Page 14 of Expectations (Obstinate, Headstrong Girl #7)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

LESSONS IN HONOUR

F rom the short distance separating their horses, Darcy could hear the sounds of the little boy happily chattering away to Frost. He, at least, did not seem troubled in the least at being found.

Frost had been correct; the two children had waited exactly where he had left them.

The little girl sitting before him sat in stiff, frozen silence.

Her outrage was astonishing, considering she had caused at least twenty men the loss of three full days of work, never mind the anxiety she had instigated in her entire family.

“How surprising, that you did not make haste for an alternate hiding place as soon as Mr Frost was out of sight,” he goaded, unable to resist.

The temptation to speak evidently overruled her determination to remain mute. “It’s not fair!”

“Was it fair of you to terrify your aunt these last three days by disappearing?”

She slumped a little in the saddle. “I left Auntie a note! I told her not to worry.”

“Simply telling someone who loves you not to worry does not negate the worry. I expect your aunt has not slept for more than a few minutes since you departed. If she had vanished, leaving only a short note for you, without speaking to you, and you did not know where she was, or whether you would ever see her again, would you worry?”

The little girl reared up again. “But you were taking Tommy away from me , and I didn’t know if I would ever see him again, not for years and years! I was too worried to sleep! And Tommy was, too.”

Darcy was not sure how to reply to this turning of the problem onto its head.

He remembered Elizabeth forlornly calling into the night, telling Cassandra she could go with her brother.

Guilt speared him at the memory of her distress, even though he knew he was doing the right thing in taking the boy.

“Sometimes, our problems seem very difficult,” he said, a little lamely. “Usually, however, everything works to our best good. Eventually.”

“How can losing my only brother be good?” The little girl’s voice cracked, and she shuddered with the tears she was, clearly, trying valiantly to suppress. “Nothing will ever be right in the whole world.”

In memory, he was suddenly recalled to a time long ago, at the bedside of his dying mother. She had reached up to stroke his cheek, touching the tears he had been unable to prevent.

All will be well , she had whispered. All will be well. He had not been able to see, then, how anything could ever be well again.

He was struck by the urge to comfort the child, and reached into his saddlebag, withdrawing an item he had retrieved from the Netherfield attic and handing it to her. “Is this yours?”

She held it up to examine it. “Pauline!” she cried. “You saved Pauline! Mama will be so happy!”

Mama? It was not precisely the response he had expected, but as she clutched the doll to her, he decided that she was glad to have it. “I shall try to see that everything does work out, but you must be patient.”

The girl twisted in the saddle, trying to see his face within the shadowy moonlight—as if she would know whether he was telling her the truth, or whether it was just another of those placating lies adults told children.

Finally, she faced herself forwards again.

She was quiet for long minutes—steadying herself, he believed, perhaps building again her defences.

But when she spoke, she said nothing he expected.

“That man, he made Tommy promise to wait, to stay and not run and hide, on his gentleman’s honour. He said he remembered our papa, and if Papa had promised to wait, he would believe him. He asked if he could believe Tommy, too.”

“Ah.” That had been rather devious of Frost, but clever—if the boy had any idea, at his young age, of honour. It seemed he did.

“He didn’t ask me if I would promise to wait. Tommy said it’s because girls don’t have honour, only boys. But I do!”

With a start, he realised that Frost had insulted, most deeply, Miss Cassandra Bingley, and likely some of her outrage at the beginning of this journey was due to this affront to her pride.

“Of course you do,” he soothed. “You did not leave Thomas to face all consequences alone, did you, even though you had not promised to stay?”

“No,” she agreed, but she sounded uncertain.

“Honour is far more than keeping our promises, although of course, that is important too. It is also doing the right thing, because it is the right thing to do, the best thing to do, based on all the information we have. You stayed with Thomas because leaving, when he could not, would have been wrong. You felt it, instinctively, and you obeyed that honourable instinct.”

“Honourable instinct,” she repeated carefully, nodding.

He could still see the silhouettes of Frost and young Thomas, ahead of them on the road.

The boy was quiet now, probably asleep in the saddle.

What was the distance—three, four miles?

They had perhaps a couple to go, still, but were taking it slowly.

Their mounts were tired, and taking care with them in the dark, even on such a good road as this one, was vital.

“Yes.” He hesitated, wondering why he was tempted to explain himself to a near infant, and then continued, even so. “Your papa, before he died, asked me to look after Thomas’s future. He wished for Thomas to have the same upbringing, as a gentleman, that he had.”

“Did he wish me to have the same upbringing as a gentleman?”

“Well, I am certain he already knew that no one could teach you more about becoming a sensible, delightful young lady than your aunt Bennet, who was already looking after you.”

She turned to him again. “We call her Auntie Lizzy, because we used to have so many Auntie Bennets, before they all went away to marry. But usually we just call her ‘Auntie’.”

He nodded. “Auntie then. He knew that you would always be in good hands with her.”

“But she can’t teach Tommy?”

“Not as well as I can. She has never been a gentleman, you see. Just as I have never been a young lady. My honourable instinct tells me that I ought to honour your papa’s final wishes.”

She appeared to consider this. “Grandpapa Bennet is a gentleman. He could teach Tommy to be one.”

The girl was not wrong, and he wondered, now, why they did not live at Longbourn.

Mr Bennet had searched as diligently as anyone for his grandchildren; contrary to Darcy’s initial assumptions, there did not seem to be any ill will between Elizabeth and her father, not in the slightest. Still, not only was Elizabeth plainly impoverished, but as the little girl had pointed out, Mr Bennet ought to be helping raise and influence the lad.

Darcy was puzzling about how to explain what he did not understand himself, when she gave a loud sigh.

“But he won’t. Grandpapa Bennet hates leaving his book-room.

He thinks Tommy and I ought to go and live with Aunt Plumpton or Aunt Hurst, because they have lots of money and we don’t.

Aunt Plumpton has a son named Walter and he is nasty, nasty and wild, even though he is only four.

And Aunt Plumpton hates Tommy, because he looks so much like Papa, Auntie Lydia says, and she is really angry at Papa—Aunt Plumpton is angry, I mean, not Auntie Lydia.

But she didn’t say why. How can she be angry at Tommy because he has Papa’s freckles and the same colour eyes?

How could he help it? It does not make much sense to be mad at a dead person, does it?

Papa cannot apologise, so she just has to stay angry for always. ”

“That is…very true,” he replied, recalling that Miss Bingley had married a wealthy older gentleman, a Mr Plumpton, from Canterbury. Obviously, this child was not a person to have nearby during confidential conversations—she had absorbed much adult gossip.

“Aunt Hurst doesn’t hate Tommy or me, she just ignores us.

I heard Auntie Lizzy tell Auntie Lydia that if we went to her, we would never see anybody except servants.

And then Auntie Lydia said Aunt Hurst would never agree to take us in the first place, but would make Aunt Plumpton do it, and Aunt Plumpton would take us because it would give her more people to bully.

But maybe Auntie Lydia was joking, because she laughed when she said it? Auntie Lydia is a very jolly person.”

“Um…yes. Let us hope she was joking.”

He did not wish to encourage further disclosures, and so he stayed silent. She was quiet for so long, he thought she might be falling asleep; although she did not rest back against him, her little form was gradually drooping.

Suddenly, however, she sat bolt upright and twisted around to look up at him.

“Mr Darcy! Are you married?”

He frowned at her. “No.”

She laughed, bouncing up and down and actually clapping, startling his mount into a jolt that nearly tipped her off the horse.

“Steady, steady,” he murmured, soothing the beast while clasping the child more firmly. “I fail to see what marriage has to do with anything,” he said to his passenger. “And no more clapping.”

Cassandra grinned, smiling at him for the first time, her eyes shining in the moonlight. “Auntie Lizzy has no husband! You have no wife! You could marry each other, and we could all be a family! Everything will work out, just like you said!”