“You mistake me, Miss Elizabeth. Your insights are most profound, and something I had never considered. I shall take them to heart, for one day, of course, I must bind myself to a wife, and I may or may not have the choosing of her.”
“I hope that you will not find yourself in an impossible situation of that kind. My words were meant merely as an expression of my own thoughts, for I hope to learn from the example and to avoid such disharmony if I may.”
They walked on without another word for a few moments, giving only half their attention to the opening strains of music floating from the orchestra. They could no longer speak of such things without impropriety, no matter the strength of their mutual curiosity regarding the other’s opinions. Yet they could speak of nothing else either, for the issue seemed too pertinent to the fortunes of both, too intimate for casual discussion elsewhere, and too serious for immediate dismissal to easily shift to another subject without giving it due introspection. It was the sight of Mr Simpson once again, bowing and welcoming more guests to the Grove which at last inspired a smile from Elizabeth.
“He reminds me of a slightly less offensive version of Mr Collins,” she realised with a laugh.
William looked in that direction as well. “My aunt would approve of him.”
They continued their leisurely stroll in no direction at all, but any watching them might have paused curiously when noting a tall footman laughing gaily with his lady employer over some private joke, and how frequently she touched his arm as they walked.
He was in the midst of it before he knew he had begun.
Somehow, this tradesman’s niece had burrowed into the very tissues of his heart and nestled herself there. The thing was done quite without intent, and certainly without the knowledge of thelady in question, for she continued as lightly and disinterestedly as before… except that she seemed to have become rather comfortable in his presence.
So much more comfortable was she, in fact, that as the light grew longer and the crowds thickened, she made no objection to walking in rather near proximity to him. Why, she could only have been closer had their arms been entwined, a prospect which had lost all its horror for him. And when she turned to smile at him, or—heaven help him—laugh obligingly at some wry comment made in a pitiful attempt at a jest, he felt a nearly irrepressible desire to provoke another such response. Thus, within a quarter hour he had begun to feel himself rather witty, and indeed most of his friends would never have thought him capable of such a barrage of clever remarks or amusing anecdotes. In all likelihood, they would have been correct—he was not capable, not on his own.Shehad inspired him, and he drank in that fortifying elixir with near-manic devotion.
He was addicted to a woman he had only just met.
It was a craving of which he must deprive himself in short order. This he knew, but he was no more inclined to pull back from her now than he was to return home and wed the socially acceptable bride who awaited him.
One day! Surely, Fate could grant him one day of pleasure in a woman’s company. One day which might salve the whole remainder of his life, for even if Anne were not forced upon him, the remaining prospects were dull and tarnished by comparison. Could Elizabeth be correct in her supposition that he himself held the power to make his future companion more agreeable? And if it were possible, could he imbibe enough ofherto infuse that sparkling life into another?
She accidentally brushed his arm again, all innocent laughter at one of his boyhood exploits with Richard, and a sort of fire jolted through him. Awareness burned with the same sharp pain as the snow on his bare twelve-year-old feet from his story—a tale hehad never even told Georgiana because he had considered it too compromising to his dignity. In that instant, he knew.
She was wrong.
Nothing within his power could ever make any other woman a suitable partner for him, regardless of her pedigree. He could guide, he could coax, he could speak gently and exert himself to approximate some degree of interest in whatever peculiarities such a woman might possess… but he could not make her become Elizabeth Bennet.
“Your cousin is indeed an accommodating fellow!” she was declaring. “I am surprised he submitted to your dare and attempted the distance in nought but your nightwear. And in the snow! I can well imagine it was a memorable holiday from school that winter. Who won the race?”
“He won the footrace to the stables, for he was older, and his legs were longer. Once we had secured our mounts, I overtook him and was the first round the appointed tree and back to the house. Richard was certain we were both to die of pneumonia, so cold were we, but it was nothing an hour by the fire and a cup of chocolate could not mend. My father probably learned of the prank, but never did he speak a word of reprimand.”
“A wise parent. And did you soon after put such antics behind you, forever to become the grave and steady young master?”
He felt his expression cool, the unaccustomed smile twisting to a lifeless grimace. “I am afraid so. Only a few months later, my mother died giving birth to my sister.”
How long ago that had been! So many years of mastery and resolve—over half of his life had passed since that hideous day that had robbed him of feminine care and thrust him into manhood before his time. It was a matter of course, nothing to cause sorrow after over fifteen years, but this recounting was different, somehow. Without knowing quite why, he found his eyes fastened unseeingly on the festive lights dazzling the great fountain, for fear that if he moved them elsewhere, he would find them unaccountably moist.
“William?” She placed her hand full on his forearm, squeezing gently as only a friend might, and she turned him slightly to face her.
He blinked, and indeed his eyes had misted peculiarly. Why now? Why should one triggered memory of his mother’s last day suddenly evoke such feeling? He struggled for a tight breath and smiled. “It is nothing, Miss Elizabeth,” he reassured her huskily.
“There is no need to conceal your feelings. You are grieved, and rightly so. She must have been very dear to you.”
He choked on a short laugh, then sniffed back the sentiment. “What mother of grace and beauty is not the object of her young son’s worship?”
She did not answer in words, but there was a sympathy around her eyes, a sort of tightness working in her creamy throat, which spoke eloquently enough of how deeply she was affected. She held his gaze a moment longer, enough for the shared feeling to settle round both their hearts, then dropped her gaze respectfully to the gravel. “I suppose,” she idly brushed at a rock with her slipper, “that we ought to begin considering our return to my uncle’s house.”
“Perhaps,” he agreed reluctantly. He did not like to think of that… a return to Cheapside meant an acknowledgement of the gulf between her station and his, a reversion to the impossible troubles which plagued him, and a renewal of whatever difficulties she faced in her own life. “If we take the Grand Walk back, it is shorter,” he offered, “but if you can tolerate a few more steps, we can walk back through the arches.”
“Or we could look inside the pavilion. Perhaps the doors are opened by now?”
He submitted to this indulgence with no complaints of his own. A few minutes more could do no harm, surely. The parasol was no longer needed in this less brilliant light, so he slung its handle over his arm and gestured for her to “lead” the way, a mannerism which earned another of her bewitching smiles.
It was not so bad walking slightly behind her, and he happily satisfied himself with looking on her form as she walked. She was no conventional Grecian beauty, but those curves… no man would regret her figure once he knew more of it. There was none now to protest his admiration of her, so his pleasant inventory of her many assets continued undisturbed as they walked. So contented was he in this pursuit that he was quite startled when she halted without warning.
“Miss Elizabeth?”
