Page 59 of The Briar Bargain (The Rom Com Collection #3)
"Decided that he should assist by providing ammunition in the form of Cook's freshly baked biscuits." Miss Hartwell shook her head, though her expression remained fond. "I believe Cook is still recovering from the shock of finding her kitchen invaded by children demanding supplies for a siege."
Harrison chuckled. "And what of Miss Anne?"
"Appointed herself field surgeon." Miss Hartwell's smile grew wider. "She informed me quite seriously that someone must be prepared, as her brothers are 'very brave but not very careful.'"
It was how Harrison might have described Mrs. Darcy, once upon a time.
The Bingleys and Hursts had all returned to town for the season, and Harrison expected their children would gather here frequently while their parents attended the endless round of social engagements that marked fashionable society.
He could only hope the Darcy children would not exert undue influence over their young friends and cousins, though he was certain that wish would be in vain.
As a soldier, Harrison understood the tactical advantage of fighting on one's own ground, and he suspected that the next generation of Darcys would prove every bit as formidable as their parents.
There would be one member of the original Netherfield party who would not be in London.
Miss Bingley had willingly returned to Yorkshire after her final manoeuvre failed so disastrously, and, so far as Harrison knew, had never left it.
She had thus never attained the status in London she had so desired, but Harrison thought her wise to stay away.
Mr. Darcy would never forgive how she had endangered Mrs. Darcy.
Still, Mr. Bingley’s youngest sister had found a sort of happiness in marrying a gentleman of sufficient wealth, somewhat less than her brother possessed but respectable nonetheless, and certainly more than adequate for a comfortable life in the north.
Susan, the maid she had tormented, had received an apology from Mr. Bingley before Mr. Linton and all of the servants, been asked to remain in service with the Bingleys, and, when she agreed, had been given an increase in wages.
When the Bingleys had relocated to an estate near Pemberley, the maid’s family had accompanied them.
Harrison walked Miss Hartwell to the stairs, noting how she glanced at each of the various doorways and alcoves where small Darcys might be concealing themselves for the purpose of ambush.
"Do you ever regret accepting the position?" Harrison asked quietly. "I confess, there are days when I wonder if a return to military service might prove less challenging."
Miss Hartwell considered this seriously. "There are certainly moments when I am uncertain," she admitted. "Before we left Pemberley, I discovered Masters Bennet and Charles had recruited the gardener's apprentice to assist in digging what appeared to be a moat around the rose garden."
"Good Lord."
"Indeed. And Miss Anne, sweet as she is, took it upon herself to 'improve' her father's study by reorganising all the books according to which ones had pictures.
" Miss Hartwell paused at the top of the stairs and smiled.
"But then she appeared at my door that evening with a drawing she had made, a picture of all of us having tea in the garden, with everyone smiling.
She told me it was because 'Miss Hartwell makes everything better. '"
Harrison felt his expression soften. "They do have a way of disarming one's defences."
"They are their mother’s children," Miss Hartwell agreed.
"And truly, Harrison, I cannot imagine serving a family more deserving of loyalty.
Have you seen how Master Charles protects Miss Anne when she is frightened during thunderstorms?
Or how Master Richard always ensures Master Bennet gets the largest piece of cake?
They may be terrors, but they are terrors who love fervently. "
"Much like their parents," Harrison observed drily .
Miss Hartwell blushed slightly. "Yes, well, Mr. and Mrs. Darcy do provide an excellent example of marital . . . harmony.”
Before Harrison could respond, the sound of running feet echoed from below, followed by Master Richard's voice calling, "Miss Hartwell!
Miss Hartwell! Charles says I cannot teach the ducks in the park to march in formation, but I know it can be done if we just find the right sort of music! Where are the drums?"
Miss Hartwell sighed and squared her shoulders. "Duty calls, it would seem. Pray for me, Harrison."
“I shall say a prayer, Miss Hartwell. In fact, shall I accompany you?”
“I will never decline an offer of assistance. Although . . .” She glanced back down the hall. “Mr. Darcy does not require your presence?”
Harrison shook his head. “Not for some time, but I shall eventually have to do up his cravat again.” He sighed. “I suppose it is why he pays me so well.”
Miss Hartwell laughed lightly. “I cannot complain about the wages, although we certainly do earn them.”
Together, Harrison and Miss Hartwell descended the grand staircase.
As they reached the first floor, Harrison caught Miss Hartwell's eye and saw his own quiet contentment reflected there.
For all the daily disasters and endless reorganizing, all the grass stains and marble catapults, there was a peculiar magic to this household that neither of them would trade for the most orderly positions in England.
It was, Harrison mused as Master Richard's voice rose in triumphant announcement of his successful duck-training plan, rather like living in an enchanted castle where the spell was not one of endless sleep, but of endless, exuberant life.
The Darcy family possessed that rarest of gifts, for where others might see impossible children, they had discovered the fierce joy of hearts too large for ordinary containment.
And in loving one another through every storm, they had learned that the deepest tenderness often wears the wildest disguises.
Harrison knew that whatever lay ahead, he was exactly where he belonged, in service to love itself, dressed in its finest clothes and wearing the most perfectly arranged cravat that would need to be tied again before the day was through.
The End
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Excerpt from The Princess Problem
Elizabeth Bennet had always known she was born a princess but, until recently, had always considered it a harmless peculiarity.
Real princesses, she imagined, did not spend their mornings remaking bonnets in the parlour of a modest country estate, listening to their younger sisters shriek with laughter from the garden while their mother fretted over the price of ribbon.
Real princesses certainly did not possess the distinctly unroyal habit of rolling their eyes at inappropriate moments .
"Lizzy, you are not listening," Mary chided, glancing up from the leather-bound volume of A Serious Call to a Devout and Holy Life by William Law. "Shall I begin again?"
Elizabeth had been suffering through the reading for almost an hour, not wishing to say that she thought the book rather dull. She did not wish to hurt Mary’s feelings.
Jane, the eldest, smiled gently from her place beside the window where she was embroidering what appeared to be another endless parade of flowers onto yet another white muslin gown, this one for Mary.
"Perhaps we might choose something less doctrinal for our morning reading?
I believe Papa has a new volume of poetry that arrived yesterday. "
"Poetry!" Mamma cried from her chair. "What good is poetry when there are practical matters to attend to? Lizzy, have you given any thought to your appearance for the assembly next week? The blue silk was well enough on Jane, but it makes you look rather sallow."
Elizabeth exchanged a look with Jane. "Oh dear, I was not aware that my complexion had become a matter of public concern."
"Everything about you is now a matter of public concern," Mamma replied, standing to bustle about the room and unnecessarily adjust all the cushions.
"You are eighteen years old now, and it is time to begin looking for a husband.
With your fortune, I look to you to marry well and then help your sisters do the same. "
"My dear Mrs. Bennet," Papa said as he entered the room, a newspaper folded beneath his arm and a cup of coffee in his hand.
"I believe you underestimate our Lizzy. She has clearly decided that marriage is too conventional a life for a woman of her superior intellect.
Perhaps she plans to become a wealthy spinster and shock the neighbourhood by taking up residence in a cottage with seventeen cats. "
"Papa!" Elizabeth laughed despite herself. "Seventeen seems excessive. I was thinking no more than twelve."
"A moderate approach. I approve."
Mamma, however, did not share in their amusement. "This is precisely the sort of talk that will ensure Elizabeth dies an old maid! No man wants a wife who speaks of spinsterhood as though it is desirable."
"Then perhaps Papa is correct," Elizabeth said, returning to her bonnet, "and I will not find a man who will make me a good husband.” Even as she said it, she knew the best chance for her sisters required that she marry a reasonably wealthy man.
But she was determined he would also be an intelligent and kind one.
And she would not mind were he handsome.
The sound of Lydia's voice shrieking something unintelligible from the garden prevented Mamma from launching into what promised to be a lengthy lecture on the topic of Elizabeth's matrimonial prospects. Instead, she hurried to the window, nearly colliding with Jane in her haste.