Chapter 49 Handsome and Well
HANDSOME AND WELL
EMMA
“Miss Woodhouse?” Lucy’s voice said softly from the guest room door.
I smiled at her. “Good afternoon, Lucy. Has there been a letter?” My reply from Hartfield was overdue.
Nine weeks had passed since that terrible loss on the lake. I was still a guest at Pemberley. I was afraid to leave—worried by Mr. Darcy’s plunges into despair and trapped by my own hidden dependence.
“No letter, madam,” she answered. “It is nothing like that. I was only dusting Mrs. Darcy’s things, and…” Her words hitched, then she burst into sobs. I held her, awkward at first while the miasma gleamed in the corners, but Lucy was just a child who needed care, so it retreated.
“Harriet will visit soon,” I told her when she quieted. “Would you join us? She was cross with me last time, so I am a little nervous about it.”
She sniffed. “Did you do something wrong?”
“Not that I intended,” I said, honestly. “But I am still learning to be a good sister.”
We went down and found Harriet arriving, but with Mr. Knightley as well, and my pulse fluttered. After the tragedy, he had postponed his travel to the occupied south, but he had not been to Pemberley for weeks.
When we were seated, I asked Harriet, “Are you established in Lambton?”
“Quite established. I have a pretty room all to myself, and nicer than my old room at Mrs. Goddard’s.
Mr. Knightley negotiated a stay of six months.
” He had assisted her, as a lady could not sign a contract of lease.
“Then, if this mad war is done, I should like to teach at the Martin school. It would be exciting to live in London.”
She sparkled with enthusiasm, so I gave her fingers a pat. “I am happy for you.”
I had been visiting the Lambton school twice a week, accompanying Nessy to her classes. Nessy always dashed ahead the instant the coach door opened, so I would enter afterward and watch from the back, admiring Harriet’s competent demeanor and trying not to see the chalk on her sleeves.
Still, if Harriet was determined to go to London…
“I am sure Mr. Darcy would host you at Chathford. You would look very fine coming and going each day.” Harriet shook her head.
This was like our last argument, so I tried a fresh approach.
“You are a gentleman’s daughter. You must support your claim to that station.
There will be plenty of people who take pleasure in degrading you. ”
“I feel only affection for Mr. Woodhouse. No insult will take that from me.” She gave me a warm smile. “And they cannot degrade my love for you, Emma. But Mr. Darcy has closed Chathford. I do not think he will reopen it.”
Harriet and Lucy went, chatting comfortably, to find the other ladies. Mr. Knightley and I were left alone to wait. He had dressed with particular care today. Every button and seam of his charcoal calling dress was perfect.
He touched a black ribbon dangling from the mantle. “Pemberley is a house of mourning. You have no such duty. You should return to your life.”
“I would mourn at Hartfield, also.”
Mr. Knightley snorted. “Darcy wanders these halls like a tall, dark mop.”
That image was so perfect that I laughed. “He is only a mop on his bad days. But Georgiana will make him cut his hair.”
“What if life drew you out?” More softly, he said, “What if a proper life were offered to you?”
I imagined him admiring a neighbor’s orchard from his little room in Chelsea. A gentleman musician could use a proper life. But Mr. Knightley faced one barrier in society already. He should not be ridiculed for a wyfe who failed to bind and who stared at loose threads.
The benefit of being known as a selfish and thoughtless creature is that no one suspects you have other motives. I smoothed the black silk of my gown and did not meet his eyes. “There is nothing improper about my life.”
“No, of course not.” He sighed. “You look handsome and well.”
I swallowed against a swell of feelings, but I knew this was best.