Page 49 of Mr. Darcy Comes to Town

“I am clever,” Basile retorted.

“Tripping Lizzy will not make Darcy love your Caroline,” Jeffry stated.

“My Caroline is graceful. Zat Bennet girl is clumsy—like an oaf,” Basile scoffed.

Jeffry’s teeth chattered with his anger. “Anyone will trip if provoked.”

Basile sniffed and blinked swiftly.

“Darcy now sees Lizzy as a female he must protect,” Jeffry pointed out. “His male instinct is aroused toward her, and his animosity is directed at your Caroline.”

“What? But why?” Basile demanded, rising to all fours. “Caroline did nozzing to your Lizzy.”

“Caroline has a pet she did not bother to keep out of the way of her guests,” Jeffry explained sharply.

Basile licked his nose once before saying, “That’s foolish zinkin’. Caroline cannot control me. I am a cat.”

“She might have shut you in her bedchamber,” Jeffry argued.

“Mon Dieu, you speak of my Caroline’s mistakes, while your Lizzy brought a rodent to a party!” Basile spat.

“No one saw me,” Jeffry responded, his whiskers twitching. “I am warning you, cat. Do not try anything like that again.”

Basile crouched and hissed. “Your warnin’s ‘ave zero meanin’ to me. Zero.”

Jeffry rubbed his front paws together, twitched his nose, and instantly every hair on Basile’s body stood up, making him look like a gray ball of fur.

“Le yeoooww,” he howled, jumping back a few feet. The cat raced away, disappearing around a corner.

Jeffry watched him go, satisfaction swelling his pride. However, in the next instant he felt hands around his body, sweeping him up into the air and next to Lizzy’s scented chest.

“What are you doing out here?” Lizzy asked. “Were you tormenting the cat? Somehow, I do not think Basile could do the same to you.”

Jeffry purred, and she chuckled. A maid approached, a folded cloth on a tray.

“Back in my reticule you go before Mama catches me with you,” she said in a firm voice. “And this cloth is for my head.”

In a trice, he snuggled back into her reticule. Once the drawstrings closed, Jeffry winked out, taking himself to the orangery and his enclosure. He checked around, discovered nothing untoward, and disappeared before Jack could make any withering remarks.

Aunty’s cottage comforted him even though he smelled camphor mixed with rosehip tea. He had arrived on the stool in front of the fireplace—his usual spot to warm himself. Hopping down, he scurried into the bedroom to check on Aunty.

The round lump in the bed rolled toward him. First one eye and then the other opened, staring blearily at him.

“Oh, it’s you, is it?” Aunty sniffed.

“Me, yes. You’re not better.”

“As you see,” she said, sighing and shifting under the bedclothes. “How’s everythin’ at Longbourn?”

“This Lizzy loves animals,” Jeffry reported. “Georgiana is visiting Netherfield this time around.”

“Ah. I thought she might,” Aunty said, and then paused to cough. She reached out and took a mug off the side table. She gulped back some of the rosehip tea Jeffry smelled. After replacing the mug, she fixed him with a gimlet glare. “That cat is givin’ you trouble.”

“He is. Basile fancies himself a matchmaker.” Jeffry chortled. “He has no experience and is making a poor job of it.”

“Are you usin’ yer authority?”

Jeffry wheeked and turned around in a circle. “I have. Lizzy has a menagerie of very silly animals. The birds talk too much, the fox fancies himself a rough customer, and the rabbit buck…don’t get me started on him.”