Page 28 of The Heir and Spare
Charlotte added,“I hate to use such a word, but I speak as though I’m reacting as Lady Catherine might. She is not one to tolerate much of anything, particularly something that challenges her sense of correctness.”
Lizzie snorted. “I would not enjoy living near such a woman.” Frustration with Mr. Collins and Lady Catherine would always be there, but she could only feel a blanket of warmth and gratitude for her friend Charlotte. She sat at a writing desk to draft a response immediately.
She accepted the invitation for her sisters and herself. She thanked her for protecting their good names and reputations and assured her that Lydia was indeed home and safe and sound with them, but that Wickham had built quite an awful reputation for himself with debts and scandal all around him.“Can you believe I once thought him entertaining? I quake at the thought.”She’d vilified Mr. Darcy for slighting her and celebrated Wickham because he spoke pretty things to her and pet her vanity. Of the two, Mr. Darcy, though awkward and ill spoken, and meddling, was likely a better man. But interfering with Jane? She could not account for it. There was nothing there but goodness. Once again she was at a loss to understand the man. She tried to shift him from her mind.
As she returned to her letter, she caught Charlotte up on news from town and on her life, detailing much about the house party but leaving out her interactions with Mr. Darcy. She was at a loss to explain him, and Charlotte had experienced the bulk of her strong dislike and prejudice against the man. She didn’t have anything to add by way of explanation for her feelings. She didn’t even know her own feelings. She held her head in her hands as though trying to understand what went on inside of it. How could she like a man who was not likable in so many ways? With no answers, she tried to make sense of it all to no avail. And then, giving up, she finished her letter and went to go find Lydia.
Chapter 16
Jane
Jane sat in a small and lovely sitting room just off her bedroom at Netherfield Park. She had a book in her lap but she was staring out across the vast expanse of land surrounding the estate. Charles entered. By the fall of his feet, she knew it was him without turning to look into his face. She smiled. “You are too good to me you know.”
“Not nearly good enough. I’m just relieved to see you improving enough to be here, sitting up, in the sitting room.” He smiled, seeming to know he was not wording things in half as eloquent a manner as could be done, but not caring. “This is one of my favorite rooms, you know.”
She turned to him then, taking in the joy in his face, his constant smiles, his perpetual good nature that always seemed to shine from him—she didn’t know how she’d become so lucky, so blessed as to deserve him. Nothing had been said yet, of course. But his feelings, his intentions, seemed clear.
One thing troubled her. Why had he been so willing to leave, to desert her?
She pulled out her recent missive from Lizzie. “Good news. Lydia has returned and was spared any true harm. No oneseems to know of her leaving with Wickham and perhaps, social damage has been kept to a minimum.” Tears filled her eyes. And with shaking hands she reached one arm to him. “I’m so relieved.”
He immediately came to her side, holding her hand to his chest. “I would have stood by you through it all, weathered whatever scandal.” His eyes were wide and earnest. She didn’t say it, but she knew it would have been a challenge indeed, perhaps better they left Society if that had been the case. Their children would have struggled. Nothing easy would have come of such a union but she had loved him, she did love him, so much she could not lose such a man, money or no, status or no. She wanted to be with Charles. “Thank you. I…” She wiped her tears anew. “I don’t deserve you.” She laughed. “There is not much more to say than that. You are too good. Too kind. Too much. It’s no wonder I love you so.” She gasped. And then held a hand to her mouth, her face heating. She’d never admitted as much to him before. And she didn’t know what to do now that she’d said the words that hummed through her with every thought. She dared a look into his eyes.
He was shining even more so if such a thing were possible. The earnestness in his gaze, the intensity of his expression stole her breath. He lifted her fingers and kissed each one, intently earnest, his lips pressing on them, their knuckles or their tips, the attention sending shivers up her arms. “I, my dear Jane, most ardently and dare I say, passionately, love you too.” She daren’t look away, she daren’t move or even breathe. He knelt beside her chair so that their faces were closer together. His head tilted just enough that he could kiss her if he so desired. She pressed her teeth into her bottom lip, sure and unsure at the same time. He moved closer and stared into her eyes, sent silent promises to her, promises she understood but could never give word to. Then he nodded and created some space between them.“Oh, my dear Jane. I wish you well of course, but I don’t want to lose your presence here in my home. In truth, I’d like to never lose it.”
“Then you shall have it.” She waved her fingers in the air. “But I do hope I shall be well enough to enjoy it. There seem to be many vistas and places to see and walk and enjoy out this window.”
“Oh there are, and we shall explore each and every one.” His grin grew, and Jane almost laughed at his exuberance.
She could sit and listen to his promises, his proclamations of love, his assurances all day. But something had made him wish to desert her once, something had turned him from this loving, doting man to one so dismissive as to depart with naught but a note from his sister. Something in him fell short of the constant beacon she dared to trust with her heart.
She didn’t mention whatever that something might be, not yet; but they would talk of it. She would watch and hope that it disappeared, whatever this inconstancy, this crack in his reliability seemed to be. She would not risk her whole heart and livelihood on someone who could withdraw his affections at any time, whose affections were of the weak and faltering sort, swayed by others or passing whims. He certainly fell in love quickly, but could he stay? That was the full question, and Jane had seen enough of her parents’ bickering and her father’s seeming loss of love and respect for her mother for Jane to question the lasting nature of any man’s declarations but especially Bingley who she stood to lose so much of her heart to, who had already once threatened to break it.
But she had time for such discoveries. Thanks to Lydia’s return, she had a chance to even consider such a luxury as a marriage for love. She smiled and turned the fullness of her happiness and relief to Charles. “I am so blessedly happy right now.”
He pulled up a chair next to her and held her hand against his chest. “I hope that every day can be full of moments where I hear you say those words over and over again.” His heart pounded underneath her hand that he clutched close.
“Just the thought of you brings about such joy, my Charles.” She dipped her head, shy about her transparency.
But he lifted her chin with his finger and stared into her eyes a moment before leaning back in his chair to stare out at the remarkable view once again. Her hand still pressed against his heart. It still hammered. And she didn’t think much would change for many hours hence, for which she was perfectly content.
Chapter 17
Arthur Darcy
Arthur Darcy’s carriage was nearly home in Derbyshire when he was met with a rider, carrying a note from his brother. He read the news of Wickham’s debts and things in town with great interest. And then he was even more pleased to see his brother exerting himself in every possible way to bring justice to the man who had caused so much pain, had hurt so many. Fitz was on a crusade of sorts and would not stop until the man was deported. Which was fine with Arthur. Their father, even as deceived as he’d been by Wickham, at this point in their evidence against him would have gladly had him shipped abroad. Arthur pitied the Australians. No one deserved such a man. He could be quite charming. That was the problem, rewarding good behavior with marked attention, physical rewards, compliments, and time. All of which was withdrawn as soon as one did not meet expectations or no longer proved to be of use. A person could get quite addicted to Wickham and his charm, working harder and harder for the praise, the love, the attention. But no longer. Not in England, at any rate. Arthur was proud of Fitz. Perhaps the man was at last growing up andtaking responsibility for his actions, his life, and with any luck, his estate.
Then he approached the end of the letter where Fitz wrote,“I don’t think I will be making my way to Rosings at any rate. I’ll send my regrets to our aunt. I feel an urgency to return to Pemberley. Suddenly, brother, I feel as though I should meet at least some of the expectations you all have of me. And from there, I can do more to ensure Wickham’s swift departure.”
Arthur could only be pleased with this news. But it created a large inconvenience for himself. Because as was typical of his brother, he did not consider that if Fitz didn’t go to Rosings, Arthur would have to. There were papers that needed to be signed And meetings with their aunt’s steward. There was a chance he and Fitz could stand to inherit the whole of it, but that depended completely upon a distant cousin producing an heir. And Darcy did not want to think about other people’s lives in such a way. He was content with what he had been given to manage. If Rosings fell to him and his brother, he would naturally work to maintain it as well, but it would increase his responsibilities tenfold.
Whatever happened in the future, he and his brother were some of the few remaining male relatives in Lady Catherine’s life, and although she didn’t seem to need any protection, he felt bound to answer her summons and provide assistance where he or his brother could. So since Fitz was returning home to Pemberley, Arthur would need to make his way to Rosings.
Suddenly he was tired. The promise of his soft bed and excellent chef were calling to him. He would hurry home for a moment, refresh his belongings, and then be off to Rosings in the next few days. But oh, how he longed to linger in his home.
He rapped on the ceiling and the carriage began to move again. Just for a few days he would rest. Just a few.
Chapter 18
