“Wish what, dearest?”
“That I could protect him always. That I could ensure he never wants for love or understanding or gentle guidance.” Elizabeth twisted the handkerchief in her hands. “Is that terribly presumptuous of me?”
Jane’s smile held infinite tenderness. “It speaks to the goodness of your heart. But you must remember that your attachment, however deep, does not make you responsible for his future welfare. That burden belongs to Mr Darcy.”
“And what if Mr Darcy proves unequal to the task?” The question escaped before Elizabeth could censor it, carrying all her doubts and fears.
“Whatever has given you such thoughts?”
Elizabeth hesitated, reluctant to voice the suspicions that had taken root since her conversation with Wickham. Yet the need to unburden herself overcame discretion.
“Jane, I have heard things… suggestions that Mr Darcy may not be the devoted guardian he appears. That his care of Ambrose stems from duty rather than affection, and that when duty conflicts with personal inclination… I do not particularly believe all of this to be true, but…”
“Lizzy.” Jane’s interruption was firm but gentle. “You must be exceedingly careful of listening to gossip, particularly regarding a man of Mr Darcy’s standing. Such tales are often motivated by envy or spite.”
“But what if they contain truth? What if Ambrose is merely an inconvenience he tolerates rather than a child he cherishes?”
Jane studied her sister’s agitated features with growing understanding. “These doubts arose suddenly. Someone hasbeen speaking to you—someone with reason to cast Mr Darcy in an unfavourable light.”
Elizabeth’s silence confirmed Jane’s suspicion.
“Oh, Lizzy. Promise me you will judge the man by his actions rather than by the accusations of others. Watch how he treats the child when he believes himself unobserved. Listen to the way he speaks of Ambrose’s future. Trust your own observations over the poison whispered by those who may have their own designs.”
The wisdom in Jane’s counsel could not be disputed, yet Elizabeth’s unease persisted. “You are right, of course. I shall endeavour to be more circumspect in my judgements.”
Their conversation was interrupted by a soft knock at the door. At Elizabeth’s invitation, Miss Francesca appeared with Ambrose in tow, the boy dressed for outdoor activity and practically vibrating with eagerness.
“Miss Bennet, Master Ambrose has been most insistent that he is well enough for a brief walk in the garden. I thought perhaps you might accompany us to ensure he does not overtax himself.”
Ambrose darted towards Elizabeth, his earlier listlessness completely banished. “Lizzy! Miss Francesca says I may go outside if you come too. Please say yes!”
The transformation from wan invalid to exuberant child was so complete that Elizabeth laughed despite her recent tears. “Very well, but only if you promise to rest when I say you must.”
“I promise! I shall be the most obedient boy in all of England.”
The autumn afternoon proved mild and pleasant. They established themselves on a stone bench near the rose garden,where Ambrose could run about without straying too far from supervision. Jane settled beside Elizabeth while Miss Francesca positioned herself at a discreet distance, her eagle gaze tracking the boy’s movements.
“He seems quite recovered,” Jane observed, watching as Ambrose chased fallen leaves with determined concentration.
“Indeed. His resilience astounds me. Yesterday he could barely lift his head, and today he wishes to conquer the world.”
Ambrose’s game led him gradually closer to where they sat, until at last he abandoned the leaves entirely and flung himself against Elizabeth’s knees, his small arms wrapping around her waist with fierce affection.
“I missed you while I was sleeping,” he declared, his face pressed against her muslin skirt. “Miss Francesca read to me, but she doesn’t do the voices properly.”
“The voices?” Elizabeth enquired, smoothing his dishevelled hair.
“The dragon’s voice should be deep and rumbly, but hers sounds just like her ordinary speaking sound. It quite ruins the effect.”
Jane’s soft laughter mingled with Elizabeth’s. “That is indeed a grave fault in a storyteller.”
Ambrose studied Jane with the frank curiosity of childhood. “Are you Lizzy’s sister? You look very much alike, though your hair is fairer.”
“I am Jane, and yes, I am Lizzy’s eldest sister.”
“I should like to have a sister,” Ambrose confided. “Or a brother. Miss Francesca says some children have many brothers and sisters all living in the same house. That must be wonderfully merry.”
“It has its advantages,” Jane agreed solemnly. “Though it can also be rather noisy.”
