Page 22 of Expectations (Obstinate, Headstrong Girl #7)

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

THE JOURNEY BEGINS

T ravelling with children was not an experience Darcy had ever before encountered.

Yes, his closest friend and cousin, a former army colonel who was now Viscount Ridley, had married and produced a son; Darcy had attended the infant’s christening, but of course, the child was still very small, and Lady Ridley preferred home and hearth to larking about the countryside.

He had other friends who had children; he did not recall them ever remarking upon the sheer volume of patience required by adults confined in carriages with these diminutive bundles of restless energy.

He had to assume their insistence upon their children travelling in a separate vehicle with longsuffering attendants, else they would have mentioned the Herculean efforts required.

“How much longer, Auntie…I mean, Mama,” Cassandra asked for at least the dozenth time.

“We are approximately ten minutes nearer than the last time you enquired,” Elizabeth answered evenly.

That was another thing. By the third or fourth repeat of a question, he might have grown annoyed.

Elizabeth did not; rather, she played games with them, distracting their impatience—little memory games, such as finding objects in the scenery surrounding them, alphabetically; or of instruction, pointing out different buildings and churches as they passed by and asking them to rehearse the list of what they had noted, then again in reverse order.

He had Frost stop often so the children could move about for a bit, despite it seeming the slowest, most long-drawn-out journey he had ever made—he kept excellent teams, and could have made the trip without a change, had he been travelling on his own.

Part of him was drawn to it, though—the intimacy of it, the sense of belonging to this family.

He saw others looking at the children at their stops, and felt a sense of pride at how healthy and well-dressed they were; for the first time he wondered at where their clothing had come from—it was plainly new and of good quality.

He did not like that it had never crossed his mind, when planning the move, to provide them with new clothing.

“Auntie…I mean, Mama, do you see the doggy? There he is, trotting beside the horses, just as if they are talking to each other! Do you think they are? Do horses speak dog-language?”

“I like to think they do, yes—nice dogs and nice horses must share a common civility.”

Almost before Elizabeth could finish her reply, Cassandra was asking more questions. “Did you see the squirrel, Papa? Do you think his house is in that tree? Is there a Mrs Squirrel, and children, too? Is he out gathering food for his missus and her babies, so they can stay warm while he hunts?”

“Squirrels don’t marry,” Thomas pointed out.

“How do you know?” Cassandra countered. “It is not as though they would invite people to their squirrel weddings.”

“Because they have no churches,” he said logically.

Cassandra appeared ready to argue, but Elizabeth interrupted. “Mother squirrels raise their babies, or litters, by themselves. Their squirrel babies grow up very quickly, not slowly, like we do.”

How does she know this?

Just as Thomas was, obviously, preparing to say something smug, Elizabeth added, “But they live just as God designed them to live. We build churches to reflect the majesty of heaven, but squirrels live, always, in a kind of heaven, outside, in a natural beauty we cannot match, no matter how hard man tries. They do not require churches.”

“Why do the papa squirrels not live with the mummy squirrels?” Cassandra asked.

Darcy raised a brow at his new wife, curious as to how she would account for this.

She smiled benignly at him. “As I am not and never shall be a papa, I cannot explain papa squirrel decisions. Perhaps Mr Darcy would care to offer an opinion?”

The merriment in her eyes was entrancing. Cassandra looked at him expectantly.

“I admit to a limited society of squirrels of my personal acquaintance, with whom I might take up the subject. Did you know that squirrels will always land upon their feet, no matter how far the heights from which they fall?”

“There are falling squirrels at Pemberley?” It was the first time Thomas had addressed a question to him directly; he pronounced ‘Pemberley’ carefully, as if it was a foreign word upon his tongue, but with deep interest.

Darcy decided not to mention that his one experience with a falling squirrel was a shooting incident. “On occasion, yes. There is a great wood surrounding the house on three sides, with any number of trees and woodland creatures to inhabit them. Most try to avoid plummeting, however.”

This led to multiple questions regarding his Derbyshire estate, which he did his best to answer, noticing that Elizabeth seemed to listen carefully.

How many questions did she have, unasked, about this new life she faced so bravely?

She sat by his side, posture straight, gazing out the window at the passing scenery whenever she was not interacting with the children or himself.

He wondered whether it would be too loverlike to take her hand; he did not wish to do anything she would find objectionable.

Finally, the children quieted; he saw Thomas begin to droop first. It was Cassandra, however, who crawled onto his lap.

Elizabeth opened her mouth as if to protest, but he covered her hand with his and squeezed, communicating acquiescence and glad for the excuse to leave it there.

The little girl made herself comfortable, and as he shifted to accommodate her, Thomas sprawled out on the now roomier seat, closing his eyes.

Within moments, both children were softly snoring, appearing peaceful and appealing in sleep.

“Just like that?” he whispered. “They transform from miniature typhoons to angelic innocence between one moment and the next?”

She dimpled up at him. “Amazing, is it not? You need not whisper, for once they go down, they are both deep sleepers. Here, let me take Cassandra. She will wrinkle your coat, and probably drool. She did not easily fall to sleep last night, and was awake with the dawn.”

He smiled back. “My man must grow accustomed to such inconveniences as fatherhood presents to my wardrobe. I do not think he will mind, judging from the volume of complaints he has delivered upon my bachelorhood over the years.”

She briefly appeared troubled by this statement, although he could not ask why.

Was she concerned that he might be too set in his ways to adapt to fatherhood?

Well, perhaps he was, but he could change, as long as he remained conscious of his shortcomings.

Besides, he was not the typical landowner, allowing his steward and farm manager to make most every decision; he knew his lands because he rode them, knew his people because he worked with them, and his clothing occasionally suffered for it.

He tried to think of a way to reassure her.

“He and I together have coped with many an irregular situation. A couple of children will not upset the apple cart.”

She did not appear reassured.

Hopefully, she will quickly see how it will be, and be comforted.

Darcy attempted to make quiet conversation, but she was unusually reticent.

He knew, however, that she had worked hard these past few weeks—packing, sewing, arranging a hundred details for their wedding and move.

Judging by how lovely she had looked in her wedding-day gown, she had gone to a great deal of trouble not to appear a second-rate bride—he wondered if she had slept much at all.

Her carriage dress was likewise elegant, an expensive wool in a shade of green that set off her dark eyes.

He had not slept much either, but it was mostly anticipation on his part; he had relished arranging for the announcement of their wedding in the papers, of writing the news to his sister, of having the mistress’s chambers refreshed, of sending Elizabeth a few of his best people to aid her packing, and then hearing every detail of their good reports and respect for their new mistress.

He had known intuitively, had he not, that she would be an excellent chatelaine?

She was as proficient in managing household affairs as she was in raising two children.

Bingley’s children. The resentment tried to rise again, but was it no proof against the sweet innocence of the small boy softly snoring inches away upon his carriage seat, and little Cassandra’s trusting form in his arms. A few minutes later he noted Elizabeth nodding, plainly struggling to keep her eyes open.

He shifted the girl to his other side, and drew Elizabeth against him. She stiffened a little as he did so. “Just rest,” he murmured. “Be still and rest.”

After a moment, she eased in his hold; he could see that she was trying to stay awake, her eyes open, but time and the motion of the carriage and her own fatigue combined to overcome her efforts. After several minutes, she slept.

This , thought Darcy, with unmeasured contentment. Only this. My wife in my arms . My family.