Dora flinched. "I am sorry. Mr. Gates, that is Lady Whisperton, pays for information and I needed the money."
"Whatever for?" I do, of course, understand that money is always pleasant to have, but seeing as Margaret had paid for every need of Dora's life I did not see why she should need to betray me.
"I did not think I was suited to marriage and I knew I must have some means to support myself. Illustrating for scientific papers and encyclopedias does not pay very much, so I supplement my income whenever there is opportunity. But I would never say anything about Lydia. I would never wish to ruin anyone."
I nodded. I knew there was no maliciousness to her and I understood her position in life was uncertain. Also I was far too relieved and exhausted to work up much in the way of anger.
"You said youdidnot think you were suited for marriage, does that mean you feel differently on the subject of matrimony now?"
Dora blushed. "I do like Mr. Farthingham," she said, "He is interesting to talk to—most people are not. And I liked kissing him. I did not think I would like kissing at all, but with him it was very pleasant."
Apparently I was an even worse chaperon than I had imagined.
"I might have overlooked his unfortunate interest in ornithology if he had not been so certain it was so much more important than my interests. Although he did apologize last night. . . ."
"You know, there is still a month before he leaves on his expedition—"
"Yes, and he wants me to marry him now so I can go with him. I cannot do it, I cannot make such an important decision so quickly."
"I quite agree. I think you should use this month to get to know him better and then at the end of it, if you think you might like to marry him, tell him he may continue his courtship of you upon his return."
Dora smiled shyly. "Perhaps we might invite him to dine with us tomorrow?"
"Most certainly."
6thJanuary, 1812
Still evening (this has been the longest day of my life)
I never would have proposed to you at all.Sigh.There it was again. That horrible sentence roaring back into the forefront of my mind.
I could not sleep. Sleep should come easily. I had spent the whole of last night awake and had caught just a few hours of slumber during the afternoon. Racing from one emotion to the next had exhausted me. I needed to rest. Yet my mind would not quiet.
Someone rapped at my door.
Somehow I thought it would be one of my sisters. Or Mrs. Vane. Someone with some new crisis that needed solving.
Yet here he was. Darcy. Shivering slightly, wearing his dressing gown and, if I knew his habits (and I think I did), nothing else. Darcy and I had both moved to guest chambers as our suite of rooms were still occupied by Rebecca and family, making his journey down the drafty hall necessary.
"May I come in?"
Fitzwilliam Darcy can always be relied upon to ask the difficult questions.
And It was a difficult question indeed. One might think the obvious answer would be an unequivocal yes. I mean, the man had just rescued my sister, saving the good name of my family in the process. Yet. . . .
I never would have proposed to you at all.
I should not hold against him words that were undoubtedly spoken without thought—without realizing the impact they would have. But I was not certain I could share his bed again knowing he did not care as much for me as I did for him.
Despite my reservations I bid him enter. He placed his lamp upon the bureau, surveying the room with a distant, disinterested eye that communicated he was searching for words rather than judging the contents of the space. He seemed nervous.
Though I never feared violence from him, I must admit I began to feel a bit nervous myself when he drew a knife from the pocket of his dressing gown.
"I prefer my method of murder," I said.
"Smothering," I replied to his baffled expression, "Far less messy. Though I suppose there could be something cathartic about a good stabbing."
As if just now realizing he was lovingly fingering a knife whilst standing silently in my bedchamber without explanation for his presence, he said, "Oh," then he pulled from his other pocket a pomegranate. Probably the very same pomegranate I had carried with my Persephone costume until I had mislaid it sometime during the first half of the ball.
