I continued to ignore him. The man can be so frustratingly pigheaded sometimes. "I am sorry about the charades and Blind-man's Buff—all of the games, really, it seems like we were trying to do all of the things you hate."
"It is Christmas, people are meant to be merry."
"Youweren't merry."
"No, but I'm a snobbish arse, remember? You have nothing to apologize for, Elizabeth."
I started to argue but then he kissed my forehead and bid me good night. Which would have been a rather sweet and comforting gesture if he had not followed it by turning away and closing the door.
Twenty
26thDecember, 1811
Afternoon
Yes, he just said good night and left. Practically closed the door in my face.
I spent half the night thinking it over and the other half of the night thinking over the conclusions I had reached during the first half and thus by the end of the night I was back to where I had started, not knowing what to make of it at all.
I was also very tired. Oh, so very tired.
However, I cannot return to my room for an afternoon nap because Mama has decided we must immediately develop a scheme to mitigate Jane's unmarried state, preferably by bringing about an engagement with Mr. Bingley (though another eligible gentleman might do should a suitable alternative be found).
Since I cannot dissuade her enthusiasm for the subject and barring her from my rooms would only cause an uproar throughout the entire household when her displeasure became vocal, I am hiding. I'm not proud of it. But sometimes one just needs a little time to oneself. Time to further consider dismissive forehead kisses and what receiving one must mean for one's marriage especially when the forehead kiss is followed by a hasty retreat on the part of the kisser and the kissee finding herself on the lonely side of a definitively shut door.
I suppose his side of the door must have been lonely as well. Or perhaps not. He probably enjoyed his solitude. Experienced blissfully uninterrupted sleep untroubled by bothersome thoughts about the contrariness of his spouse. Bloody bastard.
The resentment I feel for Darcy at the moment is unreasonable, I know. But one's thoughts do not have to be reasonable especially when one has been reduced to hiding in the linen closet.
Yes, the linen closet. Mama will not think to look here for another twenty minutes at least. Previously I had been hiding under the desk in Darcy's study. I only just made it out in time to evade her as she made the mistake of calling for me prior to entering the room.
Were it not raining I would take Sir Sebastian (The Dog) for a walk. However it is raining and also he no longer considers me his favorite person. The displacement of his affection would not be quite so painful if his new object of devotion were not Lydia. When they first met she tried to shoo him because he jumped at her skirts. Now she carries him around everywhere, doting on him as if he were an infant. He hasn't even tried to bite her once. It is insupportable.
Honestly if she was going to attract one of the Sir Sebastians why could it not have been the man? Perhaps she will win him away as well. They have yet to meet and since my youngest sister is apparently so bloody appealing—
I amnotjealous over the love of a dog. That would be ridiculous. That would be mad. Nevertheless, someone ought to want to cuddle me and if it cannot be my indifferent husband at the very least it could be that odoriferous curmudgeon of a dog.
I am going mad, am I not?
Not only am I mad I am about to be discovered. I hear footsteps headed this way and it will be Mama because that is the sort of day this is.
The footsteps came to a sudden halt. She was right outside my hiding place now. I braced myself for discovery. My time is up. She will have checked everywhere else by now.
"There you are!" an exuberant voice cried as the door flew open. The words were expected, but they were not spoken by the person I dreaded.
"Were you playing the hiding game?" Belinda asked clearly perplexed to find me crouched down in a corner of the linen closet.
"Yes, with my mother."
"You're so lucky. My mother never wants to play the hiding game with me," she said, then turning away from me she shouted down the hall, "Henri, I found Lizzy."
"Shhhhhh!" I hushed her, "I'm still winning."
"Sorry," she whispered, "I wanted to give you a report on the investigation."
It was now my turn to be perplexed. "The investigation?"
"We are searching for Lady Whisperton's spy."
