Page 83 of Yearning

“Ah, you are watching Richard,” he said.

“I am watching everything,” said Elizabeth. Jane had said she would be back soon. She had gone into the house for a bonnet for her daughter when the maid could not find it and the nanny could not find it either. She would be back, and they would settle together and speak like sisters, and Elizabeth would not watch Richard with her son, with their son, any longer.

“It bodes well,” said Mr. Darcy.

“Yes, I think so,” she said. “Richard has asked if we might schedule some time together, both of our families, and I think it would be lovely for the boys, who are really brothers, I suppose, and I think it would be good for Richard as well.”

“Agreed,” said Mr. Darcy. “He closed himself off to it needlessly, I think.”

“Well, I suppose Marybeth doesn’t know?” There was a clench inside her at that. She was not one to enjoy keeping painful secrets from others. If it were her relationship with her husband, she would tell him all. They had the sort of connection that had weathered difficulties and stayed standing, had grown stronger for it. But Richard would conduct his own marriage in his own way, and Elizabeth could not say that she would have preferred to have her husband tell her, once upon a time, that he did not want her, that he could not do anything with her. If she had been spared that agony, she would not have minded.

Perhaps Richard had the right of it, protecting his wife from the worst of himself. Elizabeth could not say.

“That is their own business, I suppose,” said Mr. Darcy. “Perhaps it is better.”

“It would only hurt her,” said Elizabeth. “But if she comes to suspect he is too demonstrative with Edmund?”

“He loves her, Elizabeth,” said Mr. Darcy, watching his cousin. “We can see that in their every interaction. Whatever tangle our past is, he has found his happy ending. We have found ours. But if there can be some connection between Richard and Edmund, I would welcome it.”

She nodded. “Yes, indeed.” She look at him. “You are certain of that? You don’t feel inadequate?”

“No, not at all,” said Mr. Darcy, and there was a wondering quality to his voice. “Rather odd, that, is it not? But welcome. I shall take it and not inquire into it overmuch.”

“Yes, that is exactly what we shall both do.” She reached out for his hand.

He closed it over hers. “There were so many times when I despaired over my future. Sometimes I wish I could go back and show that younger version of myself this. Tell him, you dratted idiot, it’s all going to be all right.”

She laughed again. “Yes, I suppose I should like that, too.”

He drew in a breath. “I wonder if we could take that in mind the next time we are in the midst of some crisis or other. That there will likely be a future version of us willing to tell us things get better.”

“Mmm, yes, I think you are entirely right.” She squeezed his hand.

He squeezed back. “You must allow me, Mrs. Darcy,” he said in a low and resonant voice, “to tell you how much I ardently admire and love you.”

She laughed again. “Oh, I shall never tire of hearing that, I do not think.”

“Then I shall never stop saying it,” he said.

They smiled at each other, and the air was warm, and the grass was green, and the sound of children’s laughter was on the breeze.

Everything was quite exactly as it should be.

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