“If he were, he would find a new wife, some girl who shows proper maternal instincts, excellent taste in music, and who could care for the child.”
“Mama, surely you do not think—” Miss Bennet began.
Darcy interrupted both of them with a tight voice. “I thank you kindly for your well-meant advice, Mrs. Bennet. But it is impossible for me to attend to it. As a matter of respect to Anne’s memory I am determined not to marry again, and nothing that might be said shall move me.”
“She made you promise to never remarry as she died!” Mrs. Bennet exclaimed aghast. “Horrible woman.”
Darcy felt a sort of cold pale rage. His forehead felt numb, and he had a sudden urge to… he did not know what. He could not strike a woman.
After consideration Darcy turned, without offering a parting bow, and left the room, and then the building.
Outside there was a small grassy area, well clipped and suitable for games of ring-toss or bowls. Not large enough for archery though.
Darcy placed Emily down and settled on the red brick stoop.
That crude, awful woman.
What right, by what right did she say anything, speak about anything, see herself as having any right to tell him anything about himself and about Anne?
He’d cut her. He would…
There was not much he could do, beyond delighting in rudeness in turn.
Anne would have encouraged him to be kinder.
The evening was nearly dark. A cold breeze swept across his face, and the golden falling leaves were raked into a thick pile on the ground. Emily wandered amongst them, shuffling them about. She returned to him with a particularly fine pointed oak leaf. Darcy studied it and assured her, “A superb specimen.”
Emily pushed the leaf into his hands repeatedly, and with a polite nod of thanks Darcy took it from her. The girl then ran back to the pile of leaves.
A noise made Darcy turn and he saw Elizabeth Bennet standing next to one of the wooden support beams.
She bit her lips and tangled her hands together. Then she gave him a tiny half smile, half grimace expression before looking down. “She ought not have said that. I… I cannot properly apologize for what my mother said. She means well. But…”
Darcy looked back at the leaf as Miss Bennet’s voice trailed off.
He thought about Anne’s death again. He did not think about her enough. He did not miss her enough, and when he did it was for his own sake. But it was so easy to remember how she had died. How she had died telling him to be happy and to raise Emily to be happy.
Emily returned, and she had decided that Miss Bennet was, at least for the remainder of the evening, a person whom she was not frightened of. So, this time it was Miss Bennet upon whom she bestowed her leaf.
“I thank you very kindly,” Miss Bennet said solemnly to the girl. “It is an excellent shade of red.”
“Re.” Emily hurried back off. Her dress and hands were all dirty.
“That poor dress. The laundry woman will be full of despair tomorrow.” There was a smile in Miss Bennet’s voice.
Darcy replied, “I do not like to bother Emily about such things. It is merely clothes.”
“Spoken like a man,” was the reply. “And like one who has no part in pounding clean the clothes.”
“She has already developed strong preferences about what she shall wear,” Darcy said. “And on occasion she has sobbed and shrieked when a favourite piece could not be given because she had stained it with every form of food and dirt the previous day or ripped the knee in a fall.”
“She shall one day be considered to dress with the height of fashion,” Miss Bennet replied.
“It is not unlikely,” Darcy agreed, more seriously. Then he stood up, “Emily, come here. Come, come.”
The girl ran over, and Darcy picked her up. “It is not your place,” he said to Miss Bennet, “to apologize for your mother. But I thank you for the effort. Anne was the best of women, and she… she deserved better. I will say nothing more about that subject.”
He met her wide eyes. Something deep in his stomach twisted.
