Page 90 of The Widower of Pemberley

Emily could not sleep, and she knew that the girl would be miserable if she left her to join Darcy at the dinner—would that not be just what he had complained of Mary doing?

Yet presiding over the tenants’ dinner, an event that Darcy had spoken to her of as being of great importance to him, was clearly necessary.

Elizabeth waited as long as she might by Emily’s side and brought a small armchair into her dressing room for the girl to curl up on while Sarah worked on her hair.

But when Elizabeth was ready and about to descend to the gathering that had already begun, Emily sobbed, clung to Elizabeth’s neck, and begged her not to go.

“My dear, I must. Your father expects me.”

“Stay! Stay!”

Elizabeth thought about taking Emily down with her, but given her illness she did not wish to expose the girl to the draughts and the crowd.

“I must go,” Elizabeth said.

“No! No! No! I’m ill.”

Elizabeth kissed Emily on the forehead. “Poor girl.”

“No! No! Stay! Why do you need to go? I’m a baby lion! Roar. You wouldn’t abandon a baby lion.”

Elizabeth laughed. “My dear, I must go down.”

“Nooooo! Why? Why? Why?”

For some minutes, until her arms became quite tired, Elizabeth stood there feeling unable to ask Rose to help her tear the girl from her.

She felt a sudden sense of resentment at the whole situation.

Why did she even need to attend the dinner?

Mr. Darcy should be the one to explain to Emily why Elizabeth had to go down—she washisdaughter.

And Elizabeth suddenly thought about how she had not had time to write her Christmas letters to her family, how she missed them, and how she did not know whether she would ever have time to write those letters.

“No! No! I’m a baby lion!”

“You are not, Emily,” Elizabeth replied with more sharpness in her tone than she had ever used with the girl.

Emily stared at her, her face crumpled, and she sobbed big wild tears. She made a keening sound that was worse than anything Elizabeth had heard from her before.

Both Rose and Sarah were there with her, and they watched as Elizabeth held the child without moving for twenty seconds.

She needed to act as the great mistress and the exemplary mother, who always did what she ought to and who never showed any impatience or failure of conduct.

Instead, Elizabeth sat down, still holding the crying Emily, and sobbed herself.

Chapter Twenty-One

When Darcy went upstairs to look in on Emily one more time before leading the festivities, and to encourage Elizabeth to hurry her preparations, he had not expected to find his wife crying in her dressing room while Rose held his daughter.

Emily kept reaching for Elizabeth as she said, “Mama Lizzy, Mama Lizzy, what’s wrong? What’s wrong?”

What immediately went through Darcy’s mind, like a stab, was the certainty that this was it.

He had made Elizabeth miserable. It had not taken long.

He did not even have any idea what he had done.