Page 74 of Yearning

He didn’t want to be away from her, that was the thing. He wanted her close. He could not believe that this woman was his, and that he could touch her and that he could kiss her and that he could bed her, and he wanted nothing but to float in this pleasant contentment that he had discovered.

So many years of sheer awfulness, and now…

He could not bring himself to go.

Not to his credit, he didn’t speak much about the future either. They would get married, but he didn’t press her to say when or how or to make any moves toward securing things to have it done.

In the back of his mind, he thought that they should wait until she was in half-mourning anyway, which was a few months away, and he knew he should not stay in her house for two months, but… but…

The weeks began to slip away.

Lily was simply darling as well. He had already fallen in love with the little girl, but as he stayed here, his affection for the little family that they could be began to write itself into the inside of his soul. He had never been so happy in his life.

He could not say how they spent the days. There were walks, him and her sometimes, the three of them sometimes. There were afternoon teas. There were evenings with both of them with books, sitting by the fire, for it was growing colder in the evenings as autumn overtook the world.

He sometimes settled himself on the floor of Lily’s nursery, taking his wooden leg off entirely and would consent to manipulate and speak for the male doll in the dollhouse.

“You be the papa,” Lily would say, “but you are not actually my papa.”

“No, I am not,” he would agree, “and I have no desire to replace him in any way.”

“But you love Mama,” said Lily. “Like he did. I can tell by the way you look at her. Papa looked at her that way, too. But she never looked at Papa the way she looks at you.”

And he would have no idea what to say back to this, but Lily would not notice and would simply return to the game. “Let us pretend that the papa and the mama are going to a ball.”

“All right,” he would say, and they would go back to the dolls.

Elizabeth once wrung out her hands and said that she had done this badly, allowing him so close to Lily so soon, and he said that Lily had done it herself, and Elizabeth had to own that was the way of it.

He was not Lily’s father, but they were fast friends and he would have done anything for her. He knew this with a conviction that went all the way down to his soul.

One day, he and Lily went for a walk together, just the two of them. Elizabeth was yawning, saying that she was always ever so tired when she was increasing, and Lily perked up. She was very excited about the baby, hoping dearly it was a girl, and saying that she had longed for ever so long for a playmate, and that her mother should hurry up and have the baby already.

But the upshot was that Elizabeth stayed home, and that he and Lily set off on the path outside together. The leaves were all turned now, and many had gone brown. They were falling to the ground in a crunchy carpet that covered everything.

His gait was not as easy as a little girl’s, one who was full of curiosity and energy, and she ran ahead of him, skipping this way and that, and he had his first spike of fear. Perhaps he ought not have told the nanny that she could have an hour to herself, that he would be just fine with Lily on his own.

He realized that their interactions had always been pleasant, and that he had not experienced her strong will, though he had heard that she regularly defied her nanny and her mother and did whatsoever she pleased.

Lily was so winsome—and often rather adorably apologetic—that she seemed to rarely receive much in the way of consequences for this sort of behavior.

He raised his voice. “Lily, not so far ahead of me. I cannot see you!”

She paused, waiting for him to catch up, bright-eyed. But then, when they were off again, she began to run again, disappearing round the bend ahead of him.

“Lily!” he called again.

“Do not be cross with me, Mr. Darcy,” came her disembodied voice. “I cannot bear it if you are cross.”

“Do not get ahead of me where I cannot keep my eye on you and I shan’t be,” he said.

Chagrined, she was waiting when he rounded the bend and caught up with her.

“I shall do better,” she promised him, smiling up at him, and she was winsome and adorably apologetic, and he melted.

And then, of course, she was off again, running away, and he bellowed her name, and she giggled and—this time—did not even listen to him.

He doubled his pace, terror spiking into him, and he began to think that this was not wise, that he was not equipped for this, that he simply could not go fast enough to keep up with a small child.