Page 38 of Yearning

Then, one day, some time after Christmas, she was forced to acknowledge it, because it was the one day that Jane did not walk with her. Ferdy was in a temper that day, having been denied something or other that he had wanted—possibly sweets or a toy or a chance to dive face down the stairs. He had sobbed and sobbed for almost an hour, so great was his little boy disappointment, and Jane had been there, first yelling at him for carrying on so, then really rather frightened because he would not stop crying, soothing him, and now she was quite exhausted.

“You must walk on your own today, I’m afraid,” said Jane.

“Oh, of course,” said Elizabeth. “You and Ferdy have been through quite a lot today. I suppose this is what I have to look forward to with this one.” She touched her belly, which had gotten rather more prominent during this stay. It had only been four weeks, but she had come barely looking as if she were increasing, and now no one would think anything otherwise when they looked at her.

“This or something like it,” said Jane. “They do test you so, I must say.”

“You were wonderful with him, however.”

“I absolutely was not! I should not have given him any reward for such screaming, but he was tearing at my heart with those cries.”

“I think he had simply gotten himself so worked up he could not get himself calm,” said Elizabeth. “You helped him to do that. You did exactly right.”

“Oh, I know I did not,” said Jane. “That is what I was so unprepared for. I thought I would know what to do, and much of the time, I do not.”

Elizabeth thought about that as she set out on her walk, but she did not ponder the impending challenges of motherhood for very long, because soon she was forced to confront the desire at the back of her mind.

Mr. Darcy.

She could walk there. It was a long walk, five miles, but it was possible. Certainly, she usually did not walk five miles when she was increasing, but she could not see why she would not manage it.

Of course, assuming she did it, after she got there, she did not know what she would do, for she was obviously with child, and so if she went to the door to be given entry, it would be highly improper. A woman did not go about calling on people when she was this far gone with child.

But she supposed she would cross that bridge when she came to it, for she thought she might not be able to make the walk anyway, and that she might simply turn around, and that she would surely talk herself out of it.

Why did she want to see Mr. Darcy anyway?

She could not say that their last parting had been entirely positive.

It was only that she knew, somehow, that she wanted to see him, and that she wanted him to see her whilst she was growing a babe inside her. She did not know why. She could not say, but it seemed right in some strange way.

And then, ahead on the road, there he was, as if she had summoned him with her thoughts.

The chair he was in looked different. It was more suited to the out of doors, with bigger wheels. She walked towards him as he wheeled closer.

“I am sorry,” he called, “for showing myself, but you were alone, so I thought it might be all right. The upshot of this, of course, is that you will know that I have been spying on you.”

“What do you mean, spying?” she said, and it did not surprise her that they had not bothered to actually greet each other. She felt as if she was picking up in the midst of a stream, as if there was a current between them—always flowing—and it was simply a matter of falling back into it.

“It is not to my credit, I’m afraid, but I have been watching you with your sister and your nephew each day. I saw you one day when I was coming back in my carriage from town, and I wondered if you would be there the same time the next day. To my delight, you were. Every day, then, I bring this chair out and stay a safe distance away, simply watching you all. I debated showing myself, but I did not.”

“You did not? But you have dined with my sister, I understand.”

“I have.”

“Then what could have been the reason to wait until she was not present?” She stopped walking because he was now right in front of her. They met here in the midst of the road, the bare, dark trees reaching up toward the gray sky on either side of them.

He stopped wheeling his chair. He had a scarf at his neck and his nose was a bit red. He smiled up at her. “I have no notion, truly. I do remember that the last time I saw you, I was adamant we should keep our distance from each other.”

“I also remember that,” she said.

He was eye level with her belly. His gaze flicked from her face down to the curve of her and then back up again. He was smiling.

“Well, it’s nonsensical,” she said quietly. “You should, indeed, have shown yourself.”

“I think we both know why not,” he said. “She would know that I had come because I wished to see you. She would know that I was shamefully preoccupied with a married woman. I wanted to keep all that hidden away, and perhaps not truly from your sister, but from myself.”

“But when it is only me?”