Page 23 of The Widower of Pemberley

Darcy had stepped out of the room, bouncing the girl on his shoulder.

When she had calmed, he had said again, “You are becoming quite strong, and you might hurt Miss Elizabeth. She was quite bruised by her fall from the horse. You must be gentler with people.”

Darcy had half expected the girl to burst into tears once more.

But Emily had nodded. “Don’t want to hurt Miss Lizzy.”

“She is very nice?”

“Very nice.”

“Do you wish to go up to the nursery for Rose to tell you some stories, or would you like to return to the drawing room for a few minutes more before you are sent up?”

“Miss Lizzy! Miss Lizzy!”

“If that is your preference.”

Darcy had returned them to the drawing room, where Emily had wriggled to be put down then run across the room to Miss Elizabeth. “I’m sorry!”

Miss Elizabeth had put an arm around the girl. Emily had tightly embraced her arm in return.

“I do not mind you jumping about me,” Miss Elizabeth had said, “only you must be cautious, and you were not. My ankle and elbow do hurt very much.”

“I won’t do it again.”

“All is well then—thank you Mr. Darcy.” As Miss Elizabeth had said this, her arms around little Emily. It had done something strange to his chest.

Befriending the child to appeal to the father was in fact a good stratagem.

Georgiana had soon encouraged Emily to join her at the pianoforte and to help her turn the pages as she played her niece’s favourite songs.

After another half an hour, Emily had been at last sent up with the nurse, and the party had become much quieter. Miss Elizabeth and Georgiana had spoken softly to each other, a conversation about music as far as Darcy could tell.

When Miss Elizabeth had yawned, it was decided to call the footman again to carry her to her bedroom.

Acting on an instinct which hated the idea of another man holding Miss Elizabeth, even if that man was merely a servant, Darcy had stepped up to her and asked whether she was ready to go to bed.

She had nodded, and he had simply picked her up and carried her.

She had been surprisingly light, and it had been sweet to carry her in such a way.

Darcy had not been physically close to a woman since many months before Mary died. While he had not had time to contemplate this as he carried Miss Elizabeth, the scent of her hair and neck, the feel of her in his arms, and the memory of her softness had lingered with him through the night.

The next day was sunny, but Darcy was unwilling to leave the house.

In the morning Miss Elizabeth was still unable to put any weight on her foot, and the injury to her elbow made it impossible for her to manage crutches or a heavy cane.

Darcy picked her up again and carried her to the drawing room once she had been dressed by Georgiana’s maid.

She blushed deeply when he put her down. “My apologies for being so difficult.”

“That you are injured is not a reason for any shame.”

“Ride your horse better! It is a matter of importance for every lady or gentleman,” Emily remarked.

Miss Elizabeth laughed. “Mr. Darcy, it seems that your daughter thinks my failure as a horsewoman is a more shameful matter than you do.”

Her laugh was delightful to listen to, and Darcy was at some risk of thinking too much of her.