As her maid completed a simple arrangement of her hair, Elizabeth watched Lily-Anne play on the floor with her two favorite dolls. When the servant left the bedchamber, Elizabeth called Lily-Anne to her. Lily approached the dressing table, set her dolls upon it, and climbed into her mother’s lap. Elizabeth embraced her, saying not a word.
Lily asked to go for a walk. Elizabeth wished she could indulge her daughter immediately, but she and Darcy had agreed to make one more attempt to call upon Mr. Elliot. They also felt they ought to return to the Harvilles’ home. Upon reaching their lodgings, Darcy had sent a note advising them to expect Sir Walter or his emissary to call for the infant, but both he and Elizabeth wanted to take more formal leave of the generous couple as they ended their involvement in this whole unfortunate event.
“I am afraid a walk with me will have to wait, Lily. Do you want to play with Betsy and Maggie a while longer?”
Lily-Anne scooted off Elizabeth’s lap and reached for the pair of dolls on the dressing table. They were cloth dolls, gifts from Elizabeth’s sister Jane, and their appearance was proof that they were well loved. Privately, Elizabeth and Lily-Anne’s nurse referred to the dolls as Bald Betsy and Mangled Maggie. Once upon a time, Betsy had possessed red hair fashioned from yarn, but as Lily liked to carry her by it, most of the strands had disappeared. Maggie owed the preservation of her own hair to a sewn-on cap that matched her dress. However, Lily had decided that gumming Maggie’s stuffed legs was her preferred remedy for teething pain. After six teeth, the doll looked like the victim of a horrible carriage accident.
As Elizabeth tied the laces of her half-boots, Betsy and Maggie stood on the edge of the dressing table and engaged in a lively dialogue intelligible only to Lily-Anne, who performed it with great spirit. Unfortunately, the conversation took a hostile turn when the dolls shouted “no-no-no” at each other and Maggie knocked Betsy to the floor.
“Lily-Anne Darcy! That is not a nice way to play with your dolls. Pick up Betsy and treat her gently. Maggie should apologize.”
After Maggie delivered the apology, Lily-Anne turned to her mother. “Walk now?”
“Not yet, sweetheart—”
Elizabeth reconsidered. The rain had ceased some time ago; Lily-Anne could come with them to call upon the Harvilles. Surely they would not mind. They had children of their own, after all, and Lily might enjoy meeting the youngest boy. As for their stop at Mr. Elliot’s, Lily-Anne’s presence would provide the perfect excuse to keep the call brief—if they even found him at all.
“Yes, Lily. Let us take that walk now.”
Eight
“I venture to hint, that Sir Walter Elliot cannot be half so jealous for his own, as John Shepherd will be for him.”
Elizabeth and Darcy’s second visit to the Lion proved equally fruitless; Mr. Elliot still had not returned. They therefore proceeded to the Harvilles’ cottage. By the time they reached the shore, however, Elizabeth regretted her decision to bring Lily-Anne along. While the streets higher up the hill, near their own cottage, had begun to dry following the storm, those closer to the beach were still wet and dirty. As a result, Darcy wound up carrying Lily- Anne most of the way, a circumstance that pleased neither the child who wanted to use her own legs nor the father who had already endured a long day. Darcy bore it with fortitude; Lily-Anne, with better humor than Elizabeth anticipated. All three were grateful to finally reach Cobb Hamlet and the Harvilles’ home.
Mrs. Harville was happy to see the Darcys. She, too, had changed her attire and tidied her appearance since the morning’s exertions. “My husband is on his way to your cottage,” she said. “You must have missed each other en route. We thought you would want to know that Mr. Elliot has returned.”
“Mr. William Elliot?” Darcy asked.
“Yes, the gentleman you brought here earlier. He has been preparing his own lodgings to receive the injured mother and child. Poor man! He took the news of Mrs. Clay’s death very hard.”
“Has Sir Walter Elliot been in communication with you?” Elizabeth asked.
“Sir Walter? Not at all.”
While Elizabeth cast a puzzled glance at Darcy—which he returned in kind—Mrs. Harville bent to meet Lily- Anne’s eyes. “And who is this young lady?”
“Our daughter, Lily-Anne,” Elizabeth replied.
“I am honored to make your acquaintance, Miss Darcy,” she said with exaggerated formality. “I have a little boy not much older than you. Would you like to meet him?”
Lily-Anne looked to Elizabeth. After receiving a nod of permission, she accepted Mrs. Harville’s hand and went inside.
Elizabeth turned to Darcy. “Mr. Elliot means to take the baby?”
“Apparently he is ignorant of Sir Walter’s interest in the matter.”
They entered the house to find Mr. Elliot holding the newborn. The child was well swaddled and sleeping.
“Mr. and Mrs. Darcy,” Mr. Elliot greeted them. “I did not expect to see you again.”
“We tried to call upon you at the Lion,” Darcy said. “That is where you are staying, is it not?”
“For the time being. As soon as Mr. Sawyer assures me the child is strong enough to travel, we will remove to my house in Sidmouth.”
Mrs. Harville was in a corner of the room, where she had led the newly acquainted Lily-Anne and Ben to a basket of wooden blocks. Ben took up a cube and handed it to Lily, who set it on the floor and reached for another while Ben began amassing his own stockpile. The toddlers content, Mrs. Harville returned to the Darcys.
“The undertaker has collected Mrs. Clay.” She sighed. “Poor dear! But I have heartening news, as well. I may have found a wet nurse—Mrs. Logan, a young widow whose husband served as a midshipman under Captain Harville. They were married scarcely a twelvemonth when Mr. Logan died, leaving her in the family way and with little on which to live. Her lying-in was a few weeks ago—a tiny little girl, smaller than Mrs. Clay’s child—and sadly, her baby died the day before yesterday. I went to see her this afternoon and broached the subject of nursing Mrs. Clay’s son. She is amenable, but we did not discuss particulars. I thought the business arrangements would be more properly handled by the child’s rightful guardian, but was not certain who that might be. When I returned home, Mr. Elliot was here and said he would take the child.”
“Indeed, someone must look out for the little fellow,” Mr. Elliot said. “It is the least I can do for his mother.”
The infant released a cry. For all the challenges the baby had faced simply entering the world, he apparently possessed a healthy set of lungs.
“There, there,” Mr. Elliot said matter-of-factly. “Go back to sleep.”
The baby, however, only increased the volume and urgency of his mewing, and strained his limbs against the blanket that swaddled him. Mr. Elliot, discomposed by the suddenly restless creature, tried to shift the child to his other arm, neglecting to support the infant’s small neck. The blanket loosened still more in the process, releasing its captive, who was now a noisy mass of flailing limbs.
Darcy, who stood closest, took the baby from Mr. Elliot before the gentleman dropped him. In Darcy’s firmer hold the infant ceased his wails and thrashing. The baby’s response triggered a memory of holding Lily-Anne this way on her first day of life, the awkwardness he had felt despite his outward show of confidence. He had forgotten how lightweight a newborn is; how tiny its fingers, how fragile its frame. Lily-Anne suddenly seemed impossibly big in comparison.
The baby began to fuss once more, and Darcy did what came naturally to him in such situations. He handed the child to Elizabeth.
“We shall sort this out, little one,” she said as she took the infant.
“There is nothing to sort,” Mr. Elliot said. “The child is obviously hungry and must be fed soon. If Mrs. Harville
