Little feet scuttled downstairs, whispers and titters filtering from behind the entrance door after I rang the doorbell at Auntie Chantrea's. A grin spread on my face while I waited for an adult to welcome me in.
"Hello!" Jarod's toothless smile shone brightly at me when his mother opened. "You're pretty," he added, fluffing my skirt.
"Aww, thank you, sweetie." I smooched him on the forehead, straightening his Paw Patrol T-shirt, and pinched his cheeks until he protested and dashed to hide in the living room.
"Hello, Auntie." I hugged her, the corners of my mouth lifting up at the sight of the hair rollers on her head.
She ushered me in and closed the door. "Hi, Leah. Sorry, I'm running late. Grace offered me a broccoli puree face and hair mask during lunch."
"Well, hello, little scallywag," I cooed, extending a hand to help the baby get on her feet. She accepted it, and wobbled proudly in my arms, her pudgy fingers clutching at my neckline.
Grace tugged at my shoulders, asking for a hug, a kiss, any form of attention. Auntie Chantrea and I complied, overwhelming her with tickles and peek-a-boos, until Jarod darted back in the hallway, claiming his share of affection.
The four of us trotted to the living room, our pace matching the baby's, who was swaying yet managing not to fall.
"Thank you so much for babysitting the rascals this afternoon," Uncle Wade greeted me.
While I sat the children in front of the television, Auntie and Uncle ran upstairs to finish preparing. Jarod grabbed the remote and hid it under a cushion, his gaze drilled on his favourite TV show.
"Jarod..." I raised an amused brow. "Did you check with your little sister if she was okay with your choice of cartoon?"
"See the pups, Gracie?" he asked, ignoring my plea. "You like the Paw Patrol, don't you?"
"Paw," Gracie beamed, unaware of the trap her big brother was laying in front of her.
"Are you happy watching puppies with me?"
Grace paused, her nose wrinkling as she pondered, before answering, "No."
I snorted at my cousin's disappointed face, and picked up the remote. After ten seconds of grumbling, Jarod joined us to select a program that would suit them both.
Mickey Mouse and his friends were calling Toodles for the umptieth time when Uncle and Auntie galloped down the stairs with their coats.
"The cinema complex is ten minutes away, and the movie is about two hours long. We should be back around six. Be nice to your cousin, kids." Auntie took the car keys and strode to her red sedan.
"Don't forget to switch off the television at least thirty minutes before the nap; otherwise, they might have trouble sleeping. Apple slices and yoghurt await them in the fridge for snack time." Uncle Wade kissed his children's cheeks while they waggled on the ending theme.
"Noted," I confirmed as I danced to The Hot Dog Song along with my cousins.
Afterwards, I took Grace in my arms, and with her brother, we waved the parents goodbye from the porch.
"Do you have your Bridge? Can I try it?" Jarod asked, the moment their car backed off in the alley.
"I have it with me, but I cannot lend it to you, sweetie. Once activated, it will only react to its owner." My heart melted at his adorable pout. "But you can hold its case while we watch TV, if you want."
I grinned as he accepted the little box with awe and reverence, and slowly walked back to the sofa.
Grace's attention span for Mickey Mouse's adventures having already been spent, we both settled on the rug with wooden blocks. I built columns, walls, and castles with them. She drooled at my dexterity, her admirative eyes following my hands and widening at yet another brick stacked without the whole structure tumbling down.
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."