Page 6 of One Night with Mr. Darcy
But Anne was cheered by the sight of Elizabeth’s small son, who Elizabeth often brought with her, strapped to her chest with a sling as she had seen her mother do. It was not done by great ladies like Lady Catherine who gave children over to a nurse, of course, and Elizabeth remembered Mrs. Bennet complaining wildly about it all to her husband, talking about how put upon she was. (Mr. Bennet would say, “Yes, to have to mother one’s own children. How you suffer, darling.” And Mrs. Bennet would continue complaining as if he had agreed with her, never noticing his sarcasm.) Elizabeth would scurry about, talking to her little boy (who was named William after his father—well, after Mr. Collins, though Elizabeth was aware that his real father was named Fitzwilliam) and bring in flowers from the garden to Anne’s room or open all the windows and prattle on about the sunshine while Lady Catherine groused she was only illuminating dust.
As little Willie grew a bit bigger, he could be placed on a blanket or rug and allowed to hold and shake his rattles and the like. Anne would sit in a chair, swathed in blankets, her face pale but her eyes bright, and chatter to him about what a good boy he was, what a big and strong boy.
And Lady Catherine would sometimes consent for Elizabeth to read to her. She had a delight in the poems of Wordsworth and she enjoyed a bit of Swift’s satire now and again, too.
Whatever the case, Elizabeth and Willie were at Rosings three to four days out of the week.
After Anne’s passing, Lady Catherine seemed to insist upon it. Elizabeth thought it was likely because of Willie and not her, because Lady Catherine still insulted Elizabeth rather much of the time. She asked Elizabeth to read; she criticized everything from her pace to her pronunciation to the pitch of her voice. Elizabeth’s dresses were ill-fitting. She was improper to bring her child with her everywhere. She should not walk all over the grounds alone. These sorts of things.
So, Elizabeth was frankly stunned one day when Lady Catherine stabbed her ringed forefinger into her desk and demanded Elizabeth come and sign a document.
“What is this?” said Elizabeth.
“This is my will,” said Lady Catherine. “I’ve updated it. I’m leaving everything to you.”
“Me?” Elizabeth touched her chest. She stopped breathing. That was the most nonsensical thing she’d ever heard.
“You,” said Lady Catherine. “Yes, well, I don’t mean to be the bearer of bad tidings, my dear, but your husband is not going to outlive you. He may be with you for another year or two, but he will ultimately succumb to that illness. So, it hardly makes any sense to leave it to him. After all, that might mean you wouldn’t get it, anyway. Men can’t be relied upon to consider women, you know?”
“But Lady Catherine, I am… you are… certainly there must be someone else.”
“There is not,” said Lady Catherine. “Have my niece and nephew even come to look in on me? After the death of their own cousin? And when I was as close as I was to their dear, departed mother? And you certainly don’t see any of the Matlocks darkening my door, do you? No, who has been here for me? You have, Elizabeth. Only you. And I daresay, if I wish you to keep coming, this is the best way to ensure it, after all, to put you in my debt.” She gave Elizabeth a smile that almost might be termed wicked.
“Lady Catherine!” said Elizabeth, but she was smiling, too.
“Well, sign it,” said Lady Catherine.
And Elizabeth did.
But even so, as she did, alarm bloomed at the back of her skull. Niece and nephew, Lady Catherine had said. Elizabeth did know this, though she’d forgotten, somehow.
Mr. Darcy was Lady Catherine’s nephew!
Anne had been gone for over a week at that point. She had been buried, but there had been talk of delaying the formal funeral until the family could gather. It was now set, so far as Elizabeth knew, for a week and a half hence.
Mr. Darcy would be there.
And he would see little Willie, looking just like him. Certainly, he was capable of counting the months himself and seeing how it was. Why,everyonewould see it.Lady Catherinewould see it.
What was Elizabeth going to do?
THE NETHERFIELD BALL
“BUTWHY, CHARLOTTE,whywould he ask me to dance with him?” Elizabeth was clutching a glass of punch. It was empty. She had drunk it already. She had drunk far too many of them, actually, starting right after Mr. Collins’s second dance with her.
“Still on this, Lizzy?” Charlotte laughed softly. “I have told you, if you but try, you may find Mr. Darcy very agreeable.”
“Oh, heavens, I should despise such a thing,” said Elizabeth.
“Ah, to find a man agreeable that you have already determined to hate, what a thing!”
“Not just because I am attempting to be peevish!” protested Elizabeth, though this might not be true. Shewasfeeling peevish and it had everything to do with Mr. Collins all but proclaiming he was going to ask for her hand in marriage by claiming her first two dances of the evening. She should have realized that he had come to Hertfordshire for this reason. It made sense for him to marry one of the heir of Longbourn’s daughters. But, oh, why did he have to be so horrible? “No, it will make me even further beneath Mr. Darcy if I should find him agreeable, Charlotte.”
Charlotte sipped at her own punch. “How so?”
“Because he is already what he is, so high and mighty, with his ten thousand a year, and his, ‘My good opinion once lost is lost forever.’” Here, Elizabeth pitched her voice low in a mockery of Mr. Darcy’s voice.
“Lizzy!” But Charlotte was laughing.
