Evening
I have never ridden to the hounds being neither an accomplished horsewoman nor a great huntress so I never knew until now how exciting the chase could be. Now, after nearly a full day on his trail, my quarry is within range.
Yet here I tarry in the library, hiding pathetically behind a bookshelf whilst spying on my husband, too shocked to join the scene happening before me.
Mr. Darcy is being pleasant. I've seen him polite.
Yesterday he was everything polite to his relations, he even displayed real affection for them even if a certain stiffness of manner was still present.
Pleasantness I thought would be quite beyond his talents.
Apparently not. It is most disconcerting.
"I should not have let the girls trouble you, sir," said little Miss Hopkins as she worried at the lace on her sleeve. She is the fidgety sort, at least in the presence of Mr. Darcy.
"To say they are no trouble at all would be an outrageous falsehood as I am certain they trouble you from waking until sleep, so I will say instead they are of no inconvenience to me and commit no perjury," Darcy said as he walked along the shelves.
Stopping suddenly, he plucked a book from the topmost shelf and offered it to Henrietta who accepted the tome with a happy squeal.
Still picking at her lace fretfully the governess replied,"They are not so very troublesome."
"Then you have the tolerance of a saint," Darcy teased with a wink at Belinda and Henrietta.
"Troublesome we may be, but we are a delightful sort of trouble. A few puckish, meddlesome characters are necessary in any good farce," said Henrietta.
"Our lives are a farce then?" challenged Darcy.
After a thoughtful pause Henrietta answered loftily, "Better farce than tragedy." She grinned at her own cleverness.
"We are studying the work of Shakespeare." Miss Hopkins said, she must have felt Darcy's questioning glance rather than observed it for she had yet to look him in the eye.
"I preferred Marlowe," announced Belinda. "His plays had far more death and demons. I particularly like demons."
"We have yet to cover Shakespeare's histories and tragedies," Miss Hopkins put in hurriedly
"Ah, I see," said Darcy. "You may yet alter your opinion, Belinda. Macbeth will appeal to you especially, I should think."
"Has it demons?"
"Witches."
Belinda scrunched up her nose. Clearly witches were hardly sinister enough to be interesting.
"And ghosts. And it is set in Scotland."
"Perhaps I'll like it then," she said doubtfully.
"Do you want anything else?" Darcy asked, addressing Henrietta.
"I'd like to read Tom Jones."
"Your mother will have my head if I let you read Tom Jones. Anything else?"
"Why can I not read it? You have read it, have you not?"
"I have."
"What is so very bad about it?"
"Nothing . . . much."
"All Mother will tell me is that it is low."
"There are subjects within it not entirely appropriate for the sensibilities of a young lady."
Henrietta scoffed and rolled her eyes. I cannot fault her for the eye rolling. That was the only reply such a declaration deserved.
I wonder if he would let me read Tom Jones?
"How did you come to hear of Tom Jones anyway?"
Miss Hopkins trembled. She shook her head vigorously to proclaim her innocence though Darcy was not looking her way.
"Uncle James recommended it."
"Of course," said Darcy with a sigh of exasperation. "Have some consideration for me, keep to your Burney and Edgeworth and be happy."
"After I finish these last two books I will have read everything. Everything. Everything. And there will be nothing else to do. I suppose I will have to become more troublesome."
"You will have read all books ever written excepting Tom Jones? How remarkable. I knew you were a great reader, but I had not suspected you had attained so complete an accomplishment."
Henrietta pouted winsomely. Darcy stared unaffectedly back at her. Turning to the younger sister he asked, "Miss Belinda what do you require?"
"I want something about torture."
"You wish for a manual outlining proper procedure?"
"I want a history. Something about someone who did something really bad and was sent to the Tower. Anything that ends in drawing and quartering is best."
"What a gruesome little thing you are," said Darcy with affection. "I believe I possess a history of the Tower of London. Might that quench your slightly alarming thirst for the grim and grisly?"
"Let's have it."
Darcy strode across the room in pursuit of the book and I had to dart from my hiding place and squat down behind another shelf to prevent discovery.
I know, I know. I should declare myself.
Lurking here is strange and if I am found out we will perhaps have an answer to the age old question: Can one actually die of mortification?
But I know if I show myself Darcy will find he has something he desperately needs do in another part of the house.
Or perhaps another part of England entirely.
So I will keep myself unnoticed and learn what I can. Call this a fact gathering mission.
"There are some fine engravings of executions and various torture machines, I believe," said Darcy as he handed the book to Belinda.
"Oh, goody."
"Bel, your excitement is unseemly," scolded Henrietta.
"Leave her be. When I was her age I had a special fondness for the histories of treasonous criminals and their subsequent executions," said Darcy.
Henrietta turned to her cousin with a look of exasperation. "Yes, but you were a boy," she explained carefully as if this information might be news to him. "Boys are allowed to be disgusting."
"So they are," he agreed. "Have you ever been to the Tower to see the Royal Menagerie?"
The girls shook their heads. "Would you take us?" Belinda asked hopefully.
"If your mother agrees."
"She won't," said a crestfallen Henrietta. "She will say it is not refined to gawk at beasts with common people."
"I believe I could convince her it was educational."
"Oh, would you?" said Belinda.
"Tom Jones might be said to be educational," Henrietta wheedled.
"Hush. Let him get us to the Tower first and then you can worry about your stupid book."
"Anything for you Miss Hopkins?"
The governess, finding Mr. Darcy's attention suddenly upon, her took interest in her lace once more.
"Oh, I shouldn't."
"You have already read all of the histories in the collection, I should think."
"Well, I do not know about that."
"Perhaps you would like a novel this time."
"Oh, I shouldn't," she said again, "So frivolous," she added in a murmur.
"A little diversion on occasion is acceptable. Necessary even."
"Well, perhaps."
"I have just the thing. I have recently acquired Mrs. Brunton's debut which everyone seems so enraptured by."
It was clearly a great feat of Miss Hopkins's self-control not to seize the book and run off with it gleefully. She accepted it daintily enough however, and even managed to look Darcy in the eye for a full second.
"Is it as exciting as people say?"
"I haven't read it yet. You will have to tell me."
Miss Hopkins nearly dropped the book in horror. "I couldn't read it first!"
"Why ever not?"
"Not proper . . . the family should. . . ." I could not fully hear her breathless explanation from my hiding place.
"The wonderful thing about books is they lose nothing by being read no matter how many readers peruse them. Provided none of those readers get jam on them," Darcy said with a glance to Belinda.
The girl defended herself primly, "That book didn't lose anything. I left it perfectly intact."
"Yes, I suppose it gained something in that case. Stickiness," said Darcy dryly. "I believe I can trust you not to spill your tea on it or give away the ending, Miss Hopkins."
"Thank you, sir." The governess gave an awkward little curtsy and almost fell over. She opened the book with relish. "There is just something glorious about a new book. The way the spine cracks perhaps. Or maybe the scent. It is the scent of potential adventure, do not you think?"
She offered the book around for olfactory inspection. Darcy and Henrietta agreed with Miss Hopkins's whimsical assertion, but Belinda said, "It just smells like paper."
While Miss Hopkins's life was surely comfortable enough there must be few indulgences in it, I realized.
Darcy had realized that, too. My husband could be not only pleasant but thoughtful.
I did not know why I should feel surprised by this revelation.
I had witnessed it before. He had cared for me on our unfortunate wedding night.
But I had convinced myself his kindness was an aberration. Apparently not. I am not exactly certain how to feel about this information. I am not exactly certain how to feel about anything.