"I think you are right, yes. A bold maneuver. That is what we need."
What have I done? Of all the moments for Mrs. Vane to suddenly start agreeing with me.
Rebecca turned to an unmarked sheet in her notebook and began to scribble excitedly. "We will need to select musicians immediately. And contact the hothouses to see what flowers are available. What day are we thinking?"
And then they are off, debating dates and flowers and refreshments and everything else. Lady Catherine, despite thinking I should be locked away in an attic somewhere (and Lady Anne quite agreeing with her) begins planning her own ball as well. I guess she just cannot help herself.
"What is going on?" Darcy whispered as he dropped suddenly into the chair next to me. I wonder if I should tell him he is sitting on his mother? No one else marked his entrance. They were all too involved in their plans.
"We are to have a ball, apparently."
"Indeed, how nice. I love a ball." Unlike Rebecca I know when someone is being facetious.
"Why are we giving a ball exactly?" he asked.
"Have you heard the latest?"
"Yes, not yet a week wed and you've already given me horns," he said teasingly. And then he smiled at me. Almost fondly. It is very disconcerting.
"It has been a week."
"Has it?"
"The wedding was on a Tuesday this is Wednesday."
"So it is," he said airily. Most unDarcy-like.
"I think the idea is to make people like me by providing them food and festivities."
Darcy nodded. "Whatever my feelings regarding balls, it is an idea with some merit."
"Is it?"
"Most people enjoy such entertainments and are loath to turn down any invitation. To attend a ball is to give—not precisely approval of its hostess—but it does demonstrate that the guests do not think her reputation so dangerous that it may affect their own by association."
"So you think we should give a ball?"
Darcy shrugged. "We must give one at some point, I suppose. There is no reason it should not be soon."
"It should be a Twelfth Night ball. A masquerade. Not just a masquerade, a fancy-dress masquerade. You can wear your horns and I am sure I can find some costume befitting my adulterous shame," I said in jest, though I was warming to the idea of a ball.
Darcy gave me an indulgent smile in reply. I do not think we have been married long enough for him to be giving me such smiles. The "Oh, yes she is quite mad, isn't she? But I put up with it valiantly," sort of smile. The kind of smile Papa wears when listening to Mama's nonsense.
"I am serious now, not about the horns, of course, but about a fancy dress ball, what would you dress as?"
"Whatever you found for me."
"Come now, you cannot be so indifferent."
"I dislike balls in general, fancy dress balls in particular; I find it difficult to rouse the proper enthusiasm."
Really, this is worse than hating chocolate and kittens.
"Do you like kittens?" I asked before I could stop myself.
His expression shifted to one of understandable confusion.
"Fitzwilliam!" "Darcy!"
