Chapter Three

Emily stood on the seat cushions in the carriage, pressing her hands flat on the window as she stared at the passing hedgerows, orchards and stubbled fields. A few of the fields had already been tilled for the winter crops. Darcy kept a hand on her so that he could catch her if a sudden jerk of the carriage made her lose her balance.

He was not worried, though. The little creature was surprisingly durable. At first Darcy’s heart jumped into his throat every time she tumbled in a failed effort to walk, and for a week he even used leading strings to keep her upright while she made her experiments in the difficult task of two legged locomotion.

But time familiarized him with the young child’s limits. Darcy learned from many examples that she could safely flop backwards and hit her head on a wooden floor, the dirt, the grass, and even a marble floor without any more damage than a need to cry for a half minute.

He still held her hand carefully when she demanded to walk along the brick base of a fence placed above cobblestones, or back and forth in the windowsill, or when she wished to go down stairs.

“Now we’re in the town,” Darcy informed Emily, and he pointed at the collection of brown and white timber-framed buildings that made up the decent sized market town.

Emily had no visible reaction, but as she continued staring, Darcy thought her properly entertained.

“Why must you insist on taking her,” Mrs. Hurst said. “None of my friends take their children to such things. The child would be happier at home with her nurse.”

“It is best,” Darcy replied, “for her to gain the habit of being in company as early as possible.”

“Mr. Darcy does everything that is proper!” Miss Bingley exclaimed. “Louisa, you cannot compare him to those negligent high society mothers. He knows what he is about — and Emily is such an entire goose that no one could possibly not wish to have her present at every event.”

A slight wrinkling of the young woman’s nose as she said, combined with her emphasis on every made Darcy suspect that Bingley’s sister was not wholly sincere.

Darcy did not know if Emily gained any benefit from being in company at this age. If there was any advantage, it must be slight. His true reasoning was perhaps similar to that of those neglectful mothers Miss Bingley railed against: He wished his child to be present with him, just as those mothers wished their children elsewhere.

The volumes and volumes that Darcy had stuffed his library with upon the subject of child rearing, while they universally disliked nurses and ever leaving children in the care of servants, had mixed opinions on whether it was sensible for the children to be kept often in the presence of adults.

Darcy did wonder what those writers who claimed great harm from putting the child too much in the constraint required by adult company, believed the children would be doing if they were not in the care of servants while their parents entertained or were entertained. Perhaps they believed that the parents ought to wholly abandon society for the sake of their children, till they were of a proper age to be transferred to the care of seminary and school.

After a minute of silence in the carriage, Miss Bingley repeated, “Mr. Darcy is such a perfect father! My heart always glows with light when I see how much he loves his poor motherless child!”

It took an effort for Darcy to avoid a deep frown at how Miss Bingley spoke.

Bingley said, “Hear, hear! Darcy is perfect. That is to say, he is very tall, very rich, and very clever. And he loves his own child. An astonishing thing seldom seen in the dissolute ranks of society.”

“Do not laugh at me, Charles,” Miss Bingley replied. “I am wholly serious.”

To Darcy’s mild displeasure, Miss Bingley had not at all been dissuaded from her scheme to become his second wife by his insistence that he would not marry again.

When they arrived at Lucas Lodge, unfashionably early, not much after the announced time the party was to start, Darcy let the others exit the carriage first, before he stepped down with his long legs, and gave Emily a hand so that she could first jump down the big ledge between the door and the first step, and then carefully go down the next two steps.

They had come early, as Darcy did not expect to stay at the party late. Emily might fall asleep in as little as another two hours.

Once she’d achieved the ground, Emily turned around and immediately tried to lift her leg to a sufficient height so she could climb back onto the carriage’s stairs. After a minute of making these serious attempts, Darcy picked her up and laughingly tossed her in the air, ignoring her screech as he interfered with her efforts. Emily always became horribly offended if he simply picked her up when there was a set of stairs to practice her climbing upon.

The child had a further opportunity for her practice at climbing stairs, as there were three small steps in between the carriage way and the main door. Holding Darcy’s hand, she climbed up them and turned around three times.

It was with far more impatience than usual that Darcy waited for his daughter to get bored with the exercise. He hoped to continue his acquaintance with that odd girl who he’d had that odd conversation with.

His conversation with Miss Bennet had been quite embarrassing, but also, he had been more diverted and fascinated than he could remember being upon making a new acquaintance for a long time.

And she was a pretty girl.

That should have no influence upon him, as he would not marry again. But Darcy could not help but think it was still a little preferable for his partner in a conversation to be attractive.

Upon coming up to the door, still holding Emily’s hand, as she did not wish to be picked up, Darcy was greeted effusively by the beaming, balding proprietor of the estate. “Capital! Capital! Mr. Darcy, delighted. Delighted to see you here.” He rubbed his hands. “And what a fine little miss.”

Emily immediately hid behind Darcy’s leg.

“Still a shy one, is she not?” Sir William shook Mr. Darcy’s hand. “A fine looking girl. A credit to you sir. A credit.”

Darcy nodded his head politely to acknowledge the kindness of Sir William’s statement.

He followed their host into the house, picking up Emily as he went, and holding her, since he thought she’d prefer any introductions to be done that way.

After being introduced to Lady Lucas and the children of the house, and the other guest who'd already arrived, though Darcy forgot their name almost as soon as he’d been told it, he immediately started looking around.

The room felt emptier than he’d expected.

It was because that girl, Miss Bennet, was not yet present.

He’d be disappointed all night if she did not attend. Darcy spoke casually with the other gentleman about the latest news from the Peninsula, the present price of government bonds, and which breeds of horses and hounds were best for fox hunting, and whether Derbyshire’s hillier terrain made any difference in which horses were best for a hunt.

Ordinary, dull, conversation.

Emily squirmed after five minutes to be let down, and Darcy set her on the ground, and she ran with a small shriek to a large sofa and began a close examination of the tassels hanging off the upholstery.

Darcy’s firm view was that if a gentleman did not like to have Darcy’s child running about and making noise, they should not invite Darcy to attend upon them. Sir William had an amused expression when he watched Emily, rather than the sort of offense at his daring to bring a child into the drawing room that he’d seen from some persons.

It reminded him that he ought to think a little nicer of Bingley’s neighbours. Anne had always been delighted when they socialized with the lesser gentry. It had been a reaction to the strictness with which Lady Catherine had always raised her and controlled her behaviour. Too much manners, she’d always said, could be as bad as too little. Darcy had that little burst of sadness he always did when he thought of Anne, and how she could not see what a wonderful creature Emily was.

Darcy maintained a constant observation of Emily, to minimize the chance that she would do any considerable damage to Sir William’s sofas, vases, or rugs.

After a minute of continued conversation, which Darcy only half attended — the virtues of regular application of bear’s grease for the prevention of baldness was fervently extolled by Sir William’s other guest, the one whose name Darcy remained in happy ignorance of — Darcy hurried to pick Emily up. “Do not put that in your mouth, dear.”

She looked back at him, big wide eyes, the image of full and complete happy innocence, and then batted at his nose, giggling. “Oze.”

She had no clue what he had just said, but Darcy put her back down, while continuing to stand close, so that he could immediately stop her when she, inevitably, made a second attempt to consume the tassels.

Thankfully the conversation in which that other gentleman — Mr. Gould, Darcy suddenly remembered — strove to convince Sir William that his hair might grow back, a little at least, if he treated the head three times daily with bear’s grease, did not follow him to the sofa.

After a minute in which Darcy simply contemplated his girl, and the absurdity of male vanity, a soft female voice startled him. “Is this the little girl who you are so devoted to?”

An odd, unexpected jump in Darcy’s stomach. Miss Elizabeth Bennet smiled brightly at him. The woman had very bright eyes, full of light and life.

He ignored that sensation, knowing that it meant nothing but that he was attracted to the young woman, but as he would not remarry, that was a sensation that he did not need to worry about in any important way. He had enjoyed speaking with her once, and he hoped to do so again.

“The delight of my life — Emily, would you like to meet Miss Bennet?”

Miss Bennet cheerfully said, “Hello, Miss Emily.”

The girl looked up, took one look at the smiling woman standing next to Darcy, and then burst out crying.

“Oh my.” Miss Bennet’s eyes danced as Darcy picked Emily up and bounced her until she calmed again. “It does not seem that she likes me.”

Darcy felt a slight flush.

Ridiculously he would have liked to see Emily take to Miss Bennet immediately. Their previous conversation — beginning with his terrible awkwardness — during the ball had made a larger impact on him than he could have anticipated.

“It is quite ordinary for children of her age,” Darcy replied seriously. “They are generally shy with new persons, or those who they do not see frequently, though she does not usually cry, when—”

“Aha-ha,” Miss Bennet said grinning. “She does hold a special antipathy towards me. Sensible child. It is my face, I must assume. Maybe my smile — if my sister Jane were here, she could smile in a way that would reassure a child. Is it a problem with my face?”

Miss Bennet turned to him with that mischievous smile playing over her face, offering for him to study her face.

Darcy could not resist the temptation of studying her closely.

There were small freckles on her nose and around the base of her neck. She had a dimple. There was a small beauty spot around where the chin met her neck on the right side. Her mouth was a shade too wide for fashion, but her lips were elegant. She had slightly flushed cheeks, and lovely thick eyebrows.

He swallowed. Their eyes met. Darcy was too aware of her as a woman. He suspected she was too aware of him as a man for his own comfort.

Emily took the opportunity to peek out from his shoulder, but when Miss Bennet looked at her with a smile, she immediately pressed her face back into the lapel of Darcy’s coat.

“My little cousins were the same at that age,” Miss Bennet said. “Every time they visited Christmas, or when I stayed in London with my uncle, they hid for twenty minutes. Once they were comfortable with me, they spent the next two hours demanding that I toss the ball again and again, describe the name of each of their animals seven times for every wooden tiger they possessed, toss the ball once more, and then spin them round and round in fast circles.”

“Emily is much like that — you want to be let down, darling?”

The girl flopped over his arm while reaching downwards. Soon as she was put down, Emily immediately returned to her study of the couch’s fabric, whilst taking care to keep her face angled in such a way that she could see where Miss Bennet was without directly facing the terrifying woman.

“She is very small, that might be the explanation, I suppose. You are not a tall woman,” Darcy said, “but compared to my daughter you are a giantess.”

“Like in Gulliver’s Travels,” Miss Bennet replied. “And if the children could organize, like as not, they would tie all of us down to the ground and shoot cannonballs at us. I jest, of course. There is no doubt on the matter. I have seen older children do exactly that when the opportunity comes.”

Darcy could not resist a bubble of laughter.

Emily looked up at hearing him laugh, and she smiled with that grin that charmed him completely the first time, when she was two months old, that she had looked up, found his face, and smiled at him.

“You present far too perfect a picture of domestic bliss.” Miss Bennet gave a smiling sigh. “I shall grow too impressed with it.”

“That is my chief purpose — to impress young misses with my paternal excellence.”

Miss Bennet grinned at him. It was impossible to not smile back at her.

“I hardly know what I am doing,” he said. “For example, when she does something dangerous, or that might damage an item of value, she will often repeatedly try to do a thing I have forbidden. Ought I strictly punish her?” He shrugged. “I do not know. I do not — but perhaps I should. There is a theory that children are intrinsically disobedient, and I shall establish a bad pattern of future morals by not fiercely disciplining her, and only preventing her, again and again, from doing the thing.”

“That seems amply sufficient to make the point.”

“Amongst my friends with older children, there is a great deal of variety in their characters, even within one family. Perhaps what I do has very little influence upon who she shall become. That is the view of my uncle. Or perhaps some small unmarked error I make now shall lead her to elope with a disgraceful fortune hunter the day she turns sixteen.”

Miss Bennet’s eyes danced. “The many worries of the father.”

“So, I do what seems to make most sense to me, and — dear, do not try to eat that.” He picked Emily up, and then immediately flipped her upside down so that the skirt nearly hung around her head. “Pray tell, for what purpose have you inverted yourself? Pray tell. Why are you hanging upside down? Why do you enjoy it so?”

She grinned and giggled at him, and Darcy flipped her back right side up, and held her in Emily’s normal position against his side.

“I would not worry too much upon the matter,” Miss Bennet said. “Especially not now. In my view, disciplining a child before they can speak and understand distinctly the purpose for which the discipline occurs makes little sense.”

Darcy looked down at his daughter who grinned back at him. “She understands a great deal, far more than she can say. It is simply… I cannot bear to punish her when she looks at me with mischievous joy. If I was certain that it would benefit her, I could, but not when there is so much that is uncertain. I do not like Rousseau, but what he wrote, about how there is no certainty of the future reward we hope to gain by raising our children strictly struck me strongly.”

“I begin to understand you better.” Miss Bennet’s eyes were warm.

“And I believe,” Darcy replied, “that I have fallen into my usual habit of chiefly speaking about my daughter rather than topics of general interest.”

“Oh, it turns out we have a connection,” Miss Bennet said in reply to that. “One I would not have expected. My cousin Mr. Collins—”

“Your father’s heir?” Darcy asked to specify.

“Yes. And who married my sister Jane. He is the rector of your aunt, Lady Catherine, who I understand is also Emily’s grandmother.”

“Ah.” Darcy frowned at that information. He also was slightly annoyed, wondering if Miss Bennet had mentioned this in hopes of gaining particular favour with him. If so, it was a wholly misaimed attempt, as Lady Catherine was the least liked member of his entire acquaintance.

“I must ask,” Miss Bennet studied Emily closely, “Has your daughter begun to give a great deal of helpful and sensible advice that no young wife would possibly wish to ignore, not even in the smallest particulars?”

It was impossible for Darcy to not begin laughing. “I now know there is no mistake, and it is the very same Lady Catherine.”

It struck Darcy once more that Miss Bennet was a very pretty woman. She smiled back at him.

“I hope your sister has not found her advice too overbearing.” Darcy then remembered something from their first conversation. Something she had said had shown a real worry for her sister’s wellbeing.

“Jane is content. She is always content. And she will never be anything but content. She is content to receive all advice, and from what she has said, there were items in it that she in fact found helpful.”

“Overbearing, annoying woman,” Darcy said with a frown.

He put Emily down onto the divan. Emily grinned at him as she sat.

“You dislike your aunt?” Miss Bennet’s voice was serious.

“I ought not speak of such business.”

“She is still Emily’s grandmother, you must wish for them to have a happy connection.”

“I do not wish for her to have any connection with my daughter.” He felt that rage upon Anne’s behalf that often came when he thought about his aunt.

He looked at Miss Bennet, her pretty face, the face he’d examined earlier. Her serious expression now made her something different than pretty. It made her beautiful. “I do not know what is the cause, but when I speak with you, I lose my ordinary control of myself, and say things that I ought not.”

She met his eyes, and Darcy could not look away for a span of heartbeats.

Miss Bingley approached them, and begged Darcy, “My dear Mr. Darcy, do tell, what has you both so intent.” She placed her arm briefly on his, and looked at Miss Bennet with a superior smile, as though she wished to mark him.

Miss Bennet’s eyes danced. “We spoke chiefly about the raising of children. Mr. Darcy gave me to understand it is a favourite topic of his.”

“Mr. Darcy is the greatest father in the world!” Was Miss Bingley’s immediate response. She then tapped him on the arm twice again, in a manner that Darcy found obnoxious. “You think I jest, but I am wholly serious. You are so careful with everything about her! I adore Emily so much.”

“Oh,” Miss Bennet replied with a hidden smile, “ I know you do not jest. Mr. Darcy is a paragon.”

“Not only Mr. Darcy!” Miss Bingley cried. “I speak from real feeling now, Emily is the most exceptional, clever, and fascinating girl to watch. And so even tempered!”

“I dare say,” Miss Bennet replied, “that you mean to say it would be no difficult task to be her mother, when she is of such an easy temperament. Any woman might manage.”

The way that Miss Bingley stared at Miss Bennet’s calm wide eyes in reply nearly made Darcy choke with laughter.

“No ordinary woman could take the place that belonged to Anne Darcy,” Miss Bingley replied, speaking in the not quite resonant tones of an actor in a halfpenny theatre. “For a woman to deserve to be Emily’s mother, she must have a thorough knowledge of music, singing, drawing, dancing and the modern languages. And besides all this, she would need to possess a certain something in her air and manner of walking, the tone of her voice, her address and expressions.”

Miss Bennet placed her hand over her mouth, as though in thought. Darcy saw the smile in the way her eyes crinkled. “And, Mr. Darcy, are such the chief points you seek out in a future wife, and mother to your child?”

“I do not intend to marry again.”

Miss Bingley replied,. “Of course you do not mean to, given the difficulty of finding such a woman.”

The purpose of this speech was clear enough. Miss Bingley was elaborately educated, and a master of music, singing, drawing, dancing and the modern languages.

The deuce.

Why would any of that matter in a mother? “Any mother, to any child, ought to add something more substantial to all that.”

“And what would that be?” Miss Bingley asked, intently.

“A genuine affection for the child, and a modicum of good sense.”

Miss Bingley seemed startled by that reply, while Miss Bennet looked to the floor, in a manner that Darcy believed was to hide another smile.

“Oh, yes,” Miss Bingley agreed after a pause. “That is necessary — and good sense is rarer than is often thought. It can only be taught in the best schools.”

Darcy pursed his lips. Now he had to hide his own smile.

Miss Bennet caught his eyes, and Darcy nearly laughed at her expression. She understood exactly how ridiculous he found the way that Miss Bingley had attempted to turn that requirement into a compliment upon herself.

Having mastered his smile, Darcy did make a further, futile attempt to be heard by Bingley’s sister. “I must emphasize that I speak in generalities. Emily not only does not need a mother, and beyond the caring spectres who look over her, she shall not have one. As I have said many times, I shall not marry again.”

“You grieve over Mrs. Darcy to such excess.” Miss Bingley wiped at her eyes to brush away tears that were not there. “She was such a fine lady, and she had so many accomplishments, because she had been raised so excellently by Lady Catherine.”

Anne had few accomplishments. She had not been splendidly educated. And she had not been a “fine lady”. She only… had been a dear person. A person he still missed. That sense of the absence, of someone not being there who ought to be there, had mostly faded. But Darcy hoped it would never be completely gone. The absence of his mother and father still haunted him at dark times, and when he was particularly uncertain.

Another woman who Darcy recognized as the oldest Lucas daughter came up to Miss Bennet and said, “Eliza, the time has come. I am just going to open the instrument, and you know what follows.”

Welcoming the interruption from their conversation that had become too intense, Darcy nodded to the newcomer, and asked Miss Bennet, “Do you play?”

Miss Bennet blushed. “Not well! Charlotte is a strange creature by way of a friend. She always wants me to play and sing before anybody and everybody! If my vanity had taken a musical turn, she would have been invaluable, but as it is, I would really rather not sit down before those who must be in the habit of hearing the very best performers.”

In reply to that Darcy said, “I promise to not judge you by standards beyond those you have claimed for yourself.”

Miss Bennet made a small laugh and nodded her head to Miss Bingley. “Oh, it is Mr. Bingley’s sisters who frighten me .”

“Come, Eliza, come,” the other woman insisted, grinning at Miss Bennet. “You’ve no choice.” The woman turned to Darcy and added, “Whatever she says, she has a fine singing voice, and she looks very much to her advantage when she sings.”

“Then I must hear,” Darcy replied.

“If it must be so, it must,” Miss Bennet said at last. She smiled at him, and then made a little curtsey to Emily, who giggled in reply, and turned to the instrument.

Darcy found that he enjoyed her performance enormously, though it was by no means comparable to his sister’s play or to that of anyone who was truly proficient. Miss Bennet had an easy and unaffected air to her play that gave Darcy a great deal of pleasure. But his attention to the performance was distracted by keeping an eye on his daughter. One time Emily began to shriek as she ran around one side of the room, and he had to pick her up and bounce her till she quieted.

After her second song, another woman replaced Miss Bennet at the instrument and with an excess of poise began a concerto, but Darcy found very little of interest in listening to her. His mind wandered to recalling evenings spent with Anne encouraging Georgiana to play, while they all sat together. They’d read books to each other afterwards and talk, and Anne would work on her embroidery.

Would she have become friends with Miss Bennet?

He kept half an eye on Miss Bennet, thinking of joining the group of persons around her, all talking eagerly. However, he was approached by the mother of the young woman.

Mrs. Bennet said to him, “Do you not think that my girls play with such fine taste? Especially Lizzy.”

“Miss Bennet’s taste is excellent,” Darcy replied rather annoyed. He had never favoured those women who wished to push their children forward to his august, wealthy, and well connected notice. No matter how well he liked the child in question, such behaviour always made him think worse of all involved.

“I have only recently received the information that my eldest daughter, who is the wife of your respected aunt’s rector, is in a delicate condition. All of my children show an excellent maternal instinct, much like I have myself.”

Darcy was not inclined to reply to such a statement, so he made a small bow.

“Lord! It is such a nervous business being a parent? Is it not?” Mrs. Bennet glanced towards where Emily sat playing peekaboo with the youngest Lucas daughter. “I have such flutterings and anxieties and feelings every day.”

“I hope to not be as nervous as you claim to be,” Darcy replied.

“You must be very eager to marry again, so that you might have someone to share the burden of worrying about your child,” Mrs. Bennet replied.

“Not at all.”

“You are a devoted parent, but you cannot enjoy having so much of your attention attached to a girl, and you must wish to have a son — I tell you again, I know! As a woman and a mother of five… children. All my girls will one day make excellent mothers, especially Lizzy.”

Darcy stiffened and stood straighter. His jaw was tight. He understood well enough what Mrs. Bennet hoped to encourage.

The deuce.

He had spoken to this woman on only two separate occasions. And he still wore mourning for Anne — he rather intended to always keep the black armband as a marker of his intention to not marry again.

“Mama.” Miss Bennet came up to them. “You surely see that Mr. Darcy enjoys his management of Miss Emily.”

“Nonsense,” Mrs. Bennet replied. “He surely knows that he needs a new wife, to have a proper heir, and—”

“The gentleman, Mama,” Miss Bennet, half desperately, interrupted her mother’s speech, “stands right here, and he can speak for his own preferences.”

Miss Bennet’s face was flushed, and there was something deeply embarrassed in her eyes.

If she had developed any hopes, he needed to dash them immediately, and he guessed that he ought to speak much less with her in the future. Or maybe, if he spoke clearly enough, they might be able to be friends, since she would expect nothing.

“I am determined to never marry again,” Darcy said. “This is my firm plan, considered and well established.”

“Oh, nonsense, you cannot mean that,” Mrs. Bennet replied. “Grief passes. Why I was stricken when Mr. Bennet died. Look at me now! And it has not been so long.”

“Mama, you must account for differences of character and preferences.”

“Lord!” Mrs. Bennet exclaimed again. “Nonsense.”

“This is not a matter of grief,” Darcy said. “It is a matter of what respect I owe to Anne. I shall not marry again, and my duty is to my daughter, not myself.”

“You cannot be happy without a son,” Mrs. Bennet burst out. “Heavens! I know very well that no man can be happy without a son.”

Darcy’s jaw tightened. “I would beg you not to tell me how I can or cannot be happy.”

“Besides, you must find a mother for your sweet daughter.”

Said daughter toddled towards them now, and Mrs. Bennet bent to her and said, “Hello, dear, dear. Do you not want a mother? Any girl must want a mother. Mama. Do say Mama. Can you say Mama? Ma-ma.”

“Ma. Ma.” Emily echoed the sound back.

“Yes, that is right,” Mrs. Bennet repeated encouragingly, “Ma, ma. Ma, ma.”

Darcy picked up Emily, far more offended by Mrs. Bennet having convinced Emily to repeat “Mama” after her than by anything else. “Her mother is dead. No new wife could replace the position that belonged to her.”

“At her age? She obviously cannot remember your first wife,” Mrs. Bennet replied in a tone that indicated she thought he had said something quite foolish. “And men insist that women are the silly sex.”

“What has that to do with any matter?”

“The girl would be happier with a real mother. A child, especially a girl, can never be happy with just a man to care for them. Fathers never have enough anxiety for their children.”

Miss Bennet gasped. “Mama, you are surely wrong. Anyone can see that Mr. Darcy is devoted to his child.”

“If he were, he would find a new wife, some girl who shows proper maternal instincts, excellent taste in music, and who could care for the child.”

“Mama, surely you do not think—” Miss Bennet began.

Darcy interrupted both of them with a tight voice. “I thank you kindly for your well-meant advice, Mrs. Bennet. But it is impossible for me to attend to it. As a matter of respect to Anne’s memory I am determined not to marry again, and nothing that might be said shall move me.”

“She made you promise to never remarry as she died!” Mrs. Bennet exclaimed aghast. “Horrible woman.”

Darcy felt a sort of cold pale rage. His forehead felt numb, and he had a sudden urge to… he did not know what. He could not strike a woman.

After consideration Darcy turned, without offering a parting bow, and left the room, and then the building.

Outside there was a small grassy area, well clipped and suitable for games of ring-toss or bowls. Not large enough for archery though.

Darcy placed Emily down and settled on the red brick stoop.

That crude, awful woman.

What right, by what right did she say anything, speak about anything, see herself as having any right to tell him anything about himself and about Anne?

He’d cut her. He would…

There was not much he could do, beyond delighting in rudeness in turn.

Anne would have encouraged him to be kinder.

The evening was nearly dark. A cold breeze swept across his face, and the golden falling leaves were raked into a thick pile on the ground. Emily wandered amongst them, shuffling them about. She returned to him with a particularly fine pointed oak leaf. Darcy studied it and assured her, “A superb specimen.”

Emily pushed the leaf into his hands repeatedly, and with a polite nod of thanks Darcy took it from her. The girl then ran back to the pile of leaves.

A noise made Darcy turn and he saw Elizabeth Bennet standing next to one of the wooden support beams.

She bit her lips and tangled her hands together. Then she gave him a tiny half smile, half grimace expression before looking down. “She ought not have said that. I… I cannot properly apologize for what my mother said. She means well. But…”

Darcy looked back at the leaf as Miss Bennet’s voice trailed off.

He thought about Anne’s death again. He did not think about her enough. He did not miss her enough, and when he did it was for his own sake. But it was so easy to remember how she had died. How she had died telling him to be happy and to raise Emily to be happy.

Emily returned, and she had decided that Miss Bennet was, at least for the remainder of the evening, a person whom she was not frightened of. So, this time it was Miss Bennet upon whom she bestowed her leaf.

“I thank you very kindly,” Miss Bennet said solemnly to the girl. “It is an excellent shade of red.”

“Re.” Emily hurried back off. Her dress and hands were all dirty.

“That poor dress. The laundry woman will be full of despair tomorrow.” There was a smile in Miss Bennet’s voice.

Darcy replied, “I do not like to bother Emily about such things. It is merely clothes.”

“Spoken like a man,” was the reply. “And like one who has no part in pounding clean the clothes.”

“She has already developed strong preferences about what she shall wear,” Darcy said. “And on occasion she has sobbed and shrieked when a favourite piece could not be given because she had stained it with every form of food and dirt the previous day or ripped the knee in a fall.”

“She shall one day be considered to dress with the height of fashion,” Miss Bennet replied.

“It is not unlikely,” Darcy agreed, more seriously. Then he stood up, “Emily, come here. Come, come.”

The girl ran over, and Darcy picked her up. “It is not your place,” he said to Miss Bennet, “to apologize for your mother. But I thank you for the effort. Anne was the best of women, and she… she deserved better. I will say nothing more about that subject.”

He met her wide eyes. Something deep in his stomach twisted.

When Darcy returned to the house he found the conversation in full swing. People talked, talked, talked. Mr. Gould explained to a new victim how much thicker his hair was now that he’d begun to use bear grease. Girls and young men loudly ran about. A pinch-faced girl, who Darcy believed was one of Miss Bennet’s sisters, sat at the piano playing an Irish jig while four couples — including Bingley and one of the local girls — crowded the side of the drawing room. They danced round and round, making a happy, noisy crowd. Rather vulgar.

The raucous noise was rather unpleasant to Darcy’s ear, even though his unwillingness to constantly silence Emily had forced him to become more tolerant of happy noise than he once would have been. Still, he’d rather if calm conversation had been the order of the evening. Darcy drifted to the side of the room, where no one else sat.

He settled himself on the couch, and Emily squirmed so that she sat next to him, on the edge of the couch.

She smiled to sit like a full grown adult and swung her legs happily.

Bingley’s sister approached once more and said, “I can very well imagine your thoughts.”

“I should imagine not.”

“You are thinking how intolerable it would be to spend any great number of evenings in this manner. I am quite of your opinion. I was never more annoyed! What I would give to hear your strictures on them!”

Darcy pondered. “Chiefly my mind was occupied more pleasantly. I was contemplating my daughter’s simple delight at being settled on a divan.”

Emily climbed on Darcy and grabbed at his hair while giggling.

This answer did not seem to satisfy Miss Bingley. It did not satisfy Darcy either.

He thought for a minute, he was oddly cheerful. That was not what he expected from himself. Especially not following the argument with Mrs. Bennet earlier in the evening.

In his mind he saw a pair of eyes framed by lovely dark hair, looking at him seriously.

He was thinking about Elizabeth.