Chapter 47
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
Slowly, wishing to do the opposite, Darcy dropped his hand from Elizabeth’s head, sitting back and breathing deeply to release himself from the thrall in which he had been.
“I am sorry. So very sorry. This is not the behaviour of a gentleman.”
“Nor a lady.” She once again lowered her eyes to her lap; then she rose and moved to a chair. “Pray, forgive me. It was I who began.”
He shook his head. “Do not trouble yourself.”
“Please understand, it is not some wanton urge causing me to act so. I can only say I simply do not feel married to him. I feel married to you. It seems so wrong when he touches me and so right and natural to be here with you.”
Darcy smiled tightly. “It will improve. It must, after all.”
“I pray it does, yet I hope it does not.” She shook her head. “I am a creature of contradictory and warring spirits.”
“I believe I should depart. I do not think Lord Courtenay would prefer to see me still here when he returns.”
“He is not apt to return for several hours,” she replied, seeming unconcerned.
“He has much business to transact then?”
She shrugged. “With both his illness and prolonged absence, I would imagine much of it pertains to reacquainting himself with the workings of the estate.”
“I am sure you are correct.” Darcy hated to take his leave and hated even more the cloak of despondency that had fallen onto her.
She rallied her spirits as he moved to the door. “Please tell Georgiana I would love to receive her call. I miss her.”
Darcy gave her a fond smile. “That is very good of you. She will be relieved as she is certain you despise her.”
“I do not,” Elizabeth replied as she saw him out. “Please assure her I do not. What occurred was likely inevitable.”
Darcy bowed and took the liberty of tenderly kissing Elizabeth’s hand. When he rose, they locked gazes for a moment until he mouthed, “I love you,” and departed.
A blustery wind threatened to remove the hats of the two gentlemen who strode with purpose along one of London’s less fashionable streets.
They glanced about them as they approached a plain wooden door, but naturally, there were none of their acquaintance about to observe them. Habit did not end easily.
Entering a modest apartment, they requested drinks from a serving girl who appeared dull and uncomprehending.
She nodded and departed as they made themselves comfortable in front of the fire, tossing their outer garments on a side chair.
When the girl returned, they thanked her, and the slighter man gave her a coin, causing her moon-like face to split into a wide grin.
She made an awkward, unpractised curtsey and left them.
The taller man asked, “How are you doing?”
“Perfectly well,” the other man answered querulously, “if a bit impatient.”
“We have all been impatient.”
“From the sounds of it, no one has done a thing but drink and vent his spleen.”
“It is easy to see errors from afar.”
The slighter man shrugged, taking a generous drink of his ale.
“How is your wife?”
“She is well, but you did not request this meeting to ask about her.”
“No,” the taller man agreed, shaking his head. “I only wished to speak to you and see if…well, to see whether you are as you had been.”
The slighter man looked quizzical. “As I had been? I do not take your meaning.”
“It has been some years now; things have changed.”
The other man’s jaw dropped. “Do you dare suggest—”
“No, no,” the taller man replied hastily. “I suggest nothing but enquire about everything. No one knows what to think when so much has been lost…you have suffered…”
“Nothing has changed, and I shall thank you to remember that.” The slighter man finished his ale, setting his glass down on the table with a sharp rap matched by his tone. “Yes, I have suffered—suffered and sacrificed—and you dare question me?”
The taller man held up both hands. “I do not accuse you. You are perfectly right: with all you have done and the distances you have travelled, to question you is ungenerous. Pray, forgive me.”
The slighter man smiled begrudgingly. “I could do no less. I must go now as my wife expected me to return directly. When is the next gathering?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Same place?”
“Of course.”
“I shall meet you there then.” The slighter gentleman donned his overcoat, hat, and gloves and departed, his step betraying his anger.
The other man sat for some time enjoying the fire. After twenty minutes, he went to select a book from the amply supplied library. He returned to the fire and read for about half an hour more until he heard a bell announcing the arrival of another visitor.
A tall, stout man entered. “Hanley.”
“Good day to you, sir.”
The large man asked without ceremony, “Did you speak to him?”
“I did. He became angry.”
The large man sat. “He always did tend to get a hot head. We need to be sure of these things.”
“He assured me of his dedication to the cause.”
“I remain…unconvinced,” the large man replied. “He is not as he was. I have seen it myself.”
Hanley shrugged. “We have little choice but to believe in him.”
They spoke on matters pertaining to their business. Plans were made and ideas put forth. When they had finished, the two men stood.
“Will you return to Mayfair now?” The large man sounded a bit derisive in his query, but Hanley disregarded it.
“I shall. May I drop you somewhere?”
The large man laughed. “Do you not fear the likes of me might soil the seats of your carriage?”
Hanley disregarded that too. “Well?”
“No, thank you.”
Jane and Bingley arrived with little William during the first week of March.
Elizabeth was delighted to meet him; however, as she saw his little round face and flailing arms and legs, she could not keep herself from again wishing she had borne Darcy’s child—What a comfort that might have been!
—even though she knew a child of an annulled union would have faced innumerable difficulties.
“Jane, are you certain it was safe to travel with him? After all, he is but two months old.”
Jane was impatient. “It did him no harm. We must talk about your situation though.”
Elizabeth looked down and shrugged. “What is there to say?”
Jane studied her. “Are you happy?”
Elizabeth shrugged again. “I suppose so. I miss him, but Henry has been generous in promoting my friendship with him. It is not easy for any of us.”
“Henry is permitting you to remain friends with Darcy?”
“He encourages it. I applaud him; few men could do the same. He is genuinely concerned for my well-being, but then, that should not astonish me. He was always kind.”
Unsurprisingly, given the gregarious nature of both men, Bingley and Henry got along famously. As the weeks of March passed by, they made an almost happy foursome, frequently together in company and in the homes of one another.
Little Henry was enchanted by his young cousin and asked his aunt almost daily whether William could play with him yet.
He could not apprehend that the baby was too young to run about or see his puppy, and he soon made up his mind that he required his own brother, one who would play and caper immediately upon his entry into the world.
“Mama will gets me a bwother,” he informed his father one morning when they visited.
“Will she!” Henry had looked at Elizabeth with a teasing expression in his eye. “What if she gets you a sister? That would be nice too, would it not?”
Little Henry looked unsure. “No, a bwother,” he insisted. “To play bwocks!”
Looking away from her husband’s eyes, which bore a look she could not yet encourage, Elizabeth said, “Oh, I think a sister would play blocks if you asked her. But you must remember what I told you: sisters and brothers come along when they are ready to, and they will not be hurried, no matter how much we wish for them.”
Little Henry gave her an odd look, and Elizabeth nearly laughed as his father inadvertently did the same. It was the younger Henry who spoke. “But you pwomised! You must!”
Elizabeth sighed. Oh yes, I surely did promise, and I do indeed have to.