39 • Thinking

“I feel sick.”

James looked up, ready to agree at the turn of such a fine day, but William’s pallor induced them to the daybed, where James eased him to his seat. “Do you need a bin?”

While he failed to diagnose an answer, James placed a fine vase on the bedside table, as good an option as any. The impropriety of it focused William’s attention; something between confusion and humour distracting him from the twisting of his mind and the pinching in his gut. William inhaled as his cravat left him, cool air kissing his neck and soon his chest. When James knelt for his boots, William touched his shoulder. “Your hand.”

“I’ll be fine. Cold usually helps me with nausea.”

The cool wood of his study floor seeped through the soles of his stockings as he heard James leave the room. Rotating his shoulders free of his jacket, he unbuttoned his waistcoat whilst James returned with the basin and a change of clothes. William recognized his own dark brown, almost red, linen breeches but otherwise cast his eyes down, giving what little privacy there was for James to bare himself.

A wet hand moved William’s hair off his face, raising his head for a soaked cloth to drip from his forehead. “Sorry. I rushed.”

He blinked against the rivulets passing on either side of his nose. “It’s all right.”

James let him take the fabric, only to pause as William held onto his hands. He moved James’ fingers around the cloth down to his neck, before his eyes wandered up the hanging cuffs of his fresh shirt on James’ arms.

“You don’t need to—”

“I need to,” he hushed, holding the wrist of the burned hand to streak water across his forearm. Careful to not dislodge the protective sheet, he cleaned each line on the knuckles and the valleys of the fingers. Turquoise and lilac veins emerged through the soot. William’s lips found the planes of his skin. His weight fell against James when the arm moved around his shoulders.

“I’m sorry I smell,” he heard through James’ chest.

William’s face turned, nuzzling his belly, the soft and firm hills of his torso. He sighed deeply, “You smell like me.”

James slid his leg alongside William’s thigh, his knee dimpling the mattress as he guided them both to lie on their sides. William moved a pillow between them for the injured hand to have a safe place on which to rest, but not without pulling James’ legs across his own. James closed his eyes against William’s ministrations: the wet cloth moving over his nose and brow, the gentle strokes through his stained hairline.

“I’m sorry I’ve frightened you,” James murmured, but a slight tremor in William’s hand lifted his eyes.

William’s lips parted to speak, but his jaw hung from the great effort of preoccupied thoughts. When the battle against his tears finally lost, he rasped, “I can’t bear…you being harmed.”

“Nothing happened,” James tried to soothe, but William shook his head.

“If…again…let it burn. Just get out. I can’t bear it. Lizzy…”

James pushed his arm beneath William’s neck, drawing him close and peppering kisses over his forehead and hair. “You’ve a long while with me, yet.”

William’s lashes closed, tickling James’ throat as he combed his fingers through the dark tresses. The push of his fingertips massaged the muscles of William’s scalp, moving his breaths into a light slumber.

* * * * * * *

William awoke slowly, aware of his body and eyes aching before his solitude made him sit up abruptly. Something tumbled down his chest: a note James had poised on his sternum.

Kitchen. Papa’s making cake.

Holding his eyes closed during long blinks, William eventually peered with some disorientation around the room, and at the small pile of fresh clothing. He stood with a hand on them, before a sound pricked his ear.

Slowly, so as not to scare her, he opened the study door to see Jane arranging things in the hall closet. Her eyes peeked around the edge of the door. “Hello, William. Papa’s making one of his best cakes. Should be ready soon.”

“Jane, I have…possibly a strange request.”

Her head emerged once more. Having been pulled from a concentrated task, her eyes gazed dreamily while she absorbed his words before she grinned. William’s heart lifted, thinking of James. “I have a talent for those. What do you need?”

“You cut Lizzy’s hair before, correct?”

Her brows lifted slightly. “I did. You want the same? I’d be happy to. Come along and sit here.”

Returning to the study, she moved a chair near the window, in which he sat while she collected a comb, shears, and a towel. “It has gotten quite long, hasn’t it?” she mused as the towel draped over his shoulders.

“Could you bring it close in the back, like James’s? The front need only be trimmed.”

“Are you sure? Your hair is thicker and more voluminous than his. Even a similar arrangement won’t appear the same on you.”

“It curls if it is too short.”

“Really?” she giggled. “Doesn’t sound too bad.”

William’s head leaned with the tugs of the comb. “I will cede to your judgment.”

“Fear not, I never take advantage of the sheers,” she mused, and began. James had left the basin of water behind, which she used to dampen his hair before starting at the nape. William stared at his hands on his lap and the way the late afternoon sunlight warmed his thighs. A loud bird’s song came to his ear, allowing him to realize James had opened the window. William’s eyes gazed at nothing and everything, his mind simply marking James’ impressions upon the room. He liked them, the items out of place; the disruptions of a good person in his life—

“Your neighborhood is lovely,” Jane said after a similar glance outside.

“Thank you.” After a moment, he realized, “Has James spoken with you about going to Derbyshire after this?”

“No, but I’m sure he is looking forward to it. I imagine Derbyshire is even more beautiful going into the summer.”

“I meant of your joining us.”

The scissors whispered behind him before she answered. “No, he hasn’t mentioned that I was invited. Then again, he’s had a great deal of things on his mind.”

“Yes, he has.”

The comb paused in his hair. She touched his shoulder. “Do you want something to drink?”

“I’m all right. You can finish first.”

Her hands moved slowly in the event he changed his mind, but as she pinched the next locks for cutting, she crooned, “Is there anything I ought to know? Anything my brother thinks I can’t be bothered with?”

“He misses you.”

Jane occupied herself with his hair while she contemplated that. “How do you mean?”

“I cannot speak for him, but many young women all but disappear within matrimony.”

“I’m hardly going anywhere. I’ll be in Netherfield…” William felt her hand momentarily rest on the towel before she admitted, “I suppose mama did not respond well to Lydia moving to Newcastle, either.”

“You are not your sister,” he assured, “but you both do share the trait of sharing your partner’s responsibilities. I have seen first hand how your mother does not idly let your father manage Longbourn.”

“No,” Jane agreed, “and Lydia has always had the talent for integrating herself wherever she goes. The more rooted she is somewhere else, the harder it is for her to come back.”

“It is not a far flung notion that you will likewise take part in your husband’s travels.”

“But has it occurred to James that most of those travels are alongside your own?”

The corners of William’s mouth twitched upward. “It is kind of you to imply it, but James has not yet embraced the notion of joining me wherever I go. And I am under no illusion that he can stray from Longbourn for long. I would not have it any other way; I understand his responsibilities, and he understands mine…but we are still navigating.”

His lashes rested on his cheeks as Jane moved to the front. “Does it worry you?”

She observed the pinch between his brows and the focus of his mouth before his lips parted. She had her answer before he spoke. “I understand his advanced longing. It is difficult being apart, despite knowing the necessary happiness that may arise from being so.”

Her frown went unseen, but he heard, “I don’t think he will ever be as happy as when he is with you. He is my brother, and he always will be, but this is a neutral state of being. You are precious to him. You have been for a long time.”

“I have found that one form of love does not negate another. I have no desire to make him forget his natural wanting to share your company; merely to make your separation easier when it becomes necessary. I worry that he feels your plaited lives are being severed from one another. I wish for him to see how your threads are only being woven from longer distances.”

A tender smile moved her lips as she paused to slide a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “You think about him a great deal, don’t you?”

He exhaled slowly. Those dark brows tilted. “Yes.”

* * * * * * *

“How did you propose to mama?”

Mr. Bennet glanced away from the stove with raised brows and stupefaction. “None of you have ever asked. Why do you now?”

James shrugged from his place atop the opposite counter. He sat among the berries and grapes, having been assigned the task of peeling and removing seeds. “What with everyone getting married, it seems we’ve forgotten yours and mama’s story somewhere along the way.”

Mr. Bennet chuckled and rotated with a bowl in hand while he beat egg whites and sugar together. “I’m perfectly fine being forgotten. That is, until young ones need spoiling. Why are you asking me? You witnessed Jane’s proposal yourself.”

James looked back down at the grape from which he was prying seeds. “I, um, rather interrupted it. A whole conversation took place before I encountered the question itself, and by then it was only decorum.”

His father lifted the utensil to estimate the contents’ consistency before he said, “And?”

“I just mean…how do you…promise such a thing? Your life to someone…”

Mr. Bennet set the bowl down to grasp a cup and unwrap the sack of flour. “Well, how do you think?”

“No, no,” James wagged the knife, “that defeats the purpose of asking you and avoiding this headache.”

He laughed and sieved the flour over the eggs before wiping his hands. “If you have already reached the point of struggling, then I’d say there has already been a great deal of thinking—for said, figurative person.”

James rolled his eyes while Mr. Bennet leaned back against the counter with crossed ankles and arms. “I told Jane something recently about the confidence and foolhardy behaviour love can grant us, but that is a lesson she has learned through you. I think the lesson your sister has to impart to you is this: as romantic as it may sound, you are not promising your life to somebody. Nor are they, to you. Your life, your time, and your efforts are always your own. The desire to share all of these with another being, and the collaboration to do so is where the relationship resides.

“To put it simply: if you want somebody, then want them, and if they want you in kind, then allow them that foolishness. Or bravery, whichever it may be. There are certain circumstances which demand thought, which you both must supply, but a truly mutual partnership ought to have the thoughtful occasions widely spaced by ease, don’t you agree?”

James rolled strawberries in his hands. Eventually he nodded, inciting Mr. Bennet to continue his tasks with, “I promised your mother to always be the louse she first met, and for some reason, consistency matched her preference.”

James’ head fell back against a cabinet in his guffaw, the door clattering with his breath. After a time, he progressed to eating the leftover berries while Mr. Bennet squeezed lemon over the pot of boiling jam. Both Bennets’ attention lifted to William descending the stairs, the younger’s spine relaxing as he took in the fresh countenance.

“Wonderful,” Mr. Bennet greeted. “I find something sweet is essential to replenish sore nerves. It is almost finished. Your housekeeper seemed intent to begin restorations immediately. She’s gone to look at curtain fabrics.”

William hummed a sound of acknowledgement as he came to stand beside James’ place on the counter. “You look nice,” the latter cooed. “Jane did a fine job.”

“It was time,” he announced quietly, settling against James with an elbow resting on his thigh. William accepted the bowl of fruit while James explored his nape; his fingers brushed through the higher tresses before his arm drifted down to hold William’s waist.

Jane entered with a wistful smile. “You can smell everything upstairs. Lizzy, the mantle looks like something out of those frightening books we used to pinch from papa’s library, what with how the wax almost looks like stalactites. Ghastly and interesting.”

James chuckled from William’s shoulder. “I’ll need to postpone my meeting with Mr. Marlowe.”

Strawberry seeds popped between William’s teeth before he managed, “I’ll send a card to him. He may be accommodating to meet you instead…” 

The oven door creaked and a tray clattered as Mr. Bennet extracted the cake to set upon the countertop. The towels protecting his hands slapped over his shoulder. “I believe the city is best enjoyed in leisure, just as the countryside is uniquely explored through occupation. Now is the time for leisure. If anyone condemns either of you for being dead to the world, when you were very nearly just so, then they are hardly worth business participation.

“And now I will be most insensitive by willingly burning myself on this jam.”

With a worrisome scolding from Jane and chuckles from the young men, the white cake was sliced, and jam spread upon it. William marveled at its light texture and mild sweetness. “I’ve never had a sponge this light before.”

Mr. Bennet smiled complacently as he moved the cake and pot directly to the table, where sat a dish of what appeared to be salt, herbs, and mysterious round things. “I have been able to explore culinary pursuits otherwise denied smaller homes. Spirits may be poured into the soul instead of the sponge for preservation. A cake never spoils in our house. It never sees the light of a second day, usually.”

“Are these egg yolks?” William asked, giving the dish an experimental shake.

Mr. Bennet’s tone lifted, “Cured egg yolks! You’ve had them, I assume?”

“Rarely. My chef at home quite prefers cheeses.”

“Fair reason, but when a son refuses for the chickens to be cooked, one develops a constant surplus of eggs.”

James, caught in the moment of shoving an indecorously large bite into his mouth, remained unable to defend himself. Mr. Bennet continued, “By the end of the week, these will be dry enough to bounce off your plate. Slice them over your potatoes, legumes, whatever you like. The longer they dry, the more they will behave like a crumbling cheese. I mix sugar with the salt for versatility.”

“When mama allows him,” Jane laughed. “Papa’s aptitude for sugar is only rivaled by Jamie’s.”

William gazed around the table while her brother made a rebuttal and Mr. Bennet made a recollection of some forgotten dish. Jane admitted defeat over such a delicious occasion while James bloomed back to life between his father and sister—

Mr. Bennet interrupted his thoughts with, “William, if it came between cassoulet or coq au vin, which would it be?”

“My sister and I do not drink wine often enough to properly enjoy coq au vin. Cassoulet is delicious but I enjoy savoury soufflés.”

James gaped at him. “Savoury soufflés?” Then he turned to Jane. “Can’t you have savoury soufflés at your wedding?”

“And have the party’s breath smelling of onions?” she exclaimed.