Page 21 of Expectations (Obstinate, Headstrong Girl #7)

CHAPTER TWENTY

A SURPRISING HARMONY

T he first time someone addressed her as ‘Mrs Darcy’, Elizabeth nearly looked around to see who it might be.

I am married , she thought with some amazement. And even more amazing was the name of her bridegroom.

She surreptitiously watched him mingling with her mother’s guests. Tall, handsome, sober faced, he listened politely to the conversation of Mr Goulding and Sir William Lucas.

What was he thinking? Was he wearied of the talk of those he had once despised so openly?

Most of all, what were his feelings about Sir William’s daughter?

Would he ask after her and her eldest child?

She cut off those thoughts, those unanswered questions, immediately, knowing that way lay a direct path to desperate unhappiness.

It was years ago , she reminded herself quellingly. Charlotte is perfectly content with her life, with her husband, with all her children, in Oxford .

Mr Darcy had agreed easily enough to attend the breakfast, and complimented her mother quite courteously—much to Mrs Bennet’s obvious satisfaction—upon the excellence of the table she had provided.

At least Mama feels she can hold up her head again with her neighbours. Perhaps she shall leave off the life of an invalid that she has adopted since the deaths of her daughter and son-in-law and the loss of Netherfield.

But that notion led to yet another—what would Jane have thought about it all?

For just a moment, Elizabeth allowed herself to imagine what it might have been like, to have Jane here with her now; wistfully, she recalled how joyous they had been together upon the occasion of Jane’s wedding day.

Unfortunately, the old grief rose in a sudden flood instead.

Oh, Jane , she thought with abrupt despair.

How I miss you, sister dear, the woman you used to be, before Bingley hurt you so deeply.

You never had a chance to find your way back from your pain.

Tears wanted to come, and thus she sought and found one of Longbourn’s smaller empty parlours in an effort to take a few moments for privacy in which to compose herself.

The room was not one which was ever on display to company; the furniture was old and faded, but comfortable—and thus it was a chamber she and Jane had often used to sit and sew and talk and talk, to dream and giggle. She hugged one of the old pillows to her bosom.

“Do you remember, Jane? We once swore to each other, in this very chamber, we would marry only for the truest love. I am glad you found it, dearest, even if it was not an easy sort of love.” It had not been, but at least her sister had tried, with all her heart and to her last breath.

“I want you to know that I am marrying for love, in a way. I love your children, and always will. I shall do my best, for their happiness and my own.”

To her surprise, a sudden feeling of peace—completely foreign to the grief of seconds before—enveloped her. It only stayed for a few serene moments, but even after the feelings departed, she knew she had not imagined it; it felt like benediction.

Unexpectedly, the door opened; the solemn figure of Mr Darcy appeared on the threshold. “Are you well?”

She managed a smile. “Why yes, of course.”

“I was watching you. You appeared so sad, of a sudden, and then left so quickly. I…I was worried. Did someone offend you?”

This confession was almost more surprising than anything else that had happened that day. That he should observe her so closely and care so much for her feelings was completely unexpected.

“Oh…I had a moment of-of remembering Jane, of wishing she was here. It was silly.”

He came the rest of the way into the room and sat beside her, placing his ungloved hand upon her bare one. “It has not been long since your loss, and your love for her is anything except silly.”

His kindness further surprised her; his hand was warm upon hers, and she felt…something. A peculiar fluttering, a feeling not unwelcome. “I thank you.”

For a few minutes, they just sat together; the silence was not awkward.

Before it could become so, he asked, “Have you heard that Cassandra has decided that you are now ‘Mama’ and I am to be ‘Papa’?”

Elizabeth raised her brows. “No, I had not heard that.” His dark eyes were fixed upon her, as if he was searching for her feelings upon the matter, as if something else should be said. Was he affronted by the notion?

“Thomas does not seem to feel the same,” he added.

She had to smile, but there was a sorrow in it. “Cassandra would have adored her papa, had he allowed it. Sadly, Bingley mostly ignored her. She has been searching for a father, I think, for some time, although I did not really realise it.”

“And Thomas has not been?”

“Thomas has been trying, as hard as he can, to fit his recollections of his father into something a bit more…heroic than was reality. Possibly all those people who told him that his father was an angel in heaven confused him, for Bingley was certainly no angel.”

“No, he was not,” Mr Darcy said in an agreement that was rather more vehement than was necessary. It was a bit disingenuous, considering he, too, once lacked ‘angelic’ qualities—but hopefully another sign that he had given up his former ways.

“Perhaps it was part of Cassandra’s anger, leading to her running away. It must have seemed doubly unfair, that Tommy be given the father she had always wanted, when he did not even care, at the same time depriving her of the brother she adores.”

He looked away, his hand falling away from hers, and too late, she realised that her words implied blame. Impulsively she took it up again, and his gaze shot back to her.

“I did not mean to sound accusatory. I do acknowledge the facts as you had to see them—that I was attempting to raise the children by myself, without proper resources to do so successfully.”

He stared at their joined hands, and it seemed as though in his eyes, a certain warmth prevailed. “It is in my nature to act, rather than deliberate,” he said, as if he were picking his words carefully.

“Might I hope, in future, if there are decisions to be made regarding the children, to have some involvement in them?”

He nodded slowly. “I engaged a nurse,” he said. “She is installed in my home in town, or will be, by the time of our arrival.”

The resentment, newly faded, swelled again. His home, his decree. She dropped his hand. “You could not at least ask me to participate in such an important decision?”

His expression returned to its former impassivity.

“I beg your pardon. You mentioned, once, your respect for a Mrs Tilson who formerly held the position, and there were those in Meryton who knew and provided for me the details of her current situation. I had one of my men of business ascertain her interest in returning to Thomas and Cassandra, and, as it turned out, she was more than willing to do so. I thought it best to formalise the agreement before leaving London, so that she could make ready the nursery.”

Oh. Ohh . Not only had he noted what she said about their former nurse, but he had gone to the effort and trouble of seeking her out.

Elizabeth blushed at the quick temper she had just displayed.

“I must beg your pardon, then. I pray you will forgive my outburst. I appreciate you taking so much trouble to find Mrs Tilson; the children will be thrilled. I worried they would miss Bess—she was unwilling to move with us, away from her family, you see—and I feared the disruption to them would be great. I am a bit anxious about taking them from the country, I suppose. They have had so much upheaval in so short a period. I thank you for the compassion which induced so generous an act.”

She was babbling and she knew it, and abruptly shut off the flow of words. He smiled at her knowingly and she was caught, feeling uncertain, embarrassed and a little silly. This would not do. She was six-and-twenty years old, not an infant—and was determined to act it. Her chin lifted.

“I suppose…I am a bit anxious myself about leaving. My life has been very small for many years. I do not know what to expect, but I can assure you that I will not grow peevish over every small disagreement we might have. I shall be reasonable.”

He took both her hands in his. “I am glad the children will be happy with Tilson, but it was the wish of giving you pleasure which induced me to take what little trouble it was to employ her. I understand that you will want to be involved in every aspect of the children’s care.

If I do act in any way you deem unwise, I am glad you will speak boldly of it.

My character is a decisive one, I think, and tends towards a reliance upon my own opinions.

Had I wished to marry a spineless damsel who agreed with my every view, I could have found her in the annual crop of debutantes. ”

With a sense of wonder at his words, she found a smile to return his. “By this, I suppose it means that you, too, will be unafraid to speak boldly if you disagree with me .”

“It is possible,” he admitted. Then, in an action surprising to her, he brought her hands to his lips, placing a kiss upon each one, featherlight, an old-fashioned, courtly gesture.

“You are my wife,” he said. “Your feelings are important to me. You desired a moment of privacy, and I have intruded long enough upon it.” He let her hands go, stood, bowed, and left her alone.