“What are the sleeping arrangements tonight?” Darcy asked softly. He and Elizabeth tarried in the common room. The Josephs tended their child in the room the couple shared with the Darcys.
Elizabeth glanced toward the stairs. “It seems that Mrs. Joseph should have the bed.”
Darcy frowned. “In principle, I agree, but my concern for your health outweighs my reason. You, too, should share the bed with Mrs. Joseph. The lady’s husband and I can make do with the bedding.”
Elizabeth slid her hand into his. “I no longer believe that I can sleep without your arms about me, Fitzwilliam. It’s one of the reasons I chose to travel to Northumberland. The prospect of more than a week alone at Pemberley would have never done.”
Darcy thought of how long it had taken to convince his wife to accompany him, but he said nothing to contradict her. “I’m bereft of your closeness when you’re not within my sight.” He stroked her palm with his fingertips.
“Then allow me to lie beside the man I love,” Elizabeth whispered.
When she said such things, his wife enflamed his desire, but nothing would happen this evening. “As you wish,” he said quietly. “I spoke to Mr. Simpson earlier. He believes we can depart on the morrow.Will you be comfortable doing so?”
Elizabeth’s dual contradiction crossed her countenance. “Mrs. Joseph must remain a few more days,” she thought aloud. “But I do so need to be home. To be with Georgiana.”
“Unless Mrs. Joseph has difficulty overnight, I imagine the lady’s husband can see to her care.You’ve served her well, my dear.” Darcy brought the back of her hand to his lips. “These fingers — these capable hands have done God’s work. Now, it’s time to rest. Time to return to our home.”
Elizabeth chuckled. “Rest and Pemberley are not synonymous words.”
“True. It’s a constant battle to keep such a large estate sound — but it’s a glorious battle,” he said with pride.
“Some battles are worth fighting,” she said softly.
Realizing his wife felt the same as he, Darcy smiled. “On that fact, we can agree. It was a point upon which I suspected we would find congress.”
“Mr. Bennet,” his wife caught at his arm, “you must make Kitty see reason,” she beseeched. “Mr. Manneville has asked Kitty to be his partner, but your daughter insists on leaving the room.”
Mr. Bennet, who despised being dragged into these family dramas, sighed deeply. “Is this true, Kitty?”
“Papa, I’ve no time to explain. Mr. Winkler has rushed away.” Pulling free from her mother’s grasp, Kitty started forward again.
Mr. Bennet’s eyebrow rose sharply. “Mr. Winkler?”
“Yes, Papa. I fear the man needs my help,” she said pleadingly.
Mr. Bennet smiled secretly. “Then go on, Girl. Mr. Darcy would know offense if we allowed Winkler to struggle alone.”
Impulsively, Kitty kissed her father’s cheek. “Thank you, Papa.”
Watching his daughter scurrying from the room, Mr. Bennet turned to the American. “I’m afraid, Manneville, that you must find another partner. I’ve two other daughters in the room who would make comparable copemates. The smartest of my daughters is Mrs. Darcy, but the others are equally well read,” he said jovially. “Then, perhaps, Mrs. Bennet is more to your liking. Or you could prefer cards as your entertainment. I believe Lady Catherine and Mr. Collins plan to play.”
Manneville glanced toward the card tables. “I think not, Mr. Bennet. I’ll seek another partner. Thank you, Sir.”
Kitty rushed through the servants’ halls toward the kitchen. A maid reported seeing Winkler headed that way with Jarvis. Kitty burst into the room to find the clergyman conferring with one of the tenants near the back door and Mrs. Oliver filling a large basket with baked goods and cold meat.
“What is it?” she asked as she stepped beside Mr. Winkler.
Despite his countenance’s gravity, his eyes welcomed her. “Miss Catherine,” he said softly and reached for her hand. “This is Mr. Foxmour. Foxmour, this is Mrs. Darcy’s sister, Miss Catherine Bennet.”
“I be honored, Miss.” The man quickly removed his hat and offered a bow. “I remains most sorry for disturbin’ your entertainment.”
“Mr. Foxmour’s mother is very ill, Miss Catherine. She’s in need of a clergyman,” he whispered close to her ear. “I will accompany Mr. Foxmour. I don’t know how long I’ll be away.”
“I’m going with you,” she asserted.
“Miss Catherine, this is a long, slow process,” Winkler reasoned.
Kitty held his gaze. “I wish to be of assistance, Mr. Winkler. My father’s aware that I shall accompany you.” She hoped he understood. She had no idea what was expected of her as his choice, but she was prepared to learn.
Winkler’s smile widened. “Send for your cloak and muff. Mr. Arden prepares a sleigh with blankets, but I would have you properly attired for the weather. I’m sure the Foxmours could use some assistance with the children.” The clergyman turned toward the waiting cottager. “How many is it you have, Foxmour?”
“Four wee ones, Sir.”
“May I bring some paper and crayons for the children?” she asked quickly.
“You might show them your sketches, Miss Catherine. Your work is remarkable.”
Kitty glowed with his compliment. “I’ll be only a minute.” She gave a quick curtsy and disappeared into the servants’ hall leading to her room. She had pleased him; she’d made Thorne Winkler happy with her actions.
A quarter hour later, Winkler lifted her to the sleigh and draped a blanket across Kitty’s lap. “Stay warm,” he instructed as he climbed up beside her. Jarvis and Mr. Foxmour climbed onto the back as the groomsman gave the horses a touch of the whip to start them along the path to the hedgerows.
Winkler moved closer to shield Kitty from the wind. “Thank you,” he whispered. “This will mean much to the Foxmours. You truly do them an honor.”
“I’m not certain how much assistance I might be. I’ve never tended someone who is near death,” she said tentatively. “I pray I’ll not disappoint.”
“You could never disappoint, Miss Catherine.” He slid his hand under the blanket and touched the skin exposed above her glove. Automatically, Kitty placed her hand into his. Even through the leather covering their entwined fingers, warmth spread up her arm in a familiar manner.
“Mr. Darcy and I shall depart on the morrow,” Elizabeth explained as she helped adjust the baby in Mrs. Joseph’s arms. Without a wet nurse, the woman fed the child at her breast.
Mary’s eyes remained on her son, but she nodded her understanding. “Matthew and I shall be sorry to see you go.”
Elizabeth laughed lightly. “You’ll have the room to yourselves.”
“Yet, it shan’t be the same. You’ve quickly become one of my dearest friends; I’ll grieve for the lack of your company.”
Elizabeth smiled broadly. “It’s been something of an adventure. A story to tell our children and grandchildren — of our Christmas in Harrogate.”
“You should know that Matthew and I have chosen to name our son William, after your esteemed husband. Shall it please Mr. Darcy?” she asked shyly.
“Oh, yes, Mary. It’ll please Fitzwilliam greatly.” Elizabeth’s brilliant smile grew.
Mary said impishly, “We considered Mr. Darcy’s full name, but we thought that you would be choosing Fitzwilliam for your first son. And as I plan for our children to know one another two Fitzwilliams may be more than either of us can tolerate.”
“You may be correct,” Elizabeth declared fondly.
“It’s a grand name,” Mary insisted. “For a man of great consequence.”
“For a man of honor,” Elizabeth corrected.
“I have it!” Edward nearly shouted as he and Georgiana competed against Bingley and Jane. “The answer is the letter ‘L.’”
Jane laughed infectiously. “I thought we had you that time, Colonel.” Through a process of elimination, only those two couples remained in the game. The others had clustered their chairs in a large circle to cheer on the duos.
“That was quite clever, Mrs. Bingley,” Georgiana declared. “You riddle dark, disclose my name. No doubt you will descry it. Or dillydally about the centre until I deliver.”
“I thought it the letter ‘D,’” Mr. Grange said, “but that was too obvious.”
“Too obvious indeed,” Mr. Bennet said from where he observed the goings-on. Mrs. Bennet, the Collinses, Lady Catherine, Mrs. Jenkinson, and Mrs. Annesley had retired some time earlier. He had promised to keep an eye on the couples and to wait for Kitty’s return. Although his wife hadn’t understood why he had allowed Kitty to accompany the clergyman, Mr. Bennet had convinced her that if Kitty proved useful that Elizabeth’s husband might sponsor Kitty as Miss Darcy’s companion during the Season.
Mr. Bennet despised his wife’s manipulations in these matters, especially where Mr. Manneville was concerned. The man was too mature, too diligent toward his own agenda, too sophisticated in an uncivilized manner, too American for his daughter. He wanted Kitty safe and well settled. If he had done his duty in that respect with Lydia, he wouldn’t have been indebted to Mr. Darcy for whatever of honor or credit was purchased for his youngest daughter. The satisfaction of prevailing on one the most worthless men in Great Britain, in the form of Mr. Wickham, to be Lydia’s husband might then have rested in its proper place. After Lydia’s folly, Mr. Bennet had at last learned to be cautious. So, tonight he’d encouraged Kitty’s association with Mr. Winkler.
The young man had approached him regarding his growing affections for Kitty and had spoken of his desire for Kitty to serve by his side. “This will be a good test of Kitty’s mettle,” he had told himself. “Kitty will decide tonight how she truly feels about the man.”
“This be Mrs. Darcy’s sister,” Mr. Foxmour explained to his wife. “And ye know Mr. Winkler.”
“Please come in.” Mrs. Foxmour ushered them forward. Even Jarvis and the groomsman received a hearty welcome.
Mr.Winkler helped Kitty with her cloak. “Miss Catherine came to assist with the children,” he said.
“That be wonderful, Miss.” Mrs. Foxmour guided them closer to the fire.
“I brought some paper and crayons,” Kitty gushed.
“A real treat,” Mr. Foxmour said.
Mr.Winkler placed the basket on a nearby table.“And the Darcys sent over this offering.”
The thoughtfulness deeply moved Mrs. Foxmour. Tears misted her eyes, and she reached for the handkerchief tucked inside her cuff. “Mr. Darcy be a good master.”
Mr. Winkler took the lady’s hand. “Why do you not take me to see your husband’s mother?”
“This way, Sir.” She gestured to a small room marked by a curtained doorway.
Winkler squeezed Kitty’s hand and followed the woman to where the elder Mrs. Foxmour lay. Kitty glanced around the small cottage. There were but three rooms: the one where she currently stood and two smaller ones. Evidently, the elder Mrs. Foxmour slept in one while the lady’s son and his wife occupied the other. Four rolled mats in the corner spoke of where the children slept. “Well,” Kitty asked a bit tentatively, “would you children care to tell me your names?”
“Mavis,” with real admiration, the tallest of the three girls uttered. Her eyes took in Kitty’s fine dress. “And this be Nell,” she said of the little one tightly holding her hand. The child sucked a dirty thumb clean.
“And your name?” Kitty knelt before a sweet-faced blonde of five or six.
The child confidently raised her chin, but her voice still trembled. “Tavia.”
Kitty stroked the girl’s hair. “As I said, I brought paper so we might draw together. You could draw a picture for your grandmother if you like.”
Mr. Foxmour picked up the boy. “Let’s move the table closer to the fire to keep ye ladies warmer. I be puttin’ the wee one to bed in the missus’ room. Then I’ll fetch in more wood.”
Jarvis easily moved the table, and Kitty settled on a bench with Tavia beside her. The other two girls sat across from her. She handed each child a sheet of paper. “Have you ever drawn a picture before?”
“No, Miss Catherine,” Mavis remained the spokesperson for the group. “We draw in the dirt sometimes.”
Kitty had never felt rich. In fact, she often had bemoaned the Bennets’ lack of funds when she and Lydia had wanted to buy every ribbon and feather in Meryton, but these children had never experienced drawing with crayons on paper. “Well, we’ll remedy that right away,” she said happily. “I thought I might draw a house with a garden and a sun. What about you?”
“I don’t know,” Mavis said unsurely. “What can I draw?”
“Whatever your heart wishes. Have you ever dreamed of a knight or a princess or of Robin of Locksley or Moses from the Bible? Whatever story or dream you’ve concocted can become your picture. I like to draw dresses and cloaks and fancy hats.”
Mavis’s eyes grew larger. “Fancy dresses? I mean, fancier than the one ye be wearin’?”
Again, Kitty felt the disparity between her wardrobe and that of the Foxmours. “Very fancy,” she confided. “Fancy enough for Queen Charlotte herself.”
“I be,” Mavis gasped. “Would ye draw a fancy dress for me Gram? She be always sayin’ she jist once wanted a fancy dress of her own.”
Kitty’s eyes gleamed with a teary mist. “Happily so.” She reached for a pencil. “Let me see. How should it look?”
“Long sleeves,” Nell piped up. “Gram always be wearin’ long sleeves even in the hot months.”
Kitty began to sketch the outline of a matronly gown while three little girls crawled closer to watch each scratch of her pencil along the paper’s rough texture.
“Lace,” Nell whispered. “Gram likes lace. She be lookin’ at it every time we be goin’ to Lambton.”
“Then lace it is.” Kitty added the intricate details about the neck and cuffs. “It’ll be the grandest dress,” she said as little Tavia pointed to a place Kitty had missed. “Your grandmother shall love it because you’ve designed it especially for her.”
Darcy sat alone in a corner of the common room. Mr. Joseph had joined some of the other men in a friendly card game, and Darcy relished the few moments of solitude. Leaving for Pemberley tomorrow would be heavenly in more than one way. He anticipated enjoying his wife’s happiness when she, at last, saw her family at Pemberley, but having moments with Elizabeth without an audience would be better. For some eight and twenty hours, he and his wife had shared their quarters with the Josephs, and even though the situation had produced some awkward moments, overall, it had been an amiable solution.
“Here be the paper and pen you requested, Mr. Darcy.”
“Thank you, Nan.” Thinking of the quality paper at Pemberley, Darcy reached for the cheap foolscap the inn provided. With the maid’s departure, he took up the pen to tell his wife of his continual devotion.
22 December
My darling Elizabeth,
By this time tomorrow, we will be on our way to Pemberley, but a bit of Harrogate and Prestwick’s Portal will remain with us always. Within these walls, I have discovered another facet of the remarkable woman I have married.You are the portrait of everything of which I have ever dreamed. When I look in your eyes, I see the man I pray to someday be.
Yet, I sometimes wonder what you see in mine. Can you read what is there? In your opinion, am I more than I seem to be? I want you to know the man that I am — the one who would abandon everything for you. I would leave behind my honor. I would pay any price to have you as my wife. As we move forward with our lives, I offer you solace in my arms — my beautiful Elizabeth — the woman with a soul as beautiful as her face.
Our child grows within you, and I believe that God has given us a glimpse of our future happiness when we look into the Josephs’ faces. It is our time. That may be prideful, but I feel it is so. God placed you in my life to bring my faith home to Him. Like Moses wandering in the wilderness, I kept my faith in check. I would have returned to Egypt, keeping it as security in case the desert held too many dangers, but I have learned that I cannot love anything partially: not you, not Georgiana, and not our God. I must place all my faith in those I love, and then God will give me what I need. He showed me that fact when He placed you within my life.Yet, I doubted that God knew what was best, and in my pride, I disdainfully declared myself the wiser; and my heart suffered much for it.
Now, I do not fear that God will snatch happiness from my grasp. I have given Him the part of my heart that I can spare from loving you, and He has accepted my foolish soul as his own. So, yes, I am confident that our child will come to us in the spring. We will know no more sacrifice.
D
“Mr. Foxmour, your mother wants to see you and the children,” Mr. Winkler said softly from the draped doorway. Kitty stiffened. She and the girls had drawn pictures and had laughed, but now it was time to say their farewells to their grandmother, and Kitty saw the instant anguish on each of their faces. These children understood death better than she. Kitty did not remember her grandparents — being but a babe when the last of them passed.
“Choose the pictures you’ll share with Mrs. Foxmour,” she said to the children as she picked up the multi-colored pages. “Hurry, Girls.”
Mr. Foxmour stood stiffly. “Mavis, you three go first.” His voice held traces of his grief. “I’ll fetch Hugh.”
“Hugh be asleep, Papa,” Nell protested.
“I know, Sweet One.” Kitty and the girls watched Mr. Foxmour mechanically walk toward the other bedroom.
“Come, Children,” Mr. Winkler motioned them through the opening.
Tentatively, they entered the room, and Kitty could no longer control the tears streaming down her cheeks. As Mr. Foxmour carried the sleepy toddler through the room, Kitty reached for the boy’s arm, as she was unable to console the child’s father.
With the family in the small room, Mr. Winkler remained at the opening, and Kitty simply moved into his comforting embrace. Winkler kissed her forehead, and Kitty buried her tears in his waistcoat. “I’m sorry,” she sniffed when he handed her his handkerchief.
“I’m not disappointed,” he bent his head to whisper in her ear.
Kitty snuggled closer before turning her head to watch the family.
“Bring the children closer,” Mrs. Foxmour rasped in a hacking breath.
The three girls scrambled to the straw-stuffed mattress covering a wooden frame. “We brung pictures, Grandmother,” Mavis said slowly. The girl was obviously accustomed to tending the older woman. She positioned the other girls where the elder Mrs. Foxmour could see them in the dim candlelight. “Miss Catherine teached us.” The girl thrust the drawings into the gnarled hand.
“What be this?” the old woman’s gravelly words held tenderness.
“It be a horse,” Nell said proudly. “Good enough to win the Ascot. Miss Catherine say that be a fine race.”
“His name?” the old woman whispered.
The child shot a quick glance to Kitty, and Kitty gave the first name to come to mind. “Galahad. A real champion.”
“Galahad,” the child repeated. “A horse with a strong heart.”
“It be a fine animal. And this one?” Mrs. Foxmour shuffled the papers.
Tavia crawled closer. “Mine, Grandmother. A princess in a red dress.”
“She be pretty like ye, Child.” A rheumatic finger traced Tavia’s cheek.
“This one Miss Catherine drew, but we be tellin’ her what to add.” Mavis repositioned the papers in her grandmother’s grasp.
The woman’s hands began to tremble, and her nearly translucent eyes seeped with tears. “It be the most beautiful dress I’s ever seed,” she said softly.
Mavis leaned across the woman to kiss the wrinkled cheek. “It be yer dream dress, Grandmother.”
“That be true, Child.” All three girls surrounded the family’s matriarch.
“Here is Hugh, Mama.” Mr. Foxmour held the sleeping child.
She briefly touched the child’s head. “Ye have good children, Arthur.”
“Yes, Mama.”
The younger Mrs. Foxmour hefted the boy from her husband’s arms and motioned the girls to lead the way to the other room.
Kitty watched solemnly as each girl kissed her grandmother before walking proudly from the room. Then Mr. Foxmour moved to sit beside his mother. He took her hand and began to sob his farewells.
Immediately, Mr. Winkler turned Kitty toward the cottage’s main room. “Come,” he whispered softly. “The family needs time to grieve. Mrs. Foxmour is at peace.”
“But,” she began, but Winkler’s arm came about her shoulder.
“We can do nothing else. Let us leave them their dignity,” he cautioned gently.
Kitty nodded her understanding. Slowly, she gathered her belongings and motioned the Pemberley men to retrieve the sleigh from the lean-to.
“Must ye go?” Tavia tugged at Kitty’s skirt.
She bent to kiss the top of the child’s head. “Your family requires time together, Sweetheart. I’ll return in a couple of days with more paper and colors.”
“Yes, Miss,” the child said reluctantly.
Kitty cupped the girl’s chin. “I promise.”
Standing slowly, she allowed Mr. Winkler to place her cloak on her shoulders and then to lead her from the house. Gravely, she waited for the groom to bring the sleigh around. “Shall they suffer? The children?” she said softly when Mr. Winkler stepped beside her.
“These families understand hardship better than the genteel set, but death spares no one its head. Wealth cannot protect a person.”
Kitty turned her head quickly to look at the clergyman’s face. “What can protect us?”
“Nothing,” he said grimly. “All we can do is meet death with God in our hearts.”
“Does it ever get easier?” she asked.
Winkler smiled affectionately. “It was tonight with you by my side.”
Kitty returned his smile. “It was magnificent. Even though the family faced the worst, I adored every moment with the children.”
“And they adored you in return, Miss Catherine, as I knew they would.” He caught Kitty’s hand in his as the sleigh approached. “As do I.” He squeezed her hand gently.
His words sent a rush of warmth between them. “Do you really, Mr. Winkler?”
“More than I have words to explain,” he said sincerely as he helped her to the seat.
Kitty couldn’t stop her heart’s flutter or the shortness of her breath, but neither was a bad feeling. In fact, she quite enjoyed both. “I’m in need of some warm tea,” she said as Mr. Winkler seated himself beside her.
“Do you realize the time, Miss Catherine?” he said teasingly.
Kitty looked about the frozen landscape draped in the moon’s light and its reflected glory. “Not really,” she murmured.
“Nearly one,” he announced in triumph.
“You jest.”
Again, he possessively caught her hand under the blanket. “Not in the least, my dear.”
Kitty allowed herself to lean against his shoulder. “No tea tonight,” she whispered. “What shall I do to warm myself then?”
“I might think of something,” he hoarsely rasped.
“I certainly hope so,” Kitty said on a quick intake of air.
They had arrived at the back door of Pemberley, and Jarvis jumped down from the sleigh. “Mr. Nathan will have retired, Sir. We can use the kitchen door and not disturb the others.”
“Of course.” Winkler hopped down and lifted Kitty to the ground. “It’s most thoughtful of you to consider the household.” He gestured to the groomsman. “Thanks to Mr. Arden for the arrangement and to you for a safe passage.”
“Good night, Sir.” The man touched his hat in respect and drove away.
Jarvis led them through the lower garden and the unlatched kitchen door. “There be candles on the shelf,” the footman said. He caught one when it fell into his hand and moved to light it from the banked fireplace. “Do you need me to see you to your quarters, Sir?”
Winkler took the candle from the footman. “That will not be necessary. I’ll escort Miss Catherine to her chambers. You are excused, Jarvis. Thank you for your attendance.”
“Good night, Sir.” The footman took another candle to light his way.
A stirring from beyond the open interior door told Kitty and Winkler that several of the scullery maids heard them. “Come,” Kitty said as she caught his hand. “You bring the candle.”
Winkler stepped in behind her as they wove their way through the servants’ passage. “Your hands are cold,” he said upon impulse and stopped suddenly.
Kitty turned quickly to face him. “I told you I needed some warm tea,” she said coyly.
Winkler moved closer and slid his free hand about Kitty’s waist. He set the candlestick on the edge of a nearby table before cupping her chin in his palm. “And I promised to find an alternate way to drive the cold away.”
“And do you know of such a miracle?” she teased. Kitty edged a bit closer.
Winkler smiled secretively. “I’m warmer. Are you not, Miss Catherine?” he said in a husky whisper.
Kitty’s eyes sparked with mischief. “Perhaps if I hid my hands under here.” She slid her fingers beneath Mr. Winkler’s jacket. “They might become warmer.” She felt him shiver, and the power of it swelled Kitty’s heart.
Winkler’s fingers rested on her lower back, and he pressed her to him. “Miss Catherine, I would very much like to kiss you if you’d permit it.”
Kitty’s eyes closed in anticipation as she raised her chin.Winkler’s fingers held her in place, and she could feel his breath warm her cheek as his head bent to taste her lips. Kitty’s breathing stopped as she waited for the first touch. His lips brushed hers. Gently. Chastely at first. Then he said, “Open for me, Catherine.” It was nothing more than a breath, but Kitty’s lips parted, and Winkler’s mouth became more demanding. His lips pressed hard against hers as his tongue touched the soft tissue of her mouth. By instinct, Kitty’s arms encircled his waist, and she leaned into him.
Finally,Winkler broke the contact and gasped, “You are a temptation indeed.” He kissed the top of her head before he pulled Kitty into his embrace. “But it’s a most welcomed one.”
Kitty said nothing at first, simply enjoying his closeness. “I did not know it could be that way.” Her voice sounded deeper than she expected.
“I knew it the moment I laid eyes upon you, Catherine. My heart told me so.”
She looked in awe at the man as she edged away from his embrace. “You knew you cared for me that first Sunday when Elizabeth introduced us after services?”
“I know all this is new to you, but you engaged my heart immediately. I looked out over the congregation that morning, and there you sat beside Mrs. Darcy. I couldn’t withdraw my eyes from your countenance. I fear my sermon that day was less than coherent.” His smile teased her good-naturedly.
“It wasn’t your best effort,” Kitty said blandly.
“In my defense, I plead being dumbstruck by your beauty.” Winkler caught her hand and brought it to his lips. His mouth lingered on her skin, and Kitty felt the heat of his touch radiate up her arm.“Come, my dear,” he said and reached for the candle. “You need your rest. We’ll skate together tomorrow, and then I must return to Lambton.”
Kitty followed him into the main hall. “I wish you didn’t have to depart.”
“I have duties to the community, Catherine,” he reminded her. They turned toward the stairs, but another light brought them up short.
Mr. Bennet stepped from Mr. Darcy’s library. “There you are,” he said.
“Papa! What are you doing up?” Kitty rushed forward to take his arm.
“I promised Mrs. Bennet that I would see you safely returned to the house.” Mr. Bennet’s eyes traced both their appearances and found them presentable. “The colonel explained your need to leave so quickly, Mr. Winkler. I hope you were able to give the woman solace.”
“Thorne was so responsive to the family’s needs. I was so proud of him.”
Mr. Bennet’s eyebrow rose in interest. “Mr. Winkler has a true calling, not like my cousin’s, then?”
Kitty wrinkled her nose in disgust. “Mr. Collins lacks empathy for others. Our cousin is very much like his patroness.”
“Miss Catherine was most valuable in entertaining the children.” Mr. Winkler smiled again at Kitty.
Mr. Bennet chuckled. “I’m sure she was. All my girls, except maybe Lydia, can prove themselves worthy, but we’ll discuss Kitty’s value on the morrow. It’s late, and we each should seek our beds.”
“I am tired,” Kitty admitted. She leaned easily against her father’s arm. “Miss Darcy shall have to deal with the guests without me early on. I assume we heard nothing from Lizzy while Mr. Winkler and I were out.”
“No, and your sister’s absence worries me so,” Mr. Bennet confessed.
Kitty guided her father’s weary steps toward the main stairs. “I wouldn’t worry, Papa. If I know Mr. Darcy, he and Elizabeth are waiting out the storm in the best accommodations money can buy.”
Darcy slid in behind his wife on the newly wrapped mat. After a heated discussion, the Josephs had accepted the bed. Now, Darcy spooned Elizabeth’s body. His arm snaked around her rapidly expanding waist, and his fingers gently stroked her abdomen. As she was likely to do, his wife rewarded him by grinding her hips against him.
Slowly, Darcy raised his hand to her back. Gently, he brushed the hair from her cheek and neck before trailing light kisses along her neck’s nape and behind her ear. With a breath’s whisper, Darcy brushed her ear’s lobe with his lips. “I love you.”
Elizabeth’s right arm reached up and behind his neck. Turning her head sharply to the right, she pulled Darcy’s head and mouth toward hers.
He kissed her thoroughly — Darcy’s mouth asking for her devotion and receiving it. “Love me?” he asked as his mouth hovered above her lips.
“Always,” Elizabeth murmured.
Darcy settled once more behind her and pulled Elizabeth to him. He brushed her hair to the side. Then his hand traced heat down her arm. Finally, it splayed across her extended abdomen. Kissing her shoulder, he whispered, “Mine.”
“Ours.” Her hand clasped his. “Our family.”