Page 87

She relaxed almost at once, and she rearranged herself with her head on the pillow and released a contented breath. That small sound did more to Darcy than he was allowed to consider until his wife was churched.

“Better?” he asked.

“Yes.”

He ran his thumb lightly along the inside of her ankle before taking her foot up in both hands and beginning to gently rub it.

There had been a time when the prospect of his wife approaching confinement would have resulted in lists, consultations, and instructions enough to set the entire household on its ear. During Elizabeth’s first pregnancy, he had come very close.

“What are you thinking?” Elizabeth asked, her eyes half-closed.

“That I have improved.”

She chuckled. “Have you?”

“Considerably.” Darcy peered down at her. “You disagree.”

“I merely wonder whether truly improved men generally announce it themselves.”

He considered this. “Perhaps I have simply improved enough to recognise my remaining defects.”

“That sounds more likely.” Her eyes drifted closed again, but she was smiling.

Darcy circled his thumb slowly over her ankle before setting her right foot down and picking up the left. “Whose letter is that?”

“Jane’s.”

“Are the boys well?”

“Charlie has discovered that if he climbs out of his bed at night, his parents do not immediately know he has done it.”

“Bingley deserves that.”

Elizabeth laughed. “Why?”

“For encouraging Anne to climb the stairs before she could properly manage them.”

“She was going to climb them whether Charles encouraged her or not.”

“That does not absolve him.”

Jane and Bingley had two sons now, both possessed of their father’s good humour and considerably more determination than Darcy had once believed Bingley himself possessed. He had been wrong about that.

“Jane says they mean to remain in London until April,” Elizabeth continued. “Lydia is delighted.”

“Of course she is.”

“She begins her season with them in February.” She cracked one eye open to look at him. “Do not.”

“I said nothing.”

“You pulled a face.”

“I am permitted to possess a face,” he protested.

“Not that one.”

Lydia Bennet at twenty was less alarming than Lydia Bennet had been at fifteen, although Darcy did not consider the improvement complete. Fortunately, Jane had both sense and patience, while Bingley was able to enjoy Lydia without being ruled by her.