Page 70 of Till Death Us Do Part: Book 2
Her system of forcing him to chooseonlyfive books nearly drove him mad the first month, but by the time she removed the restriction, he found it a useful practice. He had a trunk gradually filling with books for the Pemberley library, and another with those destined for others. Bingley was making a belated entry into the world of the written word, and Georgiana and her husband were not afraid of a bit of ink themselves. He had never quite reconciled with his father-in-law, and only saw him rarely, but his cousin Richard devoured books at the same rate Darcy did. He occasionally wondered how much of the Darcy library would have to be recovered from the Matlock library.
Darcy occasionally thought it was time to start worrying more about the Pemberley nursery than the library, so he went to house parties and balls among his new and old associates. He met several ladies who were perfectly suitable, some whom he even liked, but none who made him want to drag her three hundred miles or more from her family. He was not opposed to a Scottish bride, per se. If he found the right lady, she would not bethe first Scottish Darcy bride—or even the first from Edinburgh. Darcy attended the balls, danced with the ladies, got to know them, but never quite went past the first few dances.
After three months, he had gotten past the stage where Mrs Thorne started every time he appeared, and she gradually became less guarded in her conversation. The first couple of weeks she always seemed nervous, almost skittish, as if she thought he was not quite stable or trustworthy. She would be bright and energetic sometimes, but always somehow—he could not quite come up with the word—butclosedwas the best he could do. He still knew basically nothing about her past, as she never volunteered anything and he did not ask, but she did intrigue him.
Like many schemes that occasionally do not work as specified, his plan to entertain Miriam either fell apart or succeeded brilliantly when both fell asleep in the warm summer sun.
25.Miriam’s Perch
Darcy felt his shoulder gently shaking, and someone whispering, “Mr Darcy?”
As his eyes gradually opened, he noticed the sun had gone down. He was unexpectedly covered in a blanket, and as he blearily looked around, he found Mrs Thorne shaking him awake.
“You fell asleep.”
He came awake suddenly and looked down to his lap in panic, but she said, “Miriam is fine. She fell asleep with you, and we took her to her bed an hour ago,” then smiled a bit. “All is well.”
Darcy enjoyed the way she said it—an offhand observation, completely devoid of pretence or ambition. Whatever the cause for her usual reticence, it seemed diminished that evening. She obviously trusted him if she was willing to allow Miriam to pick and choose his company when the child wanted.
He shook his head and looked at the table, where the book he had been reading was stacked neatly with the others. “I apologise for my indolence.”
“Do not be. It was,” she said quietly, then paused a bit. “It was sweet. Miriam has taken a liking to you, and I can deny her nothing. She would be the most spoilt child in the world if her mother were not stricter.”
“I see it is past closing. I will get out of your hair,” Darcy replied with a rueful smile.
She paused thoughtfully. “I am about to have supper. Miriam’s parents are away for the evening, and our maid is looking after the child, so I fear it is only me. It is simple fare, but you are welcome to join me if you like.”
“It would be my greatest pleasure.”
“If your standards are that low, I suppose we can satisfy.”
The meal of venison, vegetables, bread and butter was indeed simple, but excellent fare. A bottle of Spanish wine completed the effect, and both participants may have had one more glass than was wise. They talked so agreeably of Scotland and England, of travelling and staying at home, of new books and music, that Amanda had never been half so well entertained in that room before.
A thought suddenly struck Darcy, and he paused to think about it for a moment.
His silence caused his companion’s brow to furrow. “Why so pensive?”
“Nothing bad, I assure you. It just struck me that—” then he went silent to think about what had struck him, and finally continued, “I do not think I have ever had such an agreeable conversation with a woman before.”
She shook her head. “That speaks well of neither your conversational skills nor where you look for companions. Do you normally hide from intelligent women?”
“Not as such. Well, ever since—” but then he paused in confusion.
“You need not shy away from mentioning your wife. You are safe enough here. In fact, I would posit that your safety here is the primary reason for your willingness to speak openly.”
“How so?” he asked in confusion.
“It is simple enough. You are safe here, and somewhere in your head, you made that assessment without quite being aware of it. You are accustomed to spending time around women who are married and will usually only seek a fraction of your attention, women who are marriageable who want all of it, or women with daughters, friends, nieces who are marriageable who are somewhere in the middle. You probably spend quite a lot of your life on guard, looking over your shoulder.”
He looked at her sceptically.
“Of course, that is all supposition, but that is how things would normally go with a handsome, unmarried man of your stature. However, the position of awidowor widower is special, which you have probably not given much thought to, since the differences are more extensive for women than men.”
“I do not quite understand. Widows usually want to remarry, so they seem more like older and perhaps wiser versions of the marriageable ladies of your example.”
“That attitude is understandable enough, but it lacks subtlety. They are older, perhaps wiser, especially if they are well situated, in which case they have more choices, so are often not as anxious. There are widows like me, who have no ambitions toward matrimony. We are more like the married women who do not need or even particularly want your attention. You just need to find us. It is not that hard once you know what you are looking for. That is why you feel safe here—because you are. You know, even if you could not state it, that I want an occasional dinner companion, a critical reader, perhaps a reasonable amount of profit, and nothing more.”
“You do not plan to remarry?” he asked curiously.
