Manneville gestured toward Southland. “Just helping the lieutenant with a task.” He grinned insolently.

“And that task would be?” Caroline drew out the words.

“Filling a birdbath, Miss Bingley,” Southland announced a bit tersely.

“The birdbath?” Georgiana squealed. “What a wonderful idea, but how did you know?”

“The colonel, Miss Darcy. It was his idea,” Southland explained.

Mrs. Bennet asked, “What is special about a birdbath?”

“It’s very much like a small pond, Mama,” Kitty said. “Miss Darcy and I sat beside the water last summer and enjoyed the coolness.”

“Then why must it be filled if it’s a pond? I don’t understand,” Mrs. Bennet puzzled.

Georgiana answered, “My father took an earlier structure and created a man-made pool just right for a lady to go wading or for small children to play in the water. During the winter months it’s perfect for ice skating.”

Kitty became more excited.“Ice skating. I love to skate, but we’ve so few opportunities in Hertfordshire. Please say we’ll skate soon.”

“I assume that was the colonel’s thought — an afternoon of skating — but it’ll be tomorrow before the water’s frozen solid enough to support our weight.”

“At least, with the birdbath’s shallowness, no one shall take a dunking,” Georgiana assured. “We shan’t keep you gentlemen any longer. I appreciate your efforts on our behalf.” She smiled happily at them. “I’ll seek my cousin and express my gratitude for his thoughtfulness.”



As he began another chapter of the novel, Darcy kept an eye on his wife. Elizabeth had constructed a makeshift bed, using the two mats given last evening to the Josephs. He knew from the tightness in her shoulder muscles that she didn’t sleep, but he was happy that she’d considered the child she carried — their child — in her decisions.

Every nerve in his body remained alert — the need to protect her always paramount. Darcy wondered if this time God would answer their prayers. He needed an heir, but he would welcome a daughter, especially if she resembled her mother. More importantly, he sensed that Elizabeth wouldn’t feel complete without the child, and she would never achieve the satisfaction he’d found in their marriage.

He didn’t know how long he’d been reading aloud — long enough for his throat to feel raspy — long enough for Mr. Joseph to doze off. At least, one of the Josephs had found a peaceful repose. Between Mrs. Joseph’s repetitive labor pains and her excitement over the story, she was quite active.

“Is this not the most intriguing story you’ve ever heard, Mr. Darcy?” Mrs. Joseph asked in a stage whisper. Fluffing her own pillows, she adjusted her position.

Darcy smiled easily. “It is quite different from my usual fare,” he said softly. “Yet, I find myself wondering of the heroine’s fate, as surely as I might when reading Shakespeare or other great writers.”

“You’re a poor liar,” Mary continued to whisper. “You, Sir, are a literature snob. I’ve seen your type before,” she teasingly challenged.

Darcy thought it amusing that Mrs. Joseph possessed a sharp wit while her husband seemed so solemn and prideful. In some ways, they reflected what people would say about him and Elizabeth. With their mates both resting, Darcy kept his voice low. “I am no such thing,” he protested. “I’m a very eclectic reader.”

“Have you read many female writers?”

“Unfortunately, I’ve not, but that’s not because of their lack of ability, which is what you wish to imply, Mrs. Joseph. Women have been denied a voice until recently. I’ve read several works by Charlotte Smith, as well as her male counterparts. My late father thought it important that I become aware of political views. Smith, for example, speaks to the renewal of the land in her Old Manor House and the bleakness of England’s history in Marchmont.”

“I’m impressed, Mr. Darcy,” the lady said mockingly.

Darcy laughed lightly. “I’ve also read my share of books dealing with individual ambition and social gratification; but I prefer Defoe’s ideas on trade in The Complete English Tradesman or even his The True-Born Englishman.”

“Give it up, Mrs. Joseph.” Elizabeth appeared beside her husband. “You shan’t find a man more well read than my husband. I’d thought when I left my father’s house for my husband’s that I might leave behind the man who’d hold that title. Little did I know of Pemberley’s extensive library.” She rested her hand on Darcy’s shoulder, and he reached for her fingers.

“Is it truly delightful, Mrs. Darcy?” Mary’s eyebrow rose in interest.

“It ought to be good,” Darcy replied; “It has been the work of many generations.”

Elizabeth added, “And then you have added so much to it yourself — you are always buying books.” They spoke softly so as not to wake Mr. Joseph, but they no longer whispered.

“I cannot comprehend the neglect of a family library in such days as these.” Darcy easily imagined the aforementioned Mr. Bennet ensconced in the Pemberley library as they spoke.

Before they could continue their conversation, Mary grimaced and tightened her grip on the bed linens. Elizabeth coaxed,“Breathe through it. Do not hold your breath.” She watched the woman’s posture relax as the pain passed. “How close are the spasms?”

A bit breathless, Mary gasped, “I’ve no idea.”

“Six minutes,” Darcy said flatly.

Elizabeth smiled sweetly at she dabbed Mary’s face with a cool, damp cloth. “Thank you, Fitzwilliam. I knew you wouldn’t fail to take note.”

He said in justification, “You said it was important, Elizabeth.” He would understand what Mrs. Joseph suffered in order to better attend Elizabeth later on.

“As it is, Mr. Darcy.” She pursed her lips in an air kiss that instantly eased his defenses. “We’re getting close.” Elizabeth noted Mr. Joseph’s stirring from his nap. “No more holding back, Mary: Your husband’s composure is no longer your concern. I want you to concentrate on nothing but the safe delivery of your child. If you wish to scream, then do so. If you wish to bury your face in a pillow, it’s your prerogative. We’ll forgive any of your shortcomings.”

“What if I’ve no shortcomings, Mrs. Darcy?” Mary taunted.

“Then you’ve no need of me,” Elizabeth declared.



“You expect me to go over Darcy’s head and arrange a Season for Georgiana?” the colonel asked incredulously. He had retreated to Darcy’s study to write and frank letters to his parents and to his commanding officer. In reality, Edward had purposely withdrawn not only to complete his correspondence, but also to have a few minutes to consider the many questions that plagued him. First, he didn’t understand why he’d received orders to escort Manneville to London. Something didn’t add up, and despite doing as instructed, Edward couldn’t help but wonder if the American was all he claimed to be. In the war’s midst, it didn’t make sense to cater to a lone American and to grant the man immunity. Of course, it wasn’t his realm to question his superiors, but as he was to ease Manneville’s way into polite society, it bothered Edward exceedingly. Plus, he had now introduced Manneville to his family and acquaintances, and the colonel didn’t appreciate putting his loved ones in the American’s notice. Nothing about the mission had permitted him a solid night’s sleep. He simply had to trust that the British government truly understood what they had asked of him.