Twenty Minutes Later
I have lost the bloody dog again.
I really must watch my 'bloodies' lest they escape my mind and come out my mouth.
That would be a wonderful thing to add to my list of failings: curses like a mule driver.
I suppose I shouldn't impinge upon the honor of all mule drivers, but it was a mule driver who first introduced me to the word and I have loved it ever since that first, "Get out of the bloody way. "
Though I suppose using obscenities would hardly be a failing at all compared to LOSING THE BLOODY DOG. Seriously, Lizzy, focus on the matter at hand. I must find the bloody dog before he runs out in front of a bloody mule team and becomes a bloody stain on the cobbles.
"Sir Sebastian!" I don't know why I bother. I have been calling his name from the moment I dropped him and he has yet to return. My throat is raw. Bl—ruddy raw.
Suddenly a gentleman appeared on the path before me. Neither his high spirits nor good looks seemed to be dampened by the wet weather, for he was smiling charmingly at me as if he were elated to see me even though I had not the slightest idea who he was.
"Ha, I have found you at last," he declared. Turning around he called down the path, "Over here, Farthingham, I have found my sprite."
I stood there, baffled as yet another man appeared, this one slightly less handsome and considerably less affable. "Wonderful, now may we return to our purpose," he said clearly unimpressed with his companion's discovery.
The smiling man ignored him returning his attention to me, "Why have you been calling for me, madam?"
"I haven't been calling for you."
"You most certainly have. Farthingham thought I was running mad, hearing wood sprites calling my name. But I have found you and you are quite real, though just as enchanting as any fae I assure you."
Finally I understood. "You are Sir Sebastian."
The gentleman bowed. "Sir Sebastian Seymour, at your service, madam."
"I'm sorry, I was looking for Sir Sebastian Shivershanks," I said stupidly.
"Who on earth is he?" asked the human Sir Sebastian clearly miffed at having found he was not the sole of bearer of his namesake.
"He is a dog."
The previously disgruntled Farthingham burst into laughter.
"A dog?" repeated Sir Sebastian, with credulity bordering on outrage. Farthingham laughed all the harder.
"Yes, I have lost him. He is a terrier mixture, light brown and white, docked tail.
If you call out 'Sir Sebastian' and he runs determinedly in the opposite direction you can be certain it is he, though I haven't the slightest clue as to why I am describing him as he is most likely the only dog you are likely to come across as I am certainly the only fool who would be walking a dog in such weather. "
"I think we've just been called fools," said Sir Sebastian to his friend.
"Not a new experience for you, I'm sure," replied Farthingham.
"I believe I only called those walking dogs fools. I am sure it is perfect weather for whatever you are doing. What are you doing?" They were both carrying what looked like opera glasses a fact I had up till now ignored there being so many other remarkable things about this situation.
Seeing my gaze Sir Sebastian Seymour held up the instrument he was carrying. "With these you mean? Bird watching."
"Bird watching?"
"The object is to watch birds in their natural surroundings," explained Farthingham patronizingly.
Oddly, I had surmised that much for myself.
"I have yet to comprehend if he is intentionally obtuse and enjoys being a condescending jackass or if he really has no understanding of basic human interaction. Yes, we are watching birds. In this weather. It was his idea," said Sir Sebastian.
"If we waited for pleasant weather we would be waiting until April."
"Which I would have no objection to."
"You are not serious in your study of birds, then, Sir Sebastian?" I asked.
"Alas no, I am merely a dilettante. Farthingham is the true natural historian.
I have not properly introduced him, this is the Honorable Mr. Thomas Farthingham although a more accurate epithet might be the Peevish Mr. Farthingham, or the Petulant Mr. Farthingham, or the Pretentious Mr. Farthingham he is the son of a viscount so he must be honorable. "
"Your friendship must be of long standing," I observed.
"Oh, we go back years and years."
"It feels like centuries," added Farthingham.
"Now, wood sprite, you must tell us your name it is only fair, you know both of ours."
"I am Elizabeth Darcy." I said it. Without stumbling or a hint of hesitation.
Sir Sebastian laughed. "I know this dog for which you search. Or rather, I've heard of him. He is Mrs. Margaret Darcy's dog, correct? The one who deposited a large rat in Lady Jersey's lap at a dinner party and got Mrs. Darcy permanently excluded from Almack's."
"Yes, he is Margaret Darcy's dog. I have not heard that story, but it sounds like Sir Seb."
"I did not realize we shared a name, but I have heard so much about this dog. He is a legend. I must meet him." Sir Sebastian laughed again, full bellied like a gleeful child.
Recovering himself he said, "And I am glad to meet you, Miss Darcy. My aunt tried to persuade me to come to her dinner party tonight by tempting me with rumors of your beauty, but I thought it was exaggeration as rumors often are, now I am rather regretting declining the invitation."
I stammered knowing neither how to reply to his bold flirtation nor how to correct his mistake.
Misreading my expression he said, "Oh, sorry, of course you do not know, my aunt is Lady Truesdell. I believe you are to dine with her this evening. She has been crowing about having the elusive Miss Darcy and the scandalous Mrs. Darcy at her party."
"Forgive me, I should have been clearer when I introduced myself. I am Mrs. Darcy. The new Mrs. Darcy. The scandalous Mrs. Darcy," I said at last.
Farthingham laughed; he was a much sunnier character than I had initially thought. Sir Sebastian looked stricken. "No, you must forgive me. I should never have called you—"
"I will not allow you to apologize, Sir Sebastian, scandalous is the most exciting thing I have ever been called and you cannot take it away from me now," I said playfully.
"You are not what I expected," he replied, his manner still serious.
"Sir Sebastian, what did I just say about taking it away?"
"I am not usually such a booby, I generally leave such displays of social incompetence to Farthingham."
"Omitting you, Seb, I think it unlikely for us to see any red-footed boobies, but other birds might be within our reach should we choose to seek them out."
"We must find Mrs. Darcy's dog first and then walk her home."
"Must we?"
"Yes, she is a lady in distress, we must give her aid and protection. That is what gentlemen do."
"Is it really?"
Sir Sebastian ignored his friend and began calling for Sir Sebastian. "It is odd to be shouting one's own name," he said.
I had feared Sir Sebastian the Dog would try my new friends' patience and kindness by remaining evasive, but after only a few minutes he wandered up to Sir Sebastian the Man with a quizzical expression that said, "You, sir, why are you calling me? We are not acquainted."
"Does he usually smell so, er, robust?" Sir Sebastian asked. He had scoped up the naughty dog before I could warn him about his odor.
"I am sorry. Here, I will carry him," I said.
"No, I am showing Farthingham how to be a gentleman. Now, which way to your home?"
"This way . . . I think." I had got so turned around looking for the bloody dog I was unsure of where we were. Somewhere in Hyde Park that was the best I could guess.
"Have you considered a lead?" asked Farthingham, who was looking absolutely jovial as he watched Sir Sebastian carry the stinking dog.
"He slipped it," I replied. "He is a very intelligent dog."
"But not obedient. Now, my Sir Sebastian, he is quite the reverse."
"Would you like to carry the dog, Farthingham?" threatened Sir Sebastian.
"No, this is your chance to impress the lady. I shall let you have it."
But Mr. Farthingham did eventually take a turn carrying the dog.
It was rather a long walk back to Darcy House, but Sir Sebastian keep up his charming banter making it go all the quicker.
Sir Sebastian the gentleman that is. The dog, realizing he was not going on a new and exciting adventure, rather he was being returned to his confinement, growled all the way.