Page 21 of The Widower of Pemberley

Mr. Bingley extended his hand to Elizabeth. “You will be our guest?”

“Miss Darcy and Mr. Jones both believe it would be best for me to remain until I am better healed.”

Mr. Darcy put Emily down, and he looked closely at the bit of exposed leg above the bread and milk poultice wrapped around her ankle. Elizabeth wished that she had left it covered with a blanket, but the weight of the cover had pulled uncomfortably at the strained muscle.

“It is greatly swollen,” Mr. Darcy said with a frown. “You fell from your horse?”

“As you see.”

“And became soaked sufficiently that your own clothes could not be worn?”

“As you see,” Elizabeth repeated, surprised that he recognised she was wearing his sister’s gown.

Mr. Darcy frowned at her, but his frown did odd things to her stomach.

He had called her a pretty girl. And he imagined that she might have loose morals. And…

“Papa, Papa, I said,” Emily insisted, returning to her place at the grand tea party, “she must learn to ride better. She can’t ride well.” She laughed like an ordinary child, which is to say like a man who had taken leave of his senses. “That is so droll! It is always important for a man or woman to ride very well. But she can’t!”

Mr. Darcy laughed. It was a friendly laugh, and it surprised Elizabeth. He looked younger, more open, and less imposing.

“Papa! Sit. Sit here! Sit! Join the tea party.”

“Of course, but might I call for real tea?”

“No! No real tea!”

“Then I shall not.” Mr. Darcy pulled a chair up. “Can Mr. Nananoo sit on me?”

“Yes. And here is your tea, Papa.”

“Might I have sugar in it?”

The girl obediently shovelled empty spoonfuls into the empty cup and stirred it before handing it to Mr. Darcy, warning him, “Careful! It is hot!”

Mr. Darcy took a cautious sip of the imagined fluid and said, “Miss Elizabeth, have you heard the tale of Mr. Nananoo’s adventures? He was once marooned on an island in the ocean round about India for three hundred years.”

“No, I have not,” Elizabeth said with a smile. “That is a very long time.”

“Mr. Nananoo cannot swim,” Emily said. “Like I cannot swim. Because he is small, like me.”

“Swimming is a useful skill,” Elizabeth agreed. “But can he ride a horse?”

Emily frowned. And then she tucked her face away from them and giggled.

“I do not believe so,” Mr. Darcy said, “as Emily cannot yet ride a horse.”

Mr. Darcy appeared to be a different man in company with his daughter. He was relaxed, happy, sweet, and caring.

When she became upset, as every young child will from time to time, he picked her up and held her until she ceased to sob. He merrily chased her about and participated in her nonsense, but he also frequently grasped opportunities to make a brief comment upon proper behaviour.

His daughter was delighted to perform for him. She had been cheerful with Elizabeth and Georgiana, but the young girl clearly adored her father beyond anything.

That evening, a light meal was brought to the drawing room since Elizabeth could not stand to walk to the dining room, and when it came time for them to all go to bed, rather than calling a footman to help her, Mr. Darcy simply picked her up and carried her, surrounded by all the women of the house, to the bedroom that had been chosen for her use.

It was a heady rush when he did so.

From the easy way that he lifted her and bore her weight, it was clear that Mr. Darcy was substantially stronger than the footman who had helped her from Georgiana’s room to the drawing room.