"But it would be so like him to turn up alive right after we went through the trouble of getting him declared dead."
Menacingly James said, "I should like to hunt him down. Produce a body that matches exactly."
"James, really," scolded his wife.
My husband, ever the voice of reason, said, "Before any corpses are fetched or made, I think we ought to return to the previous subject."
"Quite right, I need to be leaving soon if I am to start today. I do not expect to be gone for much more than a month. Susan doesn't have long, poor lady. Dora will be no trouble. You might even have her married off by then. You are quite the expert at catching husbands it would seem.
I am not too refined to sputter and I did so at this juncture, "I—you—I."
"It is all right. I think it very clever of you to have caught Fitzwilliam. And Dora will need your unorthodox methods if I am ever to get her off my hands."
Margaret dramatically sighed once more.
"Now Sebby there" she said, indicating with a nod of her head the dog who was still sitting happily in my lap, "his behavior I cannot vouch for, I fear. You must attend to his walks yourself. Servants cannot be trusted with him, he is too cunning and will slip his lead. I am terribly sorry to leave him behind, but it must be done."
Again I turned my pleading gaze to my husband. He must say something. This situation was all too absurd, surely he would not stand for it.
"We would of course be honored to have Dorothea—and Sir Sebastian—stay with us."
That was not at all what I wanted him to say.
Six
5thDecember 1811
Morning
It was on the sideboard where all the breakfast dishes were laid, at the end on a pile with the other morning news sheets.The Society Papers of Lady Whispertonclaimed the heading. A gossip rag. I put it back where I had found it.
Then I picked it up again.
I do not read gossip sheets as a rule, but this one was a mystery. It was here in a house I instinctively knew such frivolous things would not be tolerated. And an announcement had been circled.
Looking around to confirm the room was deserted (one can never be too careful here, Darcys are a stealthy breed) I took the paper over to the nearest chair, balancing my shamelessly overfilled plate in my other hand (I barely touched my food at dinner last night, I find I lose my appetite under scrutiny). The indicated announcement read:
"AmbitiousMamas andUnmarriedMisses, I must tell you a tale of sorrow. The delectable Mr. D, distinguished bachelor of Derbyshire, is a bachelor no more. He was lately wed to a Miss B. Do not try to decipher that cypher,DearReader, for you will never guess as the lady in question wasunknown even tothis well-informed author.
One might surmise that it is a love match—why else wouldthatgentlemanalign himself with a country nobody with nary a penny?
However, the truth may be less romantic.It wouldcompromisemy dignity to discuss the matterin detail, but suffice it to say the marriage came about under most extraordinary circumstances."
"What are you reading?"
This was spoken by Darcy. The Darcy. Supreme Darcy of Darcy House. Master ofAvoidance, Sardonic Eyebrow Raises, and Judgmental Glares. Presently he was giving me the Judgmental Glare of Doom. I dropped the offending paper as if it were a pair Mr. Collins's soiled smalls.
Not suspicious at all, Lizzy. Well done, you. Of course he would find me reading drivel.
Mr. Darcy approached. Have I mentioned how obnoxiously he walks? It is a manly version of Mrs. Vane's imperious glide. Like he owns the room. Which in this case, of course, he does.
He stood next to me, looming over me expectantly like a great dreary tower. Given how tall he is I suppose he cannot help it. But I get the feeling helikestowering. Insufferable man.
It is perhaps obvious that I am once again a little peeved at him. And once again he probably does not deserve my peevishness. Which oddly makes me all the more peeved.
My peevishness can do him no harm however because he has been avoiding me. How am I ever to apologize to him for our wedding night and demonstrate how very pleasant and most importantlysoberI can be if he is forever out of the house? Yesterday after our visitors left I was preoccupied with making Dora comfortable and finding a servant willing to see to Sir Sebastian needs (apparently he has a Reputation—enough of one to warrant capitalization—and the maids were all tripping over each other in their haste to escape the horrible fate of looking after him). By the time everything was settled Darcy had gone out again.
I picked up the gossip sheet which had fallen into my lap and offered it to him. "It was on the sideboard. Is it yours?" I asked sweetly.
