Chapter 33 #2
During the first week of Jane and Bingley’s visit, the party made a picnic in a lovely, shady spot.
Darcy and Bingley took Henry to play with a ball, intending to teach him the rudiments of cricket.
Elizabeth and Jane sat and gossiped on the bank nearby, and Georgiana watched the puppy as Annie rolled around the grass with a stick, chased butterflies, and barked at clouds moving in the sky.
The men were far enough away that Jane felt comfortable in sharing confidences with her sister.
“Nothing is certain yet, Lizzy, but I think it probable that I am with child.”
“Already! How marvellous!”
“Well, as much as has been…attempted, I should worry if there were not at least some signs of success.” Jane blushed at her own daring intimations.
Elizabeth’s mouth dropped a bit in surprise. “Oh! So Mr Bingley is ardent then.”
Jane giggled. “You might have noticed, dear sister, that my husband is a man of much enthusiasm, and in this, there is no exception.”
Elizabeth laughed. “Jane! You naughty girl! Soon you and I shall sound just like Mama and Aunt Philips.”
“Oh, please do not mention Mama. I cannot stand to imagine her and our father in such activity.”
“With five daughters born within seven years, Papa must have had a great deal of enthusiasm at one time.”
Both ladies dissolved into giggles as Jane chastised, “Oh, Lizzy, how can you say such a thing!”
“’Tis nothing but the truth!”
When they had settled, Jane asked, “Has it been strange to have a second husband?”
“Darcy is wonderful to me—a wonderful, perfect husband in all ways, including that one. In fact”—Elizabeth cast her husband a sly glance, ensuring he was well occupied—“he has taught me that I knew much less about marital intimacy than I had supposed.”
“Really?”
“Oh, I had no complaints with Henry, but evidently, I had no idea what I was missing.” She laughed, feeling a blush heat her cheeks.
It was now Jane who cast a sly look at Darcy. “Who would have thought the haughty man we saw in Meryton had such hidden reserves of passion?”
Elizabeth watched her husband, Bingley, and Henry playing their little game, oblivious to the discussion of the ladies. “He is a good man, and he owns my heart in a way I had not believed possible.”
Jane gave her sister a fond smile. “Your heart was made to love. It could not remain so hard.”
“My heart was indeed made to love,” Elizabeth agreed. “There will always be a part of me that loves Henry, but it is different with Darcy.”
“How so?”
For a moment there was nothing but the sound of the men playing, shouting encouragement to one another.
She continued, beginning to understand it as she told her sister, “Henry was a first love. It was romantic and exciting and wonderful. I thought he was entirely perfect, and he thought the same of me, and neither of us had any cause to challenge that notion. We were swept away in each other, doused in the excitement of betrothal and marriage and travel to the Continent. It was wonderful although unreal.”
“Are you saying it was not true?” Jane looked worried.
“No, no,” Elizabeth assured her. “I do not mean to undervalue it. It was true, and it was a delight in all ways, but it was the blush of first love, and I was so very young. Henry and I had not the opportunity to grow a deeper love together.”
She looked again to where her husband capered about with her son. “It is different with Darcy. We have fought passionately. He has seen what is bad in me, and I know what is lacking in him, and somehow it has made our attachment to one another stronger.
“I used to think myself so sure.” Elizabeth laughed lightly.
“So right, so quick witted. I thought that my cleverness in disliking him was a sure tribute to my own intelligence and discernment.
Now, I realise that I am as disposed to vanity as anyone.
I was determined to hate him forever when he slighted me at the assembly, but I cannot imagine how much I might have missed had I not permitted myself to truly know him.
“He has chosen to love me, knowing full well that another man is in my heart. It must hurt him—I know it hurts him—yet he loves me still. He is an ideal husband and father, and he truly wants what is best for me, even to his own detriment.” She shook her head, eyes trained on the blanket beneath them. “I do not deserve him.”
Jane reached over and squeezed her hand.
“I used to think if I admitted I loved him it would mean I was glad Henry was dead, but Henry is dead regardless. I shall always cherish my memories of Henry, even as I love Darcy. Does that make any sense?”
“Perfect sense,” Jane said with a kind smile. “You must count yourself fortunate to have called two such extraordinary men your husband.”
Elizabeth nodded with a smile, as tears came to her eyes.
“Does he know you love him?”
Elizabeth shook her head, and Jane advised, “Tell him as soon as you can. If nothing else, the loss of Henry must have taught you that much. Do not waste a day without telling your loved ones what they mean to you.”
“I have marvellous news to share with you both,” Bingley announced that night at dinner, a blushing Jane by his side.
Is this it? Is the possibility of a child certain? Elizabeth smiled in eager anticipation, giving Darcy a quick glance.
“There is an estate for sale not fifteen miles from here. The price, the income from it, and the size all suit us well, so unless serious problems present themselves, in December it will be ours!” Bingley beamed, rocking on his heels.
“You are not retaining Netherfield?” Darcy was surprised that Bingley’s thoughts tended in such a direction.
“Netherfield has been good to us,” Jane replied demurely, “and a part of me will always feel that Hertfordshire is my home. However, my dear husband and I have come to realise that it is possible for a lady to be settled too near her family.”
“Jane!” Elizabeth exclaimed. “How boldly you speak!”
“I apologise, Lizzy, but you cannot imagine—”
“No, no!” Elizabeth laughed. “I do not censure you. Indeed, I am quite happy with you, only shocked that you have gained the ability to speak as you find. I would certainly not wish to settle three miles from Mama.”
“Tell me the particulars, Bingley,” Darcy requested, and Bingley recounted as much detail as he could on this marvel of land ownership. His excitement was clear, and Elizabeth and Darcy were exceedingly pleased on behalf of the Bingleys and for their own reasons.
They spoke of it that night as they lay together in bed.
“The place was formerly in the family of a friend of my father’s. There was no heir, and the report was that some of the family went to America: to New York.”
Elizabeth absently drew her fingers across Darcy’s chest. “Is it a good situation for them?”
“I believe it will prove to be perfect. Before Bingley leased Netherfield, I had considered it, but it was not yet for purchase, and I did not think Bingley would settle so far from town.”
“But now you do?
“He is a happily married man now. He looks at things differently than he did as a young buck going back and forth between friends and amusements and with a demanding sister to satisfy as well. In fact, the greatest attraction for this place might be Miss Bingley’s disinclination to stay there.
So many miles to go for the shops and balls will not satisfy her. ”
“An excellent point, and one I am sure Jane appreciates as well.” Elizabeth laughed.
She shifted closer to him. “I believed they would announce a child when he stood.”
“The thought occurred to me too.” Darcy moved closer to her. “Soon, I am sure.”
Elizabeth kissed him lightly and continued her task of caressing his chest with her fingers. “And what about us? Do you hope we shall have such an announcement soon?”
“I value this time we have now—time to enjoy each other and Henry—but yes, I shall be well pleased when it occurs.”
“As shall I.”
“You are eager for another child?”
“I am eager for your child.”
It was a statement fraught with meaning, and he knew it. His face grew soft, and a slight smile appeared. “I wonder whether you realise what it means to me when you speak so.”
“I do not say it to appease you. I mean it with all my heart. I am eager to have your child, and I am so very happy we are married.”
“I am as well.” He kissed her lightly on her forehead.
He turned onto his side and drew her close, preparing for slumber. She settled into what had become her usual position, her head resting partly on his chest. He kissed the top of her hair and murmured sleepily, “I love you.”
Moments later, he was asleep. She lay there, her eyes wide open, watching the rise and fall of his chest until she had gained sufficient courage to tell him in the smallest, quietest hint of a whisper, “I love you too.”