Chapter 7 #2
"I think we have everything we need," said Mrs. Vane.
She gave the milliner a dismissive nod then she gestured impatiently to my lady's maid who rushed forward to gather the purchases.
"I must check on my daughters. Miss Hopkins is incapable of keeping them under control for more than two hours together. "
With that she hurried from the room. Flight, it would seem, is her only response to any mention of her self-inflicted captivity.
"We will take that as well," Darcy said to the milliner's assistant, indicating the box that contained the bird headdress. To me he said, "Perhaps my aunt will be inspired to leave the house if she has something striking to wear."
"Perhaps," I replied.
I could think of nothing to further to add. Now is the moment, Lizzy, stun him with your brilliant conversation before he runs away.
Darcy and I both glanced at Georgiana who was busying herself with adjusting the ribbon on the bonnet she had chosen, her single purchase of the day.
She carefully placed it in its hatbox and closed the lid.
Then, just as soon as the lid was secure, she removed it again, pulling out the bonnet and inspecting it carefully as if in those few seconds since she had put it away she had forgotten what it looked like and needed reminding.
Clearly she was stalling. Perhaps she tarried for decorum's sake.
Chaperoning me? Her brother? Too late for that.
Well, there was nothing I needed to say to Darcy I could not say in front of her.
"Soooo . . . how are you today?" Apparently there was nothing I needed to say to Darcy at all.
"Well."
Of course. One word answer. As to be expected in return for my lackluster gambit. Now, Lizzy, make some intelligent comment so we can begin a real conversation.
"Good." I am losing all ability to function as a social being. I am going Darcy.
"And you?" Darcy asked politely.
"Quite well," I replied with equal politeness.
"Good."
"Indeed." It is official. I've become dull.
Darcy cast his eyes around to the many boxes my maid was packing away. "Did you get everything you needed?"
We—that is to say Darcy, Dora, and I—have been invited to dine out three days hence and Mrs. Vane deemed all my gowns "too country" thus the sudden need to order a new wardrobe.
I had assumed we would go to the shops like normal people, but, no, Mrs. Vane had arranged the shops to come to us.
This convenience, along with our purchases must have cost Darcy an absolute fortune.
"I should hope so. I did try not to begger you."
Darcy put on a strained smile in response. Poor jest. People of good breeding do not talk about money. Even jokingly. He must be wondering what sort of ridiculous things I will say at Lady Truesdell's dinner party on Monday.
"Bingley visited while you were . . . occupied. He asked me to relay his greetings."
I nodded, a little disappointed. I had wanted to see Mr. Bingley.
"Is Mr. Bingley well?" Seriously, someone should just put me out of my misery. Of all the questions I might have asked about Mr. Bingley—of all the ways I might have yet saved this conversation. . . .
"Quite well."
"Good."
Darcy took a step away from me. "Well, I should—"
Madness overtook me. "No!" I shouted, seizing him bodily. Even Dora looked up questioningly at my sudden outburst.
Oh, wonderful. I am touching him again, this time without inebriation to blame for my forwardness. It really should not be a problem. He is my husband. And it is only his hands. Which I am still holding.
I dropped them.
"I mean, you should stay and. . . ." We can continue to have this inane conversation.
"Forgive me," Darcy said, still staring at his hands as if shocked to find I had not damaged them, "I have something I must attend to."
"Oh."
"Letters."
"Letters?"
"Yes, I write letters."
"With great accomplishment if Miss Bingley is any judge of the matter."
"I meant to say I have letters I must write."
"I have letters to write as well."
"Oh?"
"To my sisters. And mother. And father—and my aunt."
Oh God, Lizzy—perfect, just keep listing family members, that will make this conversation better.
"We should go attend to our letters—separately, of course."
"Yes, awkward business that would be co-authoring letters. Imagine," I said. And then I laughed. A fakish, trilling sort of laugh. It was terrible. It was probably the sound Bartholomew made before the milliner had stuffed him.
"Yes," said Darcy. Then he fake-chortled, too.
It was not so horrible of a sound as mine had been but there was something sadder about it.
I had broken him. I was willing to wager Darcy never feigned emotion for anyone's benefit.
Especially for something so trivial. My awful conversational skills were causing him to betray his principles.
Finally, with only the barest nod to Georgiana and Dora and a furtive, half-crazed glance at me, he left. Such an exit might have be rude in other circumstances, but it was the only thing he could have done. It would have been cruel of him to stay a moment longer.
Georgiana's face was the picture of disbelief, her eyes shifted between me and the place her brother had just vacated as if she was still trying to process what had just taken place before her.
Dora, who had long since returned to her sketching, winced as she accidentally poked herself with her pencil. "Ouch. That was painful," she said.
"Very," said Georgiana most emphatically.