Page 11 of Losing Lizzy
“Why are we hurrin’,” Lizzy asked as her little legs pumped to keep up with Elizabeth’s longer stride.
Elizabeth made herself slow down while keeping an eye on Townsend as he stopped to exchange greetings with several on the street. She had managed to avoid the man the last two times the gentleman had called at the bookstore, as well as after church services on Sunday. “We must call at the bakery before it closes,” she improvised. “Uncle Albert asked if I would bring home a loaf of Mrs. Cache’s berry bread.”
Lizzy snarled her nose in obvious distaste. “I not like berry bread.”
Elizabeth smiled down upon her daughter and bent to tug the child’s coat tighter about her. It had turned unreasonably cold and damp of late. “Then I shall, instead, purchase you a berry tart, but we must be quick.” She stood to catch the child’s hand again. Elizabeth held no doubt her daughter would be cooperative if asweet would be earned in the end.
Picking up her pace again, she ducked into the bakery just as Mr. Townsend reached the bookstore and stepped inside. Elizabeth prayed Mr. Sheffield would not disclose she was out shopping, for the man would likely keep searching until he discovered her.
“Good day, Mrs. Dartmore,” Mrs. Cache said as she looked up from where she rearranged the display of items remaining from which the customers could choose.
“Good day. I pray I am not too late for your berry bread. My uncle dearly loves it.”
The shop mistress smiled kindly on her. “I set two loaves aside for Mr. Sheffield. I know he prefers the loaves with the currants and a bit of honey.”
Elizabeth chuckled easily. “Yes, both Sheffield and Miss Lizzy possess a sweet tooth.”
“But you do not?” Mrs. Cache asked as she retrieved the bread.
“Upon occasion, I enjoy a good custard or a pudding,” Elizabeth admitted reluctantly. Over the years, she had been very careful not to disclose too many details of her life before arriving in Brighton.
“One or two loaves?” the shopkeeper asked.
Elizabeth shook off another round of maudlin. Of late, she had been missing her family terribly. “I will take both and a berry tart.”
Mrs. Cache frowned. “I have no more berry tarts. I apologize.”
Elizabeth kept hold of Lizzy’s hand, willing her child not to turn to a tantrum before others. “Then we shall choose something else, will we not, darling?” She knew Lizzy was not the type of child who did well when there was a change of plans, but a gentle squeeze of her child’s fingers coerced the proper response.
“Yes, Mama.”
She lifted the child to her so Lizzy could better choosefrom the selection. She pointed to several choices before her eyes fell upon an apple concoction sprinkled with cinnamon. Without thinking upon what she did, Elizabeth sighed heavily.
“What ’miss?” her daughter asked in obvious concern. Lizzy patted Elizabeth’s cheeks in imitation of how she often caressed her little girl’s.
She shook off Lizzy’s worried frown. “Nothing is amiss. Mama was simply considering how much your father would enjoy one of Mrs. Cache’s apple tarts.”
Lizzy’s sweet features turned into a downward frown. “You miss Papa?”
Elizabeth had always made it a priority to speak of the child’s father, providing Lizzy memories her daughter would never have on her own, while not disclosing too much information—information that could jeopardize her daughter’s legitimacy. She wanted Elizabeth Anne to realize how much her father would have wanted to know her, while keeping some secrets to herself. “Yes, I miss him with all my heart,” she said before swallowing the sadness that always brought tears to her eyes.
There were moments, such as this one, when she wished she could forget Fitzwilliam Darcy and accept another man’s attentions—wished desperately to give her daughter a real father, not just a borrowed memory of one. Unfortunately, Elizabeth’s heart still had not accepted the loss of the man, and she was not certain it ever would.
So often she had observed a stranger on the street who held himself with the same exactness as had Mr. Darcy, and her heart would characteristically stumble to a halt for a few elongated seconds. Then the pain of losing him would rush back in, as real and as completely devastating as it had been when Mr. Sheffield had pronounced his speculations as to Mr. Darcy’s fate.
“Papa like apples?” Lizzy’s questions drew Elizabeth from her musings.
She smiled easily upon the gentleman’s features arranged upon her daughter’s face. “Your father loved anything withapples and cinnamon.”
“I love them, too,” Lizzy declared.
Elizabeth was not certain her child knew the difference between one tart and another, but she said, “As you are definitely of your father’s nature, I imagine so. Do you wish the apple tart in place of the berry one?”
“I be like Papa,” Lizzy declared with a smile.
“Yes, you will be, my love. There is no doubt in my mind, for you are carved in his image.”
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