Page 23 of Disarmed

“N o, Aunty Lydia,” her nephew William scolded. “That one goes here.”

Lydia smiled fondly at her three-and-a-half-year-old nephew as he took the wooden soldier she had mischievously placed facing away from his comrades and lined him up with the others.

She ruffled the boy’s dark curls and pulled another soldier from the box.

He accepted it and carefully positioned it with the same intensity as his father when dealing with estate matters, though thankfully not the same frown.

He would make an excellent master of Pemberley one day, she mused.

A delighted shriek from the doorway announced the arrival of her younger nephew, two-year-old George.

His face lighting up on seeing the soldiers, he ran towards them on his chubby legs.

Seeing his brother’s wide-eyed horror at the impeding destruction, Lydia jumped to her feet and scooped him up before he could reach the ordered battalion.

“You little rascal!” she cried, spinning him in the air and grinning at his delighted whoops.

“I am so sorry!” panted Georgiana, entering the room at a trot. “I would never have believed such a tiny person could move so fast!” She dropped down heavily onto the carpet next to William, making admiring noises over his carefully positioned troops.

Lydia sat down next to her, George in her lap, and handed him two soldiers from the box, which he proceeded to bash together with joyful squeals.

“I think I have finally mastered that Mozart piece,” she told her friend. “Once I accepted that it did not need to be played at the tempo of a reel, I finally slowed it down and found it was much easier to hit the right notes.”

Georgiana smiled. “Then perhaps you will play it tonight for Captain Ellington,” she said, nudging Lydia in the ribs. Lydia elbowed her in return.

“Ah, all my favourite children playing together,” Darcy called out as he entered the room, his right arm in its usual position, draped around his wife.

Lydia huffed at him. “How generous of you to include me as one of your favourites, Darcy,” she replied. “Though I should point out that at twenty, I am hardly a child any longer.”

“Evidence suggests otherwise,” he countered, gesturing at George, who was now using his wooden soldiers as drumsticks on Lydia’s knees. “You appear to be enabling the destruction of William’s carefully constructed army.”

“I am preventing the destruction,” Lydia protested. “George was about to launch a full-scale assault before I intervened.”

Elizabeth laughed. “A diplomatic solution, then. How very mature of you, Lydia.”

“See? Lizzy appreciates my newfound wisdom,” Lydia said, lifting her chin with mock hauteur. “Unlike certain gentlemen who persist in treating me like a wayward schoolgirl.”

“One who has never actually been to school…” Darcy murmured, but his eyes were warm with affection.

Georgiana giggled. “You two sound exactly like William and George when they are arguing over toys.”

“The difference being,” Lydia said, tickling George until he squealed with laughter, “that William and George actually resolve their disputes without resorting to cutting remarks about each other’s character.”

“Where would be the fun in that?” Elizabeth asked as she looked between her husband and sister. “I quite enjoy watching you two spar. It keeps Fitzwilliam’s wit sharp.”

“My wit requires no sharpening,” Darcy replied, feigning offence.

“No,” Lydia said cheerfully, “but your humility could be improved.”

William looked up from his soldiers with the serious expression he wore when trying to understand adult conversation. “Papa, what’s humility?”

“It is a virtue your aunt Lydia believes I lack,” Darcy said, crouching down beside his eldest son.

“What’s a virtue?” William persisted.

“Something that makes a person good,” Elizabeth replied in a gentle tone.

William considered this gravely. “Are you not good, Papa?”

Lydia bit back a laugh at Darcy’s expression. “Your papa is very good,” she assured her nephew. “He simply likes everyone to know just how good he is.”

“That is quite enough from you,” Darcy said, but the corners of his lips were twitching.

Lydia looked about at her beloved family.

How much her life had changed since coming to live at Pemberley!

Georgiana, once the shy and awkward girl who had barely dared speak above a whisper, had become her dearest friend and confidante.

Their friendship had been the making of both of them—Georgiana had gained in confidence from Lydia’s spirited example, while with Georgiana’s patient encouragement, Lydia was now passably proficient on the pianoforte, could converse reasonably well in French, had grasped the essentials of managing a large household, and had discovered, to everyone’s surprise including her own, that she possessed a remarkable aptitude for mathematics.

Combined with her already excellent needlework skills, she could now truthfully describe herself as somewhat accomplished.

But perhaps more importantly, she had found in Darcy the brother she had always secretly wished for.

He challenged her when she needed challenging, supported her when she faltered, and had become both protector and friend.

They still argued frequently, of course, but he always listened to her opinions, even when he disagreed with them, and she knew he would never let anyone hurt her.

Lydia had long ago accepted that Mr Bennet would never be the father she had longed for throughout her childhood.

He cared for her—she did not doubt that—but he cared even more for his own comfort, and now that all but one of his daughters had left Longbourn and his wife’s worries for the future had been assuaged, he found even less reason to stir himself from his book-room.

Mary, of course, was the last of her sisters remaining at home.

Jane and Bingley had quit Netherfield two years ago, purchasing an estate in an adjoining county to Derbyshire, much to the delight of Elizabeth and Lydia.

They and their two daughters were frequent guests at Pemberley, as had Kitty been until her recent marriage to a successful tradesman whom she had met whilst staying with the Gardiners in London.

Mary appeared happy enough at Longbourn, however.

Three daughters well married, it seemed, was enough to satisfy their mother’s desires, and since she had always expected poor Mary to remain a spinster, she did not push suitors upon her or force her to dance and converse and attend parties.

Mary was left to her favourite pursuits of reading and playing the pianoforte, and if that quiet life displeased her, she had never said as much to her sisters.

“Now, my little darlings,” Elizabeth said, interrupting Lydia’s musings. “It is time you went upstairs, for we must prepare for our guests this evening.” She winked at Lydia as she scooped George from her lap.

“I shall help William return his soldiers to barracks then bring him up to you,” Lydia offered.

“Thank you,” said Elizabeth as she bent down to give Lydia a kiss on the cheek, George squealing as he hung from her neck like a baby monkey. She tickled his bare toes.

As William obediently began to tidy his toys, Darcy took his younger son from his wife’s arms, planting a kiss on her lips as he did so. He then wrapped his free arm around her shoulders and pulled her in close as they left the room.

Lydia looked back at Georgiana, who raised her brows.

Darcy and Elizabeth certainly made no attempt to hide their affection when at home, and sometimes even in public, and while Lydia often felt embarrassment to observe their antics, she also admitted to herself that she would accept no less in a marriage herself.

And maybe, just maybe, the young and handsome captain expected for dinner that evening might be the man to offer it to her.

The End.