Darcy stepped forward as if to assist her.
"NO! I beg of you—stay right there!Right there. We can show ourselves out."
By this point her cheeks were as red as her hair and I realized at last why she was leaving so suddenly. So had James. To his credit he tried to keep his countenance, but he was shaking with silent laughter.
"It is not at all amusing, James," said Rebecca, as she smacked him with her reticule. Despite this abuse, he dutifully guided her from the room and did not allow his expression to show even a hint of amusement even as he performed an elaborate low bow to us before quitting the room.
Darcy appeared bewildered and concerned. "Perhaps I should—" he began, making asif to follow his aunt and uncle.
"No!" I shouted with almost as much ferocity as Rebecca had, "You would only upset her. She will be fine. It is a . . . feminine difficulty."
The words "feminine difficulty" when spoken to my father were always guaranteed to halt all interest in whatever inquiry he had made. Darcy still seemed confused and I feared he might press the point, however, after a moment's hesitation, he sat down. Not in the chair Rebecca had just vacated—whose upholstery appeared perfectly free of accidental leakage, but perhaps could still benefit from the attention of a servant—but on the divan across from me.
"I hope she is well. I sent her a missive earlier, but I had not meant for her to come here. I had thought to arrange a time for us to visit," said my husband who was still not meeting my eye.
"She wanted to get out of the house. I do not think she is taking the confinement well."
Silence fell. Or not silence, really, there was still the ticking of that unnaturally loud clock. Or perhaps it is two clocks. I think I heard a second tick just a little out of time. I glanced about, carefully not looking at Mr. Darcy since he seemed so desirous of avoiding my notice.
My goodness, there are four clocks in this room alone! What on earth does one need four clocks for? I suppose so guests do not have to turn their head to check the time.
"Elizabeth."
Darcy was looking at me—yes, directly at me—with the sort of exasperated expression one wears when one has been speaking for awhile and the other person is obviously not marking one in the least.
"I'm sorry, I was distracted by the clocks."
"The clocks?"
"Yes. There are so many of them. The ticking—it is really overwhelmingly loud, isn't it?"
Darcy cast his eyes around the room, clearly performing a clock census. He remained perfectly stoic as he did so, not at all as one would expect a person who has just discovered he is surrounded by an army of inharmoniously ticking mechanical creatures to behave. Especially a person who found my accidental tuneless humming so irritating.
His gaze returned to me. "We need to talk about last night."
"It is fortunate the duties on clocks were repealed. Otherwise the tax on this room alonewould be exorbitant," I observed pretending I had not heard him.
"Did Rebecca have time to speak with you? I tried to keep my uncle from the room—"
"It would have been two pounds I think—perhaps not much to you, but it could add up quickly."
"What?" asked a positively confused Mr. Darcy.
"The tax on clocks. There was a tax on clocks for a short while, do you remember?"
"Vaguely," he replied with an amused/bemused expression. Why he should be looking at me like that I do not know. He is the one trying to have a completely irrelevant conversation whilst I am giving him fascinating information about taxes. And clocks. You would think a person with such an obsessive number of clocks would be more interested.
"Papa always jokes about it. He says 'Now that Parliament has tried to tax time, what will they tax next? Laughter? Flatulence?'."
I cannot believe I just said flatulence in front of Darcy. I cannot believe I have said any of the things I have said in the last minute.
"Indeed."
He can make haughty face and say, "Indeed" in that solemn, superior tone all he wants—I've seen him naked. Not that he has anything to be ashamed of. He was well worth seeing . . . if you discount his seemingly-overlarge-but-perhaps-perfectly-proportional weaponry. But still. Once you have seen someone naked any future displays of gravitas by said person will be somewhat diminished in effect.
"I have not been drinking. Alcohol, I mean. I have had tea. Tea! Do you want tea? Should I call for some more?" I asked, surging to my feet.
Darcy stood. "I have no wish for tea."
