Mrs. Vane, however, is accounted for. The housekeeper, desperate to give me the location of at least one of my new relations, informed me Mrs. Vane was in her private sitting room (though I had not asked) and if I wanted to speak with her (I didn't) she would go at once and ask if she was willing to allow me the joy of her company (the housekeeper looked as unenthusiastic at the prospect of rousing Mrs. Vane as I felt at the prospect of having a tete-a-tete with her).
I have a dreadful headache which is making me doubt my ability to be civil to the uncivil this morning and thus any interaction with Mrs. Vane seems likely to lead to disaster. I have elected instead to meet with the housekeeper after breakfast and discuss the running of the household. That seems like the sort of thing a new mistress would do and at the very least it will make me appear useful.
Afternoon
The household proved to be run as efficiently as I expected it would be. Though I was sorely tempted to request that dinners be less formal, I did not wish to alter anything against Mr. Darcy's wishes. He has still not returned. Nor has Miss Darcy and I was beginning to worry about her absence, but then the housekeeper assured me my sister-in-law was in the company of Mrs. Annesley. I have not the slightest idea who Mrs. Annesley is but the housekeeper seemed confident in her suitability as Miss Darcy's chaperon and so I nodded along rather than admit my ignorance.
Finding myself at leisure, I went to the library. I spent a good while luxuriating in the vastness of the collection, strolling along aimlessly among the shelves. If I understand correctly there is an even larger selection at Pemberley. For the first time I felt a stirring of excitement at the idea of being Mrs. Darcy. Can one learn to love one's husband for the enormity of his library?
I chose a tome and settled into the chair nearest to the fireplace. I had not read the first sentence before a high voice rang out, loud and surprisingly near, "Are youher?"
There was a blonde moppet behind me.
"Of course she'sher, you ninny, who else would she be?"
There were two blonde moppets behind me, a second had appeared as if by magic beside the first as if she had popped up from the floor. I took a moment to carefully inspect the floor for trapdoors. Does the overindulgence of alcohol cause delusions as well as headaches?
The second moppet, upon closer scrutiny proved not a moppet at all, but rather that most fearsome of things, a girl on the cusp of becoming a young woman. She was also not exactly blonde as her hair was several shades darker than that of her younger companion.
It is a common tale. One begins life with locks the color of captured sunlight, spends a good portion of one's childhood thinking, "I may be too bold and too hoydenish, but at least I have pretty hair," and then right at the last, before it can be of any use, one's hair commits the ultimate betrayal and becomes a rather unremarkable shade of brown. I may or may not have direct experience with such disappointments.
Exact shade of their hair notwithstanding, there were two children staring at me.
"You must be Miss Henrietta and Miss Belinda Vane. It is so lovely to meet you. I'm Elizabeth Bennet."
I realized my mistake as soon as the matching quizzical expressions settled on their darling little faces.
"That is to say, I am Elizabeth D—I am Mrs. Dar—I am your cousin's new wife." I could not say it. Somehow the words, "I am Elizabeth Darcy," were just too much.
Now they were looking at me as though I were a simpleton. Much better.
"Are you going to throw us out of the house?" This came from the younger one who I thought, given what I had gleaned from my conversation with their mother the previous evening, was Belinda.
"Bel!" Henrietta shouted confirming my suspicions.
"What? You wanted to find out."
"Yes, but I didn't plan to baldly ask her. Now she'll think we're ill-mannered and she'll definitely throw us out of the house."
"I have no intention of throwing anyone out of the house," I said in a tone I hoped was amply reassuring.
"Are you sure? Because Mother seemed certain you would. She said you are a calculating hussy and you wouldn't want us under foot."
"Really, Belinda, we might as well go have Saunders pack our things now if you are going to insult our hostess."
"How did I insult her?"
"You just called her a calculating hussy!"
"No, I didn't. Mother did. And how was I to know calculating hussy was an insult anyway?"
"I would say by using your common sense, but I know you haven't one jot of that."
"I just thought calculating meant she was good at sums and hussy . . . well, I don't really know what that means but it doesn'tsoundlike an insult. What does it mean?"
"I'm not going to tell you!"
"You don't really know what it means, do you? You're just trying to sound superior, aren't you? You're always doing that."
