she sometimes showed a want of manners, she had never displayed a complete disregard for the good opinion of society, as Lydia had. With discreet encouragement on her part, Mr. Walsh might direct his attentions toward her.
Lydia. I wondered how she did, and whether Mr. Darcy had undertaken the journey to Newcastle. It was some distance from Derbyshire, probably a trip of several days. Could Wickham be persuaded to reunite with my sister and raise the child as his own? Since Mr. Darcy married Lizzy, his manners in company had become easier, but he remained a formidable man. Not a man to be denied.
T he weather held, and we set out walking toward the lake around two o’clock.
“I never saw anything prettier than this! Do but look at how picturesque it is!” Mrs. Ashton said to her husband, waving her arm through the air.
“Hmph,” was his only comment.
A footman had gone ahead of us, carrying heavy baskets of food. A second servant wheeled a cart with drinks, old coverlets to spread out on the grass, and toys for David. Clutching my book, I hung back, meandering and hoping to remain solitary. Kitty had her hand on Mr. Walsh’s sleeve, and when I strayed closer, I heard her telling him about her shopping excursion, describing the lace she purchased for her gown and the style of her new bonnet. He laughed and said he would look forward to her wearing it. I slowed down so I would no longer be close enough to catch what they were saying. No reason to overhear what could only aggravate me.
Jane had given David’s nursemaid the afternoon off, and we passed the child around so that Jane and Charles might have their turn at eating. When David squalled in Mr. Ashton’s arms, Henry Walsh took him, handling him with all the ease one might see in a man who had spent time with infants. He walked about, settling David into the curve of his arm, pointing out trees, water, boat, birds, and anything else the child might find diverting. Not very comfortable with infants myself, I admired the skill in others. I had a great yearning to approach him and tell him so, but remembering my vow from that morning, I thought better of it.
“A man who possesses many talents. Do you not agree, Mary?”
“I beg your pardon?” I whirled around at the sound of Mrs. Ashton’s voice. I had no idea how long she’d been watching me watch Mr. Walsh, and my face warmed.
“Henry Walsh. Never tell me you haven’t noticed. A great man for sport, a prosperous landowner, and now we observe his benevolent way with children.”
I laid down the chicken leg I’d been holding suspended halfway to my mouth. “Indeed,” I said, trying to keep my composure.
“Your sister seems quite taken with him, but I sense his interests lie elsewhere. I told my dear John last night, ‘Mr. Walsh has a vast deal of interest in Mary Bennet, do you not think so?’ Of course, being a man, he had observed nothing extraordinary. But be assured, dear creature, I have!”
“I wouldn’t know, ma’am. Amanda,” I said hastily, before she could correct me again.
“Come now, my dear. Don’t be sly with me. You cannot be blind to his preference for you.”
“He is courteous and gentlemanly, that is all. I comprehend nothing more in his behavior toward me.”
“Very well, then. I see I will not get you to own to it. You are too modest, or perhaps too shy to discuss the matter. We shall talk of something else in that case. How fares your sister in Longbourn?”
“You refer to Lydia? We have had no news.”
“How she must long for her husband! A separation at this time would be hard to bear.”
I murmured some meaningless response while casting about for another topic of conversation. “Do you have children, Amanda?” Generally, I would not dream of asking such an intimate question, but desperation trumped good breeding in this instance.
“We have not been so fortunate.” She cast her eyes down, and I could not judge her sincerity. “Will your sister
Lydia. I wondered how she did, and whether Mr. Darcy had undertaken the journey to Newcastle. It was some distance from Derbyshire, probably a trip of several days. Could Wickham be persuaded to reunite with my sister and raise the child as his own? Since Mr. Darcy married Lizzy, his manners in company had become easier, but he remained a formidable man. Not a man to be denied.
T he weather held, and we set out walking toward the lake around two o’clock.
“I never saw anything prettier than this! Do but look at how picturesque it is!” Mrs. Ashton said to her husband, waving her arm through the air.
“Hmph,” was his only comment.
A footman had gone ahead of us, carrying heavy baskets of food. A second servant wheeled a cart with drinks, old coverlets to spread out on the grass, and toys for David. Clutching my book, I hung back, meandering and hoping to remain solitary. Kitty had her hand on Mr. Walsh’s sleeve, and when I strayed closer, I heard her telling him about her shopping excursion, describing the lace she purchased for her gown and the style of her new bonnet. He laughed and said he would look forward to her wearing it. I slowed down so I would no longer be close enough to catch what they were saying. No reason to overhear what could only aggravate me.
Jane had given David’s nursemaid the afternoon off, and we passed the child around so that Jane and Charles might have their turn at eating. When David squalled in Mr. Ashton’s arms, Henry Walsh took him, handling him with all the ease one might see in a man who had spent time with infants. He walked about, settling David into the curve of his arm, pointing out trees, water, boat, birds, and anything else the child might find diverting. Not very comfortable with infants myself, I admired the skill in others. I had a great yearning to approach him and tell him so, but remembering my vow from that morning, I thought better of it.
“A man who possesses many talents. Do you not agree, Mary?”
“I beg your pardon?” I whirled around at the sound of Mrs. Ashton’s voice. I had no idea how long she’d been watching me watch Mr. Walsh, and my face warmed.
“Henry Walsh. Never tell me you haven’t noticed. A great man for sport, a prosperous landowner, and now we observe his benevolent way with children.”
I laid down the chicken leg I’d been holding suspended halfway to my mouth. “Indeed,” I said, trying to keep my composure.
“Your sister seems quite taken with him, but I sense his interests lie elsewhere. I told my dear John last night, ‘Mr. Walsh has a vast deal of interest in Mary Bennet, do you not think so?’ Of course, being a man, he had observed nothing extraordinary. But be assured, dear creature, I have!”
“I wouldn’t know, ma’am. Amanda,” I said hastily, before she could correct me again.
“Come now, my dear. Don’t be sly with me. You cannot be blind to his preference for you.”
“He is courteous and gentlemanly, that is all. I comprehend nothing more in his behavior toward me.”
“Very well, then. I see I will not get you to own to it. You are too modest, or perhaps too shy to discuss the matter. We shall talk of something else in that case. How fares your sister in Longbourn?”
“You refer to Lydia? We have had no news.”
“How she must long for her husband! A separation at this time would be hard to bear.”
I murmured some meaningless response while casting about for another topic of conversation. “Do you have children, Amanda?” Generally, I would not dream of asking such an intimate question, but desperation trumped good breeding in this instance.
“We have not been so fortunate.” She cast her eyes down, and I could not judge her sincerity. “Will your sister
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