Page 65 of A Quiet Affection

“Must I go?” Elizabeth whispered.

She memorized the feel of his arms. The smell of his well-laundered coat.

“You know that you must.”

“I will miss you, intently, dearly, constantly.”

“And I will miss you just as much.” Fitzwilliam helped her into the coach. He placed a book into Elizabeth’s hands. “Have Sarah read this on the road, at least for so long as she can manage due to the light.”

For a few minutes as the carriage trundled away, Elizabeth sat absorbed in her own thoughts. Today had been a day with the greatest mixture of emotions, and though she felt guilt about it, she was chiefly happy. But she ought to embrace that happiness.

To remain cheerful, even in the face of misfortune, had always been her nature. Perhaps it was not wrong to remain cheerful, even if the misfortune was Jane’s rather than her own.

But she would always, always keep Jane in her fervent prayers.

Elizabeth handed the book to Sarah. “What is it that Master Fitzwilliam selected for us?”

The woman opened the book and then started laughing.

“Oh, what is it?” Elizabeth asked with some curiosity.

“I suppose that since you are leaving the master’s care, and since the young master gave it to me, I ought to read it,” the servant continued laughing. “Let me begin with the title:A History of Tom Jones, A Foundling,by Henry Fielding.”

Chapter Nineteen

Darcy and Jane watched the carriage trundle away.

Only after the coach had crossed over the ridge of the hill did they return to the drawing room.

Old Mr. Wickham had joined Wickham and Mr. Darcy. The steward was writing notes into his notebook as Mr. Darcy dictated instructions about a small matter of business.

The hand of their old steward was shaking.

There was something in his manner that made Darcy think that he was unlikely to outlive his master by much. He had already determined to give the old man a pension and lighter duties if he wished to remain in harness, once he was the master. The understeward was a capable man, and one ready for his promotion.

“Papa,” Darcy said when he’d finished speaking to Mr. Wickham, “I wish to speak with you in private about an important matter.”

The way his father’s face fell oddly hurt. “Again? Must it be again? What blow do you mean to give me now? Has it not already been enough?”

“Do you wish for me to not tell you anything that you will find unpleasant? This is not something which requires any present action. I merely believed that you would wish to know.”

“Does it relate to George? For then I have not the heart to hear it.”

Wickham also watched him intently to see what he had to say; old Mr. Wickham’s expression conveyed apathy about anything related to his son.

“No,” Darcy said. “Nothing about Wickham.”

Mr. Darcy sighed. He did not move for a while. He looked faded. Darcy wished Lizzy hadn’t left. He wanted to cry while she held him.

At last, his father stood. “I’d rather know than ponder.”

He walked slowly. Darcy hurried up next to him and offered his arm to his father.

At first, Papa shook it off with an angry motion. But then, after some consideration, he gave him his arm and let Darcy support him. “It shall not be long,” he said as they made slow way to his study. “Not long at all.”

Darcy knew the truth of his father’s words, and he felt the deep grief in his heart.

“Are you still glad that you must see me like this? Would it not be easier if you did not need to support an old man? There are servants for that.”