Chapter 17
Seventeen
Dinner
"Are you even listening to me, Elizabeth?" asked Mrs. Vane.
I was not. Mrs. Vane had been going on and on about the same topic since mid-afternoon so I think it excusable that I had stopped listening to her. Around three o'clock.
My attention was fully occupied by the man seated across from me who was distractedly handsome and nearly perfect if one ignored the arrogance and conceit (but he was working on those) and the fact that he did not like sunshine.
"You actually don't like sunshine? I mean, really, sunshine?
Who doesn't like sunshine?" I asked rather suddenly.
I had certainly just interrupted Mrs. Vane (she had paused her lecture to draw breath) but if I did not on occasion interrupt one of Darcy's aunts in the middle of a monologue I would never speak to him.
Darcy, who was by now accustomed to my outbursts and tendency towards non sequitur, was the only one at the table not to appear confounded. "I do not dislike sunshine, I simply do not relish it," he replied.
His lack of beLizzyment could also possibly be attributed to the fact my questioning was a continuation of the conversation we had been having several hours earlier.
After Belinda came bursting into the library (sending Darcy and I toppling off the ottoman onto the floor .
. . fortunately no ripped bodices this time) to announce the end to our internment, we decided we should probably have a proper conversation.
We remained there for the rest of the morning discussing books, and music and our childhoods and all manner of trivialities until we were interrupted by the arrival of Lady Catherine.
During this pleasant interlude I had discovered the answers to several of my previous questions about Darcy (Eton, Boodles just in case you wanted to know) but she had interrupted just as we got to my question about sunshine.
"How is that possible?"
"I do not feel it has any advantage over gloomy skies. As long as there is an absence of rain one can engage in all the same activities without the discomfort of the glare of the sun in one's eyes," replied Darcy.
I was right all along, he is mad. Utterly mad.
"What about kittens?"
"What?" Ah, there is the beLizzyment.
"Elizabeth, can you please stop being absurd?" this question was posed by Mrs. Vane who had overcome her confusion and was attempting to take charge once more.
"Kittens—your opinions—now—tell me," I said, not taking my eyes off Darcy.
"When I was a child I did a bit of study into the mammalian species.
I never discovered much to interest me about felines and other Eutheria, but I must admit Metatheria are fascinating if one is interested in that sort of thing," Dora said with a haughty sniff as if to indicate the love of mammalians should be left firmly in childhood.
"And Darcy what is your opinion on the matter?" I asked.
"I do not see how this is relevant," interjected Mrs. Vane.
"I like kittens," was Darcy's much awaited answer.
"To cuddle or to eat?"
"Elizabeth, really," chided Mrs. Vane.
"It is a necessary distinction to make. The man doesn't like sunshine, that is odd and a touch sinister, frankly. Who knows what other strange proclivities he might be concealing."
"I have no objection to sunshine and I like kittens. To cuddle," said Darcy with a grin.
"We must discuss Lady Whisperton," cried Mrs. Vane.
Yes, Lady Whisperton again.
Lady Catherine interrupted our afternoon to bring us the latest copy of Lady Whisperton's Society Papers.
She thought Darcy and I would want to know that we once again were featured in the gossip rag (we did not).
She also wanted to give me an opportunity to apologize for all I put her through by .
. . I don't know . . . existing, I suppose (I did not).
During her seemingly endless tirade she threatened several times to return for dinner (blessedly, she did not).
"I do not wish to discuss it anymore. It really doesn't matter," I said breezily.
Mrs. Vane would not be put off, she said, "Of course it matters. Someone in this house is a spy."
"We do not know that it must be anyone in this house," I said with more conviction than I felt.
The Lady Whisperton column contained the sort of dross one might expect: a replay of Darcy and I's very public disagreement at Mrs. Hamilton's ball.
What was unexpected was Lady Whisperton's familiarity with the particulars of the dispute, that it was about Jane and Mr. Bingley not Sir Sebastian Seymour as everyone could have easily assumed, and not only had the tiff occurred in the ballroom but it had continued at home resulting in an estrangement of some duration.
These were things only someone in the household should know.
"Of course it is someone in the house! Oh for heaven's sake, could someone please pass me the potatoes. This is chaos" added Mrs. Vane as she surveyed the table with a flustered expression.
I had finally altered the way dinner was served.
I had requested the meal to be all laid out at once, no more of this carrying in each course nonsense.
It was much less trouble for the servants and created a cozier, private family atmosphere for the five of us.
Jane was dining with the Bingleys this evening.
I suspect Darcy's visit to Mr. Bingley this afternoon had prompted the invitation.
"I thought you would appreciate not having servants lurking during our private conversation," I said, hoping to stifle any further critical remarks from Mrs. Vane.
"That is true," she conceded with ill grace. "But it is so unrefined, and without proper courses one does not know when to transition between topics of conversation."
I must have appeared as confused as I felt by her statement because Darcy explained, "Traditionally we adhere to a conversational schedule of sorts at dinner."
Well, that was not at all enlightening.
"First, we would discuss art. Then music—" Georgiana began but she was quickly interrupted by her aunt.
"After that we would talk about significant events—not gossip of course, and not politics—conversation must be kept polite."
"Even when you are just among family?"
"Of course," replied Mrs. Vane seeming shocked I had even asked such a question, "Who deserves your courtesy more than family?"
I studied her face for a hint of irony, but detected none. I must either deduce she does not consider me family or her definition of courtesy is very different than mine.
"And you were only allowed to discuss the assigned topic without deviation?
" I asked. I was still shocked at the idea of such careful management though I should not have been.
The stories Darcy had told me this morning revealed he'd had a rather structured childhood.
A happy childhood to be sure, but it bore no resemblance to the untutored wildness of my upbringing.
"Allowed? You make it sound grim when you word it thusly. I think conversation is so much pleasanter when all the participants know how to proceed. It keeps everything so organized. The way a Darcy household ought to be," said Mrs. Vane.
"I must agree. Very sensible, indeed. There are things that can be said over the fish that would be positively unseemly over the cheese course," I said, endeavoring to hold back laughter. One must be courteous to family after all.
Sensing my struggle, Darcy said, "Do try not to laugh, my dear. Laughing is strictly for dessert."
"I have a terrible feeling you are not jesting," I said.
"I would not dare."
"Because jokes are for pudding?"
Georgiana interjected, "And riddles. Papa always came up with the best riddles."
"So your father carried on this tradition in your house as well?" I asked.
"Oh, yes, he was as enamored with order and propriety as any Darcy before him," Darcy replied, "And after him. I am not certain if such correctitude is a failing or a virtue."
"A virtue in most cases, I should think. And when it is a failing it is the sort of virtuous failing people are apt to excuse."
"Excuse, perhaps, but not like," said Darcy.
"Does propriety need approval? I thought the practice of it was a reward in itself. Those who exercise it are not spoiled on levity, it must give one a greater appreciation for dessert," I teased.
"Indeed," Darcy said in a manner which made me think he was implying something beyond mere agreement of my assertion. Also he was looking at me in a way that was decidedly indecent.
Mrs. Vane must have agreed, for she cleared her throat noisily and said, "I see you two have decided to like each other. I suppose that is sensible, though it would be preferable if you were less obvious about it."
"I do not mind their obviousness. I am glad to see my brother so happy," chimed Georgiana.
"As am I. But the way you are looking at her is improper, Fitzwilliam, do stop it. And will someone pass me the potatoes sometime before I wither away of starvation?"