Page 14 of Such Persuasions as These (Pride and Prejudice Variation)

She looked into the eyes of the sweet little man and knew Mr Darcy to be correct. Italics was completely at ease, and that was because this was unquestionably his domain. Miss Bingley was simply a guest in his house, and no guest would relegate him to the cold, damp stables.

“I have to wonder how many hours Mrs Nicholls has spent in these very chairs tending to his needs over the years Netherfield has been vacant.” She could envision the older woman pulling back the holland covers and inviting the boy onto her lap, enjoying his purrs in the silence of the empty manse.

“Mrs Nicholls is a highly competent woman. She runs Netherfield much as my housekeeper, Mrs Reynolds, does at Pemberley. One cannot overvalue an intelligent and responsible servant. If she chose to rest here and attend this monster after having seen to her other duties, such repose was probably well deserved.”

“That is a surprising way to look at it, Mr Darcy. You must think highly of your Mrs Reynolds.”

“I have known her since I was a lad of four. She has grown old in the service of my family, having been housekeeper to my great uncle Darcy before she came to us. She has practically had the running of Pemberley since my mother’s death, and she shall continue in our service until she takes her last breath, I am sure.

And I shall allow it if it makes her happy.

That will not be for many years, however, as she is still lively and quite competent.

” Pemberley ran like a Genevese clockworks, mostly owing to Mrs Reynolds’s tireless efforts, and no slowing down on her part would affect its efficient operation.

“That kind of thoughtfulness is rare among your set, I should think,” she said, and he detected some softness in her eyes. He could get lost in those eyes if he was not careful.

“My valet will not believe me very thoughtful for yet again bringing him trousers full of cat hair,” he said after a sharp intake of breath, breaking their gaze.

“But in all seriousness, it is true. We are born to privilege and must maintain a certain manner of living to stem the tides of gossip in polite society. If one’s living requires that he keep servants to furnish such a life, should he not respect them as being part and parcel to his position, to whatever greatness he achieves?

” He noted a sparkle of wonder in her eye.

“I do not believe I have ever heard it explained quite like that. And, while I believe you are correct, I still contend your view is not a common one.”

“It ought to be,” he finished, settling himself back into his chair.

This was the easy conversation he had been longing for, and before he knew it, he was expressing his true thoughts to her again, as he had been doing more and more with each encounter.

He told her of his sister’s antics as a babe, and Elizabeth laughed as she related those of her sisters, along with stories of her own mischief.

He spoke of his father, how honourable he had been, and what a great hole his death had left in the lives of himself and Georgiana.

She listened with true empathy, gently drawing him out with sincere interest.

When he told her of his annual sojourn into Kent at Easter to visit and assist his widowed aunt, her eyes lit up .

“My favourite thing about Eastertide is when the sallow branches burst with velvety catkins. I remember being a little girl and rubbing the silky nubs against my cheek, revelling in their softness.” She closed her eyes as she spoke and reenacted the childlike contentment of such a simple pleasure, her hand moving over her face as if it were full of the blossoming twigs.

He was hypnotised by the beatific expression on her countenance and almost forgot to speak until the silence stretched, and she opened her eyes.

“We have always called them goat willows,” he finally said, if rather throatily. “My mother would smack my hand if I so much as tried to cross the threshold with one before Palm Sunday.”

“Well, naturally,” she replied merrily. “It is bad luck to bring goat willows into the house before Palm Sunday. Though I confess I have been known to hang the budding limbs to dry and keep them in a vase until new ones emerged the next spring.” Her eyes brightened with make-believe mischief as she betrayed her secret, and he could not but be caught up in her mirth.

Their intercourse was so effortless, three quarters of an hour had flown by before either of them knew it. Elizabeth stood abruptly at the realisation, apologised for her hasty leave-taking, and fled the room with quick steps.

When she had gone, Italics was once again upon Darcy’s lap, nuzzling his face and purring. Darcy sighed.

“Oh, to be a cat,” he began moments after her departure. “Kisses and sweet nothings from the loveliest of creatures—oh, to be a cat…” His forehead was butted against that of Italics as he spoke, his eyes closed.

He did not hear the footsteps creeping out the library door .

Elizabeth found herself staring at the marvel of a man across from her in amazement.

How she had ever thought him heartless and cold, she could not now fathom.

Sitting before her was a doting brother, a loving son, an orphaned boy left to fill the shoes of a man he had seen as a paragon of gentlemanly perfection.

As he spoke, she sensed his pride—in his home, in his family, even in his servants—but none of the conceit she had attributed to him upon their introduction.

He had smiled as she had told him of the chaos at Longbourn when all five girls were small.

He had laughed when she had imitated her mother’s frantic howls over whatever small inconvenience might have vexed her.

He had furrowed his brows when she had explained what she knew of Longbourn’s entail, as though he fully understood how it troubled her.

When she had become carried away with her love of goat willows, he had listened with the ghost of a smile, his head cocked and eyes crinkled in what she might call fascination.

It was as if he had been inside her mind, witnessing her four-year-old self experiencing the deliciousness of willow puffs against her skin for the first time.

She felt that Mr Darcy could truly see her.

One thing she did not wish him to see was how taken she was with him.

She paused, and a long silence fell between them. The interrupting chime of the clock caused her to start, and Elizabeth was overcome with the need to remove herself from their tête-à-tête.

With Jane as her excuse, she refused his offer of sending for tea and stood, leaving the cat to return to its previous station upon Mr Darcy’s lap .

Halfway down the hall, however, Elizabeth realised she had left her book behind in her haste and turned back to retrieve it. When she came to the open door, she heard Mr Darcy’s voice.

She leant her head in to see the great man murmuring to none other than Italics. What was it he was saying?

“Kisses and sweet nothings from the loveliest of creatures—oh, to be a cat,” he said as he stroked the animal and met its forehead with his own.

Elizabeth backed out of the room silently and practically fell against the corridor wall.

He cannot mean me, surely , she tried to convince herself. Could he really think of her so warmly? Can he have truly been jealous of the attention she had shown Italics? Could Mr Darcy honestly wish for her to bestow kisses and sweet nothings…upon him ?

Elizabeth could hardly catch her breath as she stumbled back to Jane’s sickroom with one thought playing over and over in her mind.

Why did I ever mention Freddie?