He once more met her gaze, his reflecting resignation. “You know I can deny you nothing.”
_______
“Ouch!”
Elizabeth dropped her embroidery hoop and sucked a small drop of blood from the finger she had just pricked. The stitchery had been going poorly, even for her, whose skill with needle and thread was passable but far from extraordinary. She had not the patience of Jane, the discipline of Mary, or the compulsive ostentation of the Bingley sisters that enabled them to devote endless hours to producing elaborate designs that garnered praise from even casual observers. While she admired their efforts, Elizabeth took a utilitarian approach to her own needlework, preferring to spend her leisure hours reading, in conversation with others, or outside enjoying fresh air and exercise.
Today, however, the weather kept her indoors, her housemates had scattered to engage in other pursuits, and nothing in Netherfield’s library could hold the interest of a mind preoccupied with recent events. Too preoccupied, apparently, for she had carelessly stuck herself while sewing a simple backstitch.
She looked at her finger. The tiny wound was barely visible but still stung, encouraging her to indulge in the already-existent inclination to abandon the project and find something else to do. When she went to secure the needle, however, she discovered that it had slipped off the floss. A scan of her empty lap revealed that it had fallen farther afield.
“God bless it!” She rose and examined the sofa. No luck. She dropped to her hands and knees. Where was the troublesome thing?
While she thus pawed the carpet, inevitably someone entered the drawing room. “Mrs. Darcy, might I be of service?”
She recognized the voice even before glancing up, thankful to see Mr. Parrish’s amiable face. If she had to be caught in such an undignified position, she would rather have it witnessed by him than Mr. Kendall or one of the Bingley sisters. “I’ve lost my needle.”
“It can’t have strayed far.” He knelt and ran his fingers over the rug. “I’m amazed you women keep track of these things as well as you do. I’m sure I’d lose them left and right, only to locate them in some unpleasant manner hours later.”
“I hope to spare anyone in our acquaintance such a pointed discovery.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that. Perhaps we should invite Mr. Kendall to join us. In his stocking feet, of course.”
She returned his grin. “Of course.”
His smile faded. “I hope I don’t misrepresent myself, Mrs. Darcy. It is not in my nature to wish ill on anyone. At least, not any decent person.”
“I understand. Mr. Kendall was most ungentlemanly last night.”
“Caroline was beside herself after dinner. It nearly broke my heart, for I knew myself to be Kendall’s true target. Why could he not confine his attacks to me? I can ignore them.” He returned his attention to the rug. “I bear him no real animosity. I know he lashes out at a woman I love, to defend a woman he loves. He wants to punish me for a perceived slight to his daughter. I just wish he would finish his business with Bingley and depart.”
“Sadly, no. She had seemed to be improving since the fire, hadn’t she? At least, I thought so — though maybe I saw what I longed to see. But Kendall’s offense last night has set her back again.”
“Temporarily, I am sure.”
“I’m not so certain. She remains distraught. His observations struck a heavy blow to her vanity at a time when she’s already so fragile.” He studied her as if trying to decide upon some matter. Then he cleared his throat. “Mrs. Darcy, I would do anything to restore my wife to herself. I–I wonder if you might help me.”
“I will do what I can.”
He relaxed and ventured a half smile. “I hoped you would say as much. I have, well, a rather bold request. Might I be so forward as to ask for a lock of your hair?”
The petition rendered her momentarily speechless. She knew not what to think. Even Darcy had never solicited a lock of her hair. “My — my hair?”
“Oh — not for myself,” he said hurriedly. “I wish to place it in a locket to give to Caroline.”
Necklaces, rings, even embroidery made of hair were common enough gifts between loved ones. When Elizabeth was ten, she and her sisters had given their mother a bracelet fashioned from their locks for her birthday. She was not, however, close enough to Caroline Parrish to feel moved to bestow a similar present upon her. Indeed, something within her rebelled at the very idea.
“I’m asking her family as well,” Parrish continued. “Some of them have already agreed.”
The inclusion of others made the entreaty less strange but brought her no closer to acquiescence. “Forgive me, Mr. Parrish, but I fail to comprehend how such an ornament can heal what ails her.”
His face reddened. He looked apologetic. “You’ll probably consider this balderdash. But I’ve become desperate enough to try a custom I once overhead a woman describe as I walked in the French Quarter. She was telling her friend that a goodluck charm created from the hair of someone dear can ward off harm by encircling the wearer with the protection of friends. I don’t necessarily believe there’s any truth in it, but I figured it couldn’t hurt.”
Elizabeth had never heard of the superstition but esteemed Mr. Parrish for his willingness to try a foreign practice if it meant helping his wife. She doubted Darcy would display so broad a mind. “I don’t find it silly at all,” she said.
His features relaxed. “You agree, then?”
She hesitated. Admire him she might, but if Parrish sought to include her in the experiment, he mistook the intimacy of her acquaintance with his wife. They were not friends; indeed, before her engagement to Parrish, Miss Bingley had been her open antagonist. Despite present circumstances, Elizabeth doubted anything of hers would hold value for Caroline.
“I’m afraid I must decline,” she said.
His face fell in disappointment. “Won’t you reconsider?”
She almost assented rather than subject herself to his despondent aspect a moment longer. But she listened to instinct. “I want very much for Mrs. Parrish to enjoy the protection you describe. Fill the locket with strands from her family — they will hold more meaning for her than any I can offer.”
He turned away from her, busying himself with the carpet once more. “I beg your pardon, Mrs. Darcy. You’ve been generosity itself since this ordeal began. I see that in this I’ve asked too much.”
Guilt gripped her. “Mr. Parrish, I—”
“Look! Here it is — your needle.” He handed her the instrument. “Now at least one crisis is ended.” She immediately withdrew the housewife she kept in her sash pocket and inserted the needle into the small notions case for safekeeping.
As she watched him leave, she nearly called him back. Was she being selfish? What harm would it do to accede? Yet cooperating felt wrong somehow, as if contributing her hair to the locket would not help Caroline’s recovery but hinder it. Moreover, she knew Darcy would not approve. He would dismiss the custom as nonsense and consider it an affront that Parrish had requested so personal a token from his wife, even on another’s behalf.
No, ’twas better not to participate. But the part of her that wanted to believe in simple superstitions and Professor Randolph’s mysterious articles truly hoped the charm would work.
“You are considering how insupportable it would be to pass many evenings in this manner — in such society; and indeed I am quite of your opinion.”
