Page 36 of Expectations (Obstinate, Headstrong Girl #7)

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

MAN TO MAN

I t was hardly surprising that Elizabeth fell asleep in her husband’s arms, after the emotions and exertions of the day.

It was a surprise to waken abruptly to the sight of large dark eyes staring into hers from about three inches above her face.

“Cassandra,” she demanded sleepily, “how many times must I ask you not to do that?” She started to reach for the little girl—until the moment she suddenly realised that a heavy masculine arm was draped over her.

And that she and Darcy were caught in a quite mortifying position.

“But Mama, you said you would come and see my drawings after tea, and I had important things to talk about, and you did not come, and no one would tell me where you were, and why are you napping with Papa in the middle of the afternoon?” came her plaintive response.

Does the whole of this entire establishment know where its master and mistress are? Probably.

Instead of sharing her embarrassment, she felt Darcy’s chuckle. “Yes, Mama, why are you napping with Papa in broad daylight?” he asked, nuzzling her neck.

She jabbed him with her elbow. “We were, um, talking. And we, um, fell asleep. Now go back to the nursery and I will join you shortly.”

“Where is your clothes?” Cassandra asked suspiciously, scrutinising the pair with narrowed eyes. “Boys and girls are not s’posed to see each other undressed. It’s a rule . One of the big ones.”

“Cassandra, that rule does not apply to mamas and papas. But a very big rule is that you must not enter into Mama and Papa’s bedchambers without knocking, not ever. Can you remember that?”

“But why?”

Elizabeth, deeply disconcerted, opened her mouth to reprimand the girl, but Darcy did not hesitate.

“Because this is where mamas and papas discuss birthday and Christmas presents and all the other good surprises. And if you were to always be interrupting, or even if we feared you might possibly overhear, we would never start or finish our talks and never decide to do anything and no one would get any nice surprises ever again.”

“Oh,” she said, seemingly accepting this farfetched reasoning.

“Now go on back to the nursery, and allow us to finish discussing ,” Darcy said firmly.

Cassandra turned to go. “I don’t know why you must discuss presents without any clothes on,” she muttered.

“Go!” Elizabeth ordered.

When the little girl had departed, Elizabeth pulled a pillow over her face.

“Argh! Cassandra will be asking her questions to Tilson next. I could simply die of embarrassment!” But she felt his soft laughter, and shoved it aside to turn a frown upon him.

“It is not amusing! Birthday presents? Really?”

He stopped laughing but his grin showed his amusement, as he scooted closer. “I have another present for you. Really.”

“Argh!” she repeated, pulling away and sitting up, swinging her legs over the side of the bed, meaning to stalk away…

only to see that it would be necessary to march several feet, quite exposed, to reach any part of her clothing.

She clutched the sheet to her bosom. “I do not suppose you would be a gentleman, and fetch me a dressing gown.”

He drew closer, and she felt the warmth from his big form all along her back.

She tried for her sternest look, the one she used successfully on the children when they had been naughty, as she turned her head to glare at him.

He slowly shook his head in response, sobering his expression—although his eyes remained mirthful.

“There is really no chance whatsoever.”

“Sir, have you no honour?”

He only smiled, a pirate’s smile now, and reached for her. It was probably a sign of weakness in her character that she so easily surrendered any struggle.

It was some time before she was in any condition to resume her duties to the children and house; and when she did, there was no disguising the bedazzlement in her eyes—the eyes of a woman very much in love with her husband.

An ever-silent, always loyal household breathed a collective sigh of relief.

Darcy glanced at the mantel clock as he entered his study; it was shortly after ten o’clock in the evening, and he decided it would take him at least an hour to answer the bare minimum of his correspondence neglected today.

Not that he cared in the slightest that his time had been otherwise spent.

In fact, it was all he could do not to whistle as he seated himself and pulled his desk chair forwards.

He decided he would pen the letter to Pemberley’s steward answering his questions regarding the disposition of some contracts, the most urgent of the business, and let him know that a longer letter would be forthcoming regarding the rest of it.

Soon—when he was not anticipating rejoining his wife after the unbearable separation of the hours preceding dinner and spent with solicitors instead of her, and after by a goodly amount of time spent with the children, hearing their lessons, playing a game, reading to them, and kissing them goodnight, followed by a lengthy meal demonstrating the envious talents of his cook, wherein she was seated several feet away and they were waited upon by multiple observant servants.

Would he ever become used to the pure ecstasy of having Elizabeth as an essential part of his life?

He hoped he never took for granted the glorious fulfilment of all his dreams—those he had never dared to think of except in dreams. Even now he wondered if she was readying herself for bed, and whether she would object if he slept beside her, even if it was too soon for them to join again physically.

He did not think she would, and a smile curved his lips as he thought of the joy of?—

Darcy nearly jumped out of his chair when a tousle-headed little boy sat up from one of the big leather chairs facing his desk, rubbing his eyes sleepily.

“Thomas…what are you doing out of bed?” It was possible that the start the boy had just given him caused his tone to be more severe than was his wont.

“I thought you might never come, sir,” he said, yawning. “I wondered if I must sleep here, and if the fire would go out, and it would be cold.”

“Or,” Darcy replied, “you might go to your own bed, did I not come, and see me in the morning.”

“But that’s just it!” Thomas said, his voice plaintive. “How is one to speak man to man, if sisters or aunties or nurses are standing about, listening?”

Darcy’s brows rose. “Man to man?” he repeated slowly.

Thomas slumped a little. “Well, I’m not one, not yet. But the last time Papa came home, right before he left, he asked me if I would be the man of the house in his absence, and I agreed—not knowing he would never come back again.”

Unsure how to respond to this, Darcy only nodded.

“I could not think of anything manly I could do to help when Auntie Lizzy was so sad, and then it turned out Papa forgot to tell anyone where he kept his money so we couldn’t get it after he died and we had to leave Netherfield.

Cassandra and I searched for it, though.

We think he buried it. We even hoped it was tucked away in the attics at Netherfield and we would find it and be rich again and then I would not have to go away and be your ward.

But we looked in everything, and it was not there. So he must’ve buried it.”

Darcy recalled seeing all those holes surrounding the dower cottage, and wondering whether there was an infestation of voles. Yet another misjudgement, as it turned out.

“I see,” he said. “But your papa did not mean for you to have to assume all responsibility for your family at your young age. It is why he asked me to see to your upbringing, if anything were to happen to him—he knew you were too young for the charge.”

“But he did not ask you to raise Cassandra,” Thomas protested. “Auntie says it was because he knew she would do it properly, but it hurt Cassie’s feelings. That’s why she wants you to be her papa now.”

It was a surprising insight in one so young, but the boy was a thinker, and clever to boot.

“I am honoured to be permitted to raise Cassandra, but I do not believe your father meant to exclude her. He never truly believed anything would happen to him, nor to your mother, and he did not think it all out.”

Thomas appeared to consider this. “Like not remembering to leave a map of where he buried his money.”

Darcy had no intention of enlightening the child without speaking with Elizabeth first. “Perhaps he had only just begun to think of these plans for the future. I know that to you he was your papa, and old, but to me he was very young, and he must have believed he had a lot of time in which to implement them.”

Thomas nodded, but still seemed troubled.

His words poured out in one long rush of fervent feeling.

“Joan called Cassandra ‘Miss Bingley’ and Cassie told her she was ‘Miss Darcy’ and Joan said not, not unless you adopt her, and Cassie said of course you would and Joan said, ‘Perhaps’ in such a way as made Cassie mad, and then Mrs Tilson hushed Joan and told Cassie that she ought to bring the matter up with her parents and not nursery maids, and she, that is, Cassie, not Joan, went to find Auntie when we were supposed to be practising our alphabets to ask her but when she returned she said adults are very peculiar and then she only wanted to play Battles with my soldiers guarding her dollhouse against the French and I really don’t want to change my name, so I didn’t ask her what Auntie said about it but it seemed to me that a man would just ask you directly and not wait for his sister to do it.

I had to wait for her to fall asleep, though, which took forever.

It is very difficult, I have found, for one to have private conversations, as a man. ”

“You do not want to be adopted, then?” Darcy asked. He was not accustomed to thinking of these small persons as people in their own right, with thoughts and feelings the same as anyone might have—however juvenilely expressed. “I suppose I would not like to surrender my name, either, not to anyone.”

“That is just it, sir!” Thomas said. “I am glad that we are not poor now, and Auntie is not worried any longer and smiles and reads to us and plays games with us so much more often, just like she used to, and she is going to take us to the British Museum tomorrow and I can hardly wait to see it. But I would like to stay as Thomas Bingley, if you do not mind.”

“Of course I do not mind, Thomas. You can be my ward without any need for changing your name.”

The boy appeared greatly relieved. “Cassie wants to forget, and I guess I don’t blame her,” he said in a confidential tone.

“But I feel a man must remember his father. Mrs Tilson showed us all your pictures in the gallery, and there is one of you with your parents from a long time ago. I wish we had a picture painted with Mama and Papa just as you do.” He took a deep breath, and his voice lowered to one of guilty admission.

“I can’t remember just exactly what Papa looks like.

Auntie Lydia looks so much like Mama, everyone says so, so I can look at Auntie Lydia and remember her, but I try to recollect Papa and it’s all hazy. ”

In this, at least, he could comfort him. “You are the very image of your father, Thomas. You can look in the mirror now, and know what he looked like at the age of six.”

“Going on seven!”

“Going on seven,” Darcy agreed. “And every year, as you grow taller and older, you will know how he appeared when he was taller and older.”

The boy seemed to consider this. “So I am just like him?”

“In appearance, yes.” Darcy hesitated a moment. “But everyone has their own gifts and talents. I believe you might be better at planning than your father was. For instance, if you buried some treasure, I believe you would draw a map immediately.”

“I would! I would draw it before I even buried it! And I would tell Cassie where the map was.”

“Would you like it if we had a portrait done of you and Cassandra, perhaps with your aunt Elizabeth? It could hang in the gallery with the others. In the portrait, we could have pictures of your mama and papa hanging painted in the background. Between you, your aunts, and my memory, I believe we could have a faithful rendition drawn of them.”

“Oh, I should like that above all things!” The child smiled fully, relieved, joyful even. “I think Cassie would like it too. And she can be Miss Darcy, even if I remain a Bingley?”

“Absolutely. But it is very late, and you must get your rest if you are to enjoy the museum tomorrow. Come, let us return you to your chambers.” With only the mildest of regrets, he gave up the idea of accomplishing any correspondence this night.

Elizabeth would want to know all the particulars of this conversation, as soon as was possible.

He stood, and when the boy placed his hand trustingly in Darcy’s, he felt a rush of love that surprised him in its intensity.

Foolish, foolish Bingley , he thought. “Perhaps we ought to have tea or an outing together, you and I, at least once per week,” Darcy suggested, “so you do not miss your bedtimes if you find you have more you wish to say that cannot be said to aunts, nurses, or sisters.”

“Man to man?” Thomas asked eagerly, his eyes shining.

“Man to man,” Darcy agreed. “And Cassandra can have her own tea or outing as well, and so you may tell her if she is concerned about it.”

“I shall!” They paused beside the quiet corridor leading to the nursery wing. “And sir, I hope you will be in the new portrait as well. The whole family should be,” he added.

“If you think I ought to be, so I shall,” Darcy said, touched, as they continued onward, hand in hand. He moved his hand to Thomas’s shoulder when they reached the nursery door. “Thank you for making the effort to speak to me tonight, Thomas. You are young, true—but it is what a man would do.”

“Thank you, sir,” Thomas replied, and it seemed to Darcy he stood just a bit straighter as he said it.

After he shut the door behind the boy, Darcy stood a bit straighter as well.