First Impressions: A Modern Pride and Prejudice Adaptation

Chapter 11

Someone had finally spread the word that Fitzwilliam Darcy was in town—and had been for almost two months—and there was a waiting list on The Breaking Point. Liz sighed as she looked at the screen, putting her number 15 in line for the single copy. After speaking with George, she desperately wanted to read it again, to pick apart whatever Darcy had been thinking and saying about her new friend.

She wasn't just going to read it this time, she was going to tab and note take... It would be better to have a copy that I can write in, she thought, but she didn't want to pay money for it or to have to put it on her shelves.

She hadn't told anyone, not even Jane, about what George had told her. As angry as she was about Darcy, if George wanted to keep it to himself, she could respect that. And if they were going to actually be in the house on Netherfield Drive, she didn't think it was a good idea to turn everyone against their host's best friend.

She did see him again, though, one morning after her run. She said goodbye to Charlotte in the park and walked into town to join him for lunch at one of the little sandwich shops that catered to people like Caroline Bingley and Lo Hurst, with vegan smoothies and buzzwords like organic and grass fed written in script as a decorative border around their menu. The food was good, though.

George already had a table and he jumped to his feet as she entered, even pulling her chair out for her. She murmured a thank you and fingered the plastic covered menu, keeping her eyes down as she scanned the list just so she could prepare herself before she had to meet his eyes.

When they had ordered, he reached out and took her hand on top of the table. "So."

"So."

"Tell me about yourself, Liz Bennet. You know all about me after that lovely evening discussion, but I know nothing about you."

She shrugged, trying not to keep looking away from him; the way his eyes washed over her face, a gaze so soft it was almost a caress, made her blush, even squirm a little. "Well, I have a lot of sisters."

He laughed.

"I'm studying English and literature at a"—she paused to laugh as well, quoting, "'small, liberal arts college in Iowa.' Um, I like fantasy novels, scary movies, and running. And nature."

"You sound like you're writing an online dating profile."

"I can't cook—that's something you won't hear on a dating profile," she offered. He was still holding her hand when the waitress appeared with their food; she tried to pull away but he held on for several seconds longer before, finally, releasing her. "I don't think I'm very good at talking about myself, honestly."

"What a shame. I'm sure you're a very interesting topic, Liz."

She only shook her head with a laugh. "I think my sisters are far more interesting than I am. They're much more talented, too."

"Well, I'm sure not everyone can write a paper on..." He stopped, fishing for a topic. "Um, 19th century literature."

"That's very sweet of you to say, but I think you're wrong!"

He smiled again, shrugging his shoulders in a loose, almost careless way, as if to say, "oh well, I tried!"

As they ate, the conversation evolved passed Liz's personality and hobbies into summer plans. He was particularly interested in the type of people who rented the lake houses for the summer. "They're less the rich and powerful and more the rich and children of the powerful who are bored for the summer."

"Like Fitz," he offered.

She hadn't intended to bring up, but agreed. "Yes, like him."

"Have you been in the house? I mean, it must be something if Fitz has agreed to stay there for so long. It has to fit his standards."