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Elizabeth’s stomach fluttered. Her silent voice screamed inside, I wish this night might never end! “What do you have in mind?”
Darcy conveyed his intentions, not with words, but rather with not so subtle sweeping looks—her eyes, her lips. At length, he bestowed an intimate touch upon her face and was about to follow the earlier path of his eyes with his fingers—if that went well, perhaps even his lips. Elizabeth gasped. His gentle touch was agreeable in every way. She closed her eyes as her imagination of what was to come leapt.
A faint cry interrupted the anticipated bliss. “Mama—” echoed softly through the closed-door.
Elizabeth opened her eyes and read in Darcy’s some measure of dismay. “I must see what my son wants,” she whispered.
“Must you?”
“I must.”
“Of course, you must,” he conceded, a bit of reluctance evidenced by his tone. Darcy relinquished his touch. Elizabeth gradually increased the physical distance between them, even if not the emotional embrace, for she did not turn her back towards him until the last possible moment. Upon entering the room, she unhurriedly pushed the door shut with her eyes settled upon Darcy, who remained standing in the same spot with a look of longing as telling as was hers.
Elizabeth enfolded her hands behind her back and rested against the door for a moment. Breathe, she reminded herself before going to Ben’s bedside.
A few days hence, the pleasant weather encouraged Darcy and Ben to have a walk in the park. The young lad had been noticeably quiet, giving Darcy to wonder if anything was amiss. Ben stated that all was well when Darcy pressed, but the words did not match his demeanour at all.
Growing increasingly concerned, Darcy asked, “Are you quite certain there is nothing troubling you, Ben? Friends have no need to keep such matters to themselves. You and I are friends, are we not?”
“You are my best friend in the whole world,” Ben responded reassuringly.
“Then perhaps you will confide in me.”
“Well, there is a matter that I have been thinking about since Mama and I went away from the parsonage house, but I am not certain if I ought to say anything.”
“Not even to me?” Darcy replied.
“This matter is more of a question.”
“You do know that you may ask me anything. I shall always endeavour to answer as best I can.”
“In that case, pray tell me, King Arthur, what is romance?”
Darcy swallowed hard. Of all the questions in the world, he never expected that one. “That is a rather odd question for a young knight such as yourself. What has brought it about?”
“Before my mama and I left the parsonage, I heard Mama and her friend, Mrs. Collins, talking.”
“Ben, surely you know better than to listen to conversations meant to be between your elders.”
Ben sighed. “That is what my mama says.”
“And yet you confess to having done so.”
The lad shook his head. “Indeed. How else am I to know what is happening all around me?”
“I posit there are some things—a great many things, in fact--that someone as young as you ought not to know.”
“Do you mean to say I should know nothing at all about romance?”
“Not at the moment. You will know all about romance soon enough.”
Ben shrugged a little. “Still, I would welcome anything you can tell me for now, so that I might know what to expect when the time comes.”
“I have a suspicion that your curiosity will not wane until I have answered your question. Very well, then.” Darcy halted, thereby encouraging young Ben to do the same. He lowered himself to the child’s eye level. He cleared his throat. “Romance is what takes place between a man and the woman he loves. It has to do with the manner in which they comport themselves with each other—the things they say and do and the tender sentiments they suffer in so doing… even the way they look at each other.”
“Mama said a marriage with romance is something to which everyone ought to aspire when they can,” said Ben. “Mrs. Collins said she did not necessarily agree.”
Darcy chuckled a little in spite of himself. “That is precisely the sort of thing I would expect of Mrs. Collins,” he said in a low voice meant only for himself.
“Oh?” Ben exclaimed.
Somewhat obliged to offer an appropriate response, Darcy added, “My aunt’s vicar does not strike me as being of a romantic bent.”
His expression easing from bafflement to intrigue, Ben asked, “Are you romantic, King Arthur?”
“That is a matter of opinion,” Darcy replied.
“If you are romantic, I should like it very much if you would tell my mama.”
“Ben,” Darcy said, “I do not believe this discussion should go any further.”
The young lad shrugged again. “If that is your wish, I shall say no more. However, will you promise me that you will think about it?”
It would be a promise easily kept, Darcy silently acknowledged, for it is a matter that is always on my mind. He stood and resumed his former attitude, encouraging Ben to act accordingly. Extending his hand and accepting Ben’s small hand in his, in turn, Darcy replied, “You have my promise.”
