Lady Harriette, page 18
“I have said nothing of it to anyone other than you. At this point, whether my late brother sired the child is mere conjecture. The woman is married after all, and thus is unable to account for when she conceived. I dare not say a word of this to my parents until some evidence of paternity manifests itself.”
“This situation is untenable.”
“Surely it is not what any of us would have wished for. Certainly not Annabelle. By Mrs. Donaldson’s account, her fervent wish is the child should prove that of her estranged husband. Her expectation is her husband might reject her, but surely he is too decent to reject his own child.”
“That would be the answer to all our prayers. Our lives might then be free of her.”
“Darcy, as much as I did not agree with Harriette in the beginning—at the end of the day, there is an unborn child involved. A child that may well be of Fitzwilliam blood. Put yourself in my place—this could just as well have been Elizabeth in Harriette’s predicament. Do you really think Elizabeth would cast a hopeless woman and her unborn child into the cold—to fend for herself in such a condition? Even if that woman is Annabelle, do you suppose for one second Elizabeth would have denied her?”
Sufficiently lectured by his older cousin, Darcy headed for the library in search of a book to read to Lady Catherine. Ensconced amongst the stacks, his presence went completely unnoticed by the servant when she entered the room, bearing a pile of books. He observed her but a few moments before emerging and clearing his throat.
One look at him and the books she carried tumbled to the floor.
He rushed to her side. He knelt and started gathering the scattered books. She did likewise. Their hands touched. Their eyes met. He drew back his hand. “I am sorry—”
“You owe me nothing, sir.” She tore her eyes away from his. “I made my own choices in life.”
Darcy swallowed. “No—I meant to say I am sorry for startling you.”
Her eyes met his once more. “From what I have been told, I should be thanking you—for all you did in getting me away from—my former life. I fear I might have let you down and for that I am sorry.”
“No—no. I—” He really did not know what to say. Forgive me for my transgressions against you—for my cousin’s. He said nothing.
“Excuse me, sir.” The mess she had made apparently forgotten, she stood and curtsied, then ambled away in great haste.
Darcy stood. He rubbed his hand across his tightly closed eyes and let out a deep breath. Untenable.
Sitting by his aunt’s bedside not long thereafter, Darcy ceased reading the book he had chosen. His time with Lady Catherine did little to erase the memory of seeing Annabelle in the library. As much as he did not want to allow her presence to bother him—how could it do otherwise in light of their past connection? He raised his hands to his temple and stroked his brows. Beaconwood was the last place in the world he wished to be at that moment. More than anything, he wanted to be at Pemberley.
Unnoticed, Darcy stood in the doorway, silently adoring the two most important people in his life. What a fool he had been to have ever denied his feelings for his beautiful Elizabeth for as long as he had when they first met—to attempt to substitute his desire for her with that from which he would never derive any true pleasure. Elizabeth—his wife, his love—she meant the world to him. What was more, she satisfied his every notion of what his wife, the mistress of Pemberley, and the mother of his child ought to be.
Little William looked up. His young face bubbled with glee. He pointed at Darcy and laughed, prompting Elizabeth to look and see what amused her son so.
Darcy smiled when he caught her eye as relief and joy etched across her lovely countenance.
“I thought you had planned to stay over at Beaconwood.”
Darcy walked into the room. “That was my plan, but I decided I would much rather be here with the two of you.”
He brushed a light kiss against her temple. Then Darcy took his son in his arms. “He is growing fast. Any day now and I shall introduce him to the new pony.” He leaned and rested his forehead against Elizabeth’s. “I can hardly wait until we beget another child—perhaps a little girl. Would that not be nice?”
Elizabeth’s dark eyes twinkled delightfully. “I should like that very much.”
The nurse approached Darcy, and he handed her his son. The two quitted the room, leaving Darcy and Elizabeth alone. He enfolded his wife in his arms and his mouth took possession of hers. She tasted sweet, like ripe berries. “Thank you, my love.”
Elizabeth ran her tongue over her lower lip. “For what?”
“For being you. For our son. For our home and this wonderful life we share. For everything.” All this he said between seductive kisses.
Their bodies melded, whispering their needs. She pressed her palms against his broad chest and gazed into his eyes. Elizabeth reached up and ran her fingers through Darcy’s hair. “Perhaps I shall have the nurse attend our son this evening.”
After so many weeks of abstinence that he had stopped counting, he could think of nothing better. To hold her, cherish her, and satiate her with his adoration and his longing. “I should like that very much.” Impassioned blood coursed through his body as he swept her up in his arms. His lips took possession of hers. “Thank you, my love.”
Chapter 25 ~ Till It Be Morrow
Harriette remained a faithful companion to Lady Catherine—staying by her bedside night and day for hours at a time. Three weeks had passed and finally—finally, Lady Catherine’s health showed signs of improvement.
Lady Catherine opened her eyes. She eyed the pitcher of water on the bedside table. Harriette immediately stood and poured water into a glass. She assisted her ladyship in taking a sip.
Her thirst quenched, Lady Catherine asked, “Am I dying?” She pursed her lips. “You are awfully considerate. How long has the doctor given me?”
“Oh, Lady Catherine, you are as severe on me as ever. I have begged you to forgive me for my impudence and inconsideration. I should never have allowed you to tarry under your misapprehensions involving my behaviour for so long.”
“Do not fret, my child. Perhaps you and I have more in common than not. We both like to have our way. Things sometimes get out of hand, as they most certainly did in this case.” She started coughing.
“Please, let us speak no more on this matter.” Harriette set the glass aside and picked up a book. “Shall I continue reading where we left off last evening?”
A half hour later, Harriette closed the book. Her ladyship had fallen asleep. Harriette stood and placed her hand on Lady Catherine’s arm.
The motion roused her. “Elizabeth,” said Lady Catherine.
“No, your ladyship, I am not Elizabeth. Shall I send for her? Pemberley is not so very far away. She will be here in no time at all.”
“No—no, do not trouble yourself. We shall all be together again at Rosings.”
Harriette placed her hand upon the older woman’s and squeezed gently. “Yes, yes, at Rosings for Easter—every year, for many years to come.”
The next several weeks ushered a return to tranquillity with the Fitzwilliams regularly calling upon the Darcys at Pemberley. Harriette sat with Elizabeth and the baby in Elizabeth’s sitting room. Harriette kept her godson diverted whilst Elizabeth attended her correspondence. Which of the two enjoyed the most fun proved hard to say with certitude—Harriette or little William. He laughed and giggled as he bounced up and down on her ladyship’s knees. Both were sorely disappointed when the nurse arrived to take him to his room for his midday nap.
A quarter hour later, whilst having tea, Harriette said, “Elizabeth, I must tell you again how relieved I am that you bear me no ill will as a result of my decision to keep Annabelle as a servant in my household, even now that she has given birth to her child.” Harriette placed her cup aside. “I could not help but have a look at the baby. She is a very beautiful, healthy baby girl with big brown eyes and lovely dark curls. Were it not for her diminished circumstances, she would one day be a force of reckoning, I am sure.”
Elizabeth smiled. “I am sure you are doing what is best for the mother and her young child. Heaven forbid the two of them be cast into the cold, harsh world and perhaps once again be forced to suffer a life no decent person ought to endure. How could I possibly judge you harshly for having shown such compassion even though I do not know for certain I would have done the same?”
“Of course you would have, Elizabeth. And though we can only speculate, given the strong possibility the baby shares the same blood as our own children; surely we can do no less than make certain she has a decent chance in life. She must be educated and she must never be faced with the possibility of life as a servant. I can do no less.”
Elizabeth arched her brow. “Our own children, you say? Is this your way of confiding happy tidings?”
Her ladyship’s mouth fell opened.
Elizabeth reached out her hand and patted Harriette’s. “I am only teasing. I know full well what you meant. I am inclined to agree.”
“Of course you agree, Elizabeth. Say what you will about your sister Jane having all the goodness in your family. I could not ask for a more generous and devoted friend than you. You stood by me in the decision to allow Annabelle to remain in my employ when you might easily have turned your back on me forever.”
“Oh, Harriette! I am equally blessed to enjoy your friendship. As much as I love Pemberley, and as much as I love my husband and our son, there is no substitute for sisterly love and affection. I have found that in you. Though you and I may not always see eye to eye, I would not give up our friendship for anything in the world.”
“Elizabeth, it warms my heart to hear you say so. Though you have sisters of your own, you and Georgiana are the only sisters I have ever known. I do believe I would be lost without you.”
It was such a fine day, perfect for an open carriage ride from Pemberley to Beaconwood. What better way to take advantage of the crisp autumn air. The reins secured, Richard placed his free hand on Harriette’s. “You have been rather quiet since we left Pemberley. Did you and Elizabeth enjoy a pleasant visit?”
“Oh, yes! But then we always do.”
“Do you mind if I ask what the two of you discussed? I ask because this bout of pensiveness leaves me wondering.”
“We spoke of many things—including Annabelle’s child.”
Richard purposely regarded her. He said nothing.
“Do not look at me like that. You do not suppose I would keep such a matter a secret from Elizabeth. No doubt you apprised Darcy of the situation as soon as you learnt of it.”
“I am guilty as charged. Go on then, tell me what is on your mind.”
“I suppose now the baby is born, it is time we inform your parents of the possibility of their being grandparents. As much as I believe it will displease your father as well as further disillusion your poor sister-in-law, Elise, I feel certain the time has come. What say you?”
“I have always deferred to your opinion on all matters concerning the servant—Annabelle—and her child. I see no reason to question your sentiments now.”
“Then it is settled. We shall tell them.”
“I must caution you not to expect anything in the way of gratitude from my father. Furthermore, do not be surprised by my parents’ refusal to even acknowledge the child. This would not be their first illegitimate grandchild.”
“Oh, no! I fully comprehend your family may shun the child. However, I shall not behave accordingly.”
Richard squeezed his wife’s hand. “I am so very proud of you. First, for your generosity towards the servants, which reflects a kindness of spirit that warms my heart?”
She smiled and cuddled next to him. “Why, I thank you, sir. And what might be the second reason?”
“I am proud of your diligent care of Lady Catherine for all those weeks while she convalesced in our home. There was no reason at all for you to show her such compassion after she treated you so abominably for so long.” He brushed his lips along her cheek. “You, my dear wife, have all the makings of an extraordinary future countess.”
“Although the prospect of you becoming a peer and me a countess must certainly please my father and my mother, it has never been important to me. I have always been happy with our lives as man and wife.”
“Yes. I love you all the more because of it. Still, it must increase your father’s admiration for me by one hundred-fold.”
“Oh, at least!” She tucked her arm through his and rested her head on his shoulder. “With all this talk of earldoms and the like, no doubt it is a small matter of time before you are thinking of begetting your heir.”
His ardent gaze summoned her attention. She lifted her head, and their eyes stole a sweet glance. She smiled and rested her head once more. How wonderful she is—the embodiment of everything I have ever wanted in a lover. My beautiful Harriette. My woman—my heart and soul.
Richard espied a clearing on the side of the road—a perfect place to rest the horses as well as carry out his ardent purposes. He steered the carriage to the rustic, yet rather charming spot and pulled over.
“What are you doing? We shall arrive at our home soon enough.”
He placed a light kiss atop the tip of her nose. “This is true. But when it comes to begetting my heir, there is no better time than the present. I know this area by heart. I have the perfect place in mind.” He jumped down and hurried to her side. He reached for her. “Will you be joining me?”
She held out her hand. “Oh, Fitzwilliam! Do you not realise by now I would follow you anywhere?”
* * *
♥ ♥ ♥
Featured Book Excerpt
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Chapter 1 - In Want of Diversion
It is a truth universally acknowledged that the topic of discussion among four unmarried young ladies who are gathered together in the same room and in want of diversion must invariably center on the prospects for marital felicity for each of them in their turn. Such was indeed the case in Miss Elizabeth Bennet’s bedroom at Longbourn manor that day.
“I contend that happiness in marriage is entirely a matter of chance,” declared Charlotte Lucas, who was visiting from the neighboring village.
“Spoken by the least likely of the four of us to reach the altar.”
Elizabeth, the second eldest of five Bennet daughters, stared at her cousin in utter dismay on behalf of her intimate friend, Charlotte. Elizabeth’s junior by two years, Phoebe Phillips paid her no notice. Not that Elizabeth expected any real sort of regret on the young lady’s part. If ever one might be described as her mother’s daughter, unquestionably, it was Phoebe. Though closest in age to Elizabeth’s younger sister Mary and closest in terms of sensibility to Elizabeth’s two youngest sisters, Kitty and Lydia, Phoebe much preferred the company of the two eldest Bennet sisters, Jane and Elizabeth.
What with Phoebe being the only daughter of Mrs. Agatha Phillips, and Mrs. Phillips being the only sister of Mrs. Fanny Bennet, it was generally expected that the cousins would be the dearest of friends, even if the girls’ temperaments were as varying as day and night. To her credit, Phoebe was not quite so vulgar as her mother was thought to be. Elizabeth rather supposed it was merely a matter of time.
Whereas the embarrassment of it all caused the eldest Bennet daughter’s angelic face to redden, the younger daughter’s astonishment was not so easily repressed.
“Phoebe!” Elizabeth exclaimed with energy.
“What did I say that is not true?”
“It is not what you said so much as it is the manner in which you said it. You owe Charlotte an apology,” Elizabeth declared.
A very plain-looking, intelligent woman and the oldest in the group by at least four years, Charlotte said, “Dearest Eliza, you need not censure your cousin on my behalf.”
Phoebe smirked. “There, you see, Lizzy,” the young lady cried, “Charlotte knows the truth when she hears it. She is not at all offended.”
“Heaven forbid,” replied Charlotte. “Were I to be affronted by any of the things you say, Phoebe, I might be as miserable as you are.”
Pleased by her friend’s retort, even at her own relation’s expense, Elizabeth covered her mouth to mask her smile. She loved nothing more than laughing at the ridiculousness of others: a trait she inherited from her dear father, Mr. Thomas Bennet.
Jane’s disposition demanded a more amicable resolution to the ebbing tension among their little group. “I believe no one is ever really too old to find happiness in marriage,” said she.
“Says the second least likely person among us to find a husband.”
“Phoebe!” Elizabeth exclaimed once more.
“Although, I will allow that Jane is the only one of us who has ever come close to securing a marriage proposal. How many times have we heard my aunt Bennet boast of the young man at my uncle Gardiner’s home in town who was so much in love with her and the general belief that he would have made her an offer even though he did not?”
“Lest you forget, Phoebe, Jane was only fifteen at the time. I recall Mrs. Bennet saying that likely was the reason,” Charlotte said.
“Oh, but he wrote such pretty verses on her,” Phoebe waxed poetically. “Pray, whatever became of your young beau, Cousin Jane?”
Elizabeth said, “Who really gives a care? Poetry or no poetry, the man is no doubt a fool.”
Charlotte scoffed. “I wager all men are fools. How else might one explain the abundance of single young ladies in want of husbands among our general acquaintances?”
“Owe it to our rather exacting standards,” Elizabeth promptly asserted. “That and the limited variety of single young men in this part of the country.”
