The Secret Diary of Lizzie Bennet (14 page)

Today, we enjoyed a nice, lazy afternoon. I was in the family room helping Jane put together a care package for Lydia. Everyone was there. Caroline was idly reading her iPad, while Bing was
ostensibly trying to find a college football game on TV, but really he was too invested in seeing what Jane was putting in the care package to channel-surf. I had been put in charge of curling
ribbon. Jane knows my visual/craft talents are limited, and that I’m best left to basic manual labor.

Darcy of course was in the farthest possible corner of the room, click-clacking away on his laptop, as per usual.

“That is a lot of glittery unicorn stickers,” Bing said, seeing the piles of sticker books going into the care package.

“Yes, but I couldn’t resist. They are all so Lydia.” Jane wrinkled her nose as she put them in the box, along with a few lipsticks and a bell toy for Kitty. “I miss my
little sister.”

I met Jane’s eyes. I do, too, I suppose. There has been a certain amount of boy-crazy hyperactivity and chaos missing from my life the past couple of weeks.

“Speaking of little sisters,” Caroline jumped up, carrying her iPad over to Bing, “have you seen Gigi’s new Twitter background? I know she did it herself.”

Bing glanced at it and showed it to Jane. “Very nice,” she said. “She has a good eye for colors.”

“Good eye?” Caroline scoffed. “Gigi Darcy is
soooo
talented.” She marched over to Darcy, on the far side of the room, and leaned over his keyboard and typed in
the URL.

“See? I’m in
raptures
over it.”

Darcy sighed. “I’ve seen it. It’s very good.”

“Are you writing an email to Gigi? Tell her that I love the new background. It’s so cute!”

“I’ll tell her to call you. I’m sure I couldn’t do your enthusiasm justice.”

I’m still a little clueless about Caroline’s friendship with Darcy. When she’s with him, she’s all over him—trying to get him to come and hang out, play games,
compliment her hair (which is like a black silk curtain—how do I get my hair to do that?). But when she’s with me, and especially on the videos, she’s more than happy to encourage
my Darcy-bashing. It’s as if she won’t let me keep my opinion about him to myself; she wants everyone to know.

Maybe she’s just trying to be a good hostess to her brother’s friend? And expressing her frustration with him when she’s with me?

But at that moment, she was draped on his chair’s arm, trying to get him to engage with the group. Which he seemed bound and determined to not do.

“That sister of yours is going to do something amazing.” Caroline gasped. “Like . . . oh! Maybe she’ll create her own handbag line! You should suggest that to
her.”

“I don’t know if my sister has much interest in handbags. I think that suggestion might be better coming from you.”

He went back to typing.

“You are so dedicated to your business. I can’t seem to focus when I’m out of the office.”

“Good thing you don’t have my job, then.”

More typing.

“Good Lord, you type fast!” Caroline remarked.

“On the contrary. I type slow, comparatively.”

“Oh?” she smiled at him. “Comparative to what?”

“People who don’t think about what they say. They just send it off in a rush.”

Bing barked out a laugh. “Don’t get offended, Caroline. That one was directed at me. Darcy keeps sending me back my own emails with my typos fixed. Put the laptop away, man. No one
else is working. It’s weird.”

“That was why I was working in my room, until you insisted I come down here. The only strange thing is you thought it wouldn’t be weird,” Darcy said.

“I thought you could use a break.”

“You thought wrong.” Darcy went back to his computer for a moment; then his head came up again. “And as for your typos—you’re going to be a doctor, Bing. Being
clear is important.”

“It’s true.” Bing smiled, and winked at Jane. “There aren’t that many letters difference between ‘Advair’ and ‘Advil.’ ”

Jane giggled. And I have to admit, I did, too. Whatever criticism Darcy whips out, it just rolls off of Bing.

But Darcy remained stern. “It’s not just that. You could be less . . . effusive.”

“It’s true.” Caroline sighed. “My brother has always said whatever he’s thinking at the moment, no filter whatsoever.”

“And I don’t consider it a bad thing,” Bing replied.

“Neither do I,” Jane added sweetly.

“Of course you don’t, Bing—you consider it a mark of pride,” Darcy chided. “Every typo and illegible autocorrect is a badge of honor. It means you are thinking so
fast you can’t be bothered with circumspection. And such a lack of circumspection opens you up to being used.”

Used
. He didn’t have to look at us as he said it, but I knew he was talking about me and Jane,
using
Bing while our house is being remodeled. It was all I could do to not
growl under my breath.

“So basically, what you’re saying is that Bing is too open and too nice?” Caroline raised an eyebrow.

“That’s not possible.” Jane squeezed Bing’s hand, but she shrunk back a little. This argument was getting a little too combative for her, even though Bing was still
smiling.

“There is one person in this room studying communications,” Darcy said abruptly. “Perhaps we can ask her which is better.” He kept his eyes on his computer. But he had
stopped typing.

Everyone else was looking at me. I swallowed. Then I gave my honest opinion. “I think that, of the two, being an open person is certainly better.”

Darcy looked up at me. I met him stare for stare.

“Too much restraint in communication is just as bad as none at all. If you’re too careful, you can never really say what you mean. Or, mean what you say.”

“Thank you, Lizzie,” Bing said. “And what I mean to say right now is that I think we should check out that winery we saw on our carpool the other day. Now that Jane’s
cold is gone we all can go. What do you think?”

Jane smiled at him, much more comfortable with the change of subject. Caroline was in wholehearted agreement on the winery plan, going on about driving with the convertible top down and plotting
what to have the chef make for a picnic. Meanwhile, Darcy held my gaze for another long second, until he returned to his keyboard.

Almost through week three at Casa de Lee, aka Netherfield, and things have only gotten weirder.

Earlier tonight, Caroline asked me to take a turn about the room.

She’s gotten this new fitness band that buzzes when she’s been sitting for too long. It’s supposed to encourage movement and health. Although why Caroline decided to suddenly
get physically fit now is beyond me—she’s already a macrobiotic goddess.

Anyway, I came into the sitting room (or is it the living room? I remember Bing calling it something else but I don’t know what. So many rooms!), and Darcy and Caroline were there. Darcy
was on his computer—let’s not be shocked—while Caroline was talking to him.

“ . . . said open is better, so she obviously wouldn’t mind. Your house would be overrun with in-laws,” Caroline was saying to a tight-lipped, computer-focused Darcy.

“What are you guys talking about?”

“Oh, Lizzie! Come join us!” Caroline cried, jumping up and waving me over to them.

“Are Jane and Bing not back yet?” I asked. Bing had taken to “giving a ride” to work with Jane in the morning and evening. Except, Bing didn’t have a work to go to,
so basically, he was driving Jane around. Which gave them some much-needed alone time, and often, they would take the long way home, meandering down country roads and driving to the coast to watch
the sunset. I’m going to assume that’s not a euphemism, because it’s Jane. She really likes a good sunset.

I came and sat beside Caroline.

“So, Lizzie . . .” she said.

“So . . . Caroline.”

“How was your day?”

“Good,” I replied, dodging a hair flip from her. She seemed to be oddly postured, like she was trying to show herself off to advantage. “I . . . am through
Anna
Karenina
with my student. On to
War and Peace.”
I was also really pleased with myself because I had finished laying out my rough outline for the framework of my thesis. Although
I don’t talk much about my thesis in front of anyone here, since there is the chance I would then have to explain it. Which means I would have to tell them about my videos, and that would not
end well.

“Good for you, and good for your student!”

“Thanks,” I said. “Well, I should go read.” Again. Some more.

“Don’t let our presence send you away,” Darcy droned from behind his computer. “If you wanted to read in here, we would not bother you.”

“Right!” Caroline agreed immediately. “Darcy has work to do; so do I. It’ll be like a . . . study session.”

And with that enticing invitation, I sat down on the couch and proceeded to read.

Darcy returned to typing and ignoring everything else.

Caroline, however, did not settle into her work as easily as we did. Whatever her work may be, I doubt it involved Twitter, which is what I saw on her screen when I glanced over her
shoulder.

“Oh, my God, Darcy, you have to see this ugly baby picture our friend posted.”

Darcy didn’t look up.

Caroline blew out a sigh, meeting my eye with a frustrated smile. I guess Darcy had been getting to her all day.

“Isn’t this so much fun?” she asked no one in particular, breaking into the silence again. “I can’t imagine a better way to spend my afternoon in this
town.”

I smiled at her, trying to commiserate, but pretty soon I fell back to reading, the only sound in the room being the clickety-clack of Darcy’s keys. (He types with some serious force. He
must go through keyboards by the dozen.) Until, of course, Caroline’s wristband buzzed.

“Oh!” she said, popping up. “Time to walk!”

She proceeded to walk the length and breadth of the room, in a big, wide circle. It was a little strange, but people have done stranger for physical fitness.

“Lizzie!” Caroline came over to me. “Join me! Come on, it feels good to move after sitting for so long. Let’s take a turn about the room.”

A slightly odd request, but then again, no one wants to look silly alone. So I figured what the hell, and joined her in another circle of the room.

“I knew it,” she whispered to me. “I knew that if we both started walking around, Darcy would have to stop being so rude and look up from his ‘duties.’ ”

I stole a glance at Darcy. Yes, for the first time that evening, he’d brought his eyes up from his computer, and was watching us. In fact, he’d even closed his computer.

“Would you like to join us, Darcy?” Caroline asked sweetly as she passed him.

“No, thank you.”

“Why not? It’s good for you.”

“Because I can see through your deceptive motives, Caroline.”

“Deceptive motives?” she gasped. “Me? Lizzie, what is he talking about?”

“I’m sure I don’t know,” I replied, trying to stay out of it.

“The two of you are either together to banter about secrets, or you know the aimless strolling about the room shows your figures.” He laced his fingers over his closed laptop.
“If the first, I should be in your way. If the second . . . the view from here will do.”

Okay, wait . . . did Darcy just say he was ogling us? I didn’t know if I should be insulted, complimented, or shocked . . . I decided to go with shocked. Shocked that he’d closed his
computer. Shocked that he said something slightly risqué. Shocked that he was looking at me as he said it.

Apparently I wasn’t the only one who was shocked, because Caroline’s jaw dropped and she squeaked. “Darcy! How can you say that?!”

“I’m just being honest. Saying what I mean.”

Well, I could say what I mean, too.

“It’s fairly pompous of you to think that we would display ourselves for your benefit.”

“Seriously!” Caroline agreed. (Even though she had sort of admitted to me that had actually been the point.) “We should punish you for that.”

I really wish I had just laughed at him. Seriously, his arrogance was so comical, having someone tease him might take him down a peg and make him more bearable. However, that’s not what I
did.

“Let’s not,” I said quickly, trying to pull Caroline away. “After all, it would just . . . feed his vanity and pride.”

“Do you mean to imply vanity and pride are weaknesses?” Darcy cocked his head to one side, his mouth turning back down into his characteristic frown.

“I’m just being honest.”

He seemed to think a moment. “Vanity, while a weakness, is not one of mine.”

I opted against pointing out his affinity for the trendy hipster aesthetic typified by newsboy hats and indoor scarves.

“But pride is,” I said, giving up the ruse of walking in a circle and standing directly in front of him.

“Pride isn’t a weakness. Pride is earned.”

“Earned?” I crossed my arms over my chest, not believing what I was hearing.

“One is legitimately allowed to be prideful in his hard work and success.”

“And disdainful of those who refuse to meet the same standard?”