Page 102 of Mr. Darcy Comes to Town

“She is so poised. I am surprised she finds herself uncomfortable,” Miss Elizabeth said, sounding sympathetic. “She hides it well.”

I am looking forward to seeing how she is amongst members of her own class. I suspect she will be as poised as she claims Georgiana to be.

How nice it is to walk beside her like this. She is so comfortable to be with, but at the same time, she makes my heart pound and my pulse race. When she meets my gaze with her fine eyes I can scarcely look away. Dear Lord, how will I bear it when it is time to return home?

*

Basile prowled Netherfield, feeling distinctly annoyed. His human continued to spend a disgusting amount of time with the man who wore horrible smelling boots.

Zat Darcy fellow keeps leavin’ the ‘ouse to visit with ze odd animal-lovin’ woman. I can smell ‘er on ‘im. Bah! ‘Ow can I ‘elp my Caroline if zat Darcy fellow is never ‘ere?

He found his Caroline standing in the entrance hall, pulling on her gloves. She wore her pelisse and bonnet so he knew she meant to go out. Basile rushed over to her and rubbed against the bottom of her outer garment.

“Le meow,” he whined. “Le meow.”

“What is it, Basile, honey?” she asked, crouching and petting him—long strokes that included his tail. “I will be back soon.”

“I think he wants to come with us,” the smelly-boot man said as he crossed the entrance hall.

“Whoever heard of a carriage cat?” his Caroline asked, continuing to show him affection. “I would be afraid he might jump out, and I would lose him.”

“There is a viscount who lives mostly in London that takes his cat with him everywhere,” the colonel said. “He does not cage him when they are in an open carriage, either.”

“He must have trained him from a kitten,” his Caroline said, rising.

“We are in no rush. How about we give him a trial? We are in a phaeton today, so let us tool the carriage around the drive and see if Basile behaves like a gentleman and stays put.”

His Caroline looked down at him dubiously. Slowly, she said, “I do not know.”

“Fresh air might do him some good,” the colonel pointed out. “As large as Netherfield is, surely he must get bored with such a limited number of familiar scents.”

I am likin’ zis man more and more.

“I might consider it if I had a harness and a lead for him,” his Caroline said, shaking her head. “But I could not bear it if he ran off, or fell out, or got run over by the carriage wheels, or stomped on by the horses. No.”

Gulp. Zat sounds ‘orrid.

“While we are out, we can find a leather smith and see if he can make up a harness for Basile. He may even have something ready-made for a small dog that could fit.”

The colonel crouched and Basile looked at him warily.

“Hold still, now, Basile. I am going to measure your ribcage.”

Basile obediently permitted him to put his hands around his chest. He was not certain he wished to wear a harness, but he might be willing to endure the device if it meant he could drive out with his human.

“I think I have the measure of him,” the colonel said, pausing to pet him before he stood. “Shall we go to the haberdashery and leather smith?”

“Le meow,” Basile intoned, sitting back on his haunches, clearly—he thought—willing to wait for hours for his human to return safely.

“Good bye, my darling,” his Caroline said, smiling at him. “We will not be long.”

Basile watched them leave until the door shut them from his view. Sitting seemed to be too much work so he flopped down onto his side and watched the door while his tail thumped the floor in an agitated flourish.

“What are you? A dog wagging his tail?”

Basile looked about and spied the stupid guinea pig sitting under a chair against the wall. Basile pretended not to care about this intrusion into his home, looking away in a nonchalant way while watching him from the corner of his eye.

“You ‘ere? Why?”