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“When we are all together, rather noisy.” He paused, his expression becoming wistful. “But in the best of ways.”
“You missed them, while you were so long overseas.” It was not a question; she could read the truth in his countenance.
“Very much. I have missed my parents, as well. They all write often, as do I, but it is not the same as being in their houses, enjoying spontaneous conversation and mirth and even the occasional disagreement.”
“Have you visited any of your family since returning to England?”
“No, I—there are other matters to which I must attend first.”
“You are fortunate to have your parents still alive. You should visit them while you are able.”
“Yours, I take it, are not?”
“My father died eight years ago, and my mother…” The fan stopped, and her voice grew softer. “Giving birth to me.”
“Oh, Miss Darcy!” His expression was one of genuine sympathy. “Forgive me. Had I known the circumstances of your mother’s death, I never would have brought up so painful a subject.”
“You could not have realized. And I have had nineteen years to make my peace with it. Still, I often wonder how it would have been to grow up under her influence, to have her with me even now.”
“Have you spoken with your brother of these feelings?”
“We speak of our mother, but I do not speak of her loss. As much as I regret that I never knew her, he did, and I feel responsible for having taken her from him.”
His brows drew together. “Surely he does not blame you?”
“Oh, heavens no. I keep silent because he is such a conscientious brother that it would grieve him to know I have such thoughts.”
“It grieves me to know them, and I have only just met you.”
A flush crept into her cheeks as self-consciousness overtook her. “Forgive me for having burdened you with such a confidence. I—I do not know what possessed me to reveal it to so new an acquaintance.”
“I am not burdened,” he said in all sincerity. “And I assure you, Miss Darcy, it is safely entrusted.”
“Nevertheless—”
Lieutenant St. Clair’s gaze suddenly shifted to a spot behind her shoulder. Georgiana turned to see her brother approaching. He reached them in a few strides and looked from one to the other.
“Good afternoon, Lieutenant.”
St. Clair greeted Darcy amiably while Georgiana composed herself.
“I am glad to have spotted you over here,” Darcy said to his sister. “I lost sight of you for a while.” Again, he glanced between them, wondering what he had interrupted. Georgiana’s flustered demeanor suggested that the lieutenant had been speaking in an inappropriate ma
“Oh! Yes—quite,” Georgiana said. “The rest of my party abandoned me, but Lieutenant St. Clair has been so good as to ensure I was not left entirely alone.”
“We were just discussing the subject of godparents,” St. Clair said.
“I see.” Darcy, in fact, did not see at all how such an i
The sea officer knew a dismissal when he heard one. Lieutenant St. Clair looked at Georgiana once more. “I enjoyed our conversation, Miss Darcy.”
When the officer was out of hearing, Darcy turned to her. “Was he troubling you?”
She opened her fan. “Not at all. He was a perfect gentleman.”
“You appear upset.”
She watched St. Clair blend into the crowd and shook her head. “Only warm. It is too close in this room.” Her fan moved rapidly. “Come, let us find more lemonade.”
Twenty-Two
“The manæuvres of selfishness and duplicity must ever be revolting, but I have heard nothing which really surprises me.”
Mrs. Smith’s history of her acquaintance with Mrs. Clay was interrupted by the arrival of A
As the new godmother smoothed the infant’s robe, Mrs. Smith observed her with approval. “Look how content he is at last, A
“Do you truly think so?”
“He could be in no better arms. You are doing very well by him.”
For whatever her opinion was worth, Elizabeth agreed. Of all Alfred’s blood relations and godparents, the Wentworths seemed the most genuinely interested in his welfare, and A
Mrs. Wentworth had but little time to enjoy the hard-won tranquility of a sleeping baby before Mary Musgrove appeared and sank into a chair beside her sister.
“Well, here you are, A
“I am happy to circulate among the guests if you would care to hold Alfred.”
“No, thank you. He might wake and start wailing again, and I have been suffering the headache all day. My headaches, you know, are always worse than anybody’s. It is all I can do just to sit here talking to you.”
“Perhaps you should try seabathing while you are in Lyme,” Mrs. Smith suggested. “I have found it beneficial.”
“I said that very thing to my husband, but he thinks seabathing ridiculous, with the machines and dippers and all. I went only the once, all the while we were here last November. I did not care for it, but I bathed in Charmouth, not Lyme. I quite imagine that the bathing in Lyme is superior to Charmouth. It must be pleasurable, for so many people go regularly. Even our father seabathes. Have you been, Mrs. Darcy?”
“I have.”
“See! Everybody here bathes—everybody except me! Why should I be deprived simply because my husband does not like it? This is always my lot! Whenever there is something desirable going on, I am sure to be excluded.”
“Our father goes only because Mr. Edwards urges him,” A
“I do not think I like this new physician of his. He has our father suddenly fearing that he is halfway to his grave. That is the only reason he married Mrs. Clay, you know.”
“Mary,” A
“Well, it was,” Mary continued. “The marriage was beneath him, but he was not going to leave this earth with Mr. Elliot as his heir.”
Wanting to relieve Mrs. Wentworth’s self-consciousness over Mary’s speaking so candidly about family matters in front of a slight acquaintance, Elizabeth rose and went to the window. It offered a lovely view of the beach and the sea, which was calm today, though the sun’s brightness through the glass was uncomfortable.
A
“Oh, he was certain—Mrs. Clay already had two sons, and kept bringing that fact to his attention the whole while she stayed with our father and sister in Bath. Do you not recall? I said once that I wished I had a daughter instead of only sons, because a daughter would surely be better behaved, and Mrs. Clay declared that she was delighted to be the mother of boys, and believed herself incapable of producing anything but sons. Delighted—ha! There she was, living a life of leisure and amusement in Bath, while her boys were back in Kellynch with Mr. Shepherd. So of course when Mrs. Clay came to our father in Lyme, he believed she carried a boy. And of course she convinced him that the child was his, despite her having run off with Mr. Elliot, because nobody was better at flattering our father than she was—how else could a freckled thing like her have seduced him, right under our noses last winter? And of course Mr. Shepherd was able to persuade him to marry her, because our father is used to following Mr. Shepherd’s advice.” She released a dramatic sigh. “And of course, while Mrs. Clay got everything she wanted, I still have all the care of my own two boisterous sons, with a mother-in-law who spoils them with too many sweets and then leaves me to contend with their misbehavior.”