Page 29 of One Night with Mr. Darcy
Horrified, feeling out of control, she retreated immediately into a nearby sitting room. There, she slammed the door and collapsed into it. For a matter of nearly a quarter hour, she was overcome with great, hulking sobs.
Tears streamed down her face, but she made no noise. Her throat ached.
Then, like a passing storm, it was gone.
Shaking, she brushed aside her tears and went back to her duties.
BY DINNER THATevening, the Earl of Matlock and his wife had arrived, as well as his two sons, the Viscount of Beton (who used his father’s lesser title as a courtesy) and Colonel Fitzwilliam. The viscount’s wife had declined to come, along with their two young sons. The table was chilly and silent, with only Lady Matlock speaking in clipped tones, giving nominal compliments, except for the fact she seemed surprised that anything was going well at all.
“Oh, you have set a lovely table,” she said, as if she had thought such a thing impossible.
Later, “You have served the gravy Lord Matlock favors. You know of this.” As if that was unthinkable.
Still later, “And isn’t your mourning dress quite lovely.”
Elizabeth accepted all of these compliments with graciousness as if they were not barbs. There was a time in her life where she might have injected a bit of cheek into her responses, but that time was not now. She did not have the capacity for it currently.
Colonel Fitzwilliam was the only person who tried to keep any other conversation going, and she found herself liking him, despite the fact he was not handsome and had a gruff manner about him. He smiled a lot, and he was the most affable person at the table.
Mr. Darcy never looked at her.
After dinner, there was no conversation. The men did not retire for cigars and brandy and the women did not stay to visit with each other. Everyone went straight to bed.
Elizabeth looked in on Mr. Collins. He was fast asleep, done in by opium.
She was heading back to her own rooms when she was stopped by one of the maids who said that Mr. Darcy had been in the nursery. Of course, Willie was not in the nursery. She was used to having him close. Though she had been routinely scolded about this by Lady Catherine, Elizabeth had kept Willie in her own bed since infancy. Lady Catherine kept telling her that she must get the boy into his own bed and his own room, and Elizabeth knew this was true, but she adored the nights with her tiny son cuddled up against her, loved his warmth and his sweet baby smell.
She had recently compromised to putting Willie in a small bed beside her bed, which only meant that when Willie woke in the midst of the night he crawled into bed with her.
“I believe he didn’t wish anyone to see him, ma’am, but he was seemingly alarmed that it was empty. When I saw him, he got defensive. Then he wished to know where it was that your son slept.”
Elizabeth let out a breath. “Where is he now?”
“He is just down the hallway. I said I would seek you to ask what I should do.”
“I’ll speak to him. Thank you for letting me know,” she said. Furious, she made her way down the hallway and rounded a bend.
Mr. Darcy was still dressed for dinner except he was not wearing his cravat and his waistcoat was unbuttoned, his upper buttons on his shirt loosened.
Her voice came out in a harsh whisper. “What do you think you are doing, giving the servants things to speculate about in such a manner?”
“I just wanted toseehim.” His whisper was harsh, too.
“Well, you can’t,” she said.
“Where is he?”
“He is asleep.”
“But why not in the nursery? Do you have the first idea about how to run a household like this or how to conduct yourself properly? Where have you squirreled away my son?”
She clapped her hand over his mouth.
He backed away, wincing.
She clenched her hands into fists.
“Where is he?” he said again.
