by Leenie Brown
Taking the candle from beside his bed, he made his way out of his room and down the stairs. Perhaps the numbers in his ledgers would be more cooperative now than they had been earlier, and perhaps the activity would cause his eyes to droop. If it did not, there was more than one tome dedicated to agriculture that might do the job admirably. There was a sofa in his study. He would sleep there.
He stopped outside his study and noted the light that shone from beneath his father’s door. His father’s candle was nearly always out before Marcus had made his final rounds of the house each night. He should check to make sure the candle had not been left burning.
He crossed to the door and knocked softly before pushing the door open. “Are you well?” he asked, seeing his father sitting up in his bed.
“Merely pondering life,” he replied with a smile. He patted the bed. “Join me.”
Marcus sighed and joined his father in the bed. “I have had my fill of pondering.”
“I want grandchildren.”
The comment took Marcus by surprise. “Philip will have a child soon.”
His father nodded. “By spring.”
“You know?”
Mr. Dobney chuckled. “I do. Philip could not keep the news to himself, so he confided in me.” He shrugged. “I suppose he wished me to know in case …” The idea of mortality hung in the air, heavy, and unwelcome to both. Finally, after a few moments of contemplation, he continued. “But Philip’s child will not sleep in Aldwood’s nursery nor run through the garden or fill these halls with laughter every day. Only yours will. I want grandchildren. Here. With me.”
Marcus considered the idea of youngsters chasing each other down the stairs and out into the garden as he and Philip had done. “It would be pleasant,” he admitted.
“I remember holding you for the first time. I was terrified. You were so small and helpless. Everything I did suddenly grew in importance because it affected not only me but also you and your children.” He patted Marcus’s hand that lay on the bed between them. “My knees had not shaken that much since the day I asked your grandfather for permission to marry your mother.”
“Were you nervous about being accepted” Marcus turned questioning eyes toward his father.
“No. I knew I would be accepted both by her and her father.” He smiled. “She was beautiful, but so –” He seemed to be searching for the word.
“Spirited?”
“She was that, and illogical at times. Very much like Miss Lydia, but with a shade — and only a shade — more training. I feared for Aldwood Abbey.”
Marcus blinked in surprise. “You did?”
Mr. Dobney nodded. “Very much so. My mother had predicted that the place would crumble around my feet from neglect and over expenditure, and my father insisted our children would be indulged to the point of ruin. However, they only saw the bright, spirited side your mother displayed in public. I had seen her heart. She was not what others thought her, and she proved it time and again over the years.” He patted Marcus’s hand once again. “Have I told you the story about how your mother’s cottage came to be?”
“Not today.” Marcus chuckled. He had heard the story many times over the years. “It was a wedding gift. A place where you could begin your life together without grandmother and grandfather’s interference.”
“It was a bit more than that. It was where your mother could prove to them that I had not made a mistake in choosing her, which is why she insisted that the cottage become yours — solely and completely yours — on your wedding day.”
“What?” Marcus had not heard this part before. “It is not just part of the estate.”
His father shook his head. “No, it was hers to do with as she willed. She said that you were very much like me, and she knew that one day, you would find a girl who no one else would see as capable, and she would steal your heart and you, being the cautious sort, would need a place to let her find her feet.”
Marcus shook his head in disbelief. “So, when I came home with a tale about a spirited young lady –”
“Whom you found in your mother’s cottage and who brought a light to your eyes as you spoke, I knew that she would be my daughter.” He pulled himself up straighter in the bed. “And then you returned to the cottage and cleaned it — ah — the final piece fell into place. Someone had finally pushed you past your guilt in not spending that last visit at the cottage with your mother.”
“Lydia scolded me about not caring for my inheritance, and then, I feared she might need it as a refuge should she flee Willow Hall again.” He chuckled. “For some reason, I wanted her to approve of me if she did return to the cottage.”
“She watches you with such admiration,” his father said softly.
“What?” Marcus had not noticed any such thing.
“When you are not looking at her so that she might bat her lashes at you, she watches you with admiration. Even today, she watched you.” He took his son’s hand. “I want grandchildren, and I want them to be yours and Miss Lydia’s.” His grip tightened on Marcus’s hand. “Do you think her a fool?”
“No!” Marcus had not known her for long before he knew she was not a fool — perhaps foolish at times, but never a fool. She lacked guidance, and that was something that she was now receiving from Aunt Tess.
“Is she incapable of learning?”
Marcus shook his head. “She is quite bright.”
“Do you love her?”
Marcus swallowed audibly and faced the question that had plagued him for the last day and a half.
“You have seen her here,” his father continued. “Can you imagine another in her place, sitting in my room, stitching, or playing chess? Do you wish to stroll through the garden with anyone else?”
Marcus shook his head. He could not.
“Then marry her. Aldwood Abbey will not crumble in ruins, and your children will have a loving mother. But most importantly, your heart will be complete.”
~*~*~
“Marcus,” Darcy took a seat next to Marcus on the bench in the churchyard. “Are you waiting for Philip?”
Marcus shook his head and lifted the small book in his hand. “Reading.”
Darcy looked around at the church behind them and the graves before them. “This seems a strange place to be reading.”
Marcus laughed. “I suppose it would appear to be.” He let the book fall open on his lap so that Darcy could see the contents were written in a fine feminine hand. “It was my mother’s. I found it at her cottage this morning when I was seeing to some matters of upkeep.”
“Harris mentioned you had finally returned to it.” Darcy’s tone was understanding. There were places at Pemberley to which he had not returned for several months after the passing of each parent. The memories were too great and caused too much pain at first. Now, however, those places brought a smile because of the memories they stirred.
“The cottage is mine as soon as I marry.” Marcus flipped to the back of the book and passed it to Darcy, pointing to a section that told about how his mother expected him to need a place for his wife to find her feet.
“She expected you to marry someone who needed training?”
Marcus chuckled at Darcy’s inability to hide his surprise. “She was not wrong.”
Darcy passed the book back to Marcus. “You are planning to marry?”
“I am. If I can convince her to accept me.” He tucked the book in his pocket.
“I did not know you had been courting anyone.” There was a hint of a question in Darcy’s voice as if he wished to ask who the young lady was but did not wish to pry.
Marcus chuckled again. “Neither did I until my brother pointed it out to me. I had thought I was just being a friend, but a friend would be willing to see her happy with another and that I cannot do.” He could tell by the widening of Darcy’s eyes that his friend had deciphered who the young lady was. Marcus nodded in reply to the unspoken question. “If all goes well, we will be brothers.”
&nb
sp; “Forgive me, but she is so young — the same age as Georgiana!”
Again, Marcus nodded. Her youth had been his first argument with himself. She was young, but she did not have the leisure of time to find a husband. “She is also on the verge of ruination. How long do you suppose it will be once she is home that the tale of her adventure falls on the right ears and is spread far and wide, leaving her without the slightest hope of finding a good match?”
“But a silly wife, Marcus? You would tie yourself to a silly wife?”
Marcus closed his eyes and swallowed the anger that rose in his throat at the comment. A response such as he wished to give would serve no purpose other than to appease his need to defend Lydia and would quite possibly drive away a friend. “What do you know of her?” He was certain some of the anger he was trying to contain must have come through in his words, for Darcy studied his face carefully before replying.
“Remember that you have asked, and I am only answering.” Darcy waited until Marcus gave a sharp nod of his head. “She is a flirt –”
“Apparently,” interrupted Marcus, “batting one’s lashes and giggling among other things are part of the female arsenal and must be practiced so that when a man of worth — someone who can provide a secure home with adequate staff — catches her fancy, the lady is prepared to snare him. You have been in enough ballrooms to know ladies use such techniques.”
Darcy’s mouth hung open slightly.
“What else do you think you know of her?”
Darcy shrugged. “She puts herself forward too much and too loudly.” He turned to Marcus as if expecting an explanation.
“That is not something to which I can speak with any degree of confidence other than to say I have seen no evidence of it since her arrival. I suspect that it is to some degree her mother’s doing, as well as an attempt to outshine her sisters. She has had neither mother nor sisters present when I have seen her in company.”
Darcy tipped his head to one side and drawing his brows together in concern, asked with a degree of trepidation, “Do you not fear she will become her mother?”
“Do you fear Miss Elizabeth will?”
It was not the reply Darcy expected from the way his eyebrows rose so high and so quickly. “Miss Elizabeth is not like her mother, but Miss Lydia is.”
“Why do you suppose Miss Elizabeth is not like her mother? Is it an innate tendency to be more like her father or is it the fact that her father has nurtured that tendency? Do you not fear the since Miss Elizabeth is like her father, she will eventually become as withdrawn and unengaged with her children as he seems to be with his? I am speaking, of course, with limited knowledge, but I do not think I do him too great an injustice.”
“Miss Elizabeth may be like her father, but she sees his failings. I cannot imagine her becoming as you have described.”
“Nor would you allow it,” said Marcus firmly. He knew enough about Darcy to know that there would be no reason for Elizabeth to retreat from her family.
“Indeed, I would not,” said Darcy. “Not that such a circumstance would ever present itself.”
“No,” agreed Marcus, “it would not. Your marriage will, I imagine, be quite different from that of Mr. and Mrs. Bennet. For one, you are not the sort to give people their way just to be rid of them.” Marcus could see that Darcy was about to object to some portion of what he had said, and he suspected it was the disparagement of Mr. Bennet, so he added, “That is what Miss Lydia says occurs. I should not like to think it true of any man, but the grief in her words was too great to be taken as anything less than accurate.”
Shock passed quickly over Darcy’s face before turning to concern. Marcus knew it was time to lay before his friend all he knew about Lydia. “You have not seen her as I have. You have not heard her fears or seen her hide them behind a smile. Did you know she reads mythology or that she wishes to learn chess, which my father has agreed to teach her?” He chuckled. “She learned the pieces and their uses in just one lesson. Mary Ellen required three and still occasionally needs to be reminded.”
“I did not know,” said Darcy. “I would never have expected her to harbour such…such…”
Darcy seemed lost for the correct word, so Marcus supplied a few of his own. “Intelligence? Wit? Sense?”
“I do not wish to be rude,” said Darcy, “but yes. She hides it well.”
Marcus sighed and nodded his agreement. “She does.” He shook his head. He was still surprised by his feeling for her. “I love her, Darcy. I would not have expected to, but I love her.”
“Well, Philip once told me that love is — unexpected.”
Marcus laughed. “He said the same to me.” He pushed up from the bench. “Were you planning to spend time with your parents or would you like to accompany me to Aunt Tess’s house? I assume your lady is there with Lucy this afternoon?”
Darcy smiled and rose to join him. “She is, and I spent a few moments with my parents while you were reading.” As they exited the churchyard and began their way down the street, Darcy asked, “You say Miss Lydia learned the chess pieces in one lesson?”
“Mmmhmm,” replied Marcus, “and their purposes.”
“Impressive,” Darcy muttered. “What else might I not know of Miss Lydia?”
“She knew the reason for my horse’s name, and her eyes are a rare mix of green and brown which makes them the prettiest in all of Hertfordshire.” He purposefully mixed a sensible fact with one that was not just as Lydia might.
Darcy chuckled. “I will admit that knowing the meaning of your horse’s name is notable, but I will have to disagree on the last part. I believe Elizabeth’s eyes are far more beautiful.”
Marcus clapped Darcy on the shoulder. “As you should, my friend. As you should.”
Chapter 16
“Miss Idia.” Three-year-old Susan Ross tugged at Lydia’s skirt to gain her attention.
“Miss Lydia. L — Lydia,” corrected Susan’s brother Frank. “See. Put your tongue between your teeth.” He made the sound of an L again.
Susan did as instructed and, with a bit of work and some more guidance from her brother, formed Lydia’s name perfectly.
“You are a very good teacher,” said Lydia with a smile for Frank before squatting down to speak with Susan. “A book? Do you wish to have your book read again?” It would be the third time the book had been read since Lydia arrived at the Ross home with Mr. Ross this morning. “Might I check on your mama before we begin” The little girl’s head bobbed her agreement.
“I can check on Mama,” Frank offered. He was trying so very hard to be a proper young gentleman and care for both his sisters and his mother. Lydia saw the wish to be of use in the worried eyes that he turned toward her as he made the suggestion.
“I had hoped you would keep Susan and Edith company for me. I do not wish to leave them unattended.”
A smile spread across Frank’s young eight-year-old face, and he took Susan’s hand. “We can wait for Miss Lydia on the great stump.” He turned his face toward Lydia. “It is a good place to read. Papa reads to us there sometimes, but Mama prefers the rocks near the stream. But Edith might get wet if we go to the stream. She likes to chase the little fish.”
Six-year-old Edith scowled at her brother and folded her arms. “I would not get wet.”
“You would,” Frank retorted. “You always do. You do not know how to behave properly yet. Something catches your fancy, and you run away. It is foolish, you know.”
“It is not foolish,” said Lydia gently. She would not allow Edith to be called what Lydia’s sisters and father had always called her. “She is curious.”
“Getting wet when you should stay dry is foolish,” insisted Frank.
He was right, Lydia supposed, but still she could not allow that word. “I will allow that it is not wise.” Not wise sounded so much better than foolish. If one was not wise, she could still be smart. However, if one was foolish, there was no hope for her ever being intelligent. People d
id not allow for foolish girls to be anything but stupid.
“Are they not the same thing?” asked Frank. “If you are not wise, are you not foolish.”
Lydia shrugged one shoulder. “Would you wish to be called foolish?”
Frank blinked his eyes, and his lips parted just a bit as he shook his head.
“Then do not say it of another,” Lydia kept her tone as gentle as she could, and she smiled at him. She wished him to learn, but she did not want to hurt him. Feelings were difficult things to mend. “I believe we will read at the great stump.” She winked at Edith. “I would find it challenging not to chase the fish myself, and I do not wish to have wet stockings. They are very uncomfortable.” Lydia’s heart nearly burst — in fact, she placed a hand on it to make sure it had not — when Edith’s scowl became a smile. Lydia was not certain she had ever received such a smile of gratitude.
“Go on then,” she said to Frank. “I will not be long.” As they ran off toward where a very large tree had once stood, she called after them, “Mind your brother.” She was not certain why she felt compelled to shout such an instruction to them, but she did. She watched them for a moment longer to see them settled and then hurried into the house.
“Mrs. Ross,” she said, peeking her head into the sitting room. “How are you feeling?”
Mrs. Ross turned her face from watching her children through the window. “You are very good with them.”
“Thank you,” replied Lydia.
Mrs. Ross held out a hand toward Lydia. “Would you help me up? I find I would like to take a small walk around the room, and then return to my seat with a glass of water. I am feeling so much better than I was.”
“The room is no longer spinning?” Lydia assisted Mrs. Ross to her feet. Mr. Ross, with Susan hanging onto his coat tails, had been concerned about his wife when Lydia had met him at the shop on High Street. He had mentioned how she became dizzy and ill when getting close to the time when the baby was expected. As Susan peeked from under her father’s coat and smiled at Lydia, Lydia had been unable to resist offering her help.