“Oh, dear!”
“Yes. It took days before she was able to say anything else. I was horrified. My father and aunt were distraught.”
“That is terrible.”
“Yes.” They had reached the place where a view of the valley looked down upon Meryton and its ancient church; the sun hit its steeple, a shining streak of light amongst the greenery. “My father eventually asked me not to openly pursue anyone until I was ready to marry, so that rumoursmight not trouble and disturb Anne until she was older and, hopefully, more stable. I was only twenty, as I said, so this was an easy promise to make.”
These were difficult memories. As if she knew it, she took his hand in hers.
“My father died unexpectedly a couple of years later, right before harvest time. Pemberley’s steward was at this time suffering with what would be his final illness; he was Father’s best friend in the world, and he was shattered by his death. Georgiana was distraught. I was completely overwhelmed. My aunt left her own duties, came to me at once, and stayed for months to help me through the worst of it. By this time, she had been managing Rosings Park alone for some years. She is neither tasteful nor soft-spoken, but she was a rock of good advice and comfort to me, and even very gentle with Georgiana—she has had much experience with distressed daughters. She helped me to…to take my troubles in hand, and set me on a path forward.”
It seemed utterly natural to wrap his arms around Elizabeth as she leant against his chest, lending him comfort and that strength which she possessed in such great measure.
“Before Lady Catherine departed, she asked whether I had had a change of heart about marrying Anne. I told her I had not and never would, that I would do most anything for her, but not that. She begged for, in essence, the same promise as my father—that until I chose a bride, I be especially circumspect. Perhaps you will find it…weak of me, in that I agreed.”
“I find it generous and compassionate. It is only merciful, however, if her mother has gently, over time, discouraged her from thinking your decision might change.”
“I did ask that she do so. She promised she would. However, she says mentioning it brings out Anne’s worst…peculiarities. I have insisted that she must continue to speak of it, to inure Anne to the ultimate outcome, my marriage to another, and I believe she does. But I fear Anne will not recover, and that everyone in the world will associate our family with a strain of…of madness.” Then he said aloud the fear which he had never before been able to bear considering. “Perhaps any children of mine might also suffer thusly.”
Elizabeth did not flinch; she instead brought his hands up to her lips, gently pressing them to her, compassion and loving affection her only response to this soul-killing news.
“Does Georgiana, in her current state of distress towards you, behave in any way that causes you to question her sanity?”
The question was unexpected, but he answered it. “No. When I informed her of Wickham’s death, she cried, she told me she hated me and would never forgive me. She does not answer my letters, but my aunt tells me she reads them. To my aunt and uncle, she is as she ever was.”
“You said that Anne is very like her father. It sounds to me as if her excessive sensibilities are a trait she shares with him and him alone.”
“The world may not think so. I wonder, even, if I dare afflict you, or any woman, with the burden. I wonder if I dare have children, whether they will be…tainted by her reputation.” He had not meant to confess this, but he owed it to her.
“Your children will be well. However, if, God forbid, they sufferanyaffliction, whether of the mind or the body, they will be cared for, they will be loved, they will always know that they are adored regardless of weakness or illness of any sort.”
Elizabeth’s voice was firm, its expression alight with apassion having nothing to do with sexual desire. She already loved them, he realised. The unborn children she might never bear already held a place in her heart. Neither had she protested leaving gravelled paths, he noticed; she seemed always game for these wilder spaces, harder climbs, trails less travelled.
“I would take you to Venice,” he said, apropos of nothing they had been discussing. “Or Vienna, or Rome, or wherever it is you have longed to see. I would not wish to inhibit your happiness for my sake.”
She turned in his arms, so pretty in the afternoon light she took his breath away. “I have never seen the Peak District,” she said. “I have read of its beauty, and have always wished to see it.”
He could not help it—he had to kiss her again. She was, simply, so utterly loveable, passionate and perfect, perfect for him.
“Perhaps we could see—and share—both Venice and Derbyshire,” he said roughly, much, much later, when again he could speak. She nodded her agreement, smiling softly, and he knew he had the answer to his heart’s desire.
22
IN TRUE DEVOTION
“Isuppose we should return to the house before we are missed,” Elizabeth said reluctantly, at last. It had been the happiest day of her life, and she did not want it to end. Dusk came early at this time of year, however, and it would not do to be out alone together after dark.
Darcy only looked at her. “It would not mean much of anything at all, I daresay, if Netherfield’s inhabitants knew that you had agreed to marry me.”
A frisson of fear—it was nothing less—had her hesitating. It almost seemed as though it was unreal, and talking about it to others would break the spell of joy she now experienced. On the other hand, he was not wrong; her widowhood gave her more freedom, and it was unlikely that the Bingleys would gossip. “There is your family to consider…ought you to inform them before we say anything to anyone else?”
He frowned. “I suppose I should.”
“I know it is easier for Jane if I remain the somewhat peculiar Mrs Ashwood than if I were to become Mrs Darcy. Itis not that I would allow her opinions to delay our happiness, but if wemustwait a bit, perhaps she will recover her health to a better extent before she must deal with this as well.”
“Sheoughtto be happy for you.”
“Only consider—had my father not forced her hand, she might even now be falling in love with Mr Bingley, and looking forward to a different life. She was given little choice, really, and I understand that. It is difficult.”
