Page 8 of To Love And To Cherish
“Jane is your elder sister?” Darcy asked softly. “How old is she?”
“Sixteen and a half. Mamma brought her out as soon as she turned fifteen. Four months ago, she was forced to attend an assembly where Mr. Ashworth, an old man with grey hair, stared at her all night. He wrote a verse about her eyes. He smelled like an old man. Jane was frightened, but Mamma scolded her for not encouraging him. She’s terrified he’ll return and be forced on her.”
“No one can force your sister to marry,” Darcy said firmly. “If she stands before the rector and refuses, no man can make her.”
Elizabeth’s eyes lit up. “Then shecanchoose? Oh, Will, I shall write to her at once! Perhaps fate is a myth, after all.”
Darcy smiled. “And you, Elizabeth? Can your mother forceyou?”
Her eyes glittered. “I should like to see her try.”
He laughed. “And how do you mean to resist her?”
“I have already warned her that if she attempts to parade me, I shall tear my gown to shreds the night before the assembly. I told her I’d cut off my eyelashes and my hair. If that failed, I’d run away to Uncle Gardiner’s. She grew so furious, she sent me away for putting rebellious ideas into Jane’s head.”
“But your father, surely he would protect you both?”
Elizabeth hesitated. “Papa and Jane are alike. Neither confronts. Jane says her stomach aches and her mind goes blank. Papaavoids unpleasantness. But you may be right; I need to think more on it.”
Darcy leaned back in his chair, studying her across the chessboard.
“You’re a remarkable girl, Elizabeth.”
She moved her bishop. “And you are not very clever at chess.” She grinned. “Checkmate.”
Darcy rose from the table, laughing. “I wasn’t paying attention. You won’t beat me again,” he said with a playful glance over his shoulder.
He crossed the room to join Mr. Gardiner, and the two soon fell into conversation. At one point, while he was deep in discussion with Uncle Edward about an investment in real estate development, Elizabeth sat quietly to one side and began to sketch.
Her pencil moved swiftly and with ease, capturing the line of his profile as he spoke, his eyes intent, brow slightly furrowed, one hand half-raised in emphasis. She said nothing, nor did he notice her attention, but when she glanced down at the drawing, she smiled to herself.
It was very nearly him.
Chapter 5: Farewell
It had become a familiar rhythm, Mr. Darcy arriving each morning, slipping quickly into his apron, and taking up whatever task Mrs. Gardiner placed in his capable hands. Whether it was straining rose hips, bottling wormwood tincture, or stirring comfrey into honey, he worked without complaint and with a sincerity that continually surprised her. He asked questions, not merely about plants and potions, but about life. Questions a boy might once have asked his mother.
And she answered as best she could, sometimes with amusement, sometimes with grave thoughtfulness, always with the warmth he seemed to crave.
Elizabeth, for her part, had learned to listen. She said little during those long hours in the stillroom, choosing instead to observe. She had never given thought to what it might be like for a young man to grow up without brothers, to shoulder the burden of legacy and duty alone. In Mr. Darcy, she saw strength, but also uncertainty. Curiosity. Vulnerability.
He dined with them each evening now. Played chess with Elizabeth. Discussed investments with Mr. Gardiner, who had recently brought him into a housing development project as a silent partner. Mr. Darcy would be abroad for two years, and before departing, he had left Mr. Gardiner his solicitor’s card with instructions to reach him if ever needed.
On his final morning, he returned to the stillroom one last time.
The scent of dried lavender and elderflower clung to the air. Mrs. Gardiner stood by the stove, steeping plantain leaves. Darcywashed his hands, then joined her, both instinctively lowering their voices.
“Mrs. Gardiner,” he began, “may I ask you something more personal?”
“Of course.”
He hesitated, then said, “I have been thinking a great deal about duty. And choice. How does one balance personal desires with the expectations placed upon him, particularly when it comes to choosing a wife?”
Mrs. Gardiner looked up at him, her expression thoughtful. “You’ve brought that matter up once before, Mr. Darcy. Why does it weigh so heavily on you? Has your father selected a bride for you?”
Darcy exhaled. “No. Not my father. In fact, he forbade me from marrying my cousin Anne. But my aunt, Lady Catherine, insists it was my mother’s dying wish that Anne and I should marry. I feel guilty. As though I am betraying my mother by refusing.”
Mrs. Gardiner raised a brow. “Do you know for certain that itwasyour mother’s dying wish?”
