Hello my dears! At least, I hope you're seeing this. FFN has been glitchy again - I didn't get a single review notification for the last chapter, and only knew I'd gotten any at all by periodically visiting the reviews page. Thank you to everyone who swam through the glitchy swamp (a few of you mentioned not being able to read all the chapters) to read and review chapter nine, you are angels. And thank you all for the kind words. Depression really is a beast, and I fight it every day. Some days I win, some I do not.
Thankfully, I've been winning again these last few days. Your kindness and support helps me a great deal, and so does the news I am about to share! For those of you who do not follow me on Facebook, I am within 2 or 3 weeks of releasing my first audiobook! The narration of my first standalone novel, The Reintroduction of Fitzwilliam Darcy, has been completed by the extraordinarily talented Harry Frost (if you are a listener of JAFF on audio, you might know who that is; if you don't, he's got a fabulous reading voice). All that's left to be done is a final review by me, any corrections if needed, and then it's off to ACX (the division of Amazon that handles indie author audiobook production) for final approval, which can take up to two weeks.
It's very exciting to finally be dipping my toes into the audiobook industry, and more so because I know there are people out there waiting to prophase my book! I want to get all my novels on audio eventually, but as I am in indie author just making enough to write full time, it's going to be a while.
Anyhoo, here's another chapter for you to enjoy!
Chapter Ten
Darcy stared at Elizabeth for a moment in silence.
"Forgive me if I should seem indelicate, my lady, but surely your daughter has no need to earn her own fortune?"
"Certainly not—Henry has provided for both of my daughters extraordinarily well, as they are to have forty thousand each," Elizabeth replied. She shook her head. "Goodness, Mary... what we could have done with such a dowry as that!"
Lady Winstead chuckled softly. "Indeed, Lizzy. But I am not envious of your daughters—consider that had we such a fortune waiting for us, we might never have met our husbands. I would not trade the family God has given me for all the wealth in the world."
A bittersweet smile appeared on Elizabeth's face. "Nor I."
Watching her face and listening to her voice as she spoke, Darcy found himself compelled to say, "I never told you, Lady Stashwick, how very sorry I was to hear of your loss."
Elizabeth turned her gaze to him and nodded. "Thank you, Mr. Darcy. I do hope you received the letter my husband and I sent to you when Mrs. Darcy passed away?"
Darcy nodded. "I did. Thank you for your kindness; I only wish I'd had the opportunity to do the same, but this last year was rather hard on the harvest, and I have been much preoccupied with assisting my tenants in recovering their losses. Pray forgive my oversight."
Elizabeth shook her head. "Do not distress yourself, Mr. Darcy. Even if you had sent a letter, I may not have remembered it. I…"
She paused and drew a breath, expelling it slowly and offering a sad smile. "Those first few weeks after Henry left us are rather a blur. I believe the only thing that got me out of bed every day was the children."
"That I understand," said Darcy with a knowing expression upon his countenance. "I was quite lost at first, having no expectation of losing Mrs. Darcy, but Clara needed me to be there for her, even if she was but a newborn babe."
"Our children are our greatest gift from God and therefore are to be regarded with the utmost dedication and care," said Lady Winstead softly, reminding Darcy—though not unpleasantly—of when he had first come to know the Bennet family; in those days, he had often heard Elizabeth's first younger sister spout soliloquies and opinions derived from either Fordyce's Sermons or even God's Word with no real understanding of the context of the conversation she was attempting to take part in. This time, her words were very much on the mark.
"Indeed they are, Lady Winstead," he agreed. "I know that I cannot imagine my life now without Clara in it, thus her comfort and care are always my first priority."
Darcy noted then that Elizabeth was regarding him with some curiosity. "Something on your mind, Lady Stashwick?"
"Forgive me, Mr. Darcy," said Elizabeth. "But I could not help noticing what a contrast there exists between the version of you that I first met and the one that now sits before me. You are not so stiff and formal, nor so reticent and haughty. There was a day during Jane's illness at Netherfield, I remember, that we sat in the same room for half an hour together and you did not speak a single word to me."
Darcy chuckled as he recollected the day mentioned. He could not tell her that the reason he had been so unwilling to speak was due to not wishing to give rise to any expectations of an attachment between them. He had wanted her but had believed her to be a most unsuitable match.
Fool, he chastised himself.
He could, however, give her a partial, amended version of the true story. "I learned, my lady, that someone whom I hold in very high regard thought me arrogant, conceited, and so puffed up with pride that I selfishly disdained the feelings of others. I gathered that this acquaintance thought me inconsiderate and indifferent to the struggles of those whose condition in life was decidedly below my own. Knowing that I was held in high regard by my family, close acquaintance, and even my tenants and servants… The opinion of this person forced me to reevaluate how I was perceived by others, and I could not help but see that my discomfort in large, unfamiliar company did have a tendency to generate ill-feeling and disdain for my manner. This self-reflection, spurred by my friend's opinion, served to properly humble me, and I vowed to amend my behavior."
Elizabeth colored a little as he spoke, and he wondered if she had discerned that he was speaking of her.
"Well, Mr. Darcy," said she after a moment, "you are certainly to be commended for your efforts to improve yourself, for it is evident that you were successful. It is also very kind of you to speak of your acquaintance in such praising terms, when their opinion could have given offense rather than leading to acceptance of the truth."
At that moment, Lady Isabella's melodious playing ceased, and the three adults applauded her. The little girl's cheeks flushed with embarrassed pleasure, though she also smiled in a manner that reminded Darcy very much of her mother—he could just imagine Elizabeth had been just as precociously pretty at that age, and he had little doubt that as the girl matured, she would be just as beautiful as her mamma was now. Elizabeth was sure to have her hands full judging suitors when Lady Isabella had her debut.
Prudence Winstead approached her mother. "Mamma, are we going to play now?"
Lady Winstead smiled at her. "Indeed, dearest. We must keep our promise to Mr. Darcy."
As the lady stood and took her daughter by the hand, Lady Isabella crossed the room to sit beside her mother. While her aunt and cousin looked through the sheet music at the pianoforte, Darcy took the opportunity to praise her performance.
"You play very well, my lady. And you are quite the artist, as your mother has shown me—she says that portrait of your father there was done by your hand."
Lady Isabella blushed again. "Thank you, Mr. Darcy. That… That is the last portrait I ever did."
"I can understand that losing your beloved father was very painful," Darcy said softly. "When my own father died it was a very long time before I could sit behind the desk in his study and claim it as my own."
Elizabeth handed her daughter a handkerchief when tears slipped down her cheeks. "I… I should paint again, I think. Just like I must practice the harp again and I have started sketching again, I should paint too, do not you think?"
Darcy lifted his eyes to Elizabeth and found her expression to be a mixture of sadness and hope, with a touch of curiosity. She clearly appreciated her daughter's talent and did not wish to see it wasted—and she was interested in how he would respond to Lady Isabella's query.
"In my experience, my lady," he began, "it is only natural to put aside those activities we enjoy when we are overcome with strong emotion, like grief. When we are hurting, even that which brings us joy has little power to please us. You cannot force that feeling to return—it will happen only when your heart is ready for it. However, if you are already considering it, then I do not doubt you will find healing in taking up your paintbrush again very soon."
Lady Isabella sniffled, and if he were not mistaken, so did Elizabeth. He avoided meeting her gaze this time, not wishing to cause her any further embarrassment.
"You sound like my papa," said the little girl. "He talked like that sometimes. Mamma used to say he had his moments of being very wise."
Elizabeth chuckled. "He did indeed, my dear."
After another sniffle and dab at her eyes, Lady Isabella meekly announced that she would go and play with the younger girls. When she had gone and sat with them, Elizabeth moved down the sofa closer to Darcy, the movement surprising him so much that he sat up straight in his chair.
"Thank you, Mr. Darcy," said she.
Darcy raised an eyebrow. "For what do you thank me, my lady?"
She glanced briefly over to the girls and their nursemaid; when she looked back at him, a soft smile lifted the corners of her lips. "For your kindness to Isabella just now. My children have borne the loss of their father with such grace and maturity for persons so young that I sometimes forget how much it hurts them that Henry is no longer with us."
"No doubt you have set them the example, my lady," Darcy offered.
Another chuckle left her as the first notes sounded from the pianoforte. "I do not know about that, Mr. Darcy. As I said, those first weeks were such a blur… I've not much recollection of anything from that time save for how much pain I was in."
"You… you must have loved him very much."
Elizabeth nodded. "I did. I'm sure it surprised many that I could truly love him, given the difference in our ages, but Henry was so very charming. So open and artless in his manner, and so lively. Sometimes it still baffles me that he could desire the portionless daughter of a country squire, but he did. He saw something he wanted, and he just went for it—and he cared not one jot what the ton would think of him for it."
Her cheeks filled with color and she glanced at the children again. "Forgive me," said she when she gave him her attention once more. "I am sure you did not come here to listen to me prattle on."
"No," said Darcy, offering a smile when she glanced at him with one eyebrow raised. "However, I do not mind listening. I certainly did not know my aunt's brother so well as I should like, but by all accounts, he was one of the very best of men."
"He was indeed. There are so few men of my acquaintance who are worthy of the distinction."
She paused and tilted her head again. "I think you could be one of them."
Darcy was so stunned by her words that his eyes widened. "I am honored you should think so, my lady."
Elizabeth laughed. "Oh, you needn't be so surprised, Mr. Darcy! Recall that I stopped disliking you a long time ago."
He grinned. "I vaguely recall such a conversation."
She mirrored his grin. "And really, sir, any man who can speak so kindly to another man's child as you did with Isabella—who could be bothered to learn to braid hair in order to spend more time with his own daughter—he can only be a good man worthy of knowing."
Warmth came to Darcy's cheeks, and though he tried to ignore it, also bloomed in his heart. Elizabeth's own kindness and welcoming manner—which she had always possessed—would make his determination not to pursue her difficult to adhere to.
With a firm intention of distracting himself from these thoughts, Darcy asked Elizabeth after her plans for her stay in London. She laughed and told him that beyond expected invitations to dinner at the homes of her sisters, she hadn't any, as the trip had been rather abruptly decided on.
"Lady Disley harangued you as she did me, I suspect?"
Elizabeth grinned. "I shan't say she did that, but yes, it was a letter from her that prompted me to give up my self-imposed exile. That and the very sensible advice from my sister and her husband—my children need socialization, and I have charitable work that I have not attended to in a year's time. It may be a week, though—perhaps longer—before I become involved with those organizations again, as I still feel somewhat unequal to being in company. I know it is inevitable, but I am not quite ready to go out into the world again."
"It is understandable you should wish time to acclimatize yourself to being in society again," Darcy assured her. "I feel much the same."
"It makes sense for you to feel reluctance, as you have been out of society longer than I have," Elizabeth replied.
"Perhaps, but recall that I have not the same lively manner as you possess," he told her. "It was far too easy for me to hide myself away from the world at Pemberley with my daughter than to face the pity of society for having lost my wife in childbirth only a year after marrying her."
"No doubt you also wished to avoid those matrons with unmarried daughters who would have no scruple in taking advantage of the situation," Elizabeth observed.
Darcy chuckled. "I admit that was another inducement to staying in the country."
After the performance of Lady Winstead and her daughter, Darcy announced his intention to take leave. Clara protested being taken away, saying, "But I was having so much fun with my new friends!"
Darcy smiled indulgently. "And I am pleased for you, dearest, but we must not overstay our welcome."
He bent closer to her, smiling wider as he said, "Besides, as Lady Stashwick was so kind as to receive us at her home, it is a courtesy that we should invite her to ours. What say you?"
"Oh, I would like that very much!" Clara declared, cheerfully bouncing in her slippers. She looked up at Elizabeth with a wide smile. "Will you come to our house, my lady, and bring my friends with you?"
Elizabeth grinned down at her. "I should be delighted, Miss Darcy."
Clara clapped her hands together, then spun toward where the other children remained near their nurse. "We'll have lots of fun at my house. I have marbles and spillikins and blocks and dolls, and Papa has backgammon and chess—and we have lots and lots of books if you want to read!"
"Do you have a music room?" asked Isabella.
"We do, my lady," Darcy replied. "We have both a pianoforte and a harp at Darcy House."
Lady Isabella smiled, and Darcy turned to Elizabeth just as the butler entered with a note on a tray. He stepped up to his mistress and bowed, then held out the small tray. Elizabeth reached for the note, sighing as she read the address.
"Thank you, Simmonds," said she.
"Begging your pardon, my lady, but the servant who brought the letter bade me inform you that he is to wait for a reply."
"Of course, he is," she muttered, then looked at her own servant. "Simmonds, would you have Mr. Darcy's carriage called; he and his daughter will be departing."
"At once, my lady," said Simmons, who bowed again before turning smartly and departing the room.
Lady Winstead approached. "Lizzy? Are you well?"
Elizabeth grimaced. "Somehow, Lady Cowper has learned of my being in London," said she as she opened the letter. She scanned it quickly, then sighed again.
"Well, it would seem that, ready or not, I am to step into society again tomorrow," she said. "Lady Cowper has invited me to a luncheon."
"My lady," said Darcy, "You are a marchioness—I remind you that you outrank Lady Cowper. You can refuse the invitation."
"Mr. Darcy is right, Lizzy. If you are not ready, tell her so," said Lady Winstead. "The countess will surely understand."
"You are both very kind, but…" Elizabeth drew a breath. "But I think I shall accept. Something was bound to push me to take the first step, is that not so? If I do not take it now, I daresay I might never do it."
"Very brave of you, Lizzy," said Lady Winstead as she put an arm around her sister's shoulders.
Elizabeth flashed a smile at her that Darcy sensed was forced, then turned her attention to him. "When you have reviewed your schedule, sir, send me a note as to what day works best for you."
"As I have no fixed engagements this week either, I believe I can safely choose now," Darcy told her. "Thursday, I think, ought to give you enough time to alleviate the stress of stepping out into society before you were fully prepared to do so."
As he had hoped, his words caused Elizabeth's expression to alter from alarmed resignation to … well, she relaxed a little. And she laughed, before saying, "Mr. Darcy, I find I am looking forward to spending more time in your company—I rather like this more teasing aspect of your character that you kept so very well hidden from us in Hertfordshire."
Darcy returned her smile. "Then shall we be expecting your company on Thursday, Your Ladyship? Perhaps I might also arrange for a luncheon, that the children will have something to look forward to aside from an hour's play?"
"That sounds delightful, Mr. Darcy," Elizabeth replied.
Darcy again forced himself to ignore the warm feeling in his chest at her smile and acceptance of the plan. Despite his cousin's sensible speech at the dinner party on Friday, he had gone to bed that night vowing to keep his distance and not forcing his company on Elizabeth.
Hard to do when one invites himself over to her house and then invites her to dine at his, he chided himself.
Within a quarter of an hour, his carriage was at the door to Stashwick House, and Darcy and Clara had taken their leave.
"I like Lady Isabella and Lady Margaret and Prudence and Sarah, Papa," said Clara as the carriage pulled away from the pavement.
"I am pleased to hear it, dearest," Darcy replied.
"Lady Stashwick is your friend, as well?"
Darcy hesitated only a moment before inclining his head. "I believe she is, Clara."
"Was my mamma pretty? Did she have a pretty smile?"
Darcy was so startled by the questions that for a moment he could not answer—Clara hadn't asked about her mother in well over a year. Clearing his throat softly, he at last answered her query, saying, "Yes, dearest. Your mamma had a very pretty smile. I see it every time you smile, for you very much resemble her. May I ask why you wished to know?"
"Lady Stashwick is very pretty," said Clara with a sigh. "And she has a very pretty smile. Lady Isabella will look just like her, I am sure."
As he recalled having thought much the same of Elizabeth's daughter, Darcy agreed with his own. "I do not doubt of it."
Clara drew a breath as though to ask something else, but closed it again, having apparently decided against voicing whatever thought was in her head. This, of course, made Darcy rather curious, but he decided against pressuring her to speak. Whatever it was, she would come to him with it in her own time.
Darcy and Clara spent the rest of the day at their usual pursuits, though Darcy's quiet afternoon was disturbed by a visit from Bingley, who had heard of his being in town from Mrs. Faulkner. He called to personally invite him to a dinner at Bingley House on Thursday that would include "a few friends" as well as his sisters and their husbands. It was on the tip of his tongue to decline, having no real desire to spend an evening in the company of Lady Dornan or the Hursts, until his friend informed him that Jane was at that very moment calling on her sisters at Stashwick House—for Cate and Stephen had already accepted their invitation—to implore them to join the party.
His sleep that evening was disturbed by a rather shocking dream, and the scenario his subconscious mind had played for him remained at the forefront of Darcy's thoughts the next day. It was still on his mind, keeping him from attending to some letters of business he'd received that morning when his butler announced the arrival of Colonel Fitzwilliam. Darcy bid the servant to have his cousin shown to the study.
"Will, what are your plans for today?" asked Fitzwilliam without preamble as soon as he'd entered the room. "Antoinette has agreed to me taking Anthony to Squire's and I was wondering if you'd care to join us, as it was your idea."
Darcy suppressed the urge to sigh. He hadn't planned on leaving the house at all, but it probably would be a good idea to go—some fencing might help him to gain greater control over his inexplicably unmanageable emotions before he went and did something foolish.
Like propose marriage to a woman barely out of mourning for her husband.
The disturbing dream flashed across Darcy's mind then, and he shuddered at the realization that such a scene might well have played out, had the late Marquess of Stashwick not been assaulted on the road outside of Meryton and Bingley never returned to Netherfield.
"Darcy!" cried Fitzwilliam, startling him from his reverie. "Are you well? You've not heard a word I've said, have you?"
Darcy sighed. "Forgive me, Theo, I've a lot on my mind. You said something about taking your son to Squire's?"
Fitzwilliam nodded. "Yes, but never mind that. What's bothering you?" said he as he dropped into one of the visitors' chairs on the other side of the desk.
Glancing across the wide expanse of oak between them, Darcy scrutinized his cousin closely. He already knew Theodore's view on the matter, but could he trust him with the truth of his feelings?
He decided first to share the dream with him. "I dreamt last night of proposing to Elizabeth, only it was ten years ago—she'd never met your uncle—and I'd wrongly assumed she would accept me."
"You mean she did not? Even in a dream?" asked his cousin.
Darcy shook his head. "No. In this dream, her feelings for me were much like they were before she learned the truth about Wickham—in fact, she did not know it yet and believed his lies about me denying him the Lambton living. My discomfort at being amidst so many strangers whose manners were unlike those of greater society had led to my being perceived as proud and haughty—not that I cared at the time what others thought of me.
"I had no notion Elizabeth disliked me as much as everyone else, as her playful manner I greatly mistook for flirtatiousness," he went on. "I thought she would be so happy to receive my hand, as it would enable her to care for her mother and any unmarried sisters whenever her father should pass away. But she hated me, in this dream, and the manner in which I presented my suit did me no favors. I offended and insulted her by essentially telling her that I had fallen in love with her against my reason, my will, and my character. I had the audacity, Theodore, to list every reason for which I should not marry her, and still did not expect a rejection."
Fitzwilliam looked contemplative for a moment, then said, "Will, it was just a dream. I don't think you'll have to worry about so unfortunate an outcome—you're not the same man you were back then. You're far less standoffish than you were before and you're more considerate of the lower classes."
"But that's who I was, Theo. That's who she remembers," Darcy protested. "I… I swore that I would not allow myself to be pressured into marriage at all, and certainly not to her."
Fitzwilliam sat forward. "And why not? Tell me honestly, cousin, why not Elizabeth?"
"I do not wish her to feel pressured into marrying again before she is ready to move on. I do not wish her to feel pursued for her fortune—"
His cousin scoffed. "Will, she's hardly likely to think you pursue her for her fortune," said he. "You have your own, for one thing, and after ten years as a part of my family, she knows well enough—as should you—that her fortune and her children's inheritance from their father would be protected in the marriage articles."
"She will lose her title if she marries a commoner," Darcy pointed out.
"Technically, yes," Fitzwilliam acknowledged, "but even the peerage are likely to still consider her the Marchioness of Stashwick. It has been her role for an entire decade, and her son is hardly of an age to supplant her by marrying. Had she and Uncle Henry divorced, it would be different, but she's been so exemplary an addition to the nobility, I daresay no one will bat an eyelash and she will still be called Lady Stashwick by those who know her for the rest of her life."
He tilted his head then, and regarded Darcy with a discerning gaze that disturbed him with its intensity.
"You agreed at dinner Friday last that I made sense when I suggested you be her friend for a time to determine her willingness to be courted," Fitzwilliam said then. "What's changed? Did the dream disturb you that much?"
After a moment in which Darcy considered how to respond to the question, his cousin sat back, an expression of amazement upon his countenance.
"You're afraid," said he. "You're afraid she'll reject you."