Well it seems the dung’s really hit the fan. That’ll teach me to stand too near the carriage wheels after heavy rain and the weekly cattle market, with my very best evening fan extended. I only hope I can get the stains out, not to mention the stench. The feathers are drooping almost as much as me, Kitty and Ma after the night’s adventures. Liz and Jane look a bit pale but as they don’t really give it their all, they don’t suffer the after effects like what I do hem hem. It’s all about commitment, IMO. Kitty looks like a drowned owl, I don’t know what she’d do without me to give her life some direction.
I had managed to stuff a ratafia glass in my reticule at the ball, and applied it to the wall to earwig on Lizzy and Jane in their bedroom, discussing the ball as they brushed their hair a gazillion times and put on their maidenly nightclothes. You should’ve heard them.
Jane was like, about Bingley, ‘He is just what a young man ought to be, sensible, good-humoured, lively, such happy manners, such ease, such perfect good-breeding!’
I kid you not, this is how she talks even when the oldies aren’t listening. Not a mention of his clothes, or his bod, not a mention of whether she fancies him, and not even a ‘fnarr, fnarr’ from either of them at the mention of ‘good breeding’ which would have had me and Kitty rolling off the bed. Ease? Wassat?
Liz is like, ‘He is also handsome, which a young man ought to be if he possibly can, his character is thereby complete.’
That’s more like it I whispered to Kitty, at least Liz understands the importance of Looks, despite talking like an old man who swallowed a dictionary. There’s a few years between the eldest sisters and me n’Kits, but to hear us, you’d think we were different generations.
So anyway my plan to get Lizzy and Arsers together is still cooking away in my busy brain, I’m, like, a genius, swear down. Hard to think though, what with the Lucas mob turning up for the usual after-ball discussion, honestly, talking balls, before and after, is about all there is to do here but despair. The Lucas’ are a sad bunch and I did my best to ignore them after no-one, but NO-ONE, showed any interest in the way I got my ribbons to exactly match my dancing shoes. Charlotte Lucas is Lizzy’s bezzie mate, poor cow, she could be quite nice looking but she is screaming for a makeover. She’s twenty seven if she’s a day! And brown is so not her colour. You should have heard Liz and Jane and Ma going on about Bingley, oh my life, to hear them talk, Blings and Jane are practically engaged. I’m like, to myself you understand, yeah, right, the Bling Sistas are gonna be all over Jane like a rash, not. I may as well face up to it, since my poor deluded family clearly won’t, we are seriously POOR. The horror!