Chapter 12
Twelve
Dinner
As it would happen, I cannot kick Darcy under the table. Not that I am incapable of the action or I lack proper encouragement—nay, all those factors are present—I merely cannot reach him. Trust me, I've tried. Repeatedly.
I thought glaring would be the worse thing he could do.
I thought he would be his stuffy, impossible self and hinder conversation with his succinct replies and severe tone.
Instead he is being some other person's impossible self.
He is being talkative, nonsensical, and disruptive.
My husband is being my mother and it needs to stop at once.
Mr. Bingley has barely said a word to Jane because every time he so much as looks at her—
"The beef is particularly well-done today. Tender and not at all dry, do not you agree, Bingley?"
Mr. Bingley turned to Darcy, his expression all politeness and concern, perhaps a little heavier on the concern than the politeness as this was at least the sixth time Darcy had interrupted him with an asinine remark.
"Certainly, best beef I've ever eaten," he agreed genially because he is Mr. Bingley and it would never occur to him to say, "Darcy, would you please shut your mouth and keep it closed. "
Again Mr. Bingley returned his attention to Jane, he drew a breath as if to speak—
"Beef, I think, is one of the more difficult meats to get right, mutton, perhaps, the only one more challenging."
I have revised my opinion, my husband is being Mr. Collins. Mama's conversation is at least entertaining. Ridiculous, but entertaining.
I cast my foot out, trying once more to reach Darcy's leg under the table to no avail. I could throw something, I suppose. A particularly well-done cut of beef. Or a knife.
Mrs. Vane was the only problem I had anticipated.
When she had pleaded a headache and announced she would dine in her rooms I had been far more ecstatic than any decent person should be upon hearing a family member felt poorly (in my defense I am certain she was faking either to avoid Mr. Bingley or Jane).
As I said, the worst I thought Darcy would do was glare.
I cannot believe I ever wanted more conversation from of the man.
I would suspect some manner of poison if he had not been acting strangely before we even sat down to dine, but his odd behavior began in the drawing room as we awaited the meal.
Jane, Mr. Bingley, Dora, Georgiana, and I were all assembled when Darcy strolled in, inserted himself awkwardly on the sofa between Jane and Mr. Bingley where there really was not room for him, then proceeded to monopolize Mr. Bingley's conversation.
At the time I was annoyed with his behavior, but I did not suspect him of treachery.
The conversation he had with Mr. Bingley seemed at least vaguely important, but now the man is going on about the beef which is delicious, but by no means warrants this much conversation.
I can only conclude he is trying to keep Mr. Bingley from speaking to Jane.
"Now with fish, the most essential thing is getting it fresh—"
Perhaps it is Lady Catherine whom Darcy is doing an impersonation of, she enjoys giving unasked for advice and speaking just to hear her own voice.
When the next course comes in I am going to throw my soup spoon at Darcy. No one will witness my impropriety with the servants providing the perfect distraction. I do not think Darcy will understand my message nor will it stop him if he does, but it will make me feel better.