Beginning, Section II, Next Section
Darcy tucked a rather tired Andrew into his bed that night. "Papa," he said sleepily, "it was good to see Miss Bennet."
"Yes," he said. He looked down at his son for a moment. "You like her very much, don't you?"
Andrew smiled. "Yes, Papa," he said. "She is very kind and very pretty, and she tells stories better than even Mrs. Reynolds." He yawned. "May we call on her tomorrow?"
"We will call upon her soon," replied his father, and kissed his son's forehead. "Good night, Andrew."
Darcy headed downstairs to find Mr. Bingley in the library, staring blankly at a book in front of a waning fire. He looked up when Darcy walked in. "My sister wished to bid you a good evening, Darcy," he said quietly, "but grew tired of waiting."
"Andrew insisted upon another page of his new book," explained Darcy.
"Indeed? Even after Miss Eliza told him the story about Jack and the beanstalk? I say, Darcy, even I was spellbound. She is quite the storyteller."
Darcy grinned. Not nearly as spellbound as I, he thought. "She is," he agreed quietly. He sat next to his friend. "Something is bothering you. Pray tell me what it might be."
"You do not mind hearing?" Bingley eyed him sideways.
"Not at all."
"Darcy, it has been a month since I met Miss Bennet," he began. "I am thinking of asking her to marry me, but I do not know what my sisters will think, for her position in life is a little less than what they might have wanted in a sister," he said. "And I am not really sure of her feelings for me. What do you think, Darcy?"
Darcy was silent for a long while, and then spoke. "When Andrew was born, and when Anne died, I wanted to care for him. Myself. I thought it would be fairly simple. That was my first mistake; thinking I had all the answers. And, of course, I was too proud, after I demanded to care for him by myself, to back down and let someone help me. I was angry at Anne's death and I didn't want anyone near me, except for Andrew, and I know that because of that Andrew suffered a few more bumps on the head, and perhaps is growing up a little too quickly with no other children around, and no mother, but I do believe that it is for the best, for him as well as for me. I see a lot of Anne in him; the way he dotes on me and his sweet, quiet disposition; his curious mind. When you have children, Bingley, it is the most frustrating, painful, maddening, irritating, wonderful, rewarding, joyful thing you can go through. Children are very demanding on your time and patience and energy, and you learn to pull it out of places you never knew you could. You run yourself ragged and the only thing you want in return is for this little person to look up at you at night, after story time, and say, 'Good-night, Papa, I love you.' It brings peace to my heart, and has taught me a multitude of things. I am no longer angry that Anne died; I miss her but I do not grieve for her any more. However, I still have the regrets, for what I didn't say cost me precious time with her. They eat at me every day. You won't know what Jane feels for you if you don't ask her, and if she truly cares for you, then your sisters should have no concerns. You should be happy. Don't have regrets, Bingley," he said. "No regrets."
"Miss Bennet! Miss Bennet!"
Elizabeth Bennet turned sharply at the noise coming from the staircase at Netherfield. She could hear one set of small feet and one set of much larger ones on the stairs. Andrew Darcy's smiling face turned the corner and met her.
"Master Andrew," she whispered, "you must keep quiet. Jane is rather ill."
"I am sorry," he whispered back, "but I am excited to see you. May I see Miss Bennet?"
"I am afraid she is too ill to have visitors," replied Elizabeth, touched at Andrew's kindness.
Mr. Darcy walked up behind his son. "I am sorry, Miss Bennet," he began. "Andrew means well. I trust he did not wake Miss Bennet?"
"Indeed, he did not," smiled Elizabeth. "It is perfectly all right."
"Andrew, please see me in the library," instructed Darcy.
"Yes, Papa." Andrew gave their visitor a bright smile and ran off with a wave.
"Has Miss Bennet improved at all since the morning?" asked Darcy.
"I fear not," replied Elizabeth, "but I am sure she soon will. It really is rather kind of Mr. Bingley and his sisters to have Jane stay, and to call a doctor for her."
"Well, I'm sure Miss Bingley thought it only appropriate, as she did invite your sister to dine last evening. She must feel slightly responsible."
"I only hope she does not feel put upon," replied Elizabeth, that consideration serious in the back of her mind.
"May I escort you down stairs?" asked Darcy, holding his arm out.
"That is very kind of you, but I must remain above stairs with Jane," replied Elizabeth. She smiled at Darcy. "Perhaps I shall see you and Master Andrew later."
He smiled hopefully in return. "Very well," he said, nodding, and headed down the stairs.
At half past six Elizabeth was summoned to dinner. To the civil inquiries which then poured in, and amongst which she had the pleasure of distinguishing the much superior solicitude of the gentlemen's, which included young Master Andrew, she could not make a very favorable answer. Jane was by no means better. The Bingley sisters, on hearing this, repeated three or four times how much they were grieved, how shocking it was to have a bad cold, and how excessively they disliked being ill themselves, and then thought no more of the matter.
Their brother's anxiety for Jane was evident, and his attentions to Elizabeth most pleasing, and they, coupled with Andrew's lively style of conversation and his father's quiet smile and watchful eye, prevented Elizabeth feeling herself so much an intruder as she believed she was considered by the sisters.
When dinner was over, she returned directly to Jane, and Miss Bingley began abusing her as soon as she was out of the room. Her manners were pronounced to be very bad indeed, a mixture of pride and impertinence; she had no conversation, no style, no taste, no beauty. Mrs. Hurst thought the same, and added, "She has nothing, in short, to recommend her, but being an excellent walker. I shall never forget her appearance this morning. She really looked almost wild."
"She did indeed, Louisa. I could hardly keep my countenance. Very nonsensical to come at all! Why must she be scampering about the country, because her sister had a cold? Her hair so untidy, so blowsy!"
"Yes, and her petticoat; I hope you saw her petticoat, six inches deep in mud, I am absolutely certain; and the gown which had been let down to hide it not doing its office."
"But Miss Bingley," protested Andrew, "if you were ill, would you not want Mrs. Hurst or Mr. Bingley to come visit you? Whenever I am sick, my papa always attends me."
"Yes, but you are a child, Andrew," she said irritably.
Bingley grinned at the boy. "Your picture may be very exact, Louisa," said he; "but this was all lost upon me. I thought Miss Elizabeth Bennet looked remarkably well, when she came into the room this morning. Her dirty petticoat quite escaped my notice."
"You observed it, Mr. Darcy, I am sure," said Miss Bingley, "and I am inclined to think that you would not wish to see your sister make such an exhibition."
"Indeed," agreed Darcy with a grin. "I would not be agreeable if Georgiana were to make such a journey in messy weather for Jane Bennet. Certainly not."
Miss Bingley ignored the sarcasm in his voice; all that mattered was that he had agreed, and she continued. "To walk three miles, or four miles, or five miles, or whatever it is, above her ankles in dirt, and alone, quite alone! What could she mean by it? It seems to me to show an abominable sort of conceited independence, a most country-town indifference to decorum."
"It shows an affection for her sister that is very pleasing," said Bingley.
Mrs. Hurst began again. "I have an excessive regard for Jane Bennet, she is really a very sweet girl, and I wish with all my heart she were well settled. But with such a father and mother, and such low connections, I am afraid there is no chance of it."
"I think I have heard you say, that their uncle is an attorney in Meryton."
"Yes; and they have another, who lives somewhere near Cheapside."
"That is capital," added her sister, and they both laughed heartily.
"If they had uncles enough to fill all Cheapside," cried Bingley, "it would not make them one jot less agreeable."
Darcy had been caught by this conversation. "But it must very materially lessen their chance of marrying men of any consideration in the world," replied Darcy, almost to himself.
To this speech Bingley made no answer; but his sisters gave it their hearty assent, and indulged their mirth for some time at the expense of their dear friend's vulgar relations. With a renewal of tenderness, however, they repaired to her room on leaving the dining-parlor, and sat with her till summoned to coffee. She was still very poorly, and Elizabeth would not quit her at all till late in the evening, when she had the comfort of seeing her asleep. On entering the drawing-room the whole party was at loo, with Andrew tucked into his father's forearm, and Elizabeth was immediately invited to join them, but she declined it, and making her sister the excuse, said she would amuse herself for the short time she could stay below with a book. Mr. Hurst looked at her with astonishment.
"Do you prefer reading to cards?" said he; "that is rather singular."
"Miss Eliza Bennet," said Miss Bingley, "despises cards. She is a great reader and has no pleasure in anything else."
"I deserve neither such praise nor such censure," cried Elizabeth; "I am not a great reader, and I have pleasure in many things."
"In nursing your sister I am sure you have pleasure," said Bingley; "and I hope it will soon be increased by seeing her quite well."
Darcy observed Elizabeth's heartfelt thanks to his friend, and then watched as she walked towards a table where a few books were lying. Bingley immediately offered to fetch her others; all that his library afforded.
"And I wish my collection were larger for your benefit and my own credit; but I am an idle fellow, and though I have not many, I have more than I ever look into."
Elizabeth assured him that she could suit herself perfectly with those in the room.
"I am astonished," said Miss Bingley, "that my father should have left so small a collection of books. What a delightful library you have at Pemberley, Mr. Darcy!"
"It ought to be good," he replied, "it has been the work of many generations."
"And then you have added so much to it yourself, you are always buying books."
"Andrew's share is quite as large as my own; we cannot comprehend the neglect of a family library in such days as these."
"Neglect! I am sure you neglect nothing that can add to the beauties of that noble place. Charles, when you build your house, I wish it may be half as delightful as Pemberley."
"I wish it may."
"But I would really advise you to make your purchase in that neighborhood, and take Pemberley for a kind of model. There is not a finer county in England than Derbyshire."
"With all my heart; I will buy Pemberley itself if Darcy will sell it."
"I am talking of possibilities, Charles."
"Upon my word, Caroline, I should think it more possible to get Pemberley by purchase than by imitation."
"Papa, you will not sell Pemberley, will you?" asked a very concerned young man at Darcy's side.
"Mr. Bingley is only teasing," replied Darcy with a smile at his son and a kiss on his head.
Andrew gave a satisfied smile and returned to watching the card game, smiling at Elizabeth on the other side of the room. She was so much caught by his innocent grin, as to leave her very little attention for her book; and soon laying it wholly aside, she drew near the card-table, and stationed herself between Mr. Bingley and his eldest sister, directly across from Master Andrew.
"Is Miss Darcy much grown since the spring?" said Miss Bingley; "will she be as tall as I am?"
"I think she will. She is now about Miss Elizabeth Bennet's height, or rather taller."
"Aunt Darcy is very tall," chirped Andrew. "You would like her, Miss Bennet." He received a grimace from Miss Bingley for his troubles.
"How I long to see her again! I never met with anybody who delighted me so much. Such a countenance, such manners, and so extremely accomplished for her age! Her performance on the piano-forte is exquisite."
"It is amazing to me," said Bingley, "how young ladies can have patience to be so very accomplished as they all are."
"All young ladies accomplished! My dear Charles, what do you mean?"
"Yes, Papa, what does accomplished mean?" Andrew glanced up at his father, who patted his head.
"Yes all of them, I think. They all paint tables, cover screens, and net purses. I scarcely know any one who cannot do all this, and I am sure I never heard a young lady spoken of for the first time, without being informed that she was very accomplished."
"Your list of the common extent of accomplishments," said Darcy, "has too much truth. The word is applied to many a woman who deserves it no otherwise than by netting a purse, or covering a screen. But I am very far from agreeing with you in your estimation of ladies in general. I cannot boast of knowing more than half a dozen, in the whole range of my acquaintance, that are really accomplished."
"Nor I, I am sure," said Miss Bingley.
"Then," observed Elizabeth, "you must comprehend a great deal in your idea of an accomplished woman."
"Yes; I do comprehend a great deal in it."
"Oh! certainly," cried his faithful assistant, "no one can be really esteemed accomplished, who does not greatly surpass what is usually met with. A woman must have a thorough knowledge of music, singing, drawing, dancing, and the modern languages, to deserve the word; and besides all this, she must possess a certain something in her air and manner of walking, the tone of her voice, her address and expressions, or the word will be but half deserved."
"All this she must possess," added Darcy, "and to all this she must yet add something more substantial, in the improvement of her mind by extensive reading."
"Papa," said a confused Andrew, "what does all of this mean?"
Elizabeth smiled at Master Andrew. "I am no longer surprised at your knowing only six accomplished women," she said to his father. "I rather wonder now at your knowing any."
"Are you so severe upon your own sex, as to doubt the possibility of all this?"
"I never saw such a woman, I never saw such capacity, and taste, and application, and elegance, as you describe, united."
Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley both cried out against the injustice of her implied doubt, and were both protesting that they knew many women who answered this description, when Mr. Hurst called them to order, with bitter complaints of their inattention to what was going forward. As all conversation was thereby at an end, Elizabeth soon afterwards left the room.
"Eliza Bennet," said Miss Bingley, when the door was closed on her, "is one of those young ladies who seek to recommend themselves to the other sex by undervaluing their own, and with many men, I dare say, it succeeds. But, in my opinion, it is a paltry device, a very mean art."
Andrew didn't understand a word of what Miss Bingley had said, but didn't like the tone of her voice or the way she had glanced after Miss Bennet when she left the room.
"Undoubtedly," replied Darcy, to whom this remark was chiefly addressed, "there is meanness in all the arts which ladies sometimes condescend to employ for captivation. Whatever bears affinity to cunning is despicable."
Miss Bingley was not so entirely satisfied with this reply as to continue the subject, for which Andrew was grateful. He was beginning to learn that the sound of Miss Bingley's voice irritated him. His father soon shuffled him off to bed.
Mr. Darcy finished reading one letter and tucked another into his coat pocket, sitting back to sip his now-cold tea. They were from his cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam.
Andrew skipped into the breakfast room at Netherfield to join him. "Good morning, Papa," he chirped.
"Good morning, Andrew," replied Darcy.
"Do you have any news to tell me?" Andrew's blue eyes sparkled as they looked up at his father. This was their favorite part of the day, when Darcy would read letters from Colonel Fitzwilliam or Andrew's grandmother, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, and sometimes a story or two from the newspaper.
"Yes, I do," said Darcy, and he pulled the colonel's letter out.
Andrew grinned. "Would you read me the letter, Papa?"
Darcy nodded and unfolded the paper. "Certainly. It is from your cousin Richard, and he has written it just for you. Would you like to try?" He held out the paper to his son.
"Will you help me, Papa?"
"Of course I shall," said Darcy. "Come sit." He patted his knee.
Andrew happily crawled up there and snuggled into his father's lap. "I know how it starts," he declared. "He says, 'Dear Andrew.'"
"And do you know that because you can read it, or do you know that because it is customary to begin a letter like that?" Andrew giggled. "I guessed as much. Can you try the first word?"
"I."
Darcy paused, then encouraged his son to continue on to the next word. "Go on."
"I do not know it."
"If you wish to learn, you must try," encouraged Darcy. "If you do not know the word, you must sound it out. What is the first letter?"
"It is an h," said Andrew proudly.
"And the next?"
"O. And then a p, and an e."
"Now sound the word out. What does an h sound like?"
Andrew choppily annunciated, "Hhhooope. Hope."
"Very good, Andrew," praised Darcy, and Andrew grinned, and they continued with the rest of the words in the short letter. They were unaware of the pair of fine eyes that watched them from the entrance of the breakfast room until they had finished reading the letter.
When Andrew hopped off his father's lap, and Darcy rose to help him gather a plate of breakfast, Miss Elizabeth Bennet quietly entered the room and poured herself a cup of tea. The Darcys noticed her as they sat back down.
"Good morning, Miss Bennet!" exclaimed Andrew over the top of his father.
Elizabeth smiled and blushed. "Good morning, Master Andrew," she replied. "And Mr. Darcy."
"How is your sister this morning?" asked Darcy.
"She is well," replied Elizabeth. "Thank you for asking. She shall be down directly after me."
Darcy smiled warmly at her. After a few minutes, the elder Miss Bennet came down, and Andrew was quiet about her, until she gave him a happy smile.
"I am glad you are not ill anymore," Andrew whispered.
"I am sure Jane is also glad she is not ill anymore," replied Elizabeth with a wink at the boy.
"Thank you, Master Andrew," said Jane. "I am sorry I could not listen with you to the story Elizabeth told the other night, but I thank you for offering."
"It is quite all right," replied Andrew. "Miss Bennet, do you really have to go home today?"
"Yes, I do," replied Elizabeth, to whom that pair of round blue eyes looked.
"Are you sure you can not stay for just one more day?"
"No," laughed Elizabeth, sipping her tea. "We must go home. We are needed there, by our mama and papa, just like your papa needs you."
"I will miss you."
Elizabeth blushed, and Jane smiled at her. "Do not be so downcast, Andrew," she said confidently. "We shall meet again. After all, your papa's rather good friend lives but three miles from our family."
"Yes, but we are going to London in a few days," replied Andrew, obviously unhappy with the decision his father had made.
Elizabeth looked at a smiling Mr. Darcy. "But Master Andrew," she said, "did not you tell me that your aunt Darcy waits for you there?"
Andrew immediately brightened. "Yes!" he exclaimed. "Of course! I had not thought of that. How silly!"
"You are far from silly," assured Miss Bennet, and from then until the time she departed Netherfield with her sister in tow, the two of them were inseparable.
Georgiana Darcy spoiled her nephew tremendously. She delighted in him; he was so much the miniature of his father that she often wondered to herself if she was treating him as the little brother she always wanted but could never have. When she was not in London she preferred to be where ever her brother and nephew were, and never ventured from their sides, spending hours reading to and playing with Andrew. She had even been afforded the opportunity to go to Ramsgate that summer, but had missed her two most favorite people so greatly that she turned it down, rather against the fond wishes of her companion, Mrs. Younge.
It had been a long time since she had visited her Aunt Catherine, and she had protested slightly when her brother informed her that she and her companion would be coming with on a trip to Kent.
"You are no longer in school, and you have no other excuse to offer," he had told her with a raised eyebrow. "It is high time we all make the trip."
Georgiana supposed it would not be all bad. She would have Andrew there, even though her aunt would not allow her to play with him as her brother would; she could read to him, and just be in his company. Her cousin Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam would also be there to provide diversion from her aunt.
She found herself very tired at the end of the trip to Rosings Park, and was amused to find that even her stoic brother and energetic nephew had tired eyes, as well.
They were welcomed into the house and allowed to rest until supper. Conversation was dominated by Lady Catherine, as always, who was delighted to see her grandson's particular manners.
The following day was Easter and Lady Catherine announced that she would ask the parson from across the lane and his wife, accompanied by her sister and good friend, to dine with them that night. Georgiana hoped the ladies would be at least a little close to her in age. She was getting tired of sitting with her embroidery all afternoon, and though she loved to play, her aunt's constant insisting that she practice was wearing on her nerves.
Andrew had been upset that he was not allowed at the dinner table with his father, and Georgiana knew her brother was upset at it too, but wouldn't have disagreed with Lady Catherine.
She walked with her brother arm in arm downstairs to the drawing room that night at Rosings Park, complimenting him on how handsome he looked, and as they entered the room, she felt her brother stop. He stared at the parson's wife's guest, and Georgiana gently touched his elbow. "Fitzwilliam? Do you know her?"
Darcy let out a sigh. "I do," he said. He seemed unsure of what to do with himself, until his eyes caught hers, and she smiled at him.
Darcy returned her smile and got about the business of introducing Miss Elizabeth Bennet to his sister and cousin Richard. He admitted to himself that she was looking very well, and though he knew Miss Bennet would want to see Andrew and Andrew would want to see Miss Bennet, he did not call his son, only answered favorably to Miss Bennet that his son was enjoying himself in Kent and that he was well and sleeping.
Colonel Fitzwilliam seemed really glad to see Lady Catherine's dinner guests; any thing was a welcome relief to him at Rosings; and Mrs. Collins' pretty friend had moreover caught his fancy very much. He seated himself by her, and talked so agreeably of Kent and Hertfordshire, of travelling and staying at home, of new books and music, and they conversed with so much spirit and flow, as to draw the attention of Lady Catherine herself as well as of Mr. Darcy. His eyes had been soon and repeatedly turned towards them with a look of curiosity; and that her ladyship after a while shared the feeling, was more openly acknowledged, for she did not scruple to call out,
"What is that you are saying, Fitzwilliam? What is it you are talking of? What are you telling Miss Bennet? Let me hear what it is."
"We are speaking of music, Madam," said he, when no longer able to avoid a reply.
"Of music! Then pray speak aloud. It is of all subjects my delight. I must have my share in the conversation, if you are speaking of music. There are few people in England, I suppose, who have more true enjoyment of music than myself, or a better natural taste. If I had ever learnt, I should have been a great proficient. And so would Anne, God rest her soul, if her health had allowed her to apply. I am confident that she would have performed delightfully. Georgiana has practiced a little while she has been here, Darcy, but could stand to do a little better."
Georgiana turned her head to roll her eyes, and Mr. Darcy spoke with affectionate praise of his sister's proficiency.
"I am very glad to hear such good praise of her," said Lady Catherine; "but you must agree, that she cannot expect to excel, if she does not practice a great deal."
Darcy smiled at his sister. "I assure you, Madam," he replied, "that she does not need such advice. She practices very constantly."
"So much the better. It cannot be done too much, Georgiana; do not neglect it on any account. I often tell young ladies, that no excellence in music is to be acquired, without constant practice. I have told Miss Bennet several times, that she will never play really well, unless she practices more; and though Mrs. Collins has no instrument, she is very welcome, as I have often told her, to come to Rosings every day, and play on the piano forte in Mrs. Jenkinson's room. She would be in nobody's way, you know, in that part of the house."
Mr. Darcy and Georgiana looked a little ashamed of their aunt's ill breeding, and made no answer.
When coffee was over, Colonel Fitzwilliam reminded Elizabeth of having promised to play to him; and she sat down directly to the instrument. He drew a chair near her. Lady Catherine listened to half a song, and then talked, as before, to her other nephew; till the latter walked away from her, and moving with his usual deliberation towards the piano forte, stationed himself so as to command a full view of the fair performer's countenance. Elizabeth saw what he was doing, and at the first convenient pause, turned to him with an arch smile, and said,
"You mean to frighten me, Mr. Darcy, by coming in all this state to hear me? But I will not be alarmed though your sister does play so well. There is a stubbornness about me that never can bear to be frightened at the will of others. My courage always rises with every attempt to intimidate me."
"I shall not say that you are mistaken," he replied, "because you could not really believe me to entertain any design of alarming you; and I have had the pleasure of your acquaintance long enough to know, that you find great enjoyment in occasionally professing opinions which in fact are not your own."
Elizabeth laughed heartily at this picture of herself, and said to Colonel Fitzwilliam, "Your cousin will give you a very pretty notion of me, and teach you not to believe a word I say. I am particularly unlucky in meeting with a person so well able to expose my real character, in a part of the world where I had hoped to pass myself off with some degree of credit. Indeed, Mr. Darcy, it is very ungenerous in you to mention all that you knew to my disadvantage in Hertfordshire -- and, give me leave to say, very impolitic too -- for it is provoking me to retaliate, and such things may come out, as will shock your relations to hear."
"I am not afraid of you," said he, smilingly.
"Pray let me hear what you have to accuse him of," cried Colonel Fitzwilliam. "I should like to know how he behaves among strangers."
"You shall hear then -- but prepare yourself for something very dreadful. The first time of my ever seeing him in Hertfordshire, you must know, was at the home of his rather good friend, Mr. Bingley. You must know Mr. Bingley has a sister, do not you, Colonel?"
"Ah, I believe I do," replied the colonel, anxious to hear more of this story.
"Well, then, it might interest you to know that your gentlemanly cousin, in trying to entertain his young son, told Master Andrew a story which included Miss Bingley as the main character, depicting her as a witch, and frightening him of ever seeing her. Mr. Darcy, you cannot deny the fact."
"Well, can you, Darcy?" asked the colonel, amused.
Darcy cringed. "I am afraid I can not," he replied in a low voice. "But it was all in the hopes of entertaining Andrew, as you yourself said, and one can not be faulted for wishing to tell a harmless story to one's own son."
"True, and if you are to have some amusement of it, then so much the better. Well, Colonel Fitzwilliam, what do I play next? My fingers wait your orders."
"Perhaps," said Darcy, "I should have judged better, but if I am allowed a remark or two in my own defense, it was more than Andrew who was concerned in the story-telling, indeed it was your very nephew, Fitzwilliam, who asked for a scary story, and additionally, I am ill qualified to tell stories even for just Andrew each night."
"Shall we ask your cousin the reason of this?" said Elizabeth, still addressing Colonel Fitzwilliam. "Shall we ask him why a man of sense and education, and who has lived in the world, is ill qualified to tell his son and cousin a simple story at night, which will not frighten them?"
"I certainly have not the talent which some people possess," said Darcy, "of inventing silly tales with which to entertain children, and certainly not children which I do not know. I must have some assistance; my education was not in a writer's guild."
"My fingers," said Elizabeth, "do not move over this instrument in the masterly manner which I see so many women's do. They have not the same force or rapidity, and do not produce the same expression. But then I have always supposed it to be my own fault -- because I would not take the trouble of practicing. It is not that I do not believe my fingers as capable as any other woman's of superior execution."
Darcy smiled, and said, "You are perfectly right. You have employed your time much better. No one admitted to the privilege of hearing you, can think any thing wanting. We neither of us perform to strangers."
Here they were interrupted by Lady Catherine, who called out to know what they were talking of. Elizabeth immediately began playing again. Lady Catherine approached, and, after listening for a few minutes, said to Darcy,
"Miss Bennet would not play at all amiss, if she practiced more, and could have the advantage of a London master. She has a very good notion of fingering, though her taste is not equal to Anne's, God rest her soul. Anne would have been a delightful performer, had her health allowed her to learn."
Elizabeth looked at Darcy to see how cordially he assented to his dead wife's praise; and saw, to her amusement and only for a split second, the irritation in his features. She felt sorry for him, both for losing his wife and for the constant mention of it by her mother, sure that it was no easy subject for him.
Lady Catherine continued her remarks on Elizabeth's performance, mixing with them many instructions on execution and taste. Elizabeth received them with all the forbearance of civility; and at the request of the gentlemen, remained at the instrument till her ladyship's carriage was ready to take them all home.
Darcy reflected on the dinner guests later that night in the library with a glass of brandy. He stared out of the window, through which he could see nothing for the light of the fire burning in the grate. He swirled the rich amber liquid around in the heavy crystal glass, pensive.
"Well, Anne," he said, "you have certainly been blessed tonight." He wished Catherine had not so constantly brought her into the conversation. She was dead, for God's sake. "Your mother should let you rest."
He frequently spoke in this way to his late wife. It helped him to sort things out. He felt as if she were really listening to him, though she could give him no answer as to her opinion or what she might do in a certain matter. Of course, if she were alive, she wouldn't have done that. Anne had been a sweet, kind, obedient wife. She had done well in her brief management of Pemberley, for she was intelligent, but she considered her husband's intellect and ability above her own, and therefore never offered her opinion, never disagreed, and never did anything her husband might have frowned on.
But she was dead.
He took the last swig of brandy and swallowed, closing his eyes as it burned its way down his throat. Andrew needs a mother, he thought. No one is good enough for him. I do not know any of the ladies from town enough, Miss Bingley scares him, and Miss Bennet . . .
Darcy sighed. Miss Bennet could not be a consideration. Andrew needed a mother to teach him how a true lady acted in society; a mother who could help him teach the rights and wrongs of life; a mother who was a respected member of society, with connections, and family like his own.
Of course, he was not likely to find such a lady in Kent, and less likely to find one in Hertfordshire, where they would soon go to witness Bingley's marriage to Jane Bennet.
He wished with all of his heart that he could choose Elizabeth Bennet. Andrew was enamored with her; Georgiana had come out of her shell and talked with her that night. If there were nothing else to be concerned about, he would ask Miss Bennet to marry him.
He laughed. Marry her? Did I really think that? He walked over to an armchair and sat down, choosing the fire to stare at this time. He harrumphed. I suppose I did, didn't I?
Of course he would have asked her to marry him. He was in love with her. She was bright and beautiful and independent and impertinent and obstinate and teasing and dammit, he loved her.
But everything he did, must be for Andrew, and their worlds were too different. Catherine would never approve of a marriage to her, which would mean cutting herself off from her grandson. Of course, he reasoned, she would never approve of a marriage to anybody except the exact opposite of Miss Bennet, a stiff-mannered, straight-backed, perfect, powdered, rich, titled snob.
Much like herself.
Andrew would have to wait a while longer before he had a mother, he thought. He could not be in love with one woman and try to court another.
He resolved on returning to London after Hertfordshire; for a while, anyway.
Darcy soon went upstairs to retire. After he had checked in on the sleeping Andrew, he changed into his nightclothes, and crawled under the covers, trying to fall asleep. After a few moments, he felt a small hand on his chest.
"Papa," came a meek voice from beside his bed. "Papa, are you awake?"
"Yes, Andrew," he said automatically. He sat up. "What's the matter? I thought you were sleeping."
"Nothing is the matter, Papa. I just wanted to talk to you."
"I see," smiled Darcy, pulling his son up into his lap, covering him with the bed clothes. "You must be quiet; we would not want Grandmother to know you have sneaked out of bed."
"Papa, I do not like visiting Grandmother," he said. "I can not do the same things I can do at home. I always have to be with Mrs. Johnson, instead of with you."
"That is because your grandmother thinks children should stay with their nannies," explained Darcy. "Most children do."
"But you do not make me stay with Mrs. Johnson, Papa."
"Do you not like Mrs. Johnson, Andrew?"
"Oh, yes," he assured his father, "I like Mrs. Johnson. She teaches me all sorts of different things, and tells me stories, and reads to me from the history books. She is a very good nanny," he declared, "but she is not you."
Darcy smiled and kissed his son's dark curls. "I see," he said, rather proud that his son thought so highly of him. "Well, it will only be a few more days, and then we are on to see Mr. Bingley get married."
The mention of Mr. Bingley made Andrew's features light up. "Oh, yes, I remember!" he said happily. "We will be able to see Miss Bennet, won't we?"
"I suppose we might," said Darcy, his countenance turning all of a sudden.
"Papa, I think you should marry Miss Bennet."
"And why is that?"
"Because she is a very kind lady," he said. "Most of the ladies we meet are like Miss Bingley, who is mean, and she teases people."
"Well, I am not going to marry Miss Bingley," said Darcy, plucking Andrew from the bed, "nor am I going to marry Miss Bennet. Now off to bed with you." They both stood, and he patted the boy's head, praying the discussion would end there.
Andrew's face turned into a pout. "Do not you like Miss Bennet, Papa?"
"That is not the point, Andrew. It does not matter." The expression on his son's face was killing him, and he didn't know what to do but remain indifferent. It was very difficult.
"Why not? Why doesn't it matter?"
"When you are older, you will understand."
"But I wish to understand now, Papa," pleaded Andrew.
For some reason, Darcy snapped. "Andrew, there is nothing for you to understand now! You are too young; you are a little boy. Now this is enough. Stop this silly daydreaming about who I may or may not marry. I have made a decision and I intend to adhere to it. Do you understand? If you step more than one foot out of this house without me, I will take you to London and leave you there with Mrs. Johnson while I am in Hertfordshire."
"Papa--"
"I don't want to hear it, Andrew!" Darcy turned toward the fireplace. "Now go to your room. It is far past your bedtime."
"Yes, Papa," came his shaky voice, and though Darcy cringed, he did not turn around. He could do nothing to explain this to his young son; Andrew would just have to wait and find out for himself.
It wasn't like Andrew to remain upset at his father for very long, but when the second day after their conversation passed and Andrew had said nothing more than was absolutely necessary, and had twice refused a trip to town, Darcy began to regret the harsh way he had spoken to his son.
Andrew was too innocent to see past Miss Bennet's good points. All he saw was a very kind, pretty lady, and not the fact that her family and connections were far inferior to his own. He took Mrs. Bennet's antics seriously, where the older Darcy knew she was out for attention, and he thought the youngest two sisters were funny, rather than seeing the impropriety of their behavior.
Darcy saw the same things in Miss Bennet that his son had. She was possibly the only woman, aside from Georgiana, that Andrew looked up to with sparkling eyes.
Walking slowly the night before his departure around Rosings Park, he stopped when he saw a clearing in the tree branches above him, and he could see the clear night sky. "Anne," he whispered softly, "can you hear me?"
When he received no answer he closed his eyes. "I hurt him, Anne," he continued. "I hurt him. I don't know what to do."
Darcy was at a loss to explain why after two days his son would still not speak to him, but inside he was dying. Every day of his life for the past five years Andrew was there, eagerly learning from him and inadvertently teaching him something new. He remembered what pain he had gone through the first time he went back to London, when Andrew was five months old. He remembered how he had to keep himself busy to stop thinking about him, how he had returned two days early, and Andrew's giggle when he picked him up out of his crib to greet him. He knew then that he couldn't stand to be out of his son's company.
And now he had hurt him with just a few words. He had actually threatened to leave him alone. How could he have done such a thing?
He knew that just like his mother, Andrew was terrified of disappointing him; would rather die than disagree. But Andrew didn't know what he had done that was so wrong.
The difficult part was that Darcy didn't really know, either, and he didn't really know how to make it right. He didn't know how to get his little boy back. He almost wished for his long-dead wife to give him a sign; something that he would recognize, something that he could take comfort in as the right action. But Fitzwilliam Darcy was a rational man, a reasonable person. Anne was dead. He had accepted that. There was no help coming for him from beyond the grave.
His ears perked up as he looked at the night sky. Had he heard something?
There it was again.
He turned. He made the sound out; it was the crackling of twigs beneath boots . . . and something else.
Swooshing.
Of a cape . . . or a lady's gown.
He turned once more so that he faced the parsonage.
A small figure basked in moonlight walking briskly caught his eye. He stepped toward it.
"Miss Bennet."
She did not hear him. She quietly slipped into the parson's house and Darcy was alone.
Darcy's young son continued to be miserable until the day of the Bingley wedding. He managed to keep himself still in the church during the service, but when the Bingley's guests had gathered outside to bid them adieu, Andrew bolted from his father's side, directly to Miss Elizabeth Bennet, and tugged on her gown.
"You look beautiful today, Miss Bennet," was the first thing he said to her. "I missed you."
Darcy, seeing this behavior from a few feet away, saw with some surprise and pleasure, that his son was smiling. He couldn't help a small grin himself.
"Why thank you, Master Andrew," replied Miss Bennet. "I missed you, too. How was your trip to Hertfordshire?"
"It went very smoothly," reported Andrew, and the two of them continued to talk for about ten minutes.
This would have been a normal sight to anyone's eyes, had Andrew been about three feet taller, twenty years older, and perhaps with a bit of sideburn. Andrew was a very lively child, normally, so for him to do anything that did not concern his father for a full ten minutes amazed his governess.
Darcy just watched his son, who was more animated than he had been in a week. He beamed -- positively beamed -- at Miss Bennet. But Andrew couldn't be allowed to go on with her forever, else he would not want to leave. He began to walk over to where they were standing.
"And how does your father do, Master Andrew?" asked Miss Bennet.
"I do not want to talk about my father," said Andrew firmly. "I do not care how he does."
Darcy stopped to listen.
"That is not a very nice thing to say about anyone, least of all your father," chided Miss Bennet. "What has made you so cross with him?"
"He was very mean to me," said Andrew, and Darcy's heart broke. "He told me that I would not understand something, but then did not explain it to me."
"I am sure he meant only good things, Andrew," said Miss Bennet.
"No, he was just being mean."
"Now, Andrew, is your papa normally very mean to you?" asked Miss Bennet, kneeling down by him.
"No, he is not, but--"
"And does he not take you nearly everywhere he goes? Does he not let you stay with him during the time when he does business, so that you can learn, as you ask? Many children stay with their governesses or mothers all day, and do not travel to half the places you have been to. And your father is very kind to you, I have seen that with my own eyes."
"I suppose you are right." Andrew hung his head.
"I know I am," said Miss Bennet with a smile. "He loves you very much, and you have a fine Papa."
"Yes, I do," brightened Andrew. He looked up and returned Miss Bennet's smile.
Darcy continued on to his son, sure he was not so fine a papa as she made him out to be, scarcely knowing what he would say to her. With a few reasonable words, she had made him favorable in his son's eyes again. "Andrew."
"Hello, Papa," he said, and took his father's hand.
Darcy squeezed it and smiled down at his son, and then looked up at Miss Bennet. "Hello."
"Good morning, Mr. Darcy," she said with a smile, and inquired of his and Georgiana's health.
Darcy replied that they were both well, and paused. Andrew continued to grip his hand. Georgiana walked up to them, greeting Miss Bennet warmly. Darcy watched this, also, with a smile.
A true lady . . . who can teach rights and wrongs . . . who is respected . . . she is all of these things. As for her family and connections, Darcy realized, they did not matter, and she could not help who they were. He had known he was in love with her, but didn't realize the extent of his love until just now. She was a miracle worker with Andrew, she encouraged conversation from Georgiana, and oh . . . she was so beautiful.
His coachman tapped him on the shoulder and informed him that their carriage was ready to take them to London. He nodded solemnly. "I am truly sorry we must go, Miss Bennet," he said.
Georgiana said her good-byes and offered to take Andrew to the carriage. Andrew gaily said his own farewells to Miss Bennet, assuring her that he would miss her again. She assured him the same, and they bowed to each other, her fine eyes sparkling. Darcy knew she must be telling the truth. This would be a difficult farewell.
When Georgiana and Andrew had skipped off, he looked at Miss Bennet. His gaze grew so intense that she soon looked away. "I am sorry, Miss Bennet," he said to her, wanting to take her hands. "It is only . . ." He did not know what to say to her. "Thank you."
"For what?" she asked.
"For what you just did with Andrew. He has been upset with me, justifiably so, for the past week, and I have not known what to do to rectify my actions."
"I can see that you love your son exceedingly," she replied. "It has been my experience that a person must remember what he has before he can complain about what he does not have. I merely reminded Andrew of that." She smiled at him for a moment. "I am sorry you are to go."
"As am I," he replied. "I thank you again. Andrew means the world to me. Everything I do must be for him, and sometimes I forget what that truly means."
Elizabeth smiled. "You are quite welcome. Be on to your family now," she said, "and have a safe trip to London."
"I shall." He swallowed nervously, not wanting to take his eyes off of hers.
"Au revoir, Mr. Darcy."
"Au revoir, Miss Bennet."
She turned and walked back into the church. Darcy stared after her a moment, and joined his son and Georgiana in the carriage.
He sat next to Georgiana, across from Andrew, and smiled at him. Andrew stood in the carriage, amongst protests from Mrs. Johnson, and took his father's hand again and smiled. Darcy swooped the boy into his arms. Against his wishes, tears formed in his eyes. "Andrew," he whispered, "I am so sorry I spoke to you so harshly."
"It is okay, Papa," said Andrew cheerily. "It is all better now."
Darcy laughed and squeezed him harder. "I love you, Andrew. You must know that."
"Of course, Papa. I love you, too." Andrew pulled away from his father a little to look at his aunt. "Can we hug Aunt Darcy, too?" he asked.
Darcy leaned over and wrapped an arm around his sister. She laughed and kissed Andrew's cheek. "I am glad you are not upset at your papa any more," she said. Georgiana had tried, in vain, to coax her nephew out of his downhearted state. "What made you change your mind?"
"He had a conversation with Miss Bennet," replied Darcy, looking at his son. "She made him feel better."
Andrew made himself comfortable in his father's arms. "Papa," he said thoughtfully after a moment, "will we ever be back to see Miss Bennet or Mr. and Mrs. Bingley?"
"Of course," replied Darcy. "I promise, we will return soon."
At breakfast in their London home, after the post had arrived, and all members of the Darcy party sat quietly with their letters, the oldest of that group held his son on his lap protectively. "Andrew," he began when the boy began to squirm, "do you like London?"
"Yes, Papa," he said, "but I do not like it as much as being at Pemberley."
"Why is that?" asked Darcy.
"Because I can not go outside and play," he replied, "and because Mrs. Reynolds is not here."
"But don't you like Mrs. Tuddle?" asked Darcy, already knowing the answer.
"Well, of course, Papa," he answered.
"Yes, of course," agreed Darcy with a smirk. "The problem that you have, Andrew, is that when you are at Pemberley you wish for Mrs. Tuddle, and when you are in London, you wish for Mrs. Reynolds. Both of them spoil you far too much."
Andrew giggled. "Papa," he said after a moment, "may I have a sip of your tea?"
"Of course," replied Darcy, handing him the cup. "It is hot, Andrew. Be careful."
Both of Andrew's hands wrapped around the delicate china cup his father handed him, but Darcy did not let go. Andrew took a tiny sip of the tea and swallowed. "You do not put anything in your tea, like Mr. Bingley does," he said. "Mr. Bingley puts sugar in his tea."
"Would you like to try it with a bit of sugar?" asked Darcy.
"Oh, yes, that would be nice, Papa."
Darcy happily obliged him, taking a fresh cup with a small amount of tea which Georgiana had poured for him, and placed a miniscule amount of sugar in it with the spoon. He blew on it until he was satisfied that it was cool, and let Andrew taste. "Do you like that, Andrew?" he asked.
"It is good," he replied, "but I like it the way you have it."
"Very well." Darcy took the sugared tea and placed it aside, taking another cup from Georgiana and handing it carefully to Andrew, cooling this cup, as well. He let Andrew have it and turned back to his letter, letting Andrew fidget with the cup for a while. After he began to squirm again, Darcy stifled a smirk. "Would you like some sugar, Andrew?"
Darcy watched Andrew's cheeks color as his lips turned into a smile. "Yes, Papa," he giggled.
He obliged him again. "You know, Georgiana," he began, "Mrs. Younge was wanting to go to Ramsgate all those months ago, and you turned her down so that you could be with us."
Georgiana was a little perplexed. "Yes," she said. "Why do you bring it up?"
"Well, I was thinking," he said, "that perhaps you could use a little holiday. Not somewhere so populated as Ramsgate, but perhaps, something similar. Perhaps Brighton."
"Where is Brighton, Papa?" asked Andrew.
"It is to the south," he reported, "by the sea."
"That sounds like fun," he declared, and Georgiana agreed.
"I am sure Mrs. Younge will be very pleased by such a trip," she said. "When shall we go, William?"
"We should depart in a few days, do you think?" He knew the abruptness of it would surprise the two of them, but since his meeting with Miss Elizabeth Bennet at the Bingley wedding, he no longer needed or wanted to be in London, and would finish his business soon enough. He would take Andrew and Georgiana to Brighton, so they could vacation together for a few weeks, and when he was through in London, they been invited to visit Mr. and Mrs. Bingley; the thought of that lady's sister so near to Netherfield was inducement enough for him to accept, even though he knew neither Georgiana or Andrew would like staying with Miss Bingley.
Georgiana agreed with their plan, and Mrs. Younge seemed only too happy to assist in planning the trip.
Georgiana decided she liked Brighton. It was a very lively place and there was quite a lot to interest her. Something she was especially interested in, was a certain handsome soldier named George Wickham. Mr. Wickham was the son of Georgiana's late father's steward, and she had known Mr. Wickham all her life, but due to circumstances she did not quite understand, she had not seen him for quite some time, and being a very trusting young woman, and considering him an old family friend, she began to spend quite a lot of time with him.
She could not have known, however, of the alliance formed between Mrs. Younge and Mr. Wickham. Having been so close to Georgiana's brother, he knew almost too much about the family, in particular, about Miss Darcy, and her dowry of thirty thousand pounds, which Mr. Wickham was determined to have.
Georgiana was very pleased to find, that a few days after her brother had left herself, her nephew, Mrs. Johnson, and Mrs. Younge in Brighton, they were joined by Miss Elizabeth Bennet and one of her sisters. Miss Lydia Bennet had been asked to come to Brighton by her particular friend, the wife of Colonel Forster, and Mr. Bennet had sent his second daughter along to keep a sensible eye over her.
Miss Elizabeth Bennet, in turn, was very pleased to find Georgiana and Andrew there; something of a refuge from her sister's giggles and nonsense. She admitted, though only to Georgiana, that she was a little disappointed that Mr. Darcy himself had not stayed, for she would have liked to say hello to him, and further admitted only to herself that was very disappointed to not be able to see him; that she missed his company.
Nonetheless, Andrew and Georgiana were wonderful to have as company. She was invited to dine with them quite often, but due to the purpose of Elizabeth's being at Brighton, she could only accept on a few occasions.
On one of those occasions, she was quite glad of a quiet dinner party, and she, Georgiana, Mrs. Younge, Andrew, and Mrs. Johnson passed an evening quite happily.
Georgiana, she found, was very quiet even in a small group, but with Andrew there, she could encourage conversation from her a little more. Georgiana spoke very fondly of him, when Mrs. Johnson had taken him off to bed.
"He is the sweetest boy I ever met," she said, "in any kind of company."
"He seems to like his aunt very well," commented Elizabeth. "I think you must spoil him."
Georgiana blushed. "I think, perhaps, I do, but only in my attentions to him. When we are all at Pemberley, my brother and I practically argue over him." Here she paused for a moment. "He looks so much like my brother, and he is so gentlemanly, but I think he gets his sweet disposition mostly from his mother."
Elizabeth looked at her gently. "Do you mind my asking whether you knew Mrs. Darcy well?"
Georgiana smiled. "I do not mind your asking at all," she said. "Anne was my cousin, but when I knew her, she was still of a rather sickly constitution. After her marriage to my brother, I saw her but once, right before she knew she would have Andrew. She had changed so materially. I think the only regret that she must have had was that she could not raise her son."
"Which I think your brother must make up for, at least a little," replied Elizabeth with a smile. "He is very devoted to his son, more so than most fathers I have seen with their young sons."
Georgiana nodded. "Yes. I think I am not the only one who spoils him."
Elizabeth laughed. "I think you must be right."
"But he himself spoils us," said Georgiana, "with the way he behaves so well, and his affectionate nature. It is very hard to be upset with him, if he should ever do something he ought not to do, when he is so sweet, and so sincere."
"I remember," began Elizabeth, "the first time I ever met Andrew and Mr. Darcy, it was near the grounds of Netherfield Park. They had just come to visit the Bingleys there, and Miss Bingley had scared him, and he had run out of the house, and found himself lost in the woods. I found him there on my walk, and took him back into the house. I remember the almost frighteningly angry look on your brother's face once he finally found his son, but it was gone in an instant, once Andrew apologized for running off and scaring his papa."
"Yes," laughed Georgiana, "I have heard that story more than once, from both Andrew and Mr. Darcy. But you see how good he is, how good they both are, and it is the little things that Andrew especially does. He and I were out walking with Mrs. Johnson today, and he saw a stone shaped like a heart, and he picked it up for me, because he thought I would like it." She reached down to remove it from her bag, and showed it to her friend.
"That is very sweet," smiled Elizabeth.
Georgiana returned her smile. "Indeed, it is. And it puts me in mind," she said, "I need to put it away. Will you walk with me, up to my rooms?"
Elizabeth agreed, and she followed Georgiana and Mrs. Younge.
"This is a very special jewelry box," said Georgiana once they had reached the dressing-room. "It has been in my family for three or four generations, on my mother's side. She left it to me, and my brother gave it to me on my sixteenth birthday." She opened a drawer and pulled out a small, white box, rather ornate and accented with gold along the edges. She smiled. "Andrew calls it my safe keeping box, because I never let anybody go into it; not even him." Georgiana opened the lid very carefully, and placed the stone even more so inside of it.
"It is a very beautiful box," commented Elizabeth. "You must be very proud of it, to be carrying it all the way from London and Derbyshire."
Georgiana giggled and admitted that she was.
Mrs. Younge had been observing this quite astutely. "It must be worth quite a lot," she whispered. "It must be, then . . . at least a hundred years old."
"I'm sure it is," replied Georgiana, "but it is worth very much more to my family and I." Elizabeth smiled at her kindly, and they began a new conversation.
Mrs. Younge, however, had taken a special amount of interest in the little box, and also took a special amount of interest in where Georgiana tucked it away that night. And when she was relieved of her duties after Georgiana retired, she took a special amount of interest in telling a certain person where he might find it.
"I'm sure you could get at least eight or nine hundred pounds for it, Georgie," she cooed at Mr. Wickham. "There is a man right here in Brighton, and if you give him my name, he won't ask any questions. He owes me quite a lot, that one."
And so it was settled that when Mrs. Younge and Georgiana went on an afternoon walk the very next day, Mr. Wickham would go about finding the jewelry box and selling it and everything else contained within.
He was very happy to find that the area surrounding Georgiana's rooms was very quiet. He sneaked into the room, he thought, without notice.
He was, however, mistaken, and once he had located the object he was looking for, he turned around to find a little boy standing in the doorway.
"What are you doing?" asked the little boy, who Wickham recognized as Georgiana's nephew, Andrew.
"I, uh . . . just taking this to be cleaned, is all," replied Wickham.
"My aunt's safe keeping box?" asked Andrew, curious. "I am sure you must be wrong. My aunt never allows anybody to go into it."
"Ah, no, no, I am to clean it. I was asked to do so," he said, and hoped that would be the end of it, but the young Master Darcy was of too curious a mind; too sharp an eye.
"Are you a servant here?" asked Andrew.
"Yes, yes I am. My name is . . . David," he lied, and swallowed nervously. "What is your name?"
"My name is And--" Suddenly Andrew stopped, getting a good look at him. "But wait a moment," he said, realizing he was being lied to, "you're not wearing servant's clothing. You are not a servant here, you're just a thief! You can't have that box, it belongs to my Aunt Darcy! Give it back!"
Wickham tried to soothe him. "Shh," he said, "there is no need to shout. Go and find your Aunt Darcy, she will tell you as much."
"I don't believe you!" shouted Andrew.
Wickham swerved as the little boy lunged for him. "Hush, would you please? If you don't believe me, there is very little I can do for you. Where is your nanny, hm? Perhaps you should find her, and she will tell you."
Andrew still did not believe him, and was determined to defend his aunt and her property quite forcefully. "Give it back!"
Mr. Wickham began to get irritated. "Get out of my way," he demanded finally. "This is mine now, for I have taken it."
"You can't have it!" hollered Andrew, jumping up onto a chair and then onto a table in pursuit of Mr. Wickham. "Give it back!"
"Shut up!" he yelled. "Why don't you understand? The box is mine. Now go away, you spoiled little brat, or I will tie you up and sell you away to the sausage factory!"
"I am not afraid of you!" he exclaimed, jumping down from the table. "Now give it back!" And he kicked Mr. Wickham squarely in the knee. He dropped the little box to grab his injured leg, and Andrew snatched it up, running away as fast as he could.
A month at Brighton soon drew to a close for Georgiana, and she sat pondering many things one night. The time she had spent with George Wickham had been delightful; he paid her every attention, told her how beautiful she was, and was generally charming and handsome. Last night, she had been determined to write to her brother and beg that he come to see what a transformation must have come over Mr. Wickham, from what he had known at school, from what ever it had been that he disliked about the man. Tonight, however, she hardly knew what she might write to her brother about, after her walk with Mr. Wickham, for he had proposed an elopement to her.
"I must write to him," she thought; then, "but I cannot!"
She paced, and sat, and fiddled with her embroidery.
She picked up a book, and put it down again, and paced.
And she paced.
She located a miniature of her brother that she carried with her wherever she went, and gazed at it a few moments.
"Fitzwilliam," she began, "you have done so much for me. The last thing in the world I would ever wish to do is disappoint you . . . but . . . but I so long for my own life - for my own name. My own place in the world.
"He has told me that he loves me and I believe him. I think I do wish to marry him." Georgiana smiled and put away the miniature. "I am sure that when you meet my Mr. Wickham again, you shall agree . . . he is perfectly amiable."
The solution was simple, really, she began to think, and wondered why she had not thought of it before. She resolved on telling Mr. Wickham of it on the morrow, and laid happily down to sleep.