perfect, and understanding him better didn’t excuse his behavior. It did, however, go a long way toward explaining it.