Chapter Twenty-Two
Elizabeth was woken by Emily giggling and shouting, “Papa! You aren’t supposed to sleep in Mama Lizzy’s bed! It is so droll.”
Elizabeth sat up, clutching the sheets around her. The line of her husband’s delightful leg was pressed against hers.
Poor Rose had immediately turned round as soon as she had understood the situation, but the redness from her blush had gone to the back of her neck.
Emily pouted and pointed. “Mama Lizzy! Tell Papa not to sleep in your bed. He’s not supposed to be there.”
“But I like him here,” Elizabeth replied.
“He’s supposed to be in his bed.”
Darcy sat up, also with the sheet wrapped around himself. He said in a voice that was admirably unembarrassed, “Emily, go with Rose for breakfast.”
“You are supposed to sleep in your bed.”
“I am playing ‘husband and wife’ with Mama Lizzy,” Darcy replied in a lightly amused tone. “And sleeping in the same bed is part of the game.”
“Oh.” Emily thought about it. “In that case it is permitted.”
“Go and have breakfast with Rose,” Darcy repeated, “and we shall follow you out and take a walk. But I must play husband and wife with Mama Lizzy a little more.”
It was awfully difficult for Elizabeth not to giggle at the wholly serious manner with which Darcy spoke, but she managed.
“But I want to play too!”
Darcy offered, “How about you play obedient baby lion who gets an additional lemon tart with breakfast while waiting for her parents? Going with Rose will be part of the game.”
To Elizabeth’s mild surprise, this transparent suggestion worked, and Emily turned giggling to Rose, who still bravely looked down and away from them. “I’m the obedient baby lion! Roar! Take me to breakfast! I’m going to eat an antelope! Roar!”
As soon as they left the room, Darcy stood with the sheet still wrapped around him and locked the concealed servant’s door that his daughter and her nurse had used to enter.
He said as he did so, “I had not expected that to convince her.”
“It must have been the notion of being a baby lion.” Elizabeth yawned.
“Did you sleep well?” Darcy asked as he returned to her side and sat back on the bed next to her.
“Exceedingly.” She smiled warmly at him, wishing to give him every possible encouragement to remain in bed with her in the future.
He looked down a little and asked in a shy manner that was so different from his usual confident way of speaking, “Did you truly like to have me in your bed?”
Elizabeth sat up.
She blushed hotly as she let the sheet fall away from her to expose her breasts to her husband in better light than he had seen them before. “Very much so.”
The passion and desire in him as he looked at her, first studying her eyes and then hungrily enjoying the view of her body, gave Elizabeth a level of confidence and safety she had not found before.
“Then we must play husband and wife together more often,” Darcy replied.
Elizabeth giggled. “I think we do more than play.”
“I like the notion that our true life is a form of play,” he replied. “And I told Emily that we are going to play husband and wife some more.”
He kissed her passionately, his warm hand gliding over her skin.
Later, as she dressed, Elizabeth thought that there was a pleasant and delightful difference in joining together when the light was clear enough that they could easily see each other, rather than in dim candlelight.
She would not have expected that.
Emily bounced about in the breakfast room, no doubt from too much pastry.
Darcy took the girl in his arms and swung her in wide circles.
“Papa, can we play husband and wife?” Emily enthused as soon as she was put down. “And Mama Lizzy can be the child, and we can put her to bed again.”
The expression on Darcy’s face showed that he knew he should have expected this request.
After some contemplation, he offered, “I only play ‘husband and wife’ with Elizabeth, but the next time she wants to take a nap, she can be the child whom we put to bed—that is if she is willing to play.”
“Mama Lizzy! Mama Lizzy! Do you want to take a nap?”
“Not now, my dear.”
“But I want to put you to bed! Pleeeease. Oh, please! Oh, please, please. Can’t we play put you to bed?”
“How about we take a nice walk after we eat breakfast?” Elizabeth offered.
Georgiana entered the room. “Yes, I would like that as well. The snow is beautiful from the window.”
“But I want to put Mama Lizzy to bed right now!”
“Sometimes, my love,” Darcy said, “one must wait for a pleasant thing. This is such a case.”
Darcy’s serious way of speaking convinced Emily that further begging was no use, so she sighed and dejectedly said, “Oh, very well, if we must. Georgie, Papa was in Mama Lizzy’s bed! They were playing husband and wife.”
Georgiana choked and spat out her coffee.
Her face was probably the reddest shade Elizabeth had ever observed on human skin.
Elizabeth tapped her on the back. “Are you well, dear sister?”
Georgiana giggled helplessly.
Darcy sipped his coffee, admirably keeping a calm mask.
There was, however, colour in his face that suggested embarrassment, and a glint in his eyes that showed amusement.
They went out for their walk after breakfast, and Elizabeth was glad to see that Emily was well recovered from her illness, without even a lingering cough.
When they returned to the house, Darcy asked Elizabeth, “Do you have more letters that you wish to write?”
She blushed, not quite knowing why. “I do.”
“Then you should take the time to write them,” he said in a serious but warm tone, “and we shall all sit together in the morning room while you do so.”
The previous letters had been to Jane and her father; Elizabeth began one next to Charlotte—a letter in which she was able to tell her friend that early appearances suggested she had been right when she said that Elizabeth would be happy with Mr. Darcy.
After that there was time to write half a letter to Mrs. Gardiner before Emily insisted that she have an opportunity to draw as well.
Her ink-stained apron and writing set were brought out, and then she was allowed to draw while Elizabeth and Darcy supervised her.
After this, Emily collected her ‘portfolio’ and dragged Elizabeth to the sofa so that she could show her every single one of the drawings that she had saved.
They were…the drawings of a child.
Even though Elizabeth’s eyes were busy looking the drawings over, and her mouth was kept busy praising Emily for their fineness and how they all were very like whatever it was that they were supposed to be very like, her mind was on Darcy and the way that he had behaved that morning.
He had heard what she said about not having enough time to write, and he was seemingly determined that she would henceforth have every chance.
Rather than being offended when she talked about a difficulty that she had, he had seen the reasonableness of her complaint and acted to help her.
She felt happy, warm…she wanted to embrace him and kiss him again.
“Oh, wait, what is this?”
Elizabeth took the piece of paper that Emily was showing her from the girl’s grasp. “Why, that is your father’s hand.”
“Papa was writing on it. But my drawing is much better than his writing.”
Out of natural curiosity, Elizabeth tried to read Darcy’s neat, small handwriting that Emily had scribbled over.
Considerations on my intention to find a second wife:
Emily must have a mother.
That was followed by a section that Elizabeth could not read, and then the line:
My true nature will be understood in time by my child.
The writing beneath that was obscured by what Elizabeth, with more kindness than honesty, told Emily was an excellent elephant. Privately, she thought it looked a little like a shark.
Below that, Darcy had written:
I must marry to secure an heir, which is necessary as Pemberley is entailed.
To release my carnal lusts in a healthy and morally acceptable manner.
He certainly had achieved that aim.
Elizabeth giggled, but she then realised that however strong her curiosity was, this was not a list that Darcy had ever intended her to read.
“Pay attention to me,” Emily said. “Don’t try to read what Papa wrote.”
“I think you are right that I should not.” Elizabeth stood and called over to where Darcy and Georgiana were playing a game of chess. “I believe Emily once stole one of your papers, and as deeply curious as I am, it may invade your privacy if I read the rest.”
“What? I do not wish to keep any secrets from you.”
Elizabeth giggled. “Do look at this. I strongly approve of at least one of your motives in seeking a second wife, and I am happy that we have both succeeded at achieving the goal you set for yourself.”
“What?” he repeated.
Her husband hurried over. He took the paper from Elizabeth’s hand, while Emily complained, “But that is mine!”
“Jove! What was I thinking, letting her keep this,” Darcy said. “I remember writing it. It was in Bingley’s drawing room, the afternoon before the assembly where I met you.”
“Oh.” Elizabeth hardly knew what to think of that. “Might I read the rest? I have only reached the part about carnal lusts.”
“What?” Darcy exclaimed again. Then he skimmed down the paper and laughed. “Is that the consideration you particularly approve of?”
Elizabeth grinned at him.
“Licentious woman.” The way he said it turned it into a fond compliment that made Elizabeth glow and tingle.
Georgiana came over to look at what they were studying.
Darcy held the paper away from her and said, “I certainly will not let you read any of this.”
Georgiana pouted.
“There are,” Elizabeth agreed, keeping from laughter with some difficulty, “things within it not fit for maiden eyes.”
Dear Georgiana sighed. “If you must exclude me from the joke.”
“It is a list of your brother’s reasons for wishing to marry once more.”
“You mean that?” Georgiana flushed with sudden understanding. “He wrote about that?”
Elizabeth’s eyes danced. “The answer to your question wholly depends on what you refer to as ‘that’.”
“Do not tease poor Georgiana,” Darcy said, not looking away from the piece of paper as he frowningly tried to decipher what he had written on it. “It will be your task, as your mother once explained it to you, to explain that to her before she marries.”
Georgiana went even redder as she looked between them. “He did write about that.”
“Among other things,” Darcy said. “Jove, I was in no fit state of mind.
I recall that I was still most unhappy, but I can hardly understand—oh, but you will like this, Elizabeth—‘She must not be from the best circles in society. She must not be lauded for her beauty, wit, and charm. She should not like too much company, or dancing, or town.”
Elizabeth and Georgiana both laughed.
“I am afraid that I have been much praised for my beauty, wit, and charm, and I do like company, dancing, and the occasional visit to the capital,” Elizabeth said. “But I am pleased that you married me despite those defects.”
Georgiana giggled. “You were so ill tempered then.”
Darcy read further then paused. “I am not sure Georgie should hear this next line.”
“Is it about that?” Georgiana asked in a breathless tone.
Darcy shrugged. “No—I suppose I might safely read it. ‘She must not be the sort of woman whom my mother would have approved of’.”
Georgiana frowned. “I never…I loved Mama, but she was never…never kind to me. Lizzy, I am glad that you are nothing like the women she wished Fitzwilliam to marry.”
“Most of the rest is wholly obscured by this excellent shark that Emily drew.”
“It is an Emily elephant,” the girl protested, “while the other one is a papa elephant.”
“This excellent little elephant—it is very lifelike,” Darcy immediately corrected himself. “All that I can read from the rest is that I wished for my future wife—that is you, Elizabeth—to have a real affection for Emily, and to be poor and bring little wealth to the marriage.”
“Ah, the virtue which made up for the defects of my beauty and wit. If I had been rich and lovely, you would not have looked twice at me.”
“I certainly would have looked twice at you,” Darcy replied, “but I imagine that I would not have asked you to marry me.”
“And I would not have accepted,” Elizabeth replied, laughing, “as you made an excellent impression of a bear at times. Wholly false, but still a good impression.”
Darcy looked at the page again. And then he frowned.
He stared at what he had written at the very bottom of the paper for a long time. Then he said at last, “Perhaps my cousin was right.”
When her husband said nothing else, Elizabeth asked, “Might you be less cryptic? Do you refer to Colonel Fitzwilliam?”
“He once told me that the main problem with my marriage to Mary was that we were ill matched. I thought the defect was chiefly in me and secondly in her. But perhaps it simply was that… I begin to hope that you and I might be better matched, and that it will make the difference.”
Darcy continued to stare at the paper for some time, before he folded it away and put it in the inner pocket of his coat.