Elizabeth settled beside Ambrose on the morning room’s comfortable sofa, accepting the rather stern-looking volume Miss Francesca provided. A quick examination revealed precisely the sort of tedious moral instruction she had suspected—lengthy passages about duty, obedience, and proper behaviour for children.
“Now then,” she said conspiratorially, “suppose we imagine this little boy in the story is actually a brave knight on a quest?”
Ambrose’s eyes widened with interest. “Could he have a sword? And perhaps a faithful horse?”
“Certainly. Every proper knight requires both.” Elizabeth began reading, but she transformed the dry passages into an adventure tale that held Ambrose spellbound. The dutiful child became Sir Ambrose the Bold, his lessons transformed into preparations for noble deeds.
As they read together, Ambrose gradually relaxed against Elizabeth’s side, his natural affection asserting itself without reservation. The simple trust in his gesture moved her more than she had anticipated. When had she last felt so needed, so naturally maternal?
“Lizzy,” Ambrose said softly as they finished the final passage, “I like it when you are here. You make everything better.”
The innocent words struck Elizabeth with unexpected force. This child had attached himself to her with the wholehearted devotion only children possess. Miss Francesca, despite her qualifications, was an elderly woman whose stern nature prioritized study and propriety over the tenderness a young boy desperately needed. What would happen when Georgiana left for London? When Elizabeth herself returned toLongbourn’s daily routine? Ambrose would be left with only rigid correction and cold efficiency, bereft of the maternal affection that bloomed so naturally in his presence.
“Miss Bennet.” Miss Bingley’s voice carried from the doorway, though her tone suggested anything but pleasure at the interruption. “How domestic you appear.”
Elizabeth glanced down at her morning dress, noting the grass stains acquired during their earlier games and the wrinkles from sitting close to Ambrose. She looked, she realized, like precisely what she was—a country girl who had been playing with a child rather than maintaining proper drawing room deportment.
“Children have a way of disarranging even the most careful toilette,” she replied mildly, making no effort to smooth her skirts or adjust her hair.
Mrs Hurst joined her sister, both women presenting perfect examples of morning elegance. Their gowns remained spotless, their coiffures intact, their expressions politely condescending.
“How fortunate that some people feel comfortable in such… informal circumstances,” Mrs Hurst stated with a meaningful glance at Elizabeth’s appearance.
Elizabeth smiled pleasantly, recognizing the attack for what it was. “Indeed. I have always believed comfort with children reflects well upon one’s character. Though I suppose not everyone possesses such natural inclinations.”
The subtle return volley hit its mark. Miss Bingley’s smile tightened perceptibly, while Mrs Hurst’s fan snapped open with unnecessary force.
“Charles has suggested we might enjoy a game of loo this afternoon,” Miss Bingley said with renewed determination. “Though perhaps Miss Bennet would prefer to tend to the child’s needs?”
“On the contrary,” Elizabeth replied, rising gracefully despite her dishevelled state. “I should be delighted to join you. Ambrose, perhaps you might continue practicing your reading while we play? I shall be eager to hear how well you manage when I return.”
Ambrose nodded solemnly, clutching his book with renewed purpose, while Miss Bingley’s expression suggested she had not anticipated this response. The afternoon promised to prove interesting indeed.
The drawing room gradually filled as the party assembled for their game. Mr Bingley greeted Elizabeth with his characteristic hospitality, while Mr Hurst merely grunted acknowledgment from behind his wine glass. Georgiana took her place with quiet grace, and Elizabeth noted how the younger woman’s confidence had improved since their earlier conversation.
A tall figure approached the table with measured steps, his dark clothes and serious demeanour creating an impression of austere elegance. Of course, she thought with a sinking feeling, it was the disagreeable Mr Darcy. He took his seat across from her with a brief nod of acknowledgment, his movements precise and controlled.
“Darcy,” Mr Bingley said cheerfully, “you remember Miss Bennet from the assembly?”
Mr Darcy’s eyes met Elizabeth’s briefly, and she felt an unwelcome flutter of awareness. His gaze held an intensity that made her suddenly conscious of her disordered appearance andinformal manner with Ambrose—precisely the sort of superficial judgement she had expected from him. “Indeed,” he replied with cool politeness. “Miss Bennet.”
The formal acknowledgment carried all the warmth of winter frost, confirming Elizabeth’s opinion of his disagreeable nature. She lifted her chin slightly, refusing to be intimidated by his austere disapproval or feel ashamed of her dishevelled state from playing with a child.
“Well, Miss Bennet,” Miss Bingley said with false brightness, “I trust you are prepared to lose your pin money? Loo can be quite unforgiving to inexperienced players.”
Elizabeth smiled as she examined her cards. The game itself proved simple enough, though she quickly identified the various players’ strategies and weaknesses. Mr Darcy played with the same careful precision that marked his every gesture, his cards selected and placed with deliberate thought. Miss Bingley favoured bold plays designed to draw attention, though her strategy often sacrificed advantage for theatrical effect. Mrs Hurst proved more calculating, watching others’ reactions before committing to her moves, while Mr Hurst appeared more interested in his wine than his cards. Georgiana played with quiet competence, her natural intelligence evident despite her modest demeanour. More interesting was the conversation that developed around their play.
“Such a pity that children require constant supervision,” Mrs Hurst observed, playing a careful card. “Thank goodness for devoted governesses and nursemaids to manage such burdens.”
“Burdens?” Elizabeth’s voice carried a note of surprise. “Surely children are among life’s greatest blessings, not obligations to be delegated?”
Miss Bingley laughed with practiced condescension. “How charmingly naive! No lady of quality personally tends to such matters. That is precisely why we employ servants.”
“But surely maternal affection cannot be purchased?” Elizabeth played her own card with deliberate precision. “A child needs love and attention from those who truly care for his welfare.”
Mr Darcy’s dark eyes lifted from his cards to study her face, though he remained silent.
“Love is all very well,” Miss Bingley replied dismissively, “but proper education and discipline require professional expertise. Emotional attachment often interferes with necessary correction.”
