I have only a moment to dash off this note today.  Mr. Darcy is coming by tomorrow and there is much to do in preparation.  Why does Thornfield always look as though the running of the bulls took place in it when Mr. Darcy comes round?  And I still have the matter of what I am wearing to sort out.

The furniture has been dusted and covered until tomorrow.  One of Mr. Rochester’s silly cats got under the cover of the love seat and fell promptly asleep; because there aren’t hundreds of other places it could have taken its nap.  Grace led Mr. Rochester to the seat for his tea and wasn’t looking where she was going, which was the whole point of having her lead a BLIND MAN around.  That silly nit sat Mr. Rochester directly on the cranky cat and the noise it made was unearthly.  Mr. Rochester was flailing about with his non-existent hand, knocking over the entire tea set – and they said I was silly for covering the house in muslin.  Why does this sort of thing always happen when Mr. Darcy comes calling?

Elizabeth will be with Mr. Darcy, of course.  Heaven forbid she walk six feet without latching on to his arm like a hitch to a wagon; the way that girl follows him around, you would think she had nothing better to do.  I thought she read all those books to expand her mind, that’s what she is always on about.  Why don’t you expand it out in my sculpture garden so that I might I carry on a decent conversation with your husband without you chiming in with your two cents every five minutes?  But no, she will come in and talk to Grace about how she should be expanding her role in the household.  Grace will think she is talking about gaining weight and nod politely before racing off to cry in the dry good pantry.  Honestly, what does Mr. Darcy see in that Bennett girl?

Fortunately I am clever enough to always find a moment with the charming Mr. Darcy where he and I can have a proper chat.  Eventually Elizabeth goes to the library to see what new books I’ve had brought in (which means she is comparing our libraries to make sure hers is bigger.  Well of course it is, you could run a coach in four from one end to the other in Mr. Darcy’s library.  And don’t think she doesn’t take every opportunity to remind me of such.)  I take that opportunity to tell Mr. Rochester I have dropped my bracelet under the table during lunch and he stumbles off to find it.  Mr. Darcy, being the fine gentleman he is suggests he assist, since he is sighted, but I tell him that Mr. Rochester likes to feel useful and that is wasn’t a very good bracelet anyway.  As Mr. Rochester bumps into various tables and chair legs looking for a bracelet that isn’t there, I have a proper catch-up with Mr. Darcy.  Oh, that man is so… worldly.  Sometimes it can be quite a sprint, though; it seems he always has somewhere else to be when I get him alone.  I find myself positively out of breath trying to keep up with his long gait.  Why is there always so much going on at Thornfield when Mr. Darcy is visiting?

I really must be off.  I smell cinnamon, which means Grace has mixed up the recipes again and the last thing I need is for Elizabeth to be under the influence of cinnamon while she is here.  Take a scone on the way out.  I’ve just pulled them from the oven.

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