Chapter 21 #2
As they entered the stables, Darcy could feel Bennet’s heart begin to beat rapidly and hoped fervently the boy would not become afraid or distraught. He need not have worried, however, for as soon as Bennet saw his father’s horses, his eyes lit with pure pleasure and excitement.
Darcy took him from stall to stall, telling him briefly about each horse and occasionally feeding them an apple or carrot.
On the second or third feeding, Bennet reached out his small hand and joined it underneath Darcy’s, wanting to participate.
After they had visited all the horses in the stables, Darcy took Bennet outside where one of the grooms was exercising some horses in the rings.
The horses were galloping, and Bennet inhaled sharply.
Darcy saw his son’s fascination with the animals as they ran and jumped, and he smiled, recognising his own love of horses reflected in his son’s eyes.
It was then that it happened. Watching his son experiencing the beauty of the horses brought to Darcy’s mind a powerful, agonisingly sweet recollection of himself with his father, riding Pemberley’s horses at an age that was not much older than Bennet.
Darcy was flooded with the sudden understanding of the bond of father and son, the bond that he had shared with his own father and now shared with the small boy in his arms. At once, Darcy realised that there was nothing he would not do for this child—happily give up his life if necessary.
Anything to ensure that he had a long life of felicity and contentment.
The love Darcy felt for his son was overpowering and precious, and like nothing he had ever felt before, even for Elizabeth.
His throat closed, filled with a restrained sob, and tears sprung to his eyes as he looked upon Bennet, who was still happily entranced by watching the horses run. Swallowing hard, he inhaled deeply to restore his composure, and then asked the boy, “How would you like to ride a horse today?”
The look of wide-eyed delight that spread over his son’s countenance easily answered the question.
Within a short time, one of the older, more docile horses was saddled, and Darcy was in the seat with his son firmly between his legs and grasping the horse’s mane.
They walked slowly around the ring at a snail’s pace, Bennet laughing in delight and Darcy smiling ridiculously at his son’s happiness.
They spent the next hour slowly walking a series of older horses and ended the afternoon watching as the animals were brushed and fed by the grooms.
Darcy asked Bennet several times whether he would like to go back to the house to find Mama, but each time Bennet responded with, “More horses?” so they remained at the stables.
In time, Bennet began to rest his head on Darcy’s shoulder and grew heavy and warm in his arms. Darcy realised the excitement of the day combined with a missed nap had led to Bennet’s falling asleep.
He walked back to the house at a gentle pace after nudging his son into a more secure position on his shoulder.
He felt the boy’s breath on his neck and slowly rubbed his back with his free arm.
The arm he was using to support Bennet had grown painful, having been contracted in one position for some time, but Darcy would not have surrendered his treasured burden for all the world.
His son was asleep in his arms, safe and secure.
It was altogether the happiest thing Darcy had ever experienced.
Elizabeth was in her bedchamber and heard Darcy go into his rooms. She knocked lightly and entered as he bid her. “I hope Bennet was no trouble. I understand you have had him for some hours.”
Darcy had a strange, pensive air about him and said only, “No, he was no trouble at all.”
“Evidently, Nurse Harriet fell asleep. She was quite mortified to learn he had slipped away.”
“We had a very nice time down at the stables with the horses. He seemed to like them quite a bit.”
Elizabeth laughed although she was still unsure of his manner. “Another thing he must get from you, then, as we know horses are no great love of mine.”
Darcy gave her an odd, vacant sort of smile. “Quite true. Now I must allow Fields to attend me. He is not going to be happy to see that I spent my afternoon at the stables in this coat.”
Elizabeth started to leave but turned back almost immediately. “Is something wrong?”
“Not at all.”
“Because…you are…this conversation is reminiscent of times that I would prefer to not remember.” Drawing up her courage, she added, “Need I remind you that if you had spoken to me of things that upset you before, we would not now be as we are.”
“Very well.” Darcy sat down in a chair by the fire. “Bennet is…he is truly wonderful. I love him more than I ever could have imagined.”
Elizabeth nodded, still wary. “Yes, it is a rare and wonderful thing, is it not?”
“It is.” Darcy nodded. “And I cannot help but think that I might have missed out on it entirely. Indeed, I have already missed things: his birth, his early days, when he walked, his first tooth, his first word. How much more would I have missed had I not met you by chance at Weymouth? What if I had not looked up from the book that afternoon in the bookstore?”
Elizabeth could not reply.
“Would it have been Georgiana’s sons that learnt of Bennet when I died and they searched for Pemberley’s heir? I know I have no right to be angry, certainly not at anyone but myself, but…it rankles. I cannot lie.”
Elizabeth thought carefully before replying. “I think what matters is that he is here now, so what could have happened hardly signifies.”
“But what was your plan? If I might ask.”
“My plan?”
“Yes. Did you intend to come to me? Would you have told me I had a son? Did you intend to stay away from me forever?”
“My plan,” said Elizabeth carefully, “was to survive. And to keep my son happy and healthy. That plan was all I had within me.”
“So you would have stayed away forever? Kept Bennet from his heritage?”
Resentment, always a short distance away, arrived quickly. “Do bear in mind,” said Elizabeth coolly, “that I had no idea you wanted me—or your son. If you will recall, you sent me away. You disregarded my letters. How could I think anything but that you wanted me permanently gone?”
“So I might have gone my entire life and never known what happened to either of you.” He shook his head, looking sad and disgusted, and Elizabeth had no reply.
She had assiduously avoided thinking of her future in those days, choosing instead the task of day-by-day existence.
Would she have written to him at some point? She truly had no idea.
“Is there any part of you, no matter how small, that is glad to be returned?”
“I am glad Bennet will have his due as your heir.”
“I did not ask about Bennet, I asked about you.” He made a close study of her face.
She stared at the floor beneath her feet for a long time. In truth, she did not know the answer. Did she wish she still lived in Weymouth? Not exactly. Did she want to be here, at Pemberley? Not really. What did she want? Where did she wish to be?
At length, she looked at her husband still patiently awaiting her answer.
“Sometimes,” was all she could say.