He withdrew and stood looking out the window, his back to her. She was utterly confused about what had just happened. She stared after him for a moment, then decided to ignore the problem. Her sisters often behaved similarly. They would get in a snit about something, not tell anyone what it was, then huff off to pout until someone came to find them and cajole it out of them. Well, she wanted no part in such games. If he wanted to act like a child, she would not participate.

After several minutes of her sitting in silence and him staring out the window—what was he looking at, anyway?—her curiosity got the better of her. Fitzwilliam did not usually pout and he was normally nothing like her sisters, so she thought it right to ask him of his troubles.

“Fitzwilliam, is something troubling you?” she asked carefully.

Only the realization that my wife of nine days is already tired of me. “No, I am perfectly well,” he said flatly, still facing the window.

“Truly?”

He turned to face her. “I am as well as you, Mrs. Darcy,” he said with a slight nod in her direction and what she could swear was a mocking look in his eyes.

Elizabeth sat motionless at his words, stunned that he would speak to her in such a way. “What are you implying?” she asked.

“Nothing, my dear. Absolutely nothing,” he replied. She was sure his tone was mocking her now.

“Please don’t call me dear when you are angry with me. It ruins it,” she said somewhat sharply.

“As you wish, madam,” he said as he turned back to the window.

A few minutes passed in silence—neither spoke nor moved. Finally, Elizabeth could take it no more.

“Is this how it is to be then? You will take offense at some imaginary insult and will not tell me why you are angry, but will stand at the window and sulk? How long is it to last? How frequently does this happen? Should I take to carrying a book with me at all times in case you decide to shut me out at an inopportune time?”

He whirled around, his face pinched with the anger that had finally come to the surface. Though it was the slightest bit frightening, she felt triumphant at forcing a reaction from him. She had never been able to abide stoicism.

“Me? I am the one being silent? I am withdrawing? That is a rich tale you weave, Elizabeth.”

“What are you talking of?” she asked, confused and irritated. Her head was starting to pound again and the cramps in her lower back were getting stronger. She squinted her eyes to relieve the pressure in her forehead, unknowingly making herself look incredibly angry.

Frustrated, tired, and disappointed, Darcy decided to end her games here. “Is my company so tiresome you had to send yourself to sleep to avoid it?”

“What?”