"My dear, you are imagining things."
"I want you to be happy, Papa. You deserve to be happy."
"I am completely and utterly happy," he assured her, moving the coverlets and pillows to help her get situated once more. Leaning down to kiss her forehead, he continued, "Besides, I am much too distracted by the absurdities of my daughter to have time or patience for any other endeavor."
"But you mean to marry me off as soon as possible, and then you will be alone."
"Do not borrow trouble for tomorrow, Kitten," he advised, citing a familiar verse, "for tomorrow will have troubles of its own."
"I shall have much sweeter dreams now, Papa, I thank you," she called to his departing figure, but she smiled to hear his responsive chuckle.
She was a clever girl, that daughter of his. When she spoke of Mrs. Collins' 'particular smile,' his mind had instantly drawn up the image.
Mr. Kelly lay awake for a time in his bed, recalling those painful and lonely days of illness, the expectation of an even worse convalescence in the country, and the very real warmth and gratitude he had felt for the little girl who spent her free moments seeing to his entertainment and comfort. In truth, he had been the one to create many of the games or, at least, to suggest them, but she had been a willing companion, eager and bright with optimism.
Upon his return home and the subsequent years spent at university, he had often recalled the girl, his little Mouse, and wondered what had become of her. It was an easy thing to determine her age, for he knew well the year of his illness and convalescence, but he had always supposed her to be successfully ticking off the usual stages of progress laid out for young ladies.
His aunt and uncle had not stayed long in Meryton, so he had really no excuse to venture there again, and young men of no relation certainly could not write to little girls growing into young ladies. His hands had been tied, and he had eventually married unwisely, his head being turned by the Belle of the Season. How was he to know her calculations?
His brother, the eldest Kelly son, already having inherited the title, had married his childhood sweetheart, but year upon year passed with no child being born, and his wife Hetta had died unexpectedly. Pears was more than thirteen years his junior but was next in line to inherit when Clarice Cannon lay siege to his attentions. He had successfully spurned many fashionable young ladies and their scheming mothers, but Clarice had proven to be most effective in her use of feminine wiles.
Their daughter, Kate Kelly, was born less than two years after their marriage, but his brother, the despondent Lord Spalding, surprised everyone by finding love yet again. His second marriage was fruitful, presenting the estate with not one, but two healthy sons.
Clarice had been distraught, blaming an unjust Fate and whoever else happened to walk by. In the end, she sought solace in an elderly duke who had an appreciation for fair damsels in distress, and Pears was left with a precocious six-year-old. How ironic that yet another six-year-old girl would be in place to help him through great difficulty! It was not that he missed his wife - quite the reverse! It had not taken long in the marriage to discover his error, but he was committed to the union. It was the embarrassment of the circumstances, her complete disdain for the feelings of any other, and the expectation that he would make everything right while she lived in peace.
His fists clenched involuntarily at the recollection of her farewell. Could another such selfish creature exist? Mr. Kelly shut the door on those memories, angry for having entertained them so long, and resolutely blew out the candle at his bedside.
Chapter 3
""Do not feel the need to present yourself here every morning on my account," Charlotte assured her friend and hostess, Elizabeth Darcy, the following morning.
"What else have I to do, pray?" Lizzy returned. "Sleep eludes me. I am allowed up and down the stairs only so many times in a day, any venture out of doors is immediately reported to my husband, and I have no patience for the gentler diversions of our sex. All I can do is eat, and even that costs me considerable discomfort."
"Do you…," began Charlotte, lowering her voice and glancing discreetly around the empty room, "Do you expect another set of twins?"
Elizabeth's eyes showed signs of fatigue, but they were still thought to be incredibly fine.
"With still a month to go and already looming large, I had better have more than one in there, else I shall have to practice the strictest of dietary economies as well as to walk the breadth of the Pemberley grounds back and forth for a year without rest in order to return to any state of fitness."
A rare giggle escaped Charlotte as she envisioned the lady of Pemberley parading past the window, regardless of weather, with her entourage of well-meaning and loyal staff.
"But it is only your waistline that is… swollen," Charlotte attempted to argue in defense. "The rest of you is skin and bone!"
"It is an evil trick," Lizzy whispered conspiratorially. "The babes suck our very lives from us mothers, make a great bother to rid themselves of our mortal coil, and then leave us deflated and hideous. The excess redistributes itself all around our bodies until the only thing decent to wear is the bedsheet," she elaborated, while both ladies were nearly incapacitated with mirth. "We are left with a curtain tie for a belt."
On the heels of that conversation, Mr. Kelly entered the breakfast parlor, followed closely by Mr. Darcy. Both were enchanted to find the ladies in such a rare state of unregulated merriment and, at first, determined to find out the cause. It took but one phrase, 'the trials of motherhood' accompanied by a gesture - Mrs. Darcy's hand to her expanding midsection - for the men to have done and accept that they might never achieve success in understanding the true nature of women.
The men comforted themselves at the sideboard, loading their plates with steaks, hams, and breads. A variety of fruits served as an edible decoration at the center of the table, and a jar of Charlotte's fig preserves sat proudly beside the dish of butter.
"You must try some, Kelly," Darcy told his friend, pointing to the preserves. "Her fig is my favorite of all her jams and jellies. She makes it herself. Good morning, ladies." Without pausing for a response or to ensure his guest had followed his advice, Darcy turned to his wife and left the others to fend for themselves for a time.
"Did you not sleep well?" Charlotte asked Mr. Kelly. She had long finished her toast and egg and was at leisure to offer a bit of conversation.
"Nothing a cup or two of tea cannot remedy," Mr. Kelly replied optimistically. Peering into her cup, he grimaced. "What atrocity is that?"
"Coffee," Charlotte replied in amusement. "Joseph, that is, Mr. Albright, has convinced me of the superior efficacy of coffee over tea in the morning. I resolutely hold to our tea traditions in the afternoon, but I do find myself waking in the morning, fixated upon the idea of a piping hot cup of coffee."
"Mr. Albright? He prefers coffee over tea?”
Circumspectly choosing the lesser evil for explanation, Charlotte answered. "Mr. Albright is the clergyman who took the position after my husband's demise. He is an American."
"With you remaining there," he said. "Are none of your relatives in a situation to offer you refuge?"
Again, choosing to ignore the insinuations of judgment, Charlotte replied. "Mr. Albright is young, and I was in a position to be able to be of particular use to him. I run the house the same way I did before my husband died, and I visit in the parish. He employs a housekeeper, maid, and cook, and I enjoy being useful by serving as the lady of the house."
She took a deep breath. "The only one of my siblings whom I can tolerate for any length of time is Maria, and should I take up residence at her home, I should soon find myself in the positions of nanny, governess, tutor, housekeeper, and, very likely, cook. So," she said with a significant look, "I choose to stay where life is less complicated."