Chapter Eighteen #2
Elizabeth frowned. “I meant to distract you from your memories and said the first thing that came to mind, but what I said will not do for such a purpose.”
“He must have difficulty with monies,” Darcy said, “that officer. Did you notice the worn state of his coat? Shiny spots around the elbows—carefully kept up, but still old. And the boots, with too much polish to hide how they’ve been scuffed.
The belt as well. I noticed this because what he said about being happy I’d dueled and killed Wickham reminded me of this notion that the institution of dueling is a good one, because it is what allows those gentlemen without money to maintain their status; for even a person with great wealth and consequence, such as myself, cannot insult a lesser gentleman with impunity. ”
Emily returned to the bench, and she showed Darcy the excellent stone that she had collected. She climbed into his lap again and put her head on his shoulder and yawned.
“It is near time for her to take a nap?” Darcy asked.
“Yes.”
He sighed, “If I stand to help put her to sleep, I can only carry her on my shoulder for a minute or two.”
“She is still happy to be with you. You do not need to be able to carry her to become a favorite. It is sweet to see.”
“I am so happy. So very happy. It is odd; it is not right. I should not be happy.”
Elizabeth took his hand.
This time Emily did not need to be carried to fall asleep. She looked out at the sea with a glassy-eyed stare, then pressed her face against Darcy’s coat, curled up, and went limp.
The girl looked so much like Elizabeth, yet there was much of Wickham in her.
It really would be true, that he would be doing a good thing.
If he cared for her, if he raised this child in a way that she would be as happy and well as she could, that would do a little to offset the crime he’d committed.
Elizabeth looked at him in a soft and deeply affectionate way.
And then the fort fired off a twenty-one gun salute to recognize the frigate entering the harbor.
Emily started awake and started sobbing immediately.
Elizabeth groaned and picked her up from Darcy’s lap, and she sang Robin Adair through three times, and Hush-a-by Baby four times before Elizabeth gave up and put the alert and cheerful girl down to run about again.
“Oh, well,” Elizabeth laughed as Emily ran off, and Elizabeth sat back down close enough to Darcy that their hips pressed against each other.
“I have quickly become used to the ways of wealth. If I were to be the only person able to deal with her tantrum when she becomes too desperately tired to sleep in three hours, I would consider this a disaster.”
“I still insist, though I acknowledge your superior knowledge of children,” Darcy said, “that being too tired to sleep cannot describe the reality of the situation.”
“You have seen how upset she becomes when she refused to nap during the day. Being so upset keeps her from sleeping.”
“She is upset, and she is tired, and the tired makes her more upset,” Darcy agreed.
“I observe that. And while she is particularly upset, she cannot sleep. But does it not seem to you that after sobbing and being most unhappy, when she has calmed, that she falls asleep almost instantly while you or Georgiana carry her about?”
Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “My goal is for her to sleep without being upset at all.”
“Is not the nature of very young children to be frequently upset?” Darcy replied. “I think the best way to manage is to comfort them as we can, but to find joy in caring for them, even when they sob most unceasingly and piteously.”
Elizabeth giggled. “A wholly absurd notion. But I am happy for you to find joy in their cheerful screams.”
“The upset chiefly shows that the child’s lungs are most healthy.”
“Mr. Darcy, I need to say—” Elizabeth’s suddenly more serious tone made Darcy sit up and look at her. Her eyes were shining again, like she might cry easily enough. Darcy had noted how she now cried more frequently, and without always repeating that tears solved nothing.
“Yes,” he encouraged her.
“I have been so happy to see you like the children and not being bothered by their noises.”
“Even though I am not their blood?”
“No, no, not that at all. It is a matter of who you are. While he was never a brute about the matter, Mr. Wickham had no patience for the sobbing of brats. I always had a sense that when George grew overexcited or started to sob, that it was my duty and responsibility to quiet him instantly. But there is nothing of that in you. You seem…it is like your habits and ways of being were made to enjoy the domestic circle.”
Mr. Bennet soon returned with George, who hopped and vibrated. He excitedly picked Emily up and then put her down when his sister squealed. “Mr. Darcy, Mama! They let me touch the match to the cannon!”
“What!” Elizabeth said with some concern.
“The fireman held George’s hand as he held the burning match,” Mr. Bennet said smiling at his daughter. “There was no danger.”
“Did you at least cover your ears?” Elizabeth asked. “That must have been terribly loud from close.”
“It was! I think it was the loudest thing I’ve ever heard! Wasn’t it, Grandpapa! Wasn’t it the loudest thing you’ve ever heard?”
“No, because I learned the last time I was next to a cannon when it was being shot to stick fingers deep in both ears.”
“They let me shoot the cannon!” George shouted again. “I got to fire off a cannon!”
“I hope this shall not be the first beginning of a long desire to enter the army, and specifically to be an artillery man.”
“It is an honorable profession,” Darcy said.
Elizabeth shuddered. “I do not wish to imagine my boy being shot, or torn through by a cannonball, or ripped to pieces by grapeshot, or sabered in a cavalry charge, or—”
“My dear Elizabeth,” Mr. Bennet said, “you have a particularly vivid imagination upon this point.”
“Wickham had many acquaintance amongst soldiers. There is no class of people in England more happy to lose substantial sums of money at cards than they are. When the evening goes late, and everyone has been properly plied with brandy and wine, they will sometimes trade their most unhappy tales from war with each other.”
George began running around again. “This was great! Great! Great!”
He then grabbed Mr. Bennet’s hand and pulled him over so that they could both look down at the harbor saying, “See there, see there! That is the ship we saluted!”
Emily joined them to look at the ships. Darcy had a little anxiety at seeing her even ten feet from the cliff face, but Mr. Bennet kept a close eye on the girl.
And, if one of them would ever accidentally fall off the cliff due to overly enthusiastic leaping about, it would be George without any doubt.
Even as Darcy thought this, Mr. Bennet’s loud voice called out to his grandson, “Do not go any closer to the edge, we can see well enough from here.”
The boy grinned and hurried back to his grandfather.
“It sits upon the mind.” Darcy said to Elizabeth, “I frequently see Wickham dropping after I hit him.”
“Not the sensation of receiving his fire?” Elizabeth said, “I would imagine your own injury would sit on the mind more.”
“No. A little, but much less. I think...”
Elizabeth took his hand and kissed it, as she often did.
It was not right for him to feel so happy.
She then said, “It is odd that I feel so happy at present, but I do, and I will let no one say that we do not deserve happiness. Both of us do.”
“Do I?”
“Yes, certainly, and as we are to marry, you must put your faults into my keeping, so that I can determine how you ought to feel about them. That is, after all, what is customary in marriages. And I declare to you, that your faults do not change that you ought to feel happy. Besides, what value could there be in you not feeling happy?”
“Is not the moral bad?”
“No, the moral is good.” She kissed his hand again, smiled, and leaned against his shoulder. “Now stop thinking about that, and simply enjoy being alive on such a lovely day.”