Ambrose considered this. “I should not mind the noise. This house is often very quiet, particularly when Pap…I mean when Mr Darcy is attending to business matters.”
The wistful note in his words tugged at Elizabeth’s heartstrings. She drew him closer, settling him on the bench between herself and Jane.
“Tell me, what would you like most in all the world?”
He pondered the question with the gravity it deserved. “I should like to have a mama,” he said at last. “Not just someone to take care of me, like Miss Francesca, but a real mama who would love me specially and read stories with proper voices and not mind if I got my clothes dirty while playing.”
Elizabeth’s throat constricted. “Ambrose—”
“Could you be my mama, Lizzy?” The question tumbled out in a rush of hope and innocence. “I should love you to be my mama above all things.”
The world seemed to pause around them. Elizabeth was acutely aware of Jane’s sharp intake of breath, of Miss Francesca’s sudden stillness, of her own heart hammering against her ribs. But most of all, she was conscious of the expectant hope shining in Ambrose’s dark eyes—so abundant and infinitely trusting.
“Oh, my dear boy,” she whispered, cupping his small face in her hands. “You honour me with such a wish, but I cannot be your mama. You see, your Papa will one day marry and then she will be your Mama.”
“Mr Darcy does not like it when I call him Papa,” he said, bottom lip protruding. “Maybe you can marry him and tell himthat you will be my Mama and Papa and then he will not mind it anymore!”
So this child longed to call Mr Darcy Papa and the man refused? Wickham’s words rung again in the back of her head. Why was he so resistant to this request? Because of propriety?
Before Elizabeth could respond, a shadow fell across their little group. Mr Darcy approached from the direction of the house, his expression unreadable but his pace suggesting he had witnessed at least part of their conversation.
“Ambrose,” he said, his tone carrying a note of gentle reproof. “You must not burden Miss Bennet. She has been exceedingly kind to care for you during your illness, but you must not presume upon her goodness.”
The boy looked between Elizabeth and his guardian with puzzlement. “But why can’t she be my Mama?”
“Because Miss Bennet has her own family, her own life to consider. You cannot ask her to abandon everything for your sake, no matter how much affection exists between you.”
The practical words struck Elizabeth with such force, she almost staggered backward. She understood their wisdom—indeed, she had been struggling to express the same sentiments—yet hearing them delivered with such bluntness seemed unnecessarily harsh.
“Mr Darcy,” she began, rising from the bench with Ambrose still clinging to her hand. “Surely there is no harm in the child’s affection. He seeks only to understand his place in the world.”
“And it is precisely because I wish to spare him future pain that I must speak plainly now.” His gaze met hers, and she saw something almost like regret in those dark depths. “You werecorrect to discourage his… maternal fantasies. Such attachments can only lead to disappointment when circumstances inevitably change.”
“Circumstances?” Elizabeth asked quietly. “Is that also why you do not wish him to call you Papa?”
“I am not his father, Miss Bennet. I am his guardian. These are the facts. I may adore the child and consider him family, but in the eyes of society, he will always be my ward, not my son. It is best he understands that.”
The cold logic was sound, yet Elizabeth could not accept its sharp delivery. “I understand the wisdom of managing expectations, sir. But what of love and affection?”
“I speak of practical realities. It has nothing to do with love and affection, he has care, along with everything else he needs.”
Elizabeth glanced towards Miss Francesca, who maintained her rigid posture at a distance, then back to Mr Darcy. “I do not question the quality of his physical care. Yet I cannot help but observe that he seems hungry for something beyond what duty provides.”
“You suggest I do not show him enough affection?” He sounded genuinely upset at the notion. “You presume to know my feeling and thought based on a handful of interactions we have had?”
“I presume nothing.”
“Miss Bennet,” Mr Darcy said in a measured tone, “you say that but speak with great confidence about matters of which you have limited understanding.”
“I only want what is best for Ambrose. His desire for a mother seems strong. Have you never considered that perhaps he might need more than a governess? But a true mother?”She knew it was presumptuous to ask this man if he had never considered marriage, but she could not help herself.
Mr Darcy was quiet for a long moment, his gaze moving to where Ambrose played with a handful of pebbles. “I care deeply for Ambrose, Miss Bennet. I do not require marriage to prove that. Moreover, there are complexities that make simple solutions impossible.”
Elizabeth studied his profile, noting the tension in his shoulders. “Then perhaps you might help me understand? If there are circumstances that prevent him from receiving the love he seeks, I should be grateful to know of them.”
The silence stretched between them. Mr Darcy’s hands remained clasped behind his back, and she could see the careful control he maintained over his expression.
When he finally spoke, his words were subdued. “Some matters are too delicate to discuss openly. Some wounds run too deep to be easily examined, even with the best of intentions.”
