"You will see him, then?" Dunstan closed the account book and set it to one side.
"Of course." Darcy wondered what he had just agreed to.
Dunstan opened the study door and showed in one of the tenant farmers. "Mr. Smithson, sir."
Smithson. He tried to remember what he knew of the man but could conjure only a vague familiarity with the name.
The farmer's hands had clearly been washed especially for this momentous occasion, and a pretty girl perhaps a year or two younger than Georgiana accompanied him. Her eyes widened when she saw Darcy. What was it about him, Darcy wondered, that terrified women so? First Elizabeth, now this girl. Had he not done his best to be a generous and reasonable landlord?
Darcy motioned to the chairs opposite his desk. The girl perched on the edge of her chair as if ready to flee at any moment. "What can I do for you?"
The man's hands tightened on the brim of his hat. "Mr. Darcy, sir, we've summat of a problem. Young Tom Morrison, well, he ought to marry my daughter here, but he says he will not. Since he's one o' your labourers, sir, I hoped maybe you could help me."
The girl burst into tears.
Darcy sighed inwardly. He hated these cases. There was never a good resolution. He spoke directly to the girl. "Did he promise to marry you?"
She half-whispered something.
"I cannot hear you, child."
"Please, sir, is Mrs. Darcy here?" she asked shakily.
What in God's name did Elizabeth have to do with this? Darcy gave Dunstan a questioning look. The steward leaned down and said in his ear, "Mrs. Darcy has been hearing cases while you were away and earlier, during your illness. Perhaps the girl did not realise you were back."
Interesting. And no one had seen fit to mention it to him. No doubt they thought Elizabeth would have told him. As if she were likely to tell him anything! Though that morning at breakfast, she had been quite animated, so perhaps she might have told him had she the opportunity. "Does Mrs. Darcy know anything of this case?"
"Not to my knowledge, sir." Dunstan stepped back.
Darcy drummed his fingers on his desk. So the girl wanted Elizabeth sitting in judgement rather than him. After all his years as master of Pemberley, this young thing had the audacity to want Elizabeth instead. "Once again, did the young man promise to marry you?"
The girl, looking frankly terrified, opened her mouth as if to say something but no words came out. Her father pushed at her arm. "Tell Mr. Darcy."
This could go on for hours, and Darcy's patience had been eroded by his sleepless night. "Dunstan, would you be so kind as to ask Mrs. Darcy to attend me here?" Perhaps Elizabeth had some knowledge of the matter, and, he hoped, she would be pleased to be consulted.
Dunstan bowed and left the room. Darcy folded his hands on his desk, uncomfortable with the questions he needed to ask as well as his ignorance of what Elizabeth had done in his absence. He supposed he could not blame her for saying nothing. Their communications since his return had been strained at best. But she had kissed him as if she meant it.
He cleared his throat. "How long have you known Tom Morrison?"
Though he had addressed his question to the girl, her father again answered. "Mayhap half a year, sir."
Darcy was relieved to be interrupted by Elizabeth, who appeared in the doorway wearing a warm smile and that damned blue dress he always wanted to tear off her.
"You asked for me, sir?"
He rose to his feet. "Yes, Mrs. Darcy. We have a family here seeking redress, and the young lady involved seems disappointed to be facing my judgement rather than yours; so I thought to invite you to join us."
There it was again, that damned flash of fear, as if she expected him to beat her. At least she covered it quickly this time. "As you wish, Mr. Darcy."
He indicated the girl with a tilt of his head. "Perhaps she will be more inclined to answer your questions than mine. We are attempting to determine a young man's intentions towards her."
A line appeared on Elizabeth's brow. She moved to sit by the girl's side. "Sylvia, is it not?" The girl nodded, wiping her eyes on her sleeve.
How had Elizabeth known her name when he had not?
"Is your baby brother well? And your mother?"
"Very well, Mrs. Darcy." Sylvia's voice still shook.
"I am glad to hear it. Now, Sylvia, although we are not really acquainted, you and I, perhaps you can tell me what this is about."
Darcy could not help but admire the gentle persuasion Elizabeth was bringing to bear.
"It was Tom Morrison. He… he…" She leaned towards Elizabeth and said something too quietly for Darcy to hear.
Elizabeth's lips tightened. She whispered back to the girl but was answered only with tears. Darcy sat back, curious to see what she would make of the situation.
The man spoke up. "He refuses to marry her, ma'am, and there is a babe coming, so they must be wed."
Elizabeth's eyes met Darcy's uncertainly. He said, "Well, Mrs. Darcy, we await your judgement."
She looked at him intently for a moment more then turned back to Sylvia, handing her a handkerchief. "Do you wish to marry him, Sylvia?"
The girl shook her head vehemently.
Her father raised a hand as if to cuff her, then apparently remembered where he was. "You must marry him. No other man'll ever have you now."
The colour drained from Sylvia's face, but Elizabeth appeared to ignore him completely. "How old are you, child?"
"Almost fifteen, ma'am."
"Did you consent to what he did to you?"
There was a long silence. "No, ma'am."
Her father spoke to Darcy. "It makes no difference, Mr. Darcy. She must marry him."
Darcy crossed his arms over his chest. Now he was grateful for the whim that had caused him to turn this case over to Elizabeth. He did not want to be the one to force the girl into an unwanted marriage with a man of that sort.
Elizabeth's cheeks were bright with colour. "You realise what it will mean if you do not marry him?"
"I don't care, ma'am. He's a brute. I'd as soon starve in the streets."
Elizabeth folded her hands and turned to Darcy. "There seems to be no possibility of making everyone happy in this case, but this is my suggestion. I will ask Mrs. Reynolds to find Sylvia a position in the household here. Her baby can stay with her own mother or be fostered out. If Sylvia serves us well until she is of age and then finds a man she wishes to wed, I will give her a dowry suitable to compensate for her past. Dunstan?"
"Fifty pounds would be adequate, madam," the steward said.
Sylvia burst into tears again and grabbed at Elizabeth's hand, holding it to her lips.
Darcy addressed Sylvia's father. "Will this be acceptable to you?"
"I suppose, sir." He did not look pleased.
"Dunstan, look into the situation with Tom Morrison. If you find any cause for concern, dismiss him and tell him not to set foot here again."
"Yes, sir," Dunstan said.
Even then it was not simple. Sylvia, fear evident in her face, clung to Elizabeth when her father tried to take her away. Elizabeth rang for a maid to take her to the kitchens until she could speak with Mrs. Reynolds.
When they were finally gone, Elizabeth said, "I wonder what she thought would happen if she went home with him? Well, no matter. They can no doubt put her to work in the kitchens until we come up with something more satisfactory."
"You will have a devoted servant for life, Elizabeth."
"I hope you do not object to my decision."
"Not in the least. It will not cost much more than it would have to bring the marriage about, and the girl will be far happier."
He gestured to Dunstan to leave, but before he could, Elizabeth said, "Mr. Dunstan, could you set aside the dowry money from my funds now?"
"Certainly, madam."
"There is no need for it to come from your pin money, Elizabeth. It can come from the general estate funds."
Dunstan cleared his t
hroat. "Mrs. Darcy pays for all her charity work from her own money, sir. I have explained to her that it is not necessary, but she prefers it so."
Darcy raised his eyebrows and looked over at Elizabeth, who seemed to have found something intensely interesting outside the window. "Henceforth, please take the money from the general account."
Elizabeth turned to him, a teasing smile hovering about her lips. "Perhaps, sir, you might wish to examine my expenditures before you make such rash statements."
Dunstan took a step forward and reached for an account book, but Darcy waved him back. "There is no need. Spend what you wish, Elizabeth. It will not bankrupt me."
Her smile grew wider. "Or at least Mr. Dunstan will warn you before it reaches that point."
"No doubt." At least Elizabeth looked happier than she had prior to his accident. Perhaps his absence had given her time to adjust to her situation here without the strain of his presence. He would not think about the way she had kissed him the night before. He would not. "Your judgement was a good one."
"Thank you. I am glad it meets with your approval. I confess, I had not thought to have any involvement in these matters now that you have returned."
"Do you object to it?" It would be just his luck that what he intended as a statement of confidence in her instead should be a burden.
"Not at all. I enjoy being aware of what is happening on the estate. Mr. Dunstan has been kind enough to educate me somewhat in that regard during your absence."
A stab of jealousy hit him. She had never cared to ask him about the estate. Did she prefer Dunstan to him? Was he the reason for her good cheer? He swallowed the bile in his throat, reminding himself of Dunstan's loyalty to him. "I take it you knew something of the circumstances."
"In fact, no. I have met Sylvia when calling on her mother, but that is all."
Here was his opening. "Someone mentioned yesterday that you have been making visits to the tenants."
Her eyes widened. "Yes, for some time. I thought you were aware of it, or I should have said something. Do you object?"
Damn it, why did she always assume he would object to every thing she did? "Of course not. It is good of you to take the trouble. Perhaps at some point you would tell me about your visits."
"I would be happy to. Or, if you like, you are welcome to join me." She had moved next to his desk, so the light from the window was behind her, and he could make out the shape of her legs through the sheer blue fabric of that damnable dress.
"Perhaps I shall. When do you plan to go next?"
Again, the look of surprise. "Tomorrow morning if the weather is fair. But are you certain you are well enough?"
"I am quite well." Well enough to carry her warm, responsive body in his arms last night. No. He would not think about that.
"Then I should be delighted to have your company." She bent down and her lips brushed his cheek, the scent of rosewater drifting past him.
If he had turned his head, he could have caught her lips with his own, but he sat stock-still until the danger was passed. He was determined to take this slowly, to allow the new warmth she seemed to feel for him to grow before testing it with his demands. "Very well, madam."
***
Darcy arose early the following morning to avoid missing Elizabeth's departure. She had said nothing more about his accompanying her after their conversation the previous day, so he was uncertain if she would wait for him. But she had been, to all external evidence, in good cheer, and she had chosen to sit beside him after dinner as they listened to Georgiana play.
At least last night had been less of a torment for him than the one before. The knowledge that Elizabeth would not turn him away if he went to her no longer tortured him after her judgement about Sylvia. Once he had the opportunity to think it through, he had realised why she had leapt so quickly to the girl's defence. She knew what it meant to pay the price Sylvia had paid, and it was because of him. The very thought that Elizabeth might feel that pain and distress with him was enough to keep temptation in check. For now, he would have to settle for the knowledge that her dislike of him seemed to be waning, and she did not find it unpleasant to kiss him. Perhaps, if he did not impose himself upon her, the seed of warmth she seemed to feel for him might have the chance to flourish. Perhaps. It was a word he was coming to detest.
***
Darcy reined in the horses and brought the phaeton to a stop, but before he could step out, Elizabeth's warm hand descended upon his arm. She put a finger to her lips, then rummaged in the basket until she found several twists of paper. Without a by-your-leave she slipped them in the pocket of his topcoat. Darcy could feel the pressure of her hand against his hip. Was she deliberately trying to drive him mad or had she no idea?
He circled the phaeton and offered her his hand. The bewitching smile she gave him as she stepped down left him barely able to think clearly, but he took the basket from her and followed her down the rough path to the cottage.
When Elizabeth knocked at the door, he could hear cries of "Mrs. Darcy!" and scurrying footsteps inside. The door eventually opened to reveal three small children fighting over the privilege of being first to greet their guest. Their spirited bickering stopped suddenly when he entered. The youngest of the children, a toddler, grabbed Elizabeth's skirt and tried to hide behind it.
A voice from the shadows at the back of the cabin said, "Children, say good day to Mr. Darcy."
"Good day, Mr. Darcy," the eldest two children chorused timidly, but the youngest hid his face again.
"Good day," he greeted them with equal civility.
Elizabeth handed the basket to the little girl, who lifted up the cloth to peek inside. A disappointed look came over her face, but she curtsied to Elizabeth and said, "Thank you kindly, Mrs. Darcy."
"They did not give me any sweets this morning in the kitchen," said Elizabeth with a sidelong glance at Darcy. "I am sorry, for I know how much you like them."
Darcy suddenly understood her meaning. "Let me see." He patted his pocket. "I am certain I have something…" He pulled out the twists of paper. "Would these be of interest?"
The little girl's face lit up. "Oh, thank you, Mr. Darcy!"
They were charming children, he decided. It was a pleasure to watch Elizabeth's playful manners with them. He wondered if she would be like that with their children as well and again returned to the damning question of what she felt about her condition. She showed more enthusiasm over choosing dinner menus than she did about the child she was expecting. Did she not want children? He could not believe that, having seen her pleasure in the tenant children. Did she simply not want his children? Was that why she had been so sympathetic to young Sylvia's predicament, because she knew all too well what it was like to carry the child of a man who had forced himself upon her?
Or was she disguising her feelings as she had in the past?
He watched as she crouched down to let the youngest child whisper something in her ear. It was one of the first things he had admired about her, the natural way she had with everyone. Everyone but him, it seemed.
He wished he could see into her mind to discover what lay behind her new warmth towards him, but he dared not ask. He had forced too much intimacy on her already in the course of their marriage, and now he needed to give her time if he wanted to earn her affection, to have her kiss him again the way she had two nights previously…
Or perhaps that was just a dream. After everything he had done, it would take a miracle to convince her to trust him, and miracles had been in short supply at Pemberley for many years.
Chapter 16
IT WAS MORE THAN an hour since Elizabeth had heard Darcy's footsteps going down the hall to his room—an hour of waiting, first with hope, then with increasing anxiety, to see if he would come to her tonight. They had been in accord so much more these last two days, and it seemed as if he had enjoyed her presence. He even sought it out to some extent, joining her on her tenant visits and then later asking her to ride with him.
But he stayed in his own room tonight, as he had ever since their quarrel.
She tried to silence the voice within her that suggested he might have lost interest in sharing her bed. She could not believe that, given his kiss two nights ago. Perhaps it was not an urgent desire, but it was there. The difficulty must be something else.
Perhaps he was concerned about his reception if he appeared in her bedroom. It did not make sense, since she had made every attempt to show him he would be welcome, but she was begin ning to understand he was sometimes less certain of himself than he appeared.