Page 42 of Yearning

He did not know how, but he knew he would do it.

The first thing was to inquire about the house being let out, which he managed to do by having his housekeeper Mrs. Reynolds write a few letters to people she knew in the area. Mrs. Reynolds, despite having resided at Pemberley as long as he had known her, seemed to have connections all over.

She had the name of the owner of the house for him within five days.

He wrote to the owner to inquire about letting it and then he tried to think of what good excuse he would have to go there, in the midst of the winter, when he had missed his own sister’s wedding.

One day, it came to him.

Regret.

Yes, it was perfect. Obviously, he regretted not going to his sister’s wedding, and just as obviously, he knew that there would be other sorts of family events that he would regret missing, and that he would like to find a way to be able to go. So, to that end, a test, with no real stakes, a journey to let a small house somewhere, just to see how it might work out. It was a believable reason to go.

He did not know that the story would hold up to much scrutiny, because of the proximity to the Baroness of Hellig, and that was a problem, of course. He did not wish to be associated with anything that even had a whiff of scandal, and this was rather more than a whiff. She was married. She had conceived the child when she had been under the same roof as him. He was to go there when the babe was born.

Everyone knew he was incapable of getting children, but would they believe it once they knew what he had done?

He should not have gone.

But, of course, he did. He made it happen. He rallied the servants, had things packed, and took three carriages in order to transport both of his wheeled chairs—the indoor one and the outdoor one—and all of the servants he needed. He settled nicely into the house, which was small, but was absolutely adequate to his needs.

He did not know if he should send word to her that he was there, but it turned out that he did not need to, because she appeared the following afternoon, having walked from her house to his.

He received her in the house’s sitting room, and they sipped tea, and he noted that she looked even heavier with child, and he had not realized how appealing this would make her. It wasn’t entirely in a sexual way, but it wasn’t not that way, either. She seemed fecund and bright and beautiful, but he mostly felt as if she was sort of perfect and awe-inspiring—above him, like some kind of goddess or queen.

“Your servants, I’m certain, are trustworthy,” she said, nibbling on a biscuit. She had already eaten three of them.

“Is this meant to be a secret, my lady?” he said, raising his eyebrows.

“I think it would be better if I came to you than if you came to me. My servants would certainly report it all to my husband.”

“Who will not be pleased?”

“Perhaps not,” she said.

“We should not be doing this, should we? I should not have come. I should have told you it was impossible and stayed in Derbyshire.”

“Well, we are not actually doing anything,” she said, “because we cannot. You are incapable, and I am not even remotely attractive anymore.”

He sucked in a sharp breath through his nose. “Oh, not remotely,” he said, his voice low, pitched in an ironic tilt.

“Well, you do not count, of course,” she said. “You have a bias toward me.”

He laughed gently. “I see.”

“People would not think a man would find a woman this far gone with child winsome.”

“Would they not?”

“No.” She glared at him. “Anyway, I can hardly imagine there’s a comfortable way to achieve such a thing with the belly in the way.”

He was having a number of very vulgar images flashing in front of his eyes. He coughed, taking his own biscuit.

“Stop that,” she said, her face very red.

“Stop what?”

“You are imagining me being taken in various ways, and I can tell.”