Page 98 of A Stronger Impulse

“My darling,” he said, shaking his head. “Do you…not see? Both Georgie, Kitty…have taken you as…model for behaviour. Thus…they become…ideal and idyllic.”

“They are becoming the best versions of themselves, which is all anyone could ask,” she countered. But then she grinned again. “However, if you notice a bit too much impertinence, I fear I must take the blame.”

He smiled again, the half smile she loved, starting in his eyes and visible even in the low light of the entryway. But there was something else in it tonight, some other reason for his sleeplessness besides missing her nearness.

“You are feeling troubled.” She looped her arms around his neck.

“Why…should I be?” he asked, his tone nonchalant, pulling her in more closely still.

She raised a brow. “Perhaps because you have invited Colonel Fitzwilliam to come to Pemberley, when you have not yet decided whether you can forgive him?”

“What…to forgive? He did…best he knew to do…protecting my sister. Most important thing…he could do.”

She shook her head at him, glad he was finally releasing a few of these feelings, the ones he had borne most stoically.

“Of course it was not. It was never simply a conflict between his powerful father and his beloved cousins. Whilst he is apparently able to fight brilliantly on the battlefield, when it came to the wounds of his dearest friend in the world—you—he ran like a coward. He knows it, and you do as well. It is why he has not been invited before this, nor presented himself at Pemberley, although he has been home for a six-month.”

Her husband briefly closed his eyes. “Perhaps.”

She took his face within her hands, his dear, dear face. “I am so proud of you.”

“Did…not much. Sent letter.”

“You made the first, the hardest overture. You will bring him here and give him the chance to begin again, to hope he has learnt something from his errors. I hope you also share with him what truly happened to you and how his flight nearly killed you. He ought to know the full truth of it.”

He shook his head. “His flight…saved my life. Brought you instead. Would rather…have you, did it mean ten Donavans.”

She shuddered just a little, thankful to remember that Donavan had been prevented, upon penalty of arrest and other dire, perhaps less legal threats, from ever treating a patient again. “Well then, perhaps I will tell the colonel. But I mean to forgive him too. He is the nearest thing you have to a brother, and we shall make allowances, as he comes from a pig-headed father.”

“Well,” he said, “you managed…a pig…with your soul intact. Perhaps…instruct Richard.”

“I can give advice on forgiving the pigs amongst us, but I keep my boundaries firm. My mother explained to me that when I attracted Mr Collins’s interest, she saw in it my salvation as well as her own. When I refused, her frustration with me peaked. My father did not care either way. Had I accepted Collins, he would have refused the suit, I am certain. He only used the excuse of my mother’s rage to rid himself of me. I have forgiven him for it. But he is not welcome here, for no longer am I required to cope with his abuse—it was nothing less. If the colonel wishes to keep his father in his life, I have no real experience. But our situations are entirely different. I suppose the earl loves his son, for one thing.”

“Was it…love to force Georgie…on him? I call…greed. I not…so good as you. Angry still.”

“As long as it is not an anger you think about—or suffer for—take all the time you need. I found it easier to let all that go. Let God sort it out with my father and the earl, as I do not have the patience for either of them.”

“My nature…a resentful one.”

She shook her head in disagreement. “Not at all. I lived for years with a man of truly resentful nature; yours is of the most loving sort, but you were betrayed. I am proud of you for attempting to see whether things can be put right with your cousin. Family is important. Or it ought to be.”

“Keep on…seeing my best self…when you…look at me. Now…how much longer must I…await your return to bed?”

He, plainly, was finished speaking of the colonel’s upcoming visit. Lizzy was not too worried about it, however. A man of as much goodness, sense, and compassion as her husband would navigate this new challenge as he did all his others—with honour and grace.

“I would not like for you to lose sleep from any activity of mine,” she hedged. “We are to build the largest snow-gentleman in the world, you might recall.”

“On contrary—losing sleep from your…activities…my very favourite loss.” He bent down to kiss her, aiming for a sensitive spot on her neck rather than her lips. “I will…wait up,” he murmured.

* * *

An hour later, after bidding her still-giggling sisters a cheerful goodnight, Lizzy crept back to her chambers. Her maid would be unhappy when she discovered the sodden skirts and coat, but how else were snow angels to be made? It had been a great deal of fun, not the least of which was seeing the developing friendship between the two younger girls. Georgiana may have gone through fifteen years of her life without any sister, but in the last year, she had adapted well to the increase.

Kitty had come to live with them three months ago, when in desolate spirits—for it had become clear that Lydia had no intention of ever returning from Scarborough. Lizzy could not blame her youngest sister; under the tutelage of Mrs Pringle, a woman of rare tolerance, indomitable nature, and endless energy, Lydia was evidently becoming the belle of Scarborough society. Mrs Pringle, plainly, was the mother Lydia needed, one who cared enough to discipline her and, likewise, to show her love and approval for every small improvement. Lydia’s letters showed a refinement that went beyond committing steps of etiquette to memory—she, too, was becoming the young lady she always was meant to be.

Unexpectedly, Kitty was readily able to accept the invitation to make her home with them—Lizzy had supposed her father would put up more of a protest. But then, his ability to challenge much of anything had been compromised.

After the ball at Netherfield, she and Darcy had decided to marry immediately. Rather than worry that Mr Bennet might voice an objection when the banns were called, she had gone to her aunt and uncle in London—for she knew her father hated town and would never rouse himself to pursuit. To her surprise, her mother had followed shortly after, insisting upon fitting her out with wedding clothes and sending the bills home to Mr Bennet. The wedding was held within a month, her uncle standing up with her, her mother giving every expression of joy. When she had asked Mama whether she worried about going home to face Mr Bennet after these shows of defiance, Mama had only shrugged. “Who cares what he thinks?” seemed to be her attitude.