Good afternoon.  Late start today but that is only because I wasn’t going to write anything at all.  But then Naomi sent me a dozen roses with the blooms cut off and I am fairly certain that is her way of telling me I had better get my derriere in gear.  Naomi is not known for her subtly (or as having particularly attractive ears but don’t tell her I said that.)

I am so very tired today after attending a ball to Mansfield Park last night. I guess Sir Thomas finally found his was home from Antigua and Lady Bertram was so happy he didn’t come home with anything more contagious than a cold; she threw a party for her niece.  I try not to question the Bertram’s logic; I just wanted an excuse to wear my new silk faille bonnet (and it looked smashing – Mr. Rochester said so.)

Fanny, the young lady we were honoring, was pouty which is a shame because her brother had come round for a visit.  She kept constant counsel with that clergyman-in-training Edmund.  Good lord that man could put an electrical storm to sleep.

The Dashwood sisters were there and they are always so much fun. I do believe they all 3 ended up with their hearts broken during the English Regency dance alone – those girls are an absolute case study in maladjustment.  Whenever I am feeling blue, I like to pay a call to Barton Cottage to remind myself that I am none of them and then I feel much better.

The Darcys were there as well.  Mr. Darcy looked devilishly handsome if not a little dour but then, wouldn’t you if you had to spend all your time with Lizzy Bennet nattering on about oh who knows what?  She is the only one who finds her all that interesting.  She practically broke her arm trying to keep it locked into the crux of Mr. Darcy’s elbow.

Miss Woodhouse was there, of course.  Fortunately, Lizzy clinging to Mr. Darcy like a frost to a window didn’t set right with Emma either and we had a positively delicious time commenting on Miss Bennet and all her Lizzy-ness.  At one point Emma extracted some sewing shears from her purse and offered to cut the dreadful thread that had Lizzy permanently attached to Mr. Darcy.  I giggled so hard my corset strings tore.  So drunk in cattiness were we, I dare say Emma’s kiss to my cheek at the end of the evening might have actually emanated a temperature.

Let’s not place our place cards next to each other for the next dinner just yet but this is an Emma Woodhouse I can not despise.


 , ,