She led the way to William’s nursery, Darcy following with his precious burden. The boy did not stir as Darcy gently placed him on his small bed, his expression peaceful in sleep.
“He is remarkably trusting,” Darcy observed softly as they withdrew to the corridor. “To sleep so soundly in the presence of others.”
“Children who feel secure in their surroundings can surrender to sleep without fear,” Elizabeth replied. “It is a gift I have tried to ensure he never loses.”
Darcy studied her with an intensity that made her pulse quicken. “You are an excellent mother, Miss Bennet. William is fortunate indeed.”
The compliment, delivered with evident sincerity, touched Elizabeth more deeply than she had anticipated. “Thank you. That means a great deal, coming from you.”
They stood in the corridor, the quality of silence between them shifting from comfortable to something more charged. Elizabeth found herself acutely aware of his proximity, of the way the afternoon light illuminated the strong planes of his face, the warmth in his dark eyes.
“Today has been…” Darcy began, then paused as if searching for the right words.
“Enlightening?” Elizabeth suggested with a small smile.
“Yes, and enjoyable, despite William’s adventure. Your son is a remarkable child, Miss Bennet.”
Our son, Elizabeth thought but could not say.He is our son, and hecarries your determination, your intelligence, your sensitivity beneath his childish enthusiasm.
“I think so,” she said instead. “Though I admit to considerable bias in the matter.”
“A mother’s privilege,” Darcy acknowledged. “I can only aspire… perhaps.”
His gaze held hers, so intense like the night he cradled her in his arms. It would so simple to tell him the truth. But she held back. It wasn’t because of Dr. Harrison or Eleanor’s theories of memory.
No. It was fear. Fear of his reaction. His possible rejection. That she was a liar. A fortune hunter. A woman who would entrap him.
“Miss Bennet,” Darcy cleared his throat. “If I have offended you.”
“No offense, Mr. Darcy.” She couldn’t look away, aware of her boldness. “I’m storing memories of this expedition. Like a squirrel hoarding nuts, I treasure these moments.”
“And I too.” His fingers grazed her cheek, drawing fire through her veins. “Elizabeth, do you think it’s possible? To have feelings without remembering their cause? To miss someone one cannot specifically recall?”
“Yes…” she barely breathed, gazing at him through watery eyes. “I think the heart forms connections separate from thought. A mother’s love experienced before memory exists. The arms that holds one through the night, felt but not seen, the love that persists even when the moments are lost.”
“Yes…” His gaze lowered to her lips. “That’s exactly what I mean.”
And there, outside of their son’s nursery, he kissed her, softly and then with greater ardor, inch by inch reclaiming the connections lost from his mind, but felt nonetheless by the pulsing of their hearts.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
A LEGACY TO HARVEST
Elizabeth stoodbefore her looking glass, smoothing the silk skirts of her finest evening gown—a deep emerald creation that Lady Eleanor had insisted she accept as a gift upon her arrival at Bellfield Grange. Tonight, for the harvest festival, she wanted to look her best. Not for society’s approval, but for him.
The kiss outside William’s nursery two days ago had changed everything and nothing. They had not spoken of it directly, yet it hung between them like a bridge neither dared fully cross. Darcy’s behavior had grown more openly attentive, his gaze following her movements with an intensity that sent heat racing through her veins. And she… she had stopped pretending to herself that she could remain unaffected by his presence.
Her principles demanded that he acknowledge their marriage before she accepted his courtship. Yet how could she hold him to vows he could not remember making? How could she punish him for circumstances beyond his control? The woman she had been at Longbourn might have maintained rigid standards, but that woman had never loved a man who looked at her as if she were the answer to prayers he had not known he was praying.
So, here she stood, lingering in front of the mirror, touching her lips and acting like a lovesick dove.
Georgiana entered her chamber with William on her hip. “You are, by far, the prettiest unmarried lady present. The master must choose you.”
“You’re too modest.” She smiled at her sister-in-law. “Propriety would require he choose you.”
“Nonsense,” Georgiana replied. “The master of Bellfield never stands with his sister. The harvest festival so soon after sheep breeding is a fertility rite.”
Elizabeth had the presence of mind to blush at Georgiana’s overt innuendo. Since when had Darcy’s maiden sister become so… progressive?
