Of course, his aunts would choose this moment to notice his presence. This is how I came to be eight days wed to a man and still unsure if he hates kittens or not.
"Present," Darcy said, nodding a sort of general greeting.
"We are planning a ball," said Rebecca excitedly.
"I have heard."
"We have not yet set a date," she continued.
"It will be the on the fifth of January. Elizabeth wants a Twelfth Night masquerade," Darcy said as if that settled the matter. Which of course it did.
Eleven
12thDecember, 1811
Afternoon
Jane is here. She arrived somewhat later in the afternoon than I had expected looking weary, though she did her best to insist it had been a pleasant journey. An obvious untruth as the roads could only have got worse since I traveled them a little more than a week ago.
Since her arrival we have been ensconced in my sitting room gossiping merrily.
"And she isstillset on marrying him?" I have asked this already, but it bears repeating.
"Yes, Lizzy," replied Jane with a patient smile.
"And you do not think I ought to tell her about the horrors that await her in married life?" I am referring to the horrors of Charlotte's future married life in particular in this instance—having Lady Catherine for a neighbor—not more general horrors such as discovering the enormity of one's husband's weaponry. Oh, God. Now I am thinking of Mr. Collins's bayonet and I want to vomit.
"She is not marrying Lady Catherine after all," Jane said reasonably. If only life were reasonable.
I snorted. "That is what Charlotte thinks now, but ask her after a few weeks of marriage. When you marry a man you marry his family, his friends, and all associated hangers-on and it is fully possible to end up spending more time with his relations than you ever spend with him."
Did that sound resentful? I think it may have sounded resentful. Jane looked at me with great concern then her eyes flicked over to Dora, thinking perhaps she might take offense at my comment.
I had quite forgotten Dora was there. Which is horrible since she, finding herself between beetles to illustrate at the moment, so kindly offered to help me with the invitations. The invitations to the Twelfth Night ball that is really happening. And I really am going to be thehostess. And I really need to learn to keep my mouth shut with my sarcasm and my "good" ideas. Really.
My reluctance about this ball aside, it is less than four weeks away so the invitations need to go out immediately. They just came back from the printer late this afternoon and now we have only to add each guest's name before we can begin sending them out tomorrow. Which sounds simple enough until one realizes there are to be three hundred guests and the names have to be written legibly because people like to be able to read their own name apparently. To my mind, if I gave you the invitation obviously it means I want you there. Does it really matter if the invitation looks like it says, "Miss Marine Hughboob" instead of "Miss Marianne Highbrook"? I think not.
Jane and Dora disagree. Well, Jane disagreed and Dora was just sort of there. Dora doesn't do opinions on anything non-insect related. There is furniture in this house with more opinions than Dora, thus why I sometimes forget her presence. Which is wrong of me. And not just because Dora does the most beautiful calligraphy.
Jane, clearly feeling we had been neglecting Dora in our conversation (and we certainly had, we had been going on about Mama and Meryton and Charlotte for half an hour at least), asked, "Are you enjoying being out, Dora?"
"Not really," said Dora matter-of-factly.
This frank reply discomposed my usually composed sister. "I am sure you will enjoy the season more as it progresses," she said soothingly.
Dora shook her head in disagreement though her expression remained perfectly cheerful."I see no reason to think so."
Jane struggled for something to say. I had not had time to warn her about Dora and the frustrating deficiency of her conversation. It would probably be rude to announce, "Dora is odd and should be left to herself," so I let my poor, sweet sister struggle on, speaking pleasantries to a lady who had no appreciation for them. If Dora appeared angry or annoyed Jane would not press her, but she wears a serene smile, very similar to the one Jane often wears, as if nothing bothers her and I do not think itdoesbother her, especially when she is not working on her own project.
Dora had worn that same serene expression earlier this afternoon when we were having our first proper at-home. Mr. Farthingham called, blessedly without the too charming Sir Sebastian Seymour in tow.
He exchanged all the expected niceties with me in the hurried, unenthusiastic manner of a child bid to eat every bite of his tripe and potatoes before having his sweet. Minimalcourtesy thus seen to, he settled into his true purpose of lavishing praise upon Dora as she put the finishing touches on her latest illustration.
"What beautiful work. It is most life-like," he commented as he peered over her shoulder.
Without sparing him a glance Dora said, "Yes, that is rather the point."
Though I admired her response, I braced for how Mr. Farthingham would take it, knowing most gentlemen would resent having their compliments so carelessly dismissed. To my astonishment he seemed completely charmed, smiling easily and seating himself in the chair nearest to her.
