Seventeen
23rdDecember 1811
Dinner
"Are you even listening to me, Elizabeth?" asked Mrs. Vane.
I was not. Mrs. Vane had been going on and on about the same topic since mid-afternoon so I think it excusable that I had stopped listening to her. Around three o'clock.
My attention was fully occupied by the man seated across from me who was distractedly handsome and nearly perfect if one ignored the arrogance and conceit (but he was working on those) and the fact that he did not like sunshine.
"You actually don't like sunshine? I mean, really, sunshine? Who doesn't like sunshine?" I asked rather suddenly. I had certainly just interrupted Mrs. Vane (she had paused her lecture to draw breath) but if I did not on occasion interrupt one of Darcy's aunts in the middle of a monologue I would never speak to him.
Darcy, who was by now accustomed to my outbursts and tendency towards non sequitur, was the only one at the table not to appear confounded. "I do not dislike sunshine, I simply do not relish it," he replied.
His lack of beLizzyment could also possibly be attributed to the fact my questioning was a continuation of the conversation we had been having several hours earlier. After Belinda came bursting into the library (sending Darcy and I toppling off the ottoman onto the floor . . . fortunately no ripped bodices this time) to announce the end to our internment, we decided we should probably have a proper conversation. We remained there for the rest of the morning discussing books, and music and our childhoods and all manner of trivialities until we were interrupted by the arrival of Lady Catherine.
During this pleasant interlude I had discovered the answers to several of my previous questions about Darcy (Eton, Boodles just in case you wanted to know) but she had interrupted just as we got to my question about sunshine.
"How is that possible?"
"I do not feel it has any advantage over gloomy skies. As long as there is an absence of rain one can engage in all the same activities without the discomfort of the glare of the sun in one's eyes," replied Darcy.
I was right all along, he is mad. Utterly mad.
"What about kittens?"
"What?" Ah, there is the beLizzyment.
"Elizabeth, can you please stop being absurd?" this question was posed by Mrs. Vane who had overcome her confusion and was attempting to take charge once more.
"Kittens—your opinions—now—tell me," I said, not taking my eyes off Darcy.
"When I was a child I did a bit of study into the mammalian species. I never discovered much to interest me about felines and other Eutheria, but I must admit Metatheria are fascinating if one is interested in that sort of thing," Dora said with a haughty sniff as if to indicate the love of mammalians should be left firmly in childhood.
"And Darcy what is your opinion on the matter?" I asked.
"I do not see how this is relevant," interjected Mrs. Vane.
"I like kittens," was Darcy's much awaited answer.
"To cuddle or to eat?"
"Elizabeth, really," chided Mrs. Vane.
"It is a necessary distinction to make. The man doesn't like sunshine, that is odd and a touch sinister, frankly. Who knows what other strange proclivities he might be concealing."
"I have no objection to sunshine and I like kittens. To cuddle," said Darcy with a grin.
"We must discuss Lady Whisperton," cried Mrs. Vane.
Yes, Lady Whisperton again.
Lady Catherine interrupted our afternoon to bring us the latest copy ofLady Whisperton's Society Papers.She thought Darcy and I would want to know that we once again were featured in the gossip rag (we did not). She also wanted to give me an opportunity to apologize for all I put her through by . . . I don't know . . . existing, I suppose (I did not). During her seemingly endless tirade she threatened several times to return for dinner (blessedly, she did not).
"I do not wish to discuss it anymore. It really doesn't matter," I said breezily.
Mrs. Vane would not be put off, she said, "Of course it matters. Someone in this house is a spy."
