Page 31 of Yearning

“You were quite patient,” he said. “I, erm, sought you out to reassure myself that you are all right, I suppose. I wanted to be sure you were happy.”

“Of course I am happy.”

“Of course,” he said. “Your husband seems to be quite enamored of you.”

“Oh, indeed, he is,” she said.

“And you of him.”

“Indeed,” she said.

“Well, good,” he said.

She folded her arms over her chest and then felt as if the posture was too tense and unfolded them. “You did not need to come all the way here to ascertain this. You could have simply made inquiries.”

“But of course I made inquiries,” he said.

“And? Did everyone report that I was very happy and settled?”

“For the most part.”

“The most part?”

“Colonel Fitzwilliam noted you have been married over a year and that you have not…” His gaze flicked to her midsection. “He said you told him you were eager for children. This was not something you shared with me, I suppose to spare my feelings, but I always thought you were meant to be a mother.”

She folded her arms over her chest again. “What are you trying to ask?”

“If you are happy,” he said. “As I just said.”

“It is not for lack of trying, if that is what you mean,” she said, and there was venom in her tone.

He flinched.

She was glad. But only for a moment. Then she only felt ashamed of herself for taunting him. “Oh, I do not know what has come over me. I repent of saying that to you.”

“So, you are having trouble conceiving. It’s likely his fault.”

“This is none of your affair, Fitzwilliam Darcy.”

“That is not true, Elizabeth Bennet. You are my responsibility and you always will be.”

How could he say that after everything he had done? “That’s not my name anymore,” she said softly.

“No, of course not,” he said. He gazed out at the pall-mall court. “He’s too old, Lizzy.”

The use of her nickname smote her. She hunched up her shoulders.

“It is not what I wished for you. You chose him because you could not let me go.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “No, I have let you go. I have entirely let you go. We have not spoken in a very long time.”

“True,” he said.

“I love him,” she said, lifting her chin at him, a challenge.

He flinched again.

“I do. He is my husband and he adores me, and he dotes on me, and I am content. I am desired. I am happy. Besides the lack of a babe, there is nothing I have to complain about. So, do not think to disparage my choices. If you wish to know if I am happy, sir, I am.”