She was...she was in every way amazing.
He was rudely brought back to the present when his cousin clapped him on the shoulder. “Well done, Darcy.”
It was the first time he blushed that day. The second time happened in the carriage.
Darcy was amazed at Elizabeth’s eagerness to engage him in conversation on a variety of subjects. An example occurred when they were not even one mile from her family’s estate.
“William, would you share with me your earliest memories?”
“Why do you ask?” He could not imagine how that unimportant reflection could be important to her as mistress of their homes or once she was alone.
“My husband, I hope, as do you, to be with child soon. When he or she asks about you, I want to share intimate details that would mean little to those outside of our family. But they would be important to us. Therefore, it stands to reason that I want to know all that I can about you. As well, I have come to respect you very much.”
“You seem surprised,” he teased.
“Hah! Do not begin to tell me that your opinion of me has not also changed for I simply would not believe you.” Elizabeth smiled. “No, in all seriousness, when you first offered marriage to me, if I thought of you at all, it was rather poorly. One accomplishment from spending so much of our days together has been understanding why you respond as you do.”
“What do you mean?” His question was sincere. She was correct. His opinion of her had changed—for the better, despite already being good from the start.
Her index finger rested on her chin as she considered how best to reply. “Allow me to provide you with an example.” Smoothing a wrinkle from her skirt, she began, “On the day your Aunt Helen visited me at Darcy House, she told me how the ladies of society and their mothers hunted you down like prey in an effort to entangle you into marriage. First and foremost amongst those grasping females, she said, was your aunt Catherine and cousin Anne. Then she explained how you refused to dance and stood aloof out of self-protection. When I compared this to your response at the Meryton assembly when Mr. Bingley attempted to coerce you to dance with young ladies you barely knew, I understood that your character was not shy or timid. You were weary of the chase, were you not?”
“Yes,” Darcy replied, amazed at her thought process. “What else?”
“Another example?” She waited for his nod, then added, “Very well. Another example is the difference, from the beginning, in the way you acted when around Miss Bingley and the way you spoke with me.”
“You noticed a difference?” For some reason, that embarrassed Darcy. Why that was so he had not a clue. Wait! No, that was an untruth. He knew why her comment caught him off guard. He had no respect for Miss Caroline Bingley, nor had he ever felt a physical attraction to her. Quite unlike how he felt when around Elizabeth.
For he had to admit that once he truly looked at Elizabeth and watched her behavior with others, he felt a pull toward her that was more than merely animalistic. She intrigued him. Each minute with her stirred him body and soul. In fact, his anticipation of their wedding night, along with the nights to come, burned inside of him.
Does she feel the same?
Shaking off the thought and the heat that was slowly rising under his collar, Darcy finally gave her the information she sought.
“My earliest memory was of telling my father that when I grew up, I wanted to marry my mother.”
He delighted as her mouth dropped open, her shoulders began to shake, and her laughter filled the carriage.
“You did not!” Elizabeth insisted.
“I most certainly did.” Darcy chuckled. “At the ripe age of five years old, I considered myself a connoisseur of fine horseflesh, enchanting stories, apple tarts, and women.” Darcy snorted at her smirk. Then he asked, “What about you? What is your earliest memory?”
“Ah, you turn the tables upon me. Well, I do not fear to tell you my first memory because I was safely ensconced in my father’s study. He was reading aloud Jonathan Swift’s Travels into Several Remote Nations of the World. In Four Parts. By Lemuel Gulliver, First a Surgeon, and then a Captain of Several Ships. As I recall, I could not decide if I wanted to be Gulliver or a Lilliputian. In the way of young children, I decided the best thing to do was to be every character in the book. I would dream about sailing to distant lands to meet all sorts of people.”
“I was exactly the same,” Darcy admitted. “Even during my waking hours, I yearned to fight pirates, meet cannibals, and traverse the seas like Robinson Crusoe. I was also influenced by Gulliver’s Travels. My father did the same as yours; he read those books to me several times. It was not until years later that I realized he enjoyed them as much as I. Was he reading them for me? Or for him?”
Merriment can be a wonderful thing when shared between close friends. As his wife continued to find amusement in his memory, Darcy found himself laughing along with her. The next several hours passed quickly as they shared joys and sorrows, pleasures and pain. By the time they reached their final stop for the night, they were relaxed in each other’s company far more than they had ever been before.
Once they had removed the dust of the road and quenched their hunger and thirst, it seemed natural to arrange to meet her in her chambers as soon as she was readied for bed.
Good Lord! He was eager. Was she?
As he waited to knock on her door, he considered his vow not to fall in love with her. He needed to exercise caution. The respect she had earned from him the past fortnight was genuine. Darcy knew how easily deep regard could transform into affection. From there, it was a short path to the sort of love he had always dreamed of having. However, with his circumstances, he needed to safeguard his heart or the pain of leaving her would be more than he could bear.
An hour later, as they had arranged, he entered her chamber. The bedclothes had been turned down in readiness for them. Elizabeth’s robe and gown were thick cotton, which was wise in the early November chill. Her feet were bare.
Determined that their joining would be solely a physical reaction to the need for an heir, Darcy approached her with only the mechanics of the act in mind.
One kiss was all it took for his inhibitions to fly out the window. By the next morning, he knew he was in deep trouble. All their exchanged ideas, dreams, and concerns had culminated in a relationship bound together as tightly as possible.
Elizabeth had claimed his mind soon after he met her. She had claimed his body the night before. Sometime during the night, she captured his heart. He had done the unthinkable—he had fallen in love with his wife.
Chapter 7
Elizabeth’s mother had told her what to expect on her wedding night. Could a woman have been more wrong? Nothing could have prepared Elizabeth for the onslaught of emotions that overwhelmed her.
As dawn ascended the next morning, Elizabeth observed her husband in the muted light glowing through the thin curtain of the east-facing window. He was remarkably handsome with dark hair and green eyes, long eyelashes, and well-shaped brows. His nose was the perfect size for his face. His chin was squared at the bottom.
Should they have a son resulting from their activities, she hoped he looked exactly like his father. She wanted him to be a man of duty and honor just like Darcy. Mostly, Elizabeth yearned to have a son who was attentive to others—just like...
What was happening? Where was the ire that he had raised in her at the Meryton assembly? Where was her anger as Darcy had overlooked each of her neighbors and friends as being too far below him in rank?
You silly goose! Elizabeth scoffed at her foolishness. Had not he revealed his true self to her repeatedly since the evening she met him in the library when she first learned of his illness? Of course, he had. Her clinging to her stubborn first opinion was ridiculous. And it was not fair to either of them.
Could she love him? Admitting the truth to herself, she knew the possibility of completely losing her heart to him was looming. Her reasoning for protecting that
vital organ was sound. She would not fall in love with her husband. She refused to fall in love with him. Perhaps if she chanted that to herself enough, she might even come to believe it was true.
Four days later, they arrived at Pemberley.
His wife’s response when she first spotted Pemberley was one that he would never forget. Her mouth gaped as her lovely head moved from side to side.
“All of this...” she muttered.
“Yes, my dear, of all of this you are mistress.” Darcy could not contain his smile when she turned her face, full of wonder, toward him. “Have no fear, Elizabeth. You will have me to aid you for as long as I am able. Mrs. Reynolds has served Pemberley for almost a quarter century. My steward is a trustworthy man. Additionally, I spoke with Richard at length of my...my circumstance. Should I not survive...ah, should I not survive long, he agreed to sell his commission and move to Derbyshire. I recommended he live in the Dower House as long as he is needed.”
“How kind of him,” Elizabeth murmured disconsolately.
He sensed her discomfort when her gaze dropped to the hands twisting on her lap.
“Yes, he is a good and reliable man.” Darcy placed his finger under her chin. “Elizabeth, pray look at me.”
He completely understood her hesitation. The necessary conversation needed done despite the fact that they were still sitting inside his carriage about a mile from the main house. That knowledge did nothing to ease either of their discomfort.
“My wife, I will not lie to you, nor will I hide anything from you.” He sighed when her gaze met his. He was startled to note the tears pooling at the corners of her eyes. Grabbing his handkerchief from his pocket, he tucked it between her fingers. “I have told Richard all with absolute confidence in his ability to keep the information to himself. I also suggested... Oh, Lord. This is much harder than I had thought.” He gulped before continuing. “I suggested the two of you marry after I am gone. Richard would be a good husband and father. I...I... Elizabeth, I needed to know you would not be alone once I am gone. I pray you forgive me.”
She tugged and ripped at the ribbons holding her bonnet, then flung it across the carriage. Tucking her face into the side of his neck, her hands grabbed at his heavy coat.
“I am sorry, Elizabeth,” he murmured into her hair. “This is not the homecoming I planned.” His arms encircled her, pulling her closer. “I am not the sort of man who can leave things to happenstance if I have the means to offer my protection. I desperately want you to be happy here, my bride. I cannot tolerate the idea of spending what little time we have worrying about what will become of you. I cannot. I need to know you will be cared for as someone’s highest priority.”
“William,” she whispered through her tears, “where you are pragmatic, I brim with optimism. Since we have been cautious about what you have eaten, you have improved in your health, have you not?” Elizabeth pulled back far enough that her face was inches from his. “You may plan for the future as you will, but I refuse to accept that you will not be my husband in a year’s time, or two or three or many more years’ time. I refuse!”
The fierceness of her expression warmed his heart. She was correct. Other than after their meal with the Fitzwilliams, he had not coughed or cast up blood since leaving Netherfield Park. The painful burning in his chest was less frequent, and he was able to lay prone in bed without feeling as if his insides were a volcano about to erupt.
Nevertheless, at first, his father had periods of days where he felt his normal self. This lasted several months. George Darcy’s downturn came swiftly without ceasing. Twelve months later, he was gone.
Crushing Elizabeth to him, he kissed her as if his life depended on her caress. She returned his embrace with fervor.
Thus, it was a rumpled couple who entered his ancestral home.
Darcy enjoyed seeing her gaze rove over the furnishings and the decor. When his wife met with his housekeeper to review the household accounts and menus, she had returned to him with copious notes and scribbles.
Elizabeth was as diligent in gaining the housekeeper’s assistance as she had been at Darcy House. By the time they welcomed the first snow of the season, her journal pages were almost full. As the year 1811 came to a close, the book had been placed on the library shelf that held Lady Anne Darcy’s journals. Darcy could not believe the joy he felt at seeing his wife’s work next to his mother’s.
This was not his only joy.
Elizabeth’s oversight of his meals and drink was as strict as Richard was with his regiment. She permitted no deviation from what Darcy had tolerated well at Longbourn. Initially, Cook balked at losing control of his kitchen. When Elizabeth explained that the funds saved would be designated for having expensive out-of-season fruit shipped from the warmer southern climes, Cook relented.
Almost two months after their arrival, a crate of mushy, bruised bananas that had originated somewhere in the Caribbean arrived at Pemberley. Darcy favored the taste when they were added to the gruel that Elizabeth determined he needed each morning. When Cook inserted the fruit into the breads he served with tea, Darcy noticed a distinct reduction in the simmering fire that still lingered in his chest. When the bananas were gone, he learned that his wife had Cook order more.
His greatest joy was the time they spent alone in her chamber. It was their opportunity to express their tender feelings, then discuss their day’s activities, their plans for the next day, and their concerns. Each time Elizabeth attempted to insert her hopes and dreams for the future, Darcy asked her not to allow the conversation to go in that direction. What was a positive for her was a source of agony for him. It was not that she was cruel—not at all. The difference in her nature and his was the only cause of strife between themselves.
“My husband, we were wed three months ago. I do not know if you are aware, but I have not had to deny you since our second week of marriage.” Her smile was radiant.
Hope built in his chest until it overflowed. “Are you saying...do you mean...are you...are we...?”
She giggled, then snuggled closer. “I have not yet felt the quickening. It is too early. Yet it is highly irregular for me to miss my courses. They have always been as constant as clockwork. Therefore, I can only conclude that our nocturnal activities have borne fruit. In about seven months, if all goes well, you will become a father.”
He could not breathe. The air went right out of him. His chest pounded so loudly that he could not hear his wife’s voice. A father! He was going to be a father? How could that...? Oh, he knew exactly how it could happen. But that it did already... Good heavens! He was going to be a father.
Grinning from ear to ear, he kissed his wife thoroughly. Then he pulled back. Was it dangerous for her to participate in...? Well, he needed to speak with someone—anyone.
“Elizabeth, you need to take care,” he observed. “There will be no more walking in the snow and ice. You will remain inside Pemberley until the weather turns. You will stop sneaking biscuits from Cook when you think I am not aware. And you will rest more during the day.”
“And you will stop worrying, William,” she insisted. “I am well.”
Hugging her to him, he pleaded, “Elizabeth, you cannot know how important you are to me—you and our child. Your task is to stay healthy. My task is to protect you. Allow me to do this, I beg you.”
Her kiss was sweetness itself.
When morning arrived, along with her maid carrying a breakfast tray, Elizabeth took one whiff of the eggs on the plate and bolted for her dressing room. Moments later, it was Darcy holding her head and wiping her brow and the back of her neck with a cool, damp cloth.
Every day for the next six weeks, her stomach felt worse as his improved with each serving of bland food. When Elizabeth felt the quickening, it had been almost four months since Darcy had coughed up blood. The couple celebrated this milestone with him reading Robinson Crusoe aloud to her as she snuggled next to him in front of a roaring fire in the library.
Could
either of them be more content? In Darcy’s mind, it simply was not possible.
Chapter 8
It was possible.
Spring came early to Derbyshire, melting the snow so the treasures buried underneath presented themselves in glorious display. By the middle of March, the garden paths were lined with early purple flowers, daffodils, and crocuses. White wood anemones carpeted the areas underneath the surrounding forests.
Each day that the weather held, Darcy and Elizabeth bundled up against the chill of the morning to stroll the fields surrounding the house. When storms prevailed, they walked around the perimeter of the ballroom until Elizabeth tired.
As they ambled along, the couple talked.
“Do you know, dear Elizabeth,” Darcy teased, “I cannot recall ever being this verbose. I believe my relatives will wonder what you have done to me to make this change.”
She chuckled. “My husband, your willingness to listen as I read to you my letters from Longbourn, especially from my younger sisters, has convinced me that you are the sovereign of patience. Your comments about the contents are never mean-spirited or condescending. I appreciate your foresight in doing all that you can to please me more than you can know.”
He put the back of his hand against his forehead, the picture of long-suffering. “Have you not learned yet that I would do anything for you? If it pleases you to read of the silliness of Kitty and Lydia, then it pleases me to hear it.” He smirked. “I will confess that I do prefer the letters we receive from your father and Jane. I also enjoy hearing the news of Kent from your good friend Charlotte. Her opinions and insights of my aunt and cousin at Rosings appear to be far more accurate than what I hear from Lady Catherine or Anne.”
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