by Iris Lim
The intelligent look in her eyes, mingled with a sort of sadness, confused him instead.
“I am no strategist, sir.” She looked away, towards the table and its neglected spread.
“I am sorry if I inadvertently accused you of being one,” he apologized more quickly than he himself expected.
“No, please – do not fault yourself, sir.” Her eyes, bright before, now appeared disheartened. He leaned forward to observe those eyes closer. Her voice by his ear surprised him with its solemnity. “A spinster is easily misunderstood. It is but inevitable.”
Her words struck him keenly.
“Miss Lucas.” He stayed his hand before it could land on her elbow. “Please – forgive me. I had not meant to imply that your kindness was rooted in any selfish ambition.”
She made a sound between a scoff and a sigh. “You are not the first to speak this way, sir.”
“But I am determined, Miss Lucas” – his courage rose with every word –”to be the last.”
She turned to face him, eyes searching. His heart rose with his courage.
The crowds around them began to rediscover their hunger – and soon began to trade their gossip for their seats again.
“Miss Lucas,” Richard asked, wholly ignoring the fact that Mrs. Hurst flanked him on the other side, “perhaps, when supper is concluded, we may discuss your observations further? I would like very much to prove that certain things are not – inevitable.”
To his excitement, relief, and elation, she smiled and nodded.
• • •
Fifteen Years Ago
• • •
“Be quiet now, alright? Your Uncle Darcy needs his peace.”
Richard nodded obediently. To have an earl as a father meant that he would never dare challenge his old man’s authority.
He may stand taller now – but he would never dare lift his head higher than and profess to possess wisdom greater than his father’s.
“Praise the babe, no matter how she might look.” His father chuckled before he led them through the door.
Richard took in his surroundings quickly, contemplating what the crib, the wet nurse, the sick bed, the small stool, and the grand armchair implied. He trailed his father’s footsteps until they both stood before Uncle Darcy. The master of Pemberley slouched on the armchair. On his chest, he held a tiny human being, with tiny arms pushing out occasionally from the cloths wrapped around it.
“Congratulations, brother.” Father patted Uncle Darcy’s shoulder. It was an almost tender moment between the two great men. Then Father looked towards the bed. His eyes carried a hint of sadness. “And you – Anne.”
Richard noticed that Aunt Darcy nodded feebly. He’d heard murmurs about her illness, here and there. Mother had mentioned yesterday that he and Father truly ought to visit while they could.
Richard wondered what Mother meant – but already disliked it before he truly knew.
“You have a sister now, Fitzwilliam.” Father spoke to young Darcy. Richard noticed that his cousin’s eyes were red – and that he looked particularly large for sitting by Uncle Darcy’s feet on a minuscule stool.
“Thank you, Uncle,” he answered.
With all the greetings done, Richard allowed himself to observe again the small bundle of a child Uncle Darcy held.
Richard could not see the face of the new child – but he saw Uncle Darcy’s. He saw the joy and the bliss and the tenderness. He saw the hope and the instant love.
This babe, this child – was changing life itself for the small Darcy household.
Richard wondered, briefly, if his father had also held him this way soon after he was born.
He quickly decided his formal, stifling father would never have done such a thing.
“She is beautiful, Anne.” Uncle Darcy’s voice sliced through the silence. Richard watched with fascination as the new father’s eyes alternated tenderly between his wife and his young daughter. “She is like you.”
Despite his every wish to be manly, Richard found his own throat blocked by some sort of sentiment.
This was love. This was joy. The look on his uncle’s face was tender – but it was also strong enough to weather a thousand upcoming storms.
This was unparalleled happiness. This was true, familial love.
It was a pity only Uncle Darcy enjoyed it.
It was a pity Richard himself never would.
Chapter 6:
The Fluttering Hearts
“My father thinks of the matter otherwise, sir – Colonel.” Stars danced in her eyes whenever she smiled. The rest of her face remained serene – a fortress. Their conversation had begun in earnest after the conclusion of their meal and dance, and it had persisted interrupted ever since. “The opinion of a spinster daughter holds little weight, I’m afraid.”
“But there is no reason for him to prefer your siblings over you.” Injustice weighed heavily upon Richard’s chest. He had learned much about this remarkable woman in the past few hours – and it grieved him to hear of any other person not having been equally taken with her. “While Mr. Philips’ assessment of your estate matters may bear certain truth, certainly the disparagement of your opinion was highly unnecessary.”
“You are a fair man not to hold my position against me. There are few who would hold to your views, sir.”
“My views are correct – of that I am certain.” Richard frowned. He was unsure how their discussions regarding the size of the room, and the number of dancers, had so quickly descended into his blatant indignation over her family’s manners – but he was certain to pursue the topic to the end. Tonight was proving to be the most fascinating ball of his life yet. “Your birth as a lady ought not to undermine immediately your wishes and views.”
“Sir, do not fret.” She sat close to him – the distance between them dwindling as the remaining hours of the ball flew by. Her honest, open gaze carried a sincerity he found refreshing to the utmost. “The world may not agree with your assessment, sir, but I – for my own humble part – respect you highly for thinking so.”
A satisfaction rose in his chest, dispelling his anger.
On a whim, he took her hand and kissed it. She looked, as expected, entirely surprised by the gesture.
All his life, he had followed the inevitable. Tonight, one simple audience with one remarkable lady had proven that life held more possibilities than he had ever thought it did.
Why must a lady be unremarkable merely for her gender and age? Why must the son of an earl dance every dance? Why must a younger son pursue a military career – or marry his cousin – merely because his entire family believed it his only choice?
“You are a savior, Miss Lucas – and I shall cherish your company every time I look back upon this evening.” There was a rawness in his throat as he let her hand go – a rawness that he had never experienced until tonight. Around them, the crowds dissipated until only the Bennet, Lucas, and Bingley families remained. He knew their time to be limited.
Richard smiled. “Never allow a man to undermine your thoughts, Miss Lucas, for you just might be correct.”
The lady smiled, intelligent and comforting, as they both rose at the approach of her mother. “Perhaps you are right, Colonel. Should I report to you if I discover that you were?”
Richard’s lips smiled of their own accord. “Consider it a command, madam.”
Their gazes lingered when she departed with her family. His heart throbbed harder than it had for many years.
As the occupants of Netherfield each stood upon the entrance – waving farewell to their remaining guests – Bingley declared the success of the evening, Darcy smiled before muttering that he ought to find Georgiana, and Richard realized how thoroughly his fair, young cousin had slipped his mind from the very moment supper had begun.
He wondered, as he weaved his way through the guest wing, if it was right of him to forget his charge so thoroughly.
The moment passed quickly as he prepared himself fo
r bed. Miss Darcy was a child, Miss Lucas a woman.
There was no reason for him to regret where his current attentions lay.
• • •
The kiss of the morning air was light on his cheeks, the birds’ conversations gentle on his ear, as he waited for his preferred companion to arrive. Wickham had been helpful this morning, particularly helpful and kind.
But, still – Darcy wished for someone else’s voice to keep him company at the foot of Oakham Mountain.
“Mr. Darcy! Mr. Wickham! I am – surprised.”
The salutations came right after the rustling leaves indicated her arrival.
Darcy smiled widely, satisfied at the accuracy of his own predictions.
“Miss Elizabeth,” he greeted just as Wickham did. He could almost hear her nodding.
“How come you to be here – sirs?” She asked a moment later, sounding sincere in every way. Darcy painted the picture in his mind – her short, quick-footed stature with her questioning eyes and her tentative smile. Bingley had mentioned that all the Bennet sisters had large eyes. Darcy had been particularly sure of that fact in Miss Elizabeth.
“I did not realize we needed permission, madam,” Darcy spoke with every civility. “I must apologize for the early intrusion.”
“Oh, no – sir, not at all!” She stepped closer. Her boots cut through the padded leaves, crisply and surely. “I am merely – surprised, sirs, to find company at such an early hour the morning after a ball.”
Darcy smiled, and he heard Wickham laugh.
“You should have seen me, Miss Elizabeth, when Darcy woke me when the sun had barely risen this morning. I nearly punched the man!” Wickham discussed this morning’s matters freely.
It was not common for a man in another’s employ to speak so readily to his master’s friends. Still, this was George – friend, comrade, guide, and, in many ways, brother. There could be no fault in these interactions – Darcy knew.
Elizabeth chuckled beautifully, and answered – to Darcy’s surprise – the seated master rather than his companion. “Are your servants always so violent, Mr. Darcy?
Wickham cleared his throat. Darcy smiled again. “George is not merely a servant.”
“But violent nonetheless then.” She laughed again. She was teasing, he supposed.
Darcy reached for Wickham’s elbow – an attempt to appease him. The taught arms relaxed somewhat.
“Your allusions to the morning view of Oakham Mount fascinated me so thoroughly last night, Miss Elizabeth, that I thought to witness it through your eyes.” Darcy faced the Hertfordshire lady as he spoke. “Would you care to describe it?”
“Oh.”
She did not further elaborate on her reply.
Darcy fidgeted, slightly unsure of himself despite their weeks of interaction. Ever since the sisters had returned home to Longbourn, Bingley had called upon Miss Bennet every day during those weeks – and Darcy had kept him faithful company. Despite Wickham’s occasional absence, he had managed each relocation bravely.
Every day, he had discussed with Miss Elizabeth the weather, the room, the people in it, and every book they had both read. Her pleasant insights proved the tedious hours he had invested into discovering the contents of books worthwhile. The French papers Father often ordered from the continent may have translated the primary occurrences of each tale into small dots his son could slowly decipher – but it was in the company of Miss Elizabeth that Darcy truly came to know the characters that inhabited each story he knew.
She had mentioned more than once during their many conversations that she loved to walk to this place every morning.
He was happy to be able to encounter her today.
“I am sorry, Mr. Darcy, for having spoken so selfishly in your presence.” Her voice drew his mind to the present.
“So selfishly, you say?” Darcy frowned – completely unaware of what she implied. “I fail to understand you, Miss Elizabeth.”
“How could I be so selfish as to describe a fair view to you – when I know you may only see it through others’ eyes?” she lamented. The contriteness in her voice completely eclipsed its former lightness.
“I may see it through your eyes, Miss Elizabeth – and there are no better eyes to use than eyes which love to behold their subjects.”
“I – I am a fool.”
“You are not,” he insisted, baffled that she would be so self-incriminating.
There was a pause between their words, a moment where she shuffled. Why she would suddenly be hesitant – he did not know.
“I – I beg your forgiveness, sir, for – for limiting the world which you live in. It is unkind of me to suggest that you did not deserve a description of the view – as much as anyone else did.”
Her understanding comforted him, and he sighed his worries away. “I do not take offence, Miss Elizabeth.”
“Thank you, Mr. Darcy.”
He nodded solemnly, and he felt her tap the back of his hand in a gesture of friendship. His heart soared at the sensation – however fleeting the touch proved to be.
For a moment, no one spoke – and Darcy wavered between enjoying their mutual silence and fearing that they had at last exhausted all topics they could possibly discuss.
“Shall I describe to you the sunrise, sir?” Suddenly, she was speaking by his side, catching even him by surprise.
He gladly allowed her to assist him on his left, while Wickham guided him on the right.
Her pretty words complemented perfectly the growing warmth around him. He smiled, content – happier than he had ever been in years.
• • •
That wonderful morning – with Miss Elizabeth’s lovely depictions of sunrise and gentle touches – placed in him a lightness of heart that lasted for days. Miss Bingley had remarked upon his smile at breakfast, and Georgiana – for all her quietness – had concurred. The frequent absence of George, who disappeared often after assisting his master with preparations for the morning meal, was the only reason Darcy did not roam Oakham Mountain every day.
“What do you think, Fitzwilliam?”
He turned slightly towards the direction of Georgiana’s voice. The Netherfield library was empty save for the two of them. He considered momentarily if his sister disliked or enjoyed her break from her regular lessons.
“Yes, dear?”
He began to wonder if she had once again forgotten his ailment and attempted to display for him her attire. The library was not a conventional choice for vanity, but young ladies all had preferred habits of their own.
“What were your thoughts?” She echoed – her voice still filled with maiden innocence.
“Of your morning gown?”
“No – Fitzwilliam.” She chuckled softly. “You were smiling – and I wondered what made you smile.”
He did not realize that he smiled at all until now – and he quickly dropped his face into a frown.
“Now you look upset.” He felt Georgiana remove herself from her chaise and walk over to the couch he occupied. She placed a hand on her shoulder. “Are you well, Fitzwilliam?”
“Yes,” he said readily, unwilling to explain to his child of a sister what he truly felt. He could not claim anything – and had no right to such burgeoning feelings – without Miss Elizabeth’s acquiescence.
“Did you meet her?” Georgiana asked.
“Her – who?” Darcy shuffled, turning askance. He moved his walking stick towards a safer, farther direction.
“Fitzwilliam –”
“My cousin musing upon a girl?” Richard’s voice emerged at the door.
Darcy both liked and disliked the amusement in his voice.
“Cousin Richard.” Georgiana addressed with every politeness. Darcy smiled at her perfect manners. “Do join us.”
Richard paused before answering, “Of course.”
Darcy listened as the colonel moved towards the seat across from him and Georgiana – and he lifted his gaze, however darkened, towards his cousi
n as if he spoke with him with every normality.
“You did not dine with us this morning,” Darcy stated. His mind recalled, for a moment, how Miss Elizabeth had complained about her cousin – an overenthusiastic Mr. Collins – adamantly joining the Bennet family for every meal. Their cousins were different, quite so.
Almost involuntarily, Darcy smiled, again.
“Georgiana is right, Darce – you smile far too often for a person who beholds nothing to smile about.”
The statement stung, but Darcy braved it for his sister’s sake. “Is there fault in choosing joy?”
“Joy is unlike you, for you are born to be somber.”
“That statement is unfair of you to make. Do you forget our childhood play?”
“Somewhat.” There was a tiredness in the soldier’s voice, a tone that sounded almost – distracted.
For one quiet minute, every family member in Netherfield’s neglected library dwelled upon private thoughts.
“Georgiana, would you be a dear enough to fetch us tea?” Richard said suddenly.
Darcy frowned, surprised that his cousin would command his sister as he would a servant. Still – the distracted tone persisted – and Darcy wondered if Richard had more important thoughts to share.
Was he ready at last to marry Georgiana? Ten and six was young – but not unreasonably so.
“Please add some mint to mine,” Darcy confirmed his cousin’s order by adding his own. “Thank you, dear. You are most kind.”
Thoughts remained suspended as Georgiana acknowledged the requests and left the room. She closed the door without prompting – and the cousins sat across from each other – alone.
The silence weighed heavily. Richard had a solemn announcement – that much was clear.
Richard cleared his throat. Darcy listened.
“After all these years as a soldier, son, and friend,” the distracted voice began, sounding faraway, “I believe I have found the woman who would add to my roles that of husband and father.”
Darcy nodded, noting the similarities between his own intentions and Richard’s.