My Virtual Darcy 🏆 2021 Wattys Shortlister

5 - Of Marriage and Children

When she yawned and rubbed her nose with her chubby little fists, I glanced at her brother to see if he was dozing off too. Oh, shoot. Jarod was fast asleep on the couch, his glasses askew, and his fingers hanging loosely around my Bridge case.

I switched off the television and pocketed my device, before scooping up Grace and sidling upstairs to her bedroom. There, I laid her down on the sleep sack, and by the time I finished fastening all the buttons, she was drowsing, the shadow of a smile playing on her pinkish lips.

Lifting a four-year-old boy up was another matter. I tried three different positions, grunting as his weight prevented me straightening myself up. In the meantime, the Sleeping Beauty did not move a hair, his blissful expression taunting me and my lack of strength. I ended up rolling him from the sofa and onto my shoulder like a potato sack.

Once on his bed, he curled up, his eyes shut but his hand patting the mattress in search of something. I grabbed the grey bunny perched atop his nightstand, and with a happy sigh, Jarod wrapped his arms around the fluffy plush.

I tiptoed to the study, where I knew I would find a comfy office chair to spend the remaining naptime.

Before lunch, I had skimmed through Chapter Five, where the Lucases debriefed the Meryton assembly at Longbourn, and grinned when Lizzy promised she would never dance with Darcy. Then, I became better acquainted with Mr. Bingley's party, always keeping a distance from my offender, not even deigning to spare a glance at his contemptuous face. I paused while discussing with Charlotte about Jane's budding romance, and hurried to this baby-sitting session.

I held my breath and pricked up my ears. Jarod and Grace were snoring in their respective bedrooms, and should be out for at least two hours, according to our previous babysitting sessions. The Bridge called for me, and I put it on with a sigh, knowing that Charlotte's opinion on marriage would sadden me.

The vibrant peacock blue walls toned down to the timid greenery of Longbourn's shrubbery. Miss Lucas and I linked arms, and strolled the gravel walk that led to the hermitage. I readjusted my spencer coat to better shield me from the breeze, startled by the weather difference between the Indian summer Quebec was enjoying and this crisp English morning.

Charlotte exhaled, and faced me with a worried smile. "But though Bingley and Jane meet tolerably often, it is never for many hours together; and, as they always see each other in large mixed parties, it is impossible that every moment should be employed in conversing together. Jane should therefore make the most of every half-hour in which she can command his attention. When she is secure of him, there will be more leisure for falling in love as much as she chooses."

I frowned at her suggestion. How could Jane let fear force her affection? "Your plan is a good one where nothing is in question but the desire of being well married, and if I were determined to get a rich husband, or any husband, I dare say I should adopt it."

A smirk spread on my friend's face, perhaps reflecting her incredulity that such an event should take place anytime soon. With conviction, I went on.

"But these are not Jane's feelings; she is not acting by design. As yet, she cannot even be certain of the degree of her own regard nor of its reasonableness. She has known him only a fortnight. She danced four dances with him at Meryton; she saw him one morning at his own house, and has since dined with him in company four times. This is not quite enough to make her understand his character."

A gust of wind agitated the oaks above us, sprinkling fallen leaves onto our hats. While I helped Charlotte with those that held to her bonnet and to the cap beneath, she replied, "Not as you represent it. Had she merely dined with him, she might only have discovered whether he had a good appetite; but you must remember that four evenings have also been spent together--and four evenings may do a great deal."

Though she was clearly taller, she motioned for me to bend down. While she removed leaf brittles from my hat, I pondered my answer. "Yes; these four evenings have enabled them to ascertain that they both like Vingt-un better than Commerce; but with respect to any other leading characteristic, I do not imagine that much has been unfolded."

I knew that Jane's demure composure would lead Darcy to prevent Bingley from proposing, but I held my ground: my elder sister had nothing to regret and she should not throw herself in a gentleman's arms simply to secure his affection and fortune.

"Well, I wish Jane success with all my heart; and if she were married to him to-morrow, I should think she had as good a chance of happiness as if she were to be studying his character for a twelvemonth. Happiness in marriage is entirely a matter of chance. If the dispositions of the parties are ever so well known to each other or ever so similar beforehand, it does not advance their felicity in the least. They always continue to grow sufficiently unlike afterwards to have their share of vexation; and it is better to know as little as possible of the defects of the person with whom you are to pass your life."

I clenched my jaws to refrain from blurting out that the Bennets were a blatant example of mismatched union. Had Mr. Bennet spent a little more time discussing with and not admiring his future wife, he would have avoided decades of regret.

"You make me laugh, Charlotte; but it is not sound. You know it is not sound, and that you would never act in this way yourself."

I scrutinised her face, looking for sadness, humour, shame, anything that could explain her odd take on marriage. Before I could form an opinion, little fingers wrapped around my wrist.

The shrubbery and Miss Lucas disintegrated in a myriad of scintillating pixels, revealing the study of Auntie Chantrea's house.

"Leah?" Jarod's narrowed eyes blinked in the still brightly lit room. His hand was on my wrist, and the other one held his bunny by a paw. His rosy cheeks were wrinkled by the sheets, and his dark brown hair was tousled by sleep. I resisted the urge to smooch him.

A glance at my phone confirmed he had slept for a half of an hour. I slid down the chair and wrapped him in my arms. "What's wrong, sweetie?"

"I'm not tired anymore," he muttered, burying his face in my neck and stifling a yawn.

Guilt washed over me. The poor chap woke up early because I forgot to switch off the television in time. "Really? Well, I am. Do you mind if I take a nap in your bed?"

He grumbled in assent, his head resting heavily on my shoulder. I took his plush's free paw and led them back to the bedroom. We nestled ourselves against the pillows, with the Paw Patrol quilt warming up our legs. I kissed his forehead, and drew circles on his back.

"Can you sing Little Peter Rabbit, please?" he mumbled, tightening his embrace on Mister Bunny.

I obeyed, whispering the list of the many bugs landing on Peter's muzzle. Jarod twiddled his thumbs in rhythm on the plush's tummy.

When the nursery rhyme neared its end, he stated, his voice so low I had to stop singing to hear it. "I'm glad you're babysitting us, and not Amy."

"Why so?" I furrowed my brows, puzzled by his assertion.

Jarod turned his back to me and dived under the thick duvet with his lovie. "She sings out of tune."