Chapter Sixteen #2
“Who is he?” she asked. He pressed his lips together, which appeared to prompt her to continue. “Was that the man you warned me about?”
“It was.”
“It is a shame a man so full of himself should be so handsome,” Miss Elizabeth observed in a musing voice. Sighing, she turned him away so they faced the direction of Longbourn village. “I could set Harry on him, if you like?”
Harry obligingly growled, which made Darcy smile in spite of his anger. “You are a good boy,” he praised. Harry chuffed his agreement.
“Shall we return home?” she asked. Then, before he could answer, she gestured to the sweets shop. “Or, you could buy me some roasted nuts?”
“What type do you like?” he asked, opening the door for her.
“Spiced, candied walnuts.”
“I like those as well,” Darcy said, approaching the nut counter. He purchased a small sack of the nuts and presented it to her as soon as they left the shop. “You carry this, and I will carry the basket.”
“Jeffry is gone,” Miss Elizabeth said, passing him the empty basket, taking the package, and laying her hand on his free arm.
“At least he did not disappear while you were showing him around. Let us put the nuts in his basket, if he will not use it.” He opened the basket and she put the package inside. “Where do you think he goes?”
“I sometimes find him at home—once in the middle of my bed—other times he is in his enclosure.”
“I wonder that we are so nonchalant about his strange ability,” Darcy mused. “Surely we should be claiming he got out of the basket when we looked the other way.”
Miss Elizabeth chuckled. “Though you may not think me so, I do have a strong sensible streak. Not so sensible that I cannot believe in magic, but too sensible to think he escaped when he was not out of our sight.”
Darcy nodded. “I have seen you with animals so I know you can be sensible. Though animals seem to love you, at the tea party, it appeared to me that Basile does not like you overmuch—but then he does not like many people.”
She glanced up at him, her brow furrowed. “He does not like me. I think he is jealous.”
His eyebrows shot up. “Of what?”
“Perhaps it is nothing specific. He may not like my scent.”
“As simple as that?”
“Most animals can smell much better than humans,” she assured him.
“But you have a delightful scent,” he claimed without thinking. Her cheeks reddened and she stared up at him. “I beg your pardon.”
“I…I think that was a complement?”
Darcy hesitated, but finally gave a sharp nod.
“Well, thank you kindly,” she said, beaming. “Nevertheless, Basile may dislike mine.”
Grasping at the return to the subject of the cat’s behavior, he said, “My cousin claims that Basile attempts to scratch his boots any chance he gets.”
Miss Elizabeth laughed, shaking her head. “Basile may not like the smell of his blacking.”
“That may be. Basile is not the first cat who has tried to strike out at Douglas’ boots.”
“Perhaps he should change his blacking and see if it has an effect.”
Darcy guided her to pause tight to the hedgerow as a dray trundled close beside them on the road, carrying barrels. He waited until she could hear him speak, before saying, “I think Corporal Laman might have something to say about that. He prides himself on the gloss of his officer’s boots.”
“I imagine he does.” Miss Elizabeth joined him as they continued their walk along the lane, skirting the fallen chestnut shells where the fruit had burst open and no one had picked the nuts off the ground.
“Do you like chestnuts?” he asked.
“I do. Our cook boils them in syrup and makes a lovely sweetmeat out of them.” She paused and sighed. “We have reached the Grant farm and Jeffry has not returned to the basket. I suppose I shall have to ask him about missing guinea pigs another time.”
They continued on their way. Darcy matched his steps easily to her vigorous ones. “Will you be attending the comet-viewing party this evening at Lord and Lady Wulfrun’s?”
Miss Elizabeth played with the knot on her bonnet, saying, “My father, Jane, Mary, and I are going. My mother and my two youngest sisters are dining at my aunt’s in Meryton. They have no interest in astronomy. My uncle will see that they are returned home safely.”
“Is your father a close friend of Lord Wulfrun?”
“Yes. They correspond regularly. I am looking forward to our evening out together. Will you and Mr. Bingley be attending? And Miss Bingley, of course.”
“Yes. Georgiana is remaining at Netherfield with my cousin. She does not enjoy being out amongst company she does not know. Douglas will keep her entertained.”
“She is so poised. I am surprised she finds herself uncomfortable,” Miss Elizabeth said, sounding sympathetic. “She hides it well.”
I am looking forward to seeing how she is amongst members of her own class. I suspect she will be as poised as she claims Georgiana to be.
How nice it is to walk beside her like this. She is so comfortable to be with, but at the same time, she makes my heart pound and my pulse race. When she meets my gaze with her fine eyes I can scarcely look away. Dear Lord, how will I bear it when it is time to return home?
*
Basile prowled Netherfield, feeling distinctly annoyed. His human continued to spend a disgusting amount of time with the man who wore horrible smelling boots.
Zat Darcy fellow keeps leavin’ the ‘ouse to visit with ze odd animal-lovin’ woman. I can smell ‘er on ‘im. Bah! ‘Ow can I ‘elp my Caroline if zat Darcy fellow is never ‘ere?
He found his Caroline standing in the entrance hall, pulling on her gloves. She wore her pelisse and bonnet so he knew she meant to go out. Basile rushed over to her and rubbed against the bottom of her outer garment.
“Le meow,” he whined. “Le meow.”
“What is it, Basile, honey?” she asked, crouching and petting him—long strokes that included his tail. “I will be back soon.”
“I think he wants to come with us,” the smelly-boot man said as he crossed the entrance hall.
“Whoever heard of a carriage cat?” his Caroline asked, continuing to show him affection. “I would be afraid he might jump out, and I would lose him.”
“There is a viscount who lives mostly in London that takes his cat with him everywhere,” the colonel said. “He does not cage him when they are in an open carriage, either.”
“He must have trained him from a kitten,” his Caroline said, rising.
“We are in no rush. How about we give him a trial? We are in a phaeton today, so let us tool the carriage around the drive and see if Basile behaves like a gentleman and stays put.”
His Caroline looked down at him dubiously. Slowly, she said, “I do not know.”
“Fresh air might do him some good,” the colonel pointed out. “As large as Netherfield is, surely he must get bored with such a limited number of familiar scents.”
I am likin’ zis man more and more.
“I might consider it if I had a harness and a lead for him,” his Caroline said, shaking her head. “But I could not bear it if he ran off, or fell out, or got run over by the carriage wheels, or stomped on by the horses. No.”
Gulp. Zat sounds ‘orrid.
“While we are out, we can find a leather smith and see if he can make up a harness for Basile. He may even have something ready-made for a small dog that could fit.”
The colonel crouched and Basile looked at him warily.
“Hold still, now, Basile. I am going to measure your ribcage.”
Basile obediently permitted him to put his hands around his chest. He was not certain he wished to wear a harness, but he might be willing to endure the device if it meant he could drive out with his human.
“I think I have the measure of him,” the colonel said, pausing to pet him before he stood. “Shall we go to the haberdashery and leather smith?”
“Le meow,” Basile intoned, sitting back on his haunches, clearly—he thought—willing to wait for hours for his human to return safely.
“Good bye, my darling,” his Caroline said, smiling at him. “We will not be long.”
Basile watched them leave until the door shut them from his view. Sitting seemed to be too much work so he flopped down onto his side and watched the door while his tail thumped the floor in an agitated flourish.
“What are you? A dog wagging his tail?”
Basile looked about and spied the stupid guinea pig sitting under a chair against the wall. Basile pretended not to care about this intrusion into his home, looking away in a nonchalant way while watching him from the corner of his eye.
“You ‘ere? Why?”
“I thought I would check in and see how you are managing the love match between Miss Bingley and Colonel Fitzwilliam.”
Basile rose to all fours and glared at the guinea pig. “You take zat back. Zere will be no love match between my Caroline and ze colonel.”
The cursed rodent twitched his nose and scratched his cheek. “I will not take it back. I think you are wrong.”
“‘E ‘as odorous boots. Besides zat disgustin’ situation, my Caroline will not marry a man who ‘as no money,” Basile stated, adding a sniff of disdain.
The guinea pig turned around on the spot before saying, “Matters of the heart are complicated.”
Basile hissed.
“Are you agreeing with me or being obnoxious?” the rodent asked in an offensively pleasant voice. “Rudeness never pays.”
“You ‘ave stupid sayings,” Basile declared. He sneakily approached the chair at a crouch as though he meant to pounce on the intruder. Just as he arrived at the right spot to make his move, the guinea pig chirped and disappeared. Basile halted. “Mon Dieu, I wish I could do zat!”
*
“What are you up to tonight, Wickham?” asked Lieutenant Denny.
They stood in the shared private parlor the regiment had arranged for their use. It contained a dining table with a selection of chairs ranged around it, sitting on a faded blue carpet. Several upholstered chairs occupied either side of an unlit fireplace, small tables beside each.
Wickham smiled secretively and lifted an eyebrow. When he said nothing in response, his young friend chuckled.
“I know you. You have a lady-friend stashed here abouts,” he accused, pointing a finger at him.