Elizabeth freed Waffles from his yarn prison and settled back on the sofa, phone trapped between her ear and shoulder. “They’re mysteries, Mum. And yes, I’m still writing them. It’s my job.”
“Well, I do worry about you filling your head with all that violence and unpleasantness. It can’t be healthy. And it certainly can’t be helping your romantic prospects.”
“My romantic prospects are fine, thank you.”
“When was the last time you went on a proper date, Lizzy? With a nice man who doesn’t spend his evenings thinking about creative ways to dispose of bodies?”
Elizabeth winced. Her mother had a point, though not the one she thought she was making. Elizabeth’s last proper relationship had ended a year ago when she’d discovered that her boyfriend James, who hadseemedperfectly normal, had been systematically lying about everything from his job to his flat to his relationship with his ex-girlfriend. The experience had left her feeling like one of her own murder victims: blindsided, betrayed, and distinctly dead inside.
Until Darcy.
“Mum, I’m twenty-six. I can manage my own romantic life.”
“Truly? Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like you’re managing to avoid having one at all. And I’m not getting any younger, Elizabeth. I’d liketo see at least one of my daughters settled before I’m too old to enjoy my grandchildren.”
“Jane’s with Charles. She’s settled.”
“Jane’s been with Charles for ten months. That’s not settled, that’s barely begun. But yes, they do seem to be moving in a positive direction. Which is why I can now focus on you.”
Yay.
Elizabeth glanced at her knitting basket. Waffles, now free of yarn but traumatised by the experience, had retreated to his bed and was eyeing the knitting basket with deep suspicion.
“I’m not avoiding romance, Mum. I’m just selective.”
“Selective is one thing. Hermetic is another. I’m not saying you’ll find someone straightaway, Lizzy, but these things take time, and you need to make a start. Now, Mrs. Long has a nephew . . .”
The words were out before Elizabeth could stop them. “Actually, I’m seeing someone.”
Silence. Complete, utter silence, as though her mother had been struck temporarily speechless by this unexpected development.
Then: “You’rewhat?”
“I’m seeing someone. Dating someone. Someone male, before you ask, and someone respectable.”
“How long?”
“Three months.”
“Three months? Elizabeth Bennet, you’ve been dating someone forthree monthsand didn’t tell your mother?”
Elizabeth could practically hear the wheels turning in her Mum’s head, calculating missed opportunities for interference, advice-giving, and general maternal involvement.
“It’s still early days, Mum. I didn’t want to make a fuss until I knew if it was going anywhere.”
“Is it? Going anywhere?”
Elizabeth thought about how Darcy looked at her when he thought she wasn’t watching.
“Maybe. I hope so.”
“Well, then. You’ll have to bring him to dinner.”
And there it was. The trap Elizabeth always walked into. She couldn’t seem to help it.
“Mum . . .”
“Don’t ‘Mum’ me.Three months, Elizabeth. Three months, and I haven’t even met him. What’s his name?”
