Page 2 of The Widower of Pemberley

Emily giggled and protested loudly, “No eat me! No eat me! Let me down! Let me down!”

She ran over to Darcy, hugged his legs, and shouted, “Castle! Castle!”

Darcy kissed the dear creature’s hair. “I am writing, my sweet.”

She climbed into his lap and looked at Bingley, who slowly approached. “No! No!” she shouted. “You can’t get me while I’m with Papa. Castle!”

Darcy hugged his daughter, enjoying the washed smell of her hair and the comforting weight of her. “Dearest, I thought you wanted Mr. Bingley to chase you.”

“No! No! You’re the castle.”

“Yes, of course, but can I write while you sit in safety? You might guard the drawbridge of the castle.”

“Oh, very well, if I must,” was the girl’s reply in startlingly clear English. It happened sometimes that she spoke with adult turns of phrase, and it was strange and delightful to hear.

Darcy laughed at her tone and, while holding her, dipped his quill in the ink.

His father would have pushed him or Georgiana away and demanded they be dragged screaming to the nursery if he was busy with any sort of business.

Before Mary had died, Darcy would have done the same.

But now he simply found joy in having Emily with him, even if it meant he could not settle his thoughts into order.

She needed him.

The tiny little heiress, endowed with all seventy thousand pounds of Mary’s fortune and, until he married and had another child, the part of Darcy’s own fortune that was not tied up with the entailed estate.

Despite that great sum of money, she had no one besides him in the whole world whom she could claim as her own.

Darcy wrote:

I must marry to secure an heir, which is necessary as Pemberley is entailed.

To release my carnal lusts in a healthy and morally acceptable manner—

Emily bumped his arm, making him draw a long line through what he had already written.

“Emily.”

“I want to draw, want to draw. Just like you!”

“Come now,” Bingley said, “Your papa is writing a business letter—he writes so very many. It is most diligent of him.”

“I cannot claim that. I am writing a note to settle my own thoughts on a matter of some importance, but it is not a business matter.”

“Wholly different,” Bingley replied cheerfully. “Emily, your papa is listing all the deficiencies he has found in my new house. You must—do not look surprised, Darcy, I can guess your secrets. And do not laugh either. It will not put me off the scent. Emily, you are a terrifying monster. You must chasemenow.”

Bingley donned a quite weak expression of shock and horror on his face and backed away, waving his arms and crying, “Ahhh! Ahhh! Don’t tear me apart! Ahhhh!”

Even her papa’s lap was no match for such a temptation, and she ran after Bingley, fingers formed into claws and bellowing happy roars.

Darcy turned back to the paper. If he was going to start his quest for a second wife tonight, at this pastoral assembly—as good a place as any—he wished to settle his mind upon these points now. While he was still in mourning for his wife, and he always wore lavender, grey, and black clothes, the general opinion must be that he had already delayed longer than he ought in seeking a new mother for his tiny daughter. As affectionate memories did not make it impossible for him to imagine himself attached to a different woman, he could give himself no further excuse.

Principles to follow in seeking a second wife:

She must not be from the best circles in society.

She should not be lauded for her beauty, wit, and charm.