Willow Hall Romance

by Leenie Brown

  Elizabeth shook her head and applied herself to her work, allowing the comment to go unanswered. She knew that neither Cecily or Harold would be indiscreet or excessive in their comments. She would merely have to endure a few remarks made in private and intended to let her know of their understanding and support.

  It was a far cry better than what she would experience at home once her betrothal was made known. Her mother was not discreet, nor did she know how best to express her delight. Elizabeth closed her eyes for a moment and sent a silent prayer toward heaven that her father would not tell her mother of the betrothal until after Mr. Darcy left. She knew Mr. Darcy was willing to accept her despite her mother, but there really was no need to make the acceptance more difficult than it needed to be. As she stitched, her thoughts wandered from her mother, who was certain to be excessively excited, to her younger sisters, who were equally as likely to cause embarrassment. She sighed. At least Lydia was not at home. There might be some hope of Mary and Kitty behaving appropriately. So her thoughts continued for some time, and she was just beginning to think they would have a very quiet afternoon when the crunch of carriage wheels on the gravel of the drive wafted through the open window.

  “At last,” said Mr. Abbot, snapping his book closed. “I was afraid I was going to have to read for an entire afternoon.” He winked again at Elizabeth, who smiled in return. Mr. Abbot was almost as fond of reading as her father or Uncle Gardiner. To have to pass an afternoon or evening with only a book as company would have been a very small hardship. “It looks like Mr. Dobney,” he said as he peered through the window. “He appears to have his sister and some other gentleman with him.” He cocked his head to the side. “I do not think I have met him.”

  Elizabeth joined Mr. Abbot at the window to catch a glimpse of the stranger.

  “Not a bad looking fellow,” muttered Mr. Abbot.

  Elizabeth had to agree. The gentleman seated next to Mr. Dobney was handsome. “But looks do not signify character,” she added to her agreement.

  “Quite so,” Mr. Abbot agreed as they moved away from the window and took their seats once again until the party was announced, and they rose in greeting.

  “May I present my cousin, Captain Harris,” said Marcus. “He arrived quite unexpectedly last evening.”

  Elizabeth noted the pointed look that Marcus gave to the man beside him.

  “I promise I had written of my intent to call on my cousins,” Captain Harris defended himself. “In fact, the letter arrived this morning.”

  “His directions were so poorly written,” said Mary Ellen, “that it is a wonder we received it at all.” She smiled at her cousin and spoke with a teasing tone. “But we did.” She took a seat on the couch near Elizabeth and Captain Harris joined her once all the proper introductions had been made.

  “You are in the militia?” Elizabeth queried.

  Captain Harris gave a sharp nod of his head. “I am, but I have been given some time to visit family. However, it will not be so long as it could be since the distance between Brighton and Derbyshire is not small.”

  “You are in Brighton?” Elizabeth asked with surprise. “You are not part of Colonel Forester’s unit, are you?”

  “No.” Captain Harris shook his head firmly. “Colonel Fitzwilliam’s.” He tapped Mary Ellen’s knee lightly with his own, causing her cheeks to flush.

  “Mr. Darcy’s cousin?”

  “You know him?” asked Captain Harris.

  Elizabeth nodded. “I met him in Kent at Easter. He is very pleasant, but I did not see him as a colonel, only as a guest of his aunt, so your opinion of him might be very different from mine, Captain Harris.”

  Captain Harris smiled. “I hold my colonel in highest regard, Miss Bennet. He is among the best.”

  “It is good to hear my judgement of him was not mistaken.” Elizabeth was sure it sounded like the correct thing to say, but to her, whose judgement had been so very flawed regarding so many people, it was much more than a comment to be thrown away. It was an acknowledgement that she was not totally without sense in judging character.

  “Now, Colonel Forester has the marking of one day being a fine colonel, but…” He shook his head and clucked his tongue softly, “he has been given quite the challenging band of recruits. A rather ragtag and bobtail lot they are.”

  Elizabeth’s brows rose in surprise. She had not thought the regiment from Meryton was so very bad.

  “Oh, not the whole lot, that is very unfair of me to say.” Seeing her expression, he adjusted his estimation. “It seems it is always just a few who make the reputation of the whole.”

  She could not disagree with that, although she felt as if she should, for his judgement seemed presumptuous. Colonel Forester had been a very agreeable man, and she knew that he did not use discipline sparingly. “Do Colonel Forester and his wife get on well?”

  The question was asked but remained unanswered for some minutes as Cecily finally returned to the room just before the tea tray and introductions were made. Finally, when tea had been served, Captain Harris returned to their discussion. “I do not wish to offend,” he said softly, “but Mrs. Forester is a bit silly, although I am certain that much of that has to do with her age. She is not very old.” He took a sip of his tea. “She has a friend staying with her. A bit of a flirt.” He took another sip of his tea. “Oh, what is her name? I should know it. I am sure I have heard it in a half dozen or so conversations.”

  Elizabeth sighed. “Miss Bennet.”

  Captain Harris grimaced. “A relation?” he asked.

  “My sister.”

  “Well, I have put my foot in it now, haven’t I?” He shook his head and smiled sheepishly.

  Although Elizabeth was indeed mortified to hear a complete stranger refer to her sister as a flirt, she was glad to hear something of how Lydia fared. Jane had shared some of what Lydia had written to Kitty, but it was all uniforms, handsome men, and soirees with a bit about the sites and sea at Brighton. “I would rather the truth than a pleasing lie,” said Elizabeth with a smile. “I am sorry to say that my youngest sister is an incurable flirt. Please tell me that she has not done anything to bring utter shame to her family.” She held up a finger. “But only if it is the truth. I shall prepare myself for the worst, of course.”

  “She is a trial to you?” asked Mary Ellen.

  “She acts without thought,” said Elizabeth quietly. “She has a lively spirit, but it has been left unchecked.” Her cheeks burned with the admission that her father had not done his duty by his family through allowing Lydia to continue as she always had.

  “That is unfortunate.” Mary Ellen placed a hand on Elizabeth’s.

  Elizabeth nodded her agreement.

  “I assure you,” said Captain Harris, “that beyond flirting, I have not heard of anything improper.” He grimaced once again. “However, the objects of her flirtation leave something to be desired.”

  Elizabeth shook her head and closed her eyes. She knew of whom he spoke. “Mr. Wickham is still among that number?” To her surprise, she felt Mary Ellen’s hand tighten on hers. The action made the small nervous fluttering sensation in her stomach, which she felt each time she thought of Lydia in Brighton, grow to a churning. The look of concern in Mary Ellen’s eyes when Elizabeth looked at her did nothing to quell the nerves.

  “He is.” Captain Harris’ voice was grave. “He is not a proper companion for any young lady.”

  Elizabeth sighed. She knew this to be true now. How she longed to go back to last fall and reform her impressions of him then. Perhaps, if she had taken a more careful look at what Mr. Wickham said and how he presented himself, she might have saved her family and Lydia the association. But, she had not, and now she must bear the weight of that error. “I know,” she replied softly.

  Captain Harris’s smile was sympathetic. “I fear he missed his calling by joining the militia. He is far better suited to the stage, for he certainly knows how to play a part.”

  Elizabe
th nodded. “That I also know.”

  “As do many,” said Mary Ellen. “He is quite convincing.” She turned to her cousin. “Perhaps it should be suggested to him. I am certain the fame and fawning which would accompany such a profession would be very appealing to him. A letter to Colonel Fitzwilliam, perhaps?” She spoke lightly as if teasing, but her eyes were serious.

  Captain Harris’ brows furrowed for a moment before he chuckled. “I shall make mention of it to him; however, I shall have to do so soon, as he is set to depart Brighton for town and then Derbyshire in a week’s time. I am not sure a post would reach him in time. ”

  “Oh,” said Mary Ellen with a wave of her hand, “we shall send it express, and I shall write the directions so that it will not get lost.” She giggled softly as if it were a great joke, but Elizabeth noted how Mary Ellen’s grasp on her hand had not yet loosened. It was obvious that the young woman was more fearful than she allowed in her comments. Perhaps she knew of Georgiana’s ordeal. She was friends with both Mr. Darcy and his sister.

  “Colonel Fitzwilliam is to come to Derbyshire?”

  “Aye, he is planning to visit his cousins and his parents, of course. Lord and Lady Matlock have retired to their estate for the summer. I am to remain here until he is to return. Then I am to accompany him, as his current escorts will be given a few weeks to visit their families. Our unit, you see, originates from the towns around here.” He tipped his head and peered at Elizabeth, whose brows were furrowed quite deeply as she thought. “Is there something troubling you, Miss Bennet?”

  “I was merely wondering why, if Mr. Wickham is from Derbyshire, he is in Colonel Forester’s unit and not yours.”

  “His home is now in London.” Mary Ellen’s comment was quick.

  “Oh,” said Elizabeth softly. From the sharpness of her companion’s reply, she was fearful that she had offended but did not know how or why.

  Mary Ellen, finally, released Elizabeth’s hand and gave it a reassuring pat. “He is no longer welcome here,” she said softly. “I dare not say more, for it is not my tale to tell.” She bit her lip and studied Elizabeth’s face. “Very well,” she said after a moment, “I should not say, but since your sister is well within his sphere of influence, you may wish to speak to Lucy regarding Mr. Wickham, but please, when you do, be gentle. It is not a pleasant tale.”

  Elizabeth’s heart sank. Lucy, too? How many people had this man injured? Her spirit was troubled for the remainder of the visit and well into the evening. No matter how many times Cecily managed to speak of the arrival of Mrs. Gardiner and Jane, Elizabeth’s spirit would not be lifted for more than a few moments. Finally, as she prepared for bed, she determined that tomorrow, before Jane arrived, she would call on Mrs. Dobney. It was better, she supposed, to hear the sordid tale than to imagine what it might be. Then, she would also be better able to decide if she should write to her father. Perhaps if he knew details of the character of some of the men at Brighton, he would see reason and have Lydia returned home before anything irreversible could happen. Plan in place, she blew out her candle and snuggled under the covers.

  Chapter 6

  Elizabeth stood just beyond a low border, watching Cecily play with her children in the garden. The ball rolled toward the large tree that shadowed the far corner, and Lucas Abbot, the elder brother at nearly four years of age, ran after it while Aiden Abbott, the younger brother and just three months past his first birthday, swayed slightly and then took one wobbly step followed by another equally unstable step before falling with a plop to the ground. The action of dropping so ungracefully to the ground did not please the young child. His scowl before he took to crawling after his brother made Elizabeth smile. He was a determined young man. A little fall was not going to stop him from pursuing his goal, which at this moment was the ball with which his brother was taunting him.

  Cecily waved to Elizabeth. “Come, join us.”

  Elizabeth, having just returned from what had proven to be a rather disturbing call at the parsonage and wishing for some time to think about all Lucy had shared with her, would have made her excuses and gone into the house. However, the motion of his mother had turned Aiden toward Elizabeth, and the ball was seemingly forgotten in favour of the new arrival.

  “Izabef!” Lucas, ball in hand, reached her before his brother could. “Will you play ball with me, Izabef?”

  Elizabeth tousled the boy’s hair. “Of course. Do you wish to run before I throw it?”

  The young man’s head shook furiously from side to side. “I want to race it.”

  “Very well.” Elizabeth took the ball from his hands and squatted down. “Ready,” she warned. “Go.” The ball rolled along the grass, passing just beside Aiden, who stopped and sat, looking first at Elizabeth and then the ball — clearly unsure which should get his attention.

  “Aiden,” Elizabeth called. “Come.” She bent down and held out her hands toward him. The smile he turned on her would have been enough of a reward in itself, but the feeling of chubby little arms encircling her neck and a head nuzzling into her shoulder was even better.

  “You are a natural,” said Cecily as she took Elizabeth’s arm and led her to a bench not far from the tree at the end of the garden. Shadows of shade danced across the bench as the breeze rustled the leaves of the less mature tree beside it. Lucas had returned with his ball, wishing for it to be tossed once again. Cecily obliged him. “It is his favourite game. He can roll it himself, of course, but he prefers running after it when someone else has rolled it. See how he tries to reach the tree before the ball?”

  “I do. He is very quick.” Elizabeth sat Aiden on her lap and squeezed him tightly. He snuggled into her arms and stayed there peacefully for a moment until Lucas once again returned. Then, with a babble that sounded like ball, he began twisting and turning to free himself. “Very well, young man.” Elizabeth stood him on his feet. He teetered a bit, but this time he managed three steps before landing on the ground. “He will be chasing after Lucas before long.”

  “That he will,” said Cecily proudly. “They do keep their nurse busy. When I looked in on them this afternoon, she looked as if she could use a few quiet moments, and I could not resist the beautiful weather. So, here we are. My duties are complete for the moment, and I am free to enjoy the garden with my dear boys. One of the great pleasures of motherhood.”

  Elizabeth closed her eyes and drew a deep breath. “It is a lovely day,” she agreed. “I would also choose to sit in the garden on a day like today if I could not take a walk.”

  “Your walk was pleasant?” It was more than a pleasantry. Elizabeth could hear the curiosity that lay behind the nonchalance of the comment.

  “It was.” Elizabeth’s smile was teasing. She knew what information Cecily sought. “Not a cloud in the sky. A soft breeze to cool me, and a few birds to add their choruses to my reverie.”

  “And Mrs. Dobney is well?”

  Elizabeth nodded. “Quite well, as is Mr. Dobney.”

  Cecily sighed. “Are you going to make me ask?”

  Elizabeth giggled at the exasperated look on Cecily’s face.

  “Very well,” said Cecily, “was your talk enlightening?”

  “Very.” Elizabeth assisted the child who was tugging at her skirt to stand. “I must write to my father. Mr. Wickham’s character is…” She searched for the best word to describe him. “Reprehensible, completely, utterly reprehensible.”

  “I have heard enough to agree.” Cecily rolled Lucas’ ball and, as he scampered after it, turned toward Elizabeth. “I shall not ask you the details, though you know the suffering I must endure not to do so.” She laughed as she pulled herself straight and primly folded her hands in her lap. “I will not be like my mother. I absolutely refuse to be a tattler like she. It is not right, no matter how tantalizing and delicious the topic.” She sighed, her spine curving as if under a great weight. “Doing right is often very hard.”

  Elizabeth wrapped an arm around Cecily’s shoulders.
“It is.” She squeezed her friend closely. “I only wish I had done what was right and not listened to Mr. Wickham’s tales.”

  Cecily snaked an arm around Elizabeth’s waist and returned the squeeze. “Regret touches us all at one time or another. The trick is to seek forgiveness and proceed with greater wisdom.” She released Elizabeth from her embrace, so that she could roll the ball one more time for Lucas. Then, she looked at Elizabeth. It was not a casual or playful glance. No, this was a look that spoke of the seriousness of the words to be spoken and of the love that the speaker had for the hearer. “A mistake must be forgiven not only by the person wronged but also by the one who committed the error. I believe you have the forgiveness of the person injured.” She smiled as Elizabeth nodded. “But do you have your own forgiveness?” She patted Elizabeth’s knee. “Come. We must return these young gentlemen to their nurse, so that we might have a few moments of rest before our sisters arrive.” She stood and looked over her shoulder at Elizabeth. “I shall catch Lucas if you will take Aiden.” She waited for no reply but called to her eldest and dashed toward the tree.

  Lucas squealed and darted behind the tree where he stood peeking around it looking for his mother. Elizabeth laughed at the increased squealing and giggling that came from the child as his mother grabbed him and swung him about in a circle before instructing him to get his ball and follow her.

  “You heard your mama,” Elizabeth said to Aiden. “It is time to return to the nursery.” She took hold of each of his pudgy little hands and hoisted him to his feet, allowing him to walk a short distance before snatching him up and carrying him the rest of the way.

  ~*~*~*~

  Lucy pushed the door to Philip’s study open slowly, peeking around it to see if she would be disturbing him. He glanced up from the book he was reading and smiled. Taking that as his welcome, she slipped into the room.

  “You had a visitor this morning?” Philip placed the book to the side and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk as he crossed his arms.