Page 11 of Expectations (Obstinate, Headstrong Girl #7)

CHAPTER TEN

A MOTHER’S HEART

E lizabeth knew that Mr Darcy had taken a room at The George, the finest inn Meryton possessed.

However, she was reasonably certain he had not yet seen the inside of it.

The clock was striking midnight as he spoke with two men on her portico—Mr Morris and Mr Harrington, she believed.

Lydia, Andrew, and her father, along with all of the other searchers, had gone home at least an hour ago, promising to return at sunrise.

She did not blame the searchers for their need to sleep—or tried not to—as stories from the London papers of criminals, thieves and brutes wandering the countryside repeated themselves endlessly in her mind.

As soon as Mr Darcy and the last of his followers departed, she meant to take a lantern and go out again herself.

It did amaze her that Mr Darcy was still here.

He had shown not a single care for the child he had created with Charlotte—at least, not until he had been brought to account for it, and then only financially; yet, he had been relentless in his efforts to locate two children quite unknown to him.

Yes, one of them was now his ward—nevertheless, his dedication to this search was beyond remarkable.

After returning her to the cottage, he had gone to the Appleton farm, apparently searched all the outbuildings with Mr Appleton, then went directly from there to Sir William Lucas , of all people, gaining his help in enlisting the entire neighbourhood.

There was something about him those other men trusted, and followed, and looked to for leadership.

He had sought her assistance in drawing up rough maps of the area—which he had managed with only his memories and her descriptions to aid him—and divided up the men into teams to search each section, before proceeding, as near as she could tell, to not only scour the countryside, but to keep track of all those searching it.

Of course, he was the reason the children had run away in the first place. She tried to feel resentment for that; however, she knew her own temper had exacerbated the situation. What had he truly done besides demand Tommy have a life she could not give him?

Even her father—no admirer of Mr Darcy’s, even without knowing of Charlotte—had admitted his usefulness.

A tapping on the doorframe of the parlour roused her from the stupor she had fallen into; she looked up to see Mr Darcy filling it. He was not quite so polished as he had appeared this morning—hatless now, his hair tousled, a day’s growth of beard shadowing his jaw.

“No sightings yet?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

“Nothing. I am sure you understand that searching for those who are determined not to be found is not quite the same thing as searching for someone who is lost.”

“They are only children,” she whispered. So young, so young .

“Quite clever children, I believe.”

She had to nod in reply to this. He was not incorrect. They were both clever, and Cassandra was devious besides.

“We will begin searching farther afield tomorrow. I will return before first light with new assignments; I require only a few hours of sleep. They will be found.”

“I thank you,” she said solemnly, meaning it. Whatever his past, in the present he was a rock of strength and encouragement. “I shall see you in the morning.”

He gazed at her for a long moment. “You will seek your bed now?”

“Yes,” she lied. It was pointless to try for slumber.

Mr Darcy nodded, and bowing, took his leave. With a sigh, she went to fetch a lantern.

Darcy only had to wait a very few minutes before Elizabeth emerged, wearing a dark coat a little too large for her.

She headed directly for the woods behind the cottage—an area he and at least six others had searched quite diligently during the day.

The moon provided light enough for him to follow her, and even though he might stumble occasionally over a root in dark shadows, he did not have to be particularly quiet as he followed her—she noticed nothing.

She strode directly to a certain tree, and to his amazement, nimbly climbed it while still holding her lantern.

That was when he noticed a few boards had been affixed to some well-placed branches; this must be some usual play-place for them.

Of course, he or the other searchers would have seen the children, had they been perched there.

Evidently she knew it, but she set the lantern down on one of the boards and put her hands to her mouth. “Cassandra! Tommy!” she called. “Please, please come home to Auntie. This is not wise. Please, children, listen to me! Let us go home to your dinners, where you will be warm and safe.”

The sound of her voice carried, flowing over him, her mother’s heart within it.

After a time, she climbed down again, heading in a different direction.

She always seemed to have specific destinations in mind—special hidey-holes, bushy ‘forts’, a ring of birches.

This was their forest playground, he realised.

She had little in the way of money, but she had given them a world of fascination and discovery and dream-castles, regardless.

It broke his heart, hearing her call and call until her voice was hoarse and cracked.

Finally she slumped down at the base of a thick oak, dropping her head on her knees, the picture of defeat and despair. Never, in all his dreams of her—and there had been many—had he wished so deeply to hold her, to lend her his own strength and confidence.

With a sigh, he approached, crouching beside her—she started only a little at the sight of him, before lowering her head once more to her knees.

“Come, now, Miss Bennet,” he said, in as gentle a voice as he could muster. “You are exhausted, and must rest. Keep your strength for tomorrow.”

“It is already tomorrow,” she said, her voice muffled.

“A couple of hours repose, only.”

“How did you find me?” She tilted her head up, glanced at him briefly and then away.

“I could not let you search alone in the night.”

“In other words, you will not sleep unless I do.” Her damaged voice emerged in a whisper.

“A couple of hours only,” he repeated, standing and holding out his hand.

She took it, allowing him to take the lantern and steady her on her feet, and tried not to thrill when she allowed him to keep her arm tucked in his.

Bearing the lantern aloft, he guided her to her doorstep, supporting her just a little. Once there, she looked up at him.

“Will we find them?” she asked, quiet desperation in her words, her eyes luminous in the lamplight.

“We will not stop looking until we do,” he replied, with as much firm reassurance as he could muster.

She nodded, and tried to smile. “I thank you, Mr Darcy. I am grateful.” She turned away from him, entering her home and latching the door behind her.

He placed his palm upon that door, as if he could communicate his intentions, his determination to do everything in his power to help her, to find her children, to see her happy again, with that disjoined touch.

It was some minutes before he walked away to find his own brief rest.