want to send our sons away so early.'
'Nor do I,' she said.
His words tugged at her heart. They had not spoken much about children. Though they had a tacit understanding that children were desired, she did not know whether he wished for a large family or small, whether he harbored partiality for boys or girls, how soon he hoped they would come. That he already had given thought to how they should be raised occasioned only mild surprise. Of course Darcy would afford something so important as the upbringing of their children the same careful deliberation he gave all decisions.
That he believed children a certainty touched a different response within her. They were over four months into their marriage, with no sign of increasing their family any time soon. Four months, she knew, was not cause for alarm, not long enough to fear that they might remain childless forever. Truth be told, she was rather enjoying the extended honeymoon. She and Darcy were still getting used to each other. But with reports of babies circulating on all fronts, the tiniest seed of doubt had entered her mind. It had not yet germinated, but it was there, buried in the back of her thoughts. She wondered if he felt it, too.
'Darcy, do you ever worry that — ' She stopped. He waited patiently as she chose her words. 'We have not talked a great deal about children,' she began again.
He smiled. 'I am in favor of them.'
'I — well, I am, too, of course. But we have not yet — that is, it seems like everyone else we know has very quickly — ' She let out her breath. 'Four months is not such a very long time, is it?'
His gaze met hers in understanding. He leaned forward and took both her hands in his. 'No, Elizabeth. Four months is not very long at all.'
'I did not think so.'
He smoothed the crease from her brow. 'Then why the concern?'
'It is not concern, so much. Just something that has been on my mind since Jane wrote with her news.'
'I did not realize we were in a race.'
'We are not. Not at all! But it is not only Jane who influences my thoughts. When even Charlotte and Mr. Collins have a child so early in their marriage — '
'I hope you do not compare me to Mr. Collins?' It was not a serious question, but one delivered with a conspiratorial smile meant to lighten her mood. 'Or, at least, I hope I do not suffer by the comparison?'
'Though the bliss of producing a miniature Mr. Collins could have been mine, I shall never regret turning down his proposal,' she said. Indeed, the thought of marriage to the obsequious clergyman still made her cringe. 'And I compare you to no one, for in my eyes you have no equal.'
He yet held her hands, and leaned forward to meet her lips.
They lingered over the kiss, wishing they were anywhere but at Norland, expected down to dinner momentarily. But obligation parted them. As he released her, she cast him a saucy look.
'If four months stretch to forty, however, perhaps you should seek Mr. Collins’s advice on the matter.'
An assortment of new persons awaited Elizabeth’s observation when she and Darcy joined the party gathered in the drawing room before dinner. Mr. and Mrs. Edward Ferrars had just arrived, their journey having been slowed by the rain, and had scarcely had time to change out of their traveling clothes. They seemed in good humor, though, despite the damp ride.
Edward expressed genuine pleasure at meeting Kitty and the Darcys. He greeted them warmly upon Harry’s introduction. His wife, Elinor, said she was also very pleased to make their acquaintance, and the kindness of her manner lent the words the sincerity they all too commonly lacked when uttered in polite society.
'When did you arrive at Norland?' she asked. 'Have you had an opportunity 10 see much of it?'
'Mr. Dashwood and his housekeeper showed us the house this afternoon,' Elizabeth said. 'It is lovely.'
'Indeed, it is. I have many happy memories of this place.' Elinor glanced about the drawing room, her expression growing wistful.
'I understand you grew up at Norland?'
'Yes, from eight to nineteen. My mother, sisters, and I moved to Barton after my father died. This is the first time I’ve returned.'
The admission startled Elizabeth. 'You never visited your brother here?' she blurted out before considering a less bald way to couch the query.
Elinor met her gaze, and each woman quickly assessed the other. Though Elinor was a good fifteen years older than she, Elizabeth read in her a common understanding and intelligence that instantly identified her as a kindred spirit. Elinor seemed to sense the same.
'We occasionally saw my brother and his wife in London.' What she left unsaid, but that Elizabeth heard perfectly, was that the brief London visits had constituted enough family togetherness for all parties.
'Does Norland remain as you remember it?' Elizabeth asked.
Elinor studied a large portrait of Fanny hanging above the mantel. 'In many ways, yes,' she said. 'But in others, it almost feels as if I never lived here at all.'
Elizabeth suspected that was Fanny’s entire object.
Fanny Dashwood’s other brother was also present with his family. Robert, with his bold striped waistcoat and elaborate silver snuffbox, she soon dismissed as an aging fop. Elizabeth had seen Lucy and Regina Ferrars at the Middle tons’ soiree, but had not gotten close enough to form an impression beyond noting a strong resemblance between mother and daughter. Both enjoyed passable looks, Lucy’s a somewhat faded version of Regina’s full bloom. They shared narrow eyes and dark, arched brows. Lucy reminded one of a cat, her bearing exhibiting a decidedly predatory aspect. Regina, in contrast, carried herself with bovine grace. She was considerably plumper than her mother, with a figure that even her high-waisted gown could not flatter. Lucy’s thin frame looked almost skeletal in contrast, as if since Regina’s birth it had been daughter, not mother, eating for them both.
An evening of Lucy and Regina’s company proved that in postponing the opportunity to become acquainted with them, Elizabeth had not deferred any pleasure. Lucy was agreeable enough, far more so than her sister-in-law Fanny, and Elizabeth had initially struggled to pinpoint exactly what she disliked about the woman. But as the night wore on, she realized that it was precisely Lucy’s ingratiating manner — echoed to mind-numbing effect by Regina — that made her almost nostalgic for the company of Darcy’s domineering aunt, Lady Catherine. Lucy complimented Elizabeths dress, Kitty’s hair, the cut of Darcy’s coat. The flowers in the small alcove were lovely — were they from Norland’s greenhouse? Indeed, everything about Norland was splendid, and their host was up to the nines.
'Harry, I declare this is the best rabbit I’ve ever tasted.'
Elizabeth wondered that Lucy had much basis for comment on the rabbit or any other dish, as her steady stream of flattery prevented her from actually bringing much of the food to her mouth. Regina, in contrast, had managed to clear her plate between accolades.
When Harry denied any right to the praise, Lucy offered it instead to the superior environment of Norland Park. 'Truly, nothing in London can compare, and even Norfolk don’t have rabbit this plump. Isn’t that right, Robert?'
Her husband, whom Elizabeth could have sworn was admiring his reflection in the bowl of his spoon, admitted uncertainty as to the relative plumpness of the rabbits raised on their estate.
Once the subject of rabbits had been discussed beyond endurance, conversation turned to the china. Regina pronounced the dense floral motif exquisite as she obscured it from view with a second helping of duck. 'Where did you find it, Aunt Dashwood? I want the same pattern for my own hope chest.'
Fanny roused herself from the sullen silence into which she’d sunk. 'It’s a Royal Worcester service. I don’t know if the company still produces it.' She cast a pointed glance at Kitty then pulled back her lips to form what might have been a sweet smile on another person. On Fanny, it was intimidating. 'Perhaps, my dear niece, this very set will find its way into your possession.'
Elizabeth didn’t know how to interpret the comment. Did Harry’s mother mean to give away the set before a new mistress arrived at Norland? Or, relinquishing her aspirations of an alliance with Georgiana’s thirty thousand pounds, did she now harbor a wish that Regina might secure Harry’s hand? Nothing in Harry’s manner indicated that the latter possibility had ever entered his own head.
By the time dessert concluded, Fanny had managed to subtly insult Kitty three more times, Lucy had performed an aria on the smoothness of the syllabub, and Regina had consumed as many maids of honor as had waited upon Henry the Eighth’s six queens together. Miss Ferrars’s conversation between mouthfuls demonstrated a simplicity of both manner and mind.
