Evening
I did not throw my spoon at Darcy.
I thought one of us should behave properly. Also I was afraid my aim might be negatively affected by my rage and I would hit Georgiana instead.
Darcy continued on in the same ridiculous manner through the remainder of dinner.
That a man whose greatest culinary achievement was probably making toast over the fire in his hall of residence at Harrow should have so much to say on the subject of proper cookery was truly astounding.
Or perhaps he went to Eton? Once again I am struck by how little I know about my husband.
It does not matter. Clearly he is mad and I am going to get an annulment as soon as I can have him declared insane.
Fine, I know you cannot have a man declared insane for talking too much at dinner. However, it certainly is cause for concern when this particular man makes a fool of himself in such a way. Everyone noticed and was disturbed by it. Well . . . perhaps Dora did not notice.
As if hearing my thoughts, Dora suddenly asked, "Is something wrong with Fitzwilliam? He was acting rather strangely."
"I think he is—" Georgiana began.
Deranged?
A determined meddler?
An unmitigated arse?
"—trying to be a good host."
"He isn't very good at it," she added after a moment's consideration.
Could that be it? Was it perhaps unfair of me to conclude he was attempting to keep Mr. Bingley from Jane? Could he have been trying to please me by being more willing (far too willing) to converse?
No, I do not think I can absolve him so easily. He had to have realized he was making an idiot of himself. It was obvious treachery. Too obvious. Really, I expected better of him. A little more subtlety.
I glanced around the drawing room at my once again silent gathering of ladies. I wasn't being a good hostess either. Yet stirring up conversation had proved difficult thus far. Georgiana is shy and Dora cannot be bothered and Jane. . . .
Jane is acting rather strangely as well.
She has been quiet and doleful and she would barely even smile at Mr. Bingley. Perhaps the journey is taking its toll. I ought to have insisted she lie down before dinner.
Things will be much more exciting when the gentlemen return from Darcy's study.
Darcy insisted on observing the ritual separation of the sexes after dinner—quite ridiculous with a party of this size—yet another obvious attempt to keep his friend away from my sister.
But at some point the men must return and when they do we will play charades and it will be magical.
Yes, magical.
Charades is the perfect game to encourage affection. Jane and Mr. Bingley will be on a team together, I will make certain of it. They will stare into each other's eyes and laugh at each other's antics and this odd stiffness between them will abate.
Magical.
"You didn't have cigars," I whispered to Darcy accusingly when he and Mr. Bingley joined us a few minutes later.
Darcy made no reply, regarding me oddly as if I was the strange one in this marriage. True, I had just sniffed him, but I had done it very casually and no one but he had noticed.
"You had no reason to hide yourselves in the study."
"We had a drink."
"You could have taken your brandy in here."
"We had port."
Yes, a very important distinction. Husbands are infuriating.
"You could have taken your port in here," I ground out, my jaw clenched in annoyance.
"We had things we needed to discuss privately," Darcy said with a significant glance towards Mr. Bingley who was clutching the coffee I had just handed to him, standing nervously in the center of the room as if he did not know what to do with himself while staring longingly at Jane.
Meanwhile Jane was not looking at Mr. Bingley at all, very purposefully not looking at him, as she discussed beetles solemnly with Dora.
I thrust a cup at Darcy who winced as a good deal of coffee sloshed over the edges onto his hand.
"Let's play charades."
My announcement elicited a happy exclamation from Mr. Bingley, pleased smiles from Georgiana and Jane, and a tolerant grimace-that-is-trying-very-hard-to-be-a-smile from Dora. From Darcy it evoked a wrathful glare as if I had just suggested sacrificing a goat in some sort of demonic ritual.
"No," he said. Rather forcefully and I think he realized he had said it too forcefully for he looked abashed for half a second. Which of course only meant he had to reassert his stupid statement because he is Mr. Darcy and he will not be made to feel abashed.
"I don't like charades," he said as if it were some justification for ruining the amusement of everyone else.
"Fine," I said crossing the room to the pianoforte. I sat down at the instrument. "I will play. You said only yesterday how you wished to hear me."
"I did?" Darcy asked with some confusion. I gave him The Stare. If he can use The Glare I can use The Stare. It's only fair.
Darcy, perhaps finally realizing he was a gentleman and therefore could not be seen to be contradicting a lady, said "Yes, of course I did."
"And you will turn the pages for me," I added.
"Surely Georgiana could—"
Again I utilized the Stare.
"Of course I will," Darcy said reluctantly, then he crossed the room to stand next to me.
Mr. Bingley took the seat next to Jane and spoke some quiet message that made her smile. Mwahahaha.
"You are a menace," Darcy whispered.
"Genius, you say?" I asked, pretending I misheard him. "I don't know about that, but I am certainly brilliant."
"What will you play?"
I shifted through the sheet music hoping for something familiar. Nothing. Absolutely nothing.
"Whatever you wish."
"Yes, I should choose since I so desperately wished to hear you play."
"Exactly."
Darcy smirked. I did not like that smirk.
"This," he said, selecting a song that was most certainly beyond me.
Jane's careful, pleasant laugh rang out, harmonizing with Mr. Bingley's more ebullient chuckle as they shared some private mirth reminding me why making a fool of myself was completely worth it. I started to play. My progress was halting and terribly out of time and Darcy appeared pained.
"You are not going to sing?" he asked.
"I am doing well just to play."
"Are you?"
I gave him a look. It was not even the full Stare, but it produced the desired affect.
"I apologize, that was uncalled for."
"I can play, you know," I said irritably as I stumbled through another difficult passage. "If I've had time to practice."
"Yes, I know. I have heard you," he said with the air of someone trying to calm a madwoman.
I stopped playing. "Do not speak to me like I am the mad one. You are the lunatic as everyone will know when the annulment is finalized," I whispered.
Darcy's eyes glittered with amusement. "What have I done to prove my lunacy?"
"The entirety of your dinner conversation. Talking about the tenderness of the meat and the piquant flavor of the wine and that whole ridiculous nonsense when you went on and on about what Parliament will debate and the troubles in the East."
"Yes, the food and the state of the empire, clearly topics only a lunatic would discuss over dinner," Darcy said with his usual calm tone that made me want to scratch the amusement right off of his face.
But he is the mad one, so there would be no scratching. At least not with witnesses present.
"I know what you were really doing."
"Being a good host?"
"Keeping Mr. Bingley from Jane, though I cannot think why you should wish to."
"We should not discuss this here," Darcy warned, leaning very close to me as he did so.
The heat of his breath against my ear brought on thoughts.
Unsettling thoughts. Certainly not pleasant thoughts.
No, indeed. Just consuming remembrances of searing kisses, and soft, teasing caresses, and .
. . bayonets. I shifted away from him, fumbling at the keys, making the most horrible cacophony I had managed thus far.
As if taking my retreat as an invitation, Darcy sat down on the bench next to me.
"I will play, you sing," he said.
"You think you can play better than me?" I asked, all the outrage of earlier returning to my voice.
"I can read music at the very least."
"As can I."
"Then why do you keep playing that B flat as an A?"
"I do not!"
"It should sound like this," he said. He began to play. And almost immediately bungled.
"Oh yes, a veritable master of music. I bow down to your excellence," I teased.
"I need a moment to practice," he said with great dignity.
"If a moment means a month, then yes, I will agree that is exactly what you need."
"You are making me nervous."
"Am I? Am I scowling at your every error? Wincing audibly? Rolling my eyes at your every pause?"
"I did not—" Darcy began then halted, knowing he most certainly had. "You asked me to turn the pages," he finished lamely.
"And that is what you shall do while I play."
He caught my hand before I could lay a finger on the keys.
"I cannot play one handed," I said, glowering at him.
My menacing stare had no effect on him this time. He grinned. "Hardly an argument for me letting go."
He ran his thumb over my knuckles, pulling me closer until there was no room between us. And then kissed he me, just a lovely, soft, perfect brush of the lips. Before I had time to protest it was over.
"That was . . . that was—
Wonderful?
Heavenly?
Why stop there?
"—inappropriate," I said finally, ignoring my own inner thoughts.
"No one noticed."
I glanced over at our party. No one appeared to be staring at us aghast.
"I'm still angry with you," I said.
"I assumed you would be, but perhaps we might call a truce, for tonight."
"You will not interrupt Jane and Mr. Bingley?" I asked.
"I will not."
I had noted that ominous "for tonight". That was concerning.
However, he would change his mind about Mr. Bingley and Jane.
He was just a snob, not a monster. Bingley's obvious happiness would make Darcy willing to overlook Jane's unfortunate relations.
And as it was, he himself was now one of her unfortunate relations.
"And we will play charades?" Press the advantage while you have it, that is what I always say.
Darcy sighed. "Fine," he said with much displeasure.
Out of respect for his feelings, I contained my gleeful squeal.