Coming Soon

“Georgiana will come to stay tomorrow,” he said as they went down Charles Street toward the square, “and I suspect she will want to go shopping before I find a companion for her. If you will go with her, you can replace whatever was lost in Spain.”

Lost. What a pleasant euphemism for “sold in desperation.” But she would not lash out at him again. It was not his fault for not knowing. “I would be glad to accompany Miss Darcy, and I can always be relied upon to give my opinion when it comes to spending other people’s money for them, but I am not in a position to replace my own things.”

“What young lady goes to town with her father’s blessing without him also  sending along money for her to spend?” he asked sceptically.

“My father gave me five pounds, but you see, that is all I have in the world.” At his stricken look, she strove to be arch. “Besides, my quarterly payment for my widow’s pension will be little more than that. I had best learn to economise.” There was no way she could spend on anything but necessities. Tea and paper for letter writing would take precedence over gowns and bonnets.

Anger at her husband for leaving her in this situation mingled with her grief at losing him.

“If you would be so good as to spare me from accompanying my sister to the shops," Darcy said, "I will pay for whatever you need.”

She did not think she was a woman with undue pride, but how could she take more from him? “I am already accepting your hospitality and your help with Lord Milton. I cannot also accept your charity.”

“You do not know how long at a purchase Georgiana is. Time stops when she is deciding between a blue or a green ribbon. I beg you, take her shopping, and as a recompense for the hours you will waste with her indecisiveness, buy yourself whatever you need.”

“I cannot rely on you,” she whispered. The only person she could rely on was herself.

“Pay me back, if you insist on it. After Milton grants you an annuity or gives you a few thousand pounds to make you go away, you will be able to spend freely. But you will have to insist on repayment because I will never ask for it.”

Elizabeth felt herself wavering. Her face must have shown it because he added, “If you have any charitable feelings in your heart toward me, you will take my money and accompany Georgiana. I assure you, I make out better in this arrangement than you do.”

She laughed. He was direct, and not lively like her husband was, but Mr Darcy had his own wry humour. She found herself liking him even more. “I agree to your terms. But if Miss Darcy truly takes a long time to decide, I will have more time to spend more of your money.”

“Do not underestimate how much I value not having to spend four hours on Bond Street.”

They walked around Berkeley Square in silence, with Mr Darcy occasionally touching his hat to a passing rider or strolling group. When they turned the corner to face Charles Street, about to return to his house, he said, “You know that, when you are ready, I would like to know what happened to Fitzwilliam, but I also want to hear what happened to you.”

What was it about this man’s kindness that nearly moved her to tears? Her mother had hinted her emotions would be in a whirl because of the baby. That must be it.

“I do not want to talk about it.” No one at home had invited her to speak about the battle, or its aftermath, not even Jane. She had held on to that pain too dearly and for too long to share with anyone now.

“Perhaps someday,” he added gently. “Do you want to go back or walk around the square once more?”

He was giving her the chance to part from him if she wanted it. “I am not struggling with the early symptoms any longer, and I still have my usual energy. We can even walk a little faster.”

Mr Darcy clasped his hands behind his back and pushed out his elbow for her to take his arm. “Set our pace, Mrs Fitzwilliam.”

He was silent again. Her husband would have talked the entire walk, and she would have met him in the same spirited manner. There was nothing unpleasant about Mr Darcy’s silences, but she was soon ready for a little conversation.

“This is a more enjoyable stroll than walking the ramparts in Portsmouth,” she said by way of a beginning. “Have you ever been?”

He shook his head. “Did you enjoy your time in Portsmouth together? It was only a week or so if I recall.”

“Everything there supplied amusement to my mind, and he was full of frolic and jokes.” After a pause, she asked, “Was he always so lighthearted?”

“Oh, often. He would joke when you would least expect it.” Mr Darcy laughed at some memory. “Or rather, when I least expected it and he knew it was most needed.”

“I had wished for higher-tiered conversations sometimes, but being deployed in a garrison under siege, facing an impending battle, would make one long for light topics.”

“He could talk on serious subjects,” Mr Darcy insisted. “Indeed, he had strong opinions and did not hesitate to share them.”

“Just not with me, or at least not at that time. He was so agreeable; he drew everyone to him,” she remembered with a fond smile.

Mr Darcy turned to look into her face. “You wanted someone to challenge you? Argue with you? You wanted to likewise have your opinion heard?”

He asked directly, with no tone of dismay or surprise, but what dependent woman would admit to wishing she had argued more with her dead husband? “I did not aim to be disagreeable,” she insisted. “Sometimes, I just wanted something more. Something deeper. Army life impeded our courtship; we were still coming to know one another. It was better for us to keep things light and bright. I understood,” she added before Mr Darcy could think she was a strange creature.

“You will enjoy your fortnight at my table, madam.”

“I likely will, but why are you certain?”

“I should hate to fight out of personal malice or revenge, but I have no objection to fighting for amusement and glory.”

She laughed again, thinking that she would enjoy this time after all. “I will do my best to argue you out of your most firmly held opinions, then.”