Page 67 of Mr. Darcy's Folly
She slapped lightly at his arm. “Hush. In this story I am the unnamed fair maiden. But you are the hero of the piece. You shall live on in Kentish lore for generations.”
After a moment, they turned together, walking at a gentle pace toward their children, whose laughter rang clear in the afternoon air. Their youngest, not yet two, was in the nursery up at Rosings Park, no doubt being cossetted by her cousin Anne. Beth, with her dark curls wild about her face, was tugging at her brother’s sleeve, urging him toward another passage of the ruined labyrinth. Bennet, older by two years and every inch his father’s child, regarded the structure with an assessing gaze before allowing himself to be pulled along.
“She is intrepid,” Elizabeth said as she watched.
William cast her a sidelong glance. “I cannot decide whether that should make me proud or concerned.”
“Both, I imagine.” Elizabeth leaned against his arm as they continued toward their children, the past laid to rest behind them, and the future open and bright before them.
“Papa, Mamma!” Bennet called, holding something aloft. “Look what I found!”
He bounded towards them, the flattened, faded blue article in his hands barely discernible beneath years of weathering. “It is a bonnet!”
Beth gasped with delight, taking it from her brother with reverence, smoothing her small fingers over the dirty, ragged edges before running to her mother. “Mamma, is it yours?”
Elizabeth stilled. The breath in her chest tightened, and the past rushed toward her as if ten years had not passed at all. The weight of stone pressing in, the scent of dust and earth, the whisper of William’s voice in the dark.
William reached one hand out to her while the other took the bonnet from Beth. His long fingers brushed the frayed ribbon, and though his expression scarcely altered, Elizabeth knew what he felt.
“Yes, dear,” she murmured. “It was mine.”
William’s fingers tightened slightly, then fell away, his gaze lifting to hers. There was nothing to say. Nothing that had not been said between them already in countless glances, in the quiet of the night, in the years that had bound them ever closer.
Beth cradled the bonnet as if it were a treasure. “It is dirty and very old,” she declared. “But I shall keep it, for I like to have things that belonged to you, Mamma.”
Elizabeth smiled, bending to kiss the top of her daughter’s head. “Then it is yours, my love.”
"Very old," William teased.
"Practically ancient," she agreed with a little laugh.
His hand found hers, warm and steady, fingers twining together with a quiet, unspoken understanding.
“Will you tell us the story again?” Beth asked, eyes shining with eager curiosity. “The real one—not the one the villagers tell.”
Bennet smirked. “Yes, Papa. The last time we visited, a stable boy told me that you had duelled a highwayman inside the tunnels before saving Mamma from certain death.”
Elizabeth tipped her head to consider her husband. “Had there been a highwayman, I have no doubt that he would have done just that.”
Her husband sighed. “At this rate, I shall soon have tamed a dragon.”
Beth’s smile widened. “But you did save Mamma, did you not?”
Elizabeth’s gaze softened as she looked at her husband. “He did.”
William’s expression was unreadable for a moment before he gave a slight nod. “We saved each other.”
Beth, never one to let a moment of sentiment delay a quest, tugged at her father’s sleeve. “Can we explore a little? Just to see where the tunnel leads?”
William hesitated, glancing toward the entrance. The stone was worn, the entrance half-collapsed, and though his own curiosity was strong, he was still the careful man she married. “Perhaps another time—after we ensure it is safe.”
“That is what you always say,” Beth replied with a sigh.
Elizabeth nudged her daughter playfully. “And has he ever been wrong?”
Beth considered this before shaking her head. “No.”
“Then let us enjoy the present moment,” she said, taking her daughter’s hand. “Come, Beth, I believe we were promised a walk around the gardens.”
