Christmas at Pemberley (29 page)

Roman couldn't believe his luck: Anne De Bourgh had accepted his arm. They would spend additional time together.
One wouldn't call the woman beautiful,
he thought,
but she was quite handsome in a fragile, delicate way. She was very pale—something a brisk walk in the country on a summer day would easily solve
.

But, on closer inspection, Roman realized that her paleness meant china-white skin—creamy, actually; soft and inviting to a man's touch. She had a pert little upturned nose, wide, doe-like eyes with elegantly long lashes, and her full lips, set too often in a firm line, were inviting when she smiled. Her long, slender neck led to soft shoulders and the delicious swell of her dress above her neckline. She was taller than he had expected, but still the lady's head only came to his shoulder.

It was with a great deal of pride that he escorted Miss De Bourgh through Pemberley's hall. It felt right—as if she belonged by his side. It was an unreasonable conclusion. In reality, they held less than a four and twenty hours' acquaintance, but that didn't matter.
For the first time in his life—since the time he first had heard his cousin speak of life at Hunsford Cottage—Roman breathed freely: This was where God had always wanted him to be.

“A small gift from Nan,” Elizabeth said as she handed the hastily made child's dressing gown to Mary. The woman had dutifully completed the delivery, and with Mrs. Washington's assistance, Elizabeth had helped to freshen Mary's clothing. Now, the new mother rested once again in the bed. She held the sleeping child in the bend of her arm.

“I'll thank the girl properly,” Mrs. Joseph mumbled.

Elizabeth patted the lady's hand. “Why do you not rest?”

“You need rest also,” Mrs. Joseph sleepily protested.

“First, I believe I'll go downstairs and have a proper supper with Mr. Darcy. I need time to rest my back.” She stretched out her arms. “I'll send Mr. Joseph to sit with you.”

“Let Matthew be. No one needs to watch me sleep.” Mary's eyelids closed slowly, but then sprung open again. “That's unless you require private time with Mr. Darcy.”

Elizabeth smiled easily. “I never tire of the man's company. Even after two years.”

“Then by all means send Mr. Joseph up. A woman of your infinite powers should have her every wish.” She caught Elizabeth's hand in a tight grip.

Elizabeth's finger gently touched the sleeping child's hair. “My wish is to have what you have, Mary,” she whispered.

“You will, Elizabeth.” Mrs. Joseph assured. “You'll have your own happiness… you and Mr. Darcy.” She paused and took a deep breath. “My child's birth…I was never afraid, because God placed the incomparable Elizabeth Darcy in my life. My prayers… those I recited before Matthew and I left Stoke-on-Trent—they were for God to send an angel to protect my child, and on the third day of travel, I walked into this out-of-the-way inn; and there you were. My own angel.”

Elizabeth snorted. “I've been called many things, but ‘angel' has rarely been one of them.”

“That's where the world's in error, Elizabeth. They see those defenses you show to anyone who barely knows you. They don't see your magnificent heart—your indomitable spirit—the purity of your soul.”

Elizabeth laughed self-consciously. “Do not bestow upon me too many exemplary qualities. If so, I'll have to find something good to say of Miss Bingley.”

Mary's eyebrow rose in curiosity. “Miss Bingley?”

Elizabeth chuckled lightly. “The younger sister of my sister Jane's husband. She did poor Jane a disservice, and Miss Bingley also had once set her sights on Mr. Darcy.”

“Angels can feel jealousy, Elizabeth.” Mary squeezed Elizabeth's hand.

“So, there are shades of angelic behavior?” Elizabeth's voice rose in amusement.

Mary laughed also. “Absolutely. God's love is the purest, but mankind can possess levels of the benevolent spirit.”

“Then, in your opinion, I have God's attention.” Elizabeth puzzled over that concept.

“We all have God's attention, but I believe that He's chosen you among His favorites.”

Before she could stifle her words, Elizabeth defensively asked, “Then how could God allow my children to die before I knew them? Before I could tell them of my love?” Tears trickled from her eyes.

Mrs. Joseph swallowed hard. “That's the question which most frightens you, is it not, Elizabeth? You wonder how, if you serve God, He could not honor you with a child of your own. How the rest of the world can know such happiness? How no one, except Mr. Darcy, understands the depth of your fear?”

“Yes,” Elizabeth murmured.

“I've no answer that would satisfy your heart: God gives us what
we need when we need it. Matthew holds different ideas on such matters, but I believe that when the Bible says that God created man in His own image, that means God has His own foibles. He's a bit selfish. God wished to surround Himself with the laughter of children—the most magical sound in the world. Therefore, sometimes He does the selfish thing and calls the child home early. It's the only explanation that makes any sense.”

Elizabeth brushed away her tears. “I'll endeavor to accept your explanation, Mary. It serves as well as any other.”

“You cannot argue with a woman named Mary so close to the celebration of our Lord's birth,” Mrs. Joseph teasingly reasoned.

Elizabeth smiled easily. “No, I suppose, I cannot.”

“Mr. Manneville. There you are, Sir.” Mrs. Bennet had carefully watched for Caroline Bingley to return to her room to freshen her clothes for supper. Then she approached the American. From her observations, Mrs. Bennet had determined that within the household only Miss Bingley stood a better chance of attracting Mr. Manneville than did Kitty. She planned to emphasize Kitty's assets.

Manneville rose to acknowledge the lady's entrance. “Forgive me, Mrs. Bennet. I was unaware of your seeking me. How may I serve you, Ma'am?”

Mrs. Bennet breezed past him and seated herself on the same settee Manneville occupied. “I've no great need of you, Sir, other than to satisfy my curiosity about your home. You've piqued my interest, Mr. Manneville. I might even implore Mr. Bennet to take the family on an extended holiday once this crazy war ends.”

Manneville shrugged uncomfortably, but he politely said, “America's not for the faint of heart. Luxuries are not spread consistently among our citizens. You may find the conditions quite rustic, Ma'am.”

“Naturally, you'd assume with my having two daughters so highly placed, that we Bennets are used to only the best, but I assure
you, Mr. Manneville, my girls and I can do with much less. My youngest, Lydia, has but a let place, as Mr. Wickham is a lieutenant, very much like Mr. Southland, and, of course, you met my Mary's betrothed. It'll be several years of service before Mr. Grange knows a settled income.”

“I see,” Mr. Manneville said softly.

But Mrs. Bennet barely allowed the man time for those two simple words. “We're far from poor, Mr. Manneville. I wouldn't wish to leave you with that impression. Mr. Bennet has a fine property in Hertfordshire. What I mean to convey is that some women can adjust quite easily to less than pristine conditions, while others cannot. I brought my girls up with a sense of responsibility. Miss Darcy, for example, is a prime example. A girl raised under these auspicious conditions would never adjust to anything less. Neither could Miss De Bourgh. She is frail. Can one imagine her sailing across the ocean? The woman would never survive. Plus, she is seven and twenty. Quite on the shelf.”

“What of…” he began, but again the lady snatched his words away.

“What of Miss Bingley? I suppose that's what you ask, is it not, Mr. Manneville? A man should inspect all the choices. Lord knows, that's the way of the world. It's quite smart of you to have sought my opinion on this matter.With five daughters, I'm quite fluent on a young lady's ability to make a good wife, and you must believe me, Sir, that Miss Bingley isn't the type to please any man. The lady is self-consumed. She caused my dear Jane much grief. A man like you needs a loving wife—an intelligent, unambitious girl, who could give you strong sons and daughters. Miss Bingley is four and twenty, nearly of the same age as Miss De Bourgh.You need someone younger.”

“Such as Miss Catherine,” Manneville said dryly.

“Kitty!” Mrs. Bennet gasped as if surprised. “I'd never thought of Kitty as a possible mate for a man such as you. I mean—obviously, Kitty has youth to her advantage, and she's by far one of the most
sensible girls a man might find. Mrs. Darcy and Mrs. Bingley have introduced Kitty to the best that life has to offer. She could manage any house. In fact, she and Miss Darcy are sharing duties until my Elizabeth returns.”

Manneville stood. “You've given me much upon which to think, Mrs. Bennet.” He bowed over her extended hand. “I thank you for your concern for my future marital happiness, Ma'am. Now, if you'll excuse me?”

Mrs. Bennet preened under his attentions. She had accomplished what she'd planned. She'd planted the idea's seed. Now, she'd place Kitty in the man's way, starting at supper. While the others dressed for the evening meal, she would change the name cards so Kitty would have the opportunity to converse with Mr. Manneville this evening.

To Kitty's horror, for the evening meal, she found herself between Mr. Manneville and Mr. Collins. The look of surprise on Georgiana's face and the one of triumph on her mother's told Kitty exactly what had happened.

“Miss Catherine,” Manneville acknowledged her as he took his place.

“Mr. Manneville,” she murmured. She shot a glance about the table. Her mother had certainly scrambled the seating arrangement. Poor Mr. Winkler was at the table's other end between Miss Bingley and Mary. Mr. Grange was seated beside Miss De Bourgh. At her end of the table, she and Georgiana held court: the colonel, her father, Lieutenant Southland, Mr. Manneville, Mr. Collins, and Mr. Bingley made up their supper partners.