"So you see, dear, I am sure Fitzwilliam's weaponry is perfectly proportional and you will find him to be a wonderful—you will find the experience to be perfectly—it will all be fine, dear."
I tried to feel reassured, but could not. She had not seen it after all. Though of course it was very possible I had overreacted. I have the tendency to do that around Mr. Darcy. And perhaps my shock at finding myself suddenly presented with a nude man might have been lessened if I had not at that same moment realized I had never really had a proper conversation with said nude man. You know, the sort of conversation that did not end in shouting or an awkward and disingenuous "There is something I must attend to."
I do not know his favorite author. Nor his favorite composer. Or if he likes chocolate. For goodness sake, the man may not like chocolate! Or he might be one of those peculiar persons who take it unsweetened. It is quite possible. I have observed, with great horror, that he takes both his coffee and tea black.
And it may not stop there. He could hate daisies. Or sunshine. Or kittens. Last night I might have been dallying with a black-hearted fiend who hates kittens. Well, he probably likes kittens. He is good with animals. Or Sir Sebastian at least. The dog, that is.
And he is kind to Henrietta and Belinda; gentlemen do not often have much patience for children. Though, really, should I have to give him so much credit for basic human decency? It is not as if it is all that difficult to be kind to children and animals.
Though he is also kind to Mrs. Vane and that is no easy feat.
Yet he is also haughty and sometimes rude and his weaponry is ridiculously overlarge. Perhaps. I must admit I cannot be certain itisout of the ordinary. I am no expert in weaponry. Still, it would be like him to be inconvenient like that.
And if we would have kept at it last night it would have led tomebeing nude. And things would have happened. Procreative things. And I couldn't do that. Just couldn't. Not with a possible kitten hater.
Well, no matter the reason for my change of mind I knew I had no wish to continue speaking on this topic with Rebecca. Seizing the opportunity to put this discussion to an end I said, "Thank you for speaking to me, I am most reassured" I said far too formally. I had not known Rebecca long but she was not the sort of person one spoke to with such ceremony.
"You would say anything to get me to stop talking about this, wouldn't you?"
"Oh, yes," I agreed emphatically. We both turned, meeting each others eyes properly for the first time since the awkward conversation began, and promptly burst out laughing.
"You know," she said in that poor-dear-you-really-are-clueless tone she had been using throughout this uncomfortable business, "I feel I should tell you—"
She was going to talk about it again. Why would she talk about it again? Why? Why? WHYYYYY?!
"—larger is considered preferable."
Madness. Utter madness.
"You find that shocking now, but soon you will understand what I mean. Good swordsmanship is most important, of course, but ample size is certainly—" She broke off frustratingly and began giggling once more.
"What are you ladies discussing with such merriment?" James Darcy demanded genially as he entered the drawing room. My husband was at his uncle's heels, his expression uncommunicative, his eyes determined to avoid mine.
I answered with the first thing that came to my head, "Fencing."
Rebecca—curse her—giggled harder still.
"Fencing," James repeated disbelievingly, "My wife bids me bring her here, says she is in desperate need of female companionship, tells me I cannot possibly converse with her on the subjects she wishes to discuss. So I bring her here thinking she plans to talk about ribbons and lace and all other manner of frippery and you tell me you are discussing fencing."
"Indeed, we are," I said as nonchalantly as possible. Rebecca, still giggling, nodded in agreement.
James narrowed his eyes suspiciously. He knew some manner of private joke was afoot and he did not like to be left out of it.
"And is my new niece an expert on fencing?" James asked mischievously.
"Not at all," I replied, "Before you arrived I had just made a remark about what a great pity it is ladies are not permitted to learn the sport."
James nudged his nephew. His face alight with puckish intent, he said, "You hear that, Will? Your wife wishes to learn to fence."
Darcy gave his uncle the sort of haughty glare I had thought he reserved for particularly heinous crimes of commonness (such as addressing him whilst impecunious and insufficiently well-connected). James Darcy was not the sort to be cowed by any unspoken admonishment (or probably spoken admonishment) however, he nudged Darcy once more and said, "You are not so much a stickler you would not teach her a teach her a few maneuvers in privacy," to me he added, "You will find him a most satisfactory instructor I am sure—his thrust is a thing of beauty."
Rebecca, who with great struggle had calmed herself, lost control once again. She let loose a most unladylike bark of laughter then her hand flew to her mouth, her eyes went wide in alarm, all all gaiety abandoned.
"What is it? Is it the baby?" asked James anxiously.
"The baby is fine. Everything is fine. We just need to leave. Immediately," Rebecca said. She stood, gathering her skirts behind her as if trying to hide her bottom.
"So lovely to see you—must do again—must be going now,"she said as she began backing out of the room as if Darcy and I were royalty.
