Page 160 of Mr. Darcy Comes to Town

Basile watched his mistress and Colonel Fitzwiliam from the top of one of the chairs surrounding the round table, blinking slowly, unconcerned.

Zat imbécile witch threatened me with bodily ‘arm if I tried to keep my mistress and ze soldier man from each other’s arms. But I am no fool. I am French! My mistress loves zis man—zis I ‘ave known for days. I like London. My Caroline likes London. We will live in London, I zink.

Basile stood, stretched, walked across the table, jumped to the floor, and intertwined himself between Caroline and the colonel.

“Ho! Not my boots!” the man said, twirling Caroline around so she stood between himself and Basile.

“Le meow. Le meow,” Basile said softly.

“Oh, mon petit chat,” Caroline purred, bending over and picking him up, nestling him beneath her chin.

“He is not so petit,” Douglas pointed out.

“He is un grand chat,” his mistress praised. “You will like living in London, will you not, Basile?”

Basile purred loudly.

Douglas leaned forward and kissed Caroline’s cheek. “I must go and have Laman doctor me before I change into clean garb. I need to speak to Bingley about us, love. Is he at home?”

“He is. I think he is with Darcy in the library.”

Yes, yes, go. I want to snuggle with my Caroline and you are in my way. Douglas stroked him on his head. Very well, I like you well enough.

“You have made me the happiest of men, Caroline, my love,” the man said, caressing her cheek with the back of his knuckles. “Thank you.”

“Thank you for saying such a kind thing,” she murmured back, smiling softly. “I am also happier than I can ever remember being.”

She received another kiss for that. The colonel left her, and Caroline sunk down into one of the chairs. “Basile, I am to be married at last. And to the colonel.” She rested her hand on Basile’s back. “You will come to love him as much as you love me, I promise you.”

Basile purred, but privately thought, I doubt zat. But I do not hate him. Zat will have to do.

*

The library door opened. Darcy and Bingley looked up from their brandies. Douglas entered and closed the door behind him.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” he said, coming into the light.

Darcy observed the state of his cousin’s face and abruptly stood. “What the devil?”

“By Jove,” Bingley said, rising and peering this way and that. “Been in a mill?”

Douglas shook his head and said one word. “Wickham.”

Darcy understood immediately. “I gather he struck you first. Did you…?”

“No, no,” his cousin said, waving his hand in a negative gesture. “That would have defeated my efforts.”

Bingley looked back and forth at them. “You meant for him to strike you?”

“A nice right hook,” Douglas admitted. He gingerly touched his bruised face. “I did not realize Wickham boxed.”

“I would have told you if you had warned me of your plan,” Darcy informed him. “Brandy?”

“Yes, thank you,” Douglas said, choosing a chair. He sat, saying, “I had no plan to let him hit me, but when he came up to the George Inn in a tearing mood, I saw my opportunity and took it.”

“You were in uniform. Was Wickham?” Darcy asked, pouring out some brandy.

“He was. His friends were there, and kept him from following through.”