My Dearest Mr. Darcy

by Sharon Lathan

  Lizzy smiled, displaying the appropriate amount of interest before resuming her own task. It was not that she found learning the names and habits of God's creatures unworthy, but her thirst for absorbing all knowledge to the tiniest degree was not as unquenchable as it was for Darcy. She was frankly flabbergasted that he could attend to the thick manual page after page as if riveting literature. What was even more astounding is that she knew he would assimilate and regurgitate eighty percent of what he read fifty years hence, his memory phenomenal.

  The Henners wandered by, the thirteen- and fifteen-year-old daughters shyly glancing at Darcy, who was oblivious. “Mr. Darcy, Mrs. Darcy,” Mr. Henner greeted with a bow, Mrs. Henner dropping a curtsey and softly greeting. “I pray your afternoon is progressing delightfully?”

  “Very much, Mr. Henner. Thank you. Are you leaving the beach?”

  Mr. Henner nodded. “The ladies are gathering for a swim. The menfolk will be meeting for faro in the game room. Will you be participating, Mr. Darcy?”

  Lizzy stifled a laugh as a cough, Darcy ignoring her as he replied, “Thank you, but no. I will be bathing later, however. See you then, Mr. Henner?”

  “Absolutely! Enjoy the sea air, Mrs. Darcy.” They left, the girls giggling and whispering.

  “William, if you wish to play cards, I do not mind. You do it so rarely that you should leap at the chance.”

  “I play rarely because I am hopelessly inept and unlucky, and I do not particularly enjoy the game. I may appeal to your magnanimity for a game or two of billiards this evening, however. Lord Stewart plays, as does Baron Noble. Would another short separation disturb you, dearest?”

  “Of course not. I will miss you, but I am certain I can find some activity to soothe my broken heart.” She reached over and squeezed his hand, Darcy smiling and squeezing in return. He returned to his book, Lizzy staring into the sea. After barely two days she felt as if they had been here a week. As enormously thrilling as their Derbyshire excursion had been, the fast pace had allowed little time for prolonged periods of relaxation. Here they spent inordinate amounts of time doing absolutely nothing, and it was fantastic. Lizzy would hesitate to admit it to her overprotective spouse, but her burgeoning body was gradually beginning to complain at the alterations! Personally she never would have imagined ever reaching a state of mind where lying lazily about was prodigious, but it was happening.

  Lost in his text for God knows how long, Darcy was jolted to awareness by a piercing squeal from the water. It was only the children playing, Darcy smiling at their antics as he turned to his wife with a comment only to find her sound asleep. With a frown he realized that the sun had moved past the sheltering umbrella, the left side of her fair face dewy with perspiration from the direct rays. With a mumbled curse at himself, he rose hastily and readjusted the umbrella stand. He touched her cheek gingerly so as not to wake her, sending a silent prayer heavenward for his timing as the skin was unburned.

  His eyebrows shot up when he noted the late hour on his pocketwatch, the time for men's bathing ten minutes away. He cautiously adjusted Lizzy's bonnet to further protect her face, studied the sun for a moment and moved the umbrella a bit more, only then satisfied enough to leave her napping. He knelt, gently rubbing over her abdomen and brushing the fingers resting there, leaning for a soft kiss to her head. Resisting the urge to kiss their child with difficulty, several loitering resort guests already peering at him oddly, he rose and crossed to one of the servants standing at attention by the beach edge.

  “My good man,” he began, pressing a five-pound note into the stunned servant's hand, “my wife is sleeping under that umbrella there. I am going bathing. I require you to watch the sun's movements and ensure she remains shaded. Wake her if this becomes impossible. When she wakens, inform her where I have gone and assist her to our room. Send for me if necessary.”

  His fears and concerns were for naught. Lizzy woke refreshed, well shaded, and with a cooling breeze wafting over her body. She instantly knew where Darcy was, not even needing to check her pocketwatch, the efficient servant merely confirming her supposition. They reconnected to mutual approbation in their bedchamber, both revitalized and dressed for dining. At the lower level landing, however, Darcy led Lizzy to the right and out the front doors.

  “I know we have only been here three days now, but I am almost positive our dining room is to the left,” she offered with a smile.

  Darcy chuckled. “If you are not feeling faint from hunger, my love, I thought we could walk the beach at dusk. It is a peaceful time of day with the others engaged indoors and the birds calming for the night. I always love the serenity and beauty of the sea at dusk with the sun setting, casting remarkable shadows and deep colors onto the waves.”

  “You should have been born near the sea, William, although I cannot imagine you living anywhere but Pemberley.”

  “It is interesting, Elizabeth. In my travels I always gravitate to the seashore with eager enthusiasm. Yet, I am not fond of ships per se, despite owning four, nor do I care for sea voyages. I have met so many people who do live by the water and have discovered an odd phenomenon: those who live near the endless beauty of the ocean often take it for granted. They no longer notice the dazzling sunrises or sunsets, the surf does not move them, and they rarely walk the beach. I suppose we are all that way to some degree. I know that since sharing my homeland with you I have renewed my ardor for many of the wonders that I did not readily dwell on. It is as if I am seeing it for the first time through your eyes, and I love that you have provided me the opportunity. Therefore, I consider myself fortunate that I only view the sea every year or so, and from different perspectives. Keeps the experience fresh and ever changing.”

  He guided her warily down the dimly lit steps to the beach. They strolled in silence over the expanse of shifting sand toward the water line, the tide notably higher than when Lizzy departed that afternoon. The waning sunlight as it dipped below the western horizon did cast stupendous hues over the clouds and rippling water. With an essentially clear sky marred fragmentally with wispy strings of clouds, the rainbow tones of burnished scarlet, orange, gold, violet, blue, and a myriad unnameable massed together into a vivid display. They stood on the tide's boundary as the eastern horizon faded into deepening shadows; the terminal glimmers of sunlight on undulating waves slowly replaced with twinkles of starlight. A lone sailing vessel of indeterminate type passed gradually into the blackness off the world's rim.

  All the while, Darcy and Lizzy stood with arms encircling waists, in silent contemplation of life and nature and the stunning majesty of the Creator.

  OVER THE FOLLOWING DAYS the Darcys altered their schedule somewhat. They wandered into Caister-on-Sea, deciding to walk the half-mile, well-maintained, oak-lined trail from the resort to the small hamlet. The village itself was wholly unremarkable: quaint and tidy with a meager number of shops catering to the locals, small fishing boats in abundance, and a people universally rustic and hardy. The only true draws to the town were the church and castle, both of immense significance and interest to Darcy and Lizzy.

  The Holy Trinity Church was in appearance like many other churches they had seen, architecture of the fourteenth century standard throughout the country. Of course, that is not to say it was not lovely. Built of grey brick with a tall castellated tower, high arched windows, and a long nave leading to an unusual pipe organ at the chancel. The organ pipes were split into two sets on either side of the aisle and appeared to lean toward each other as if whispering, creating a vague tunnel-like sensation entering the chancel. An ornately detailed hatchment with the royal coat of arms patently commemorated George III, yet it also showed cleverly painted-over markings for James I from two hundred years prior. The building was very old and deteriorating in subtle places, the modest community likely unable to contribute the monies necessary to sustain the structure. Darcy left a generous donation, feeling particularly charitable after a time of quiet contemplation both inside the sanctuary and str
olling with his wife through the ancient cemetery and gardens.

  Caister Castle was located near the church, a pleasant walk over the heathland. Sparse clusters of birch trees with a thick underbrush of gorse scrub and bracken with trailing vines of wild honeysuckle and bluebells adding a pleasing fragrance to overcome the faint but persistent odor of fish. Butterflies fluttered in abundance, unperturbed by the scores of bees attacking the fall blooms. The ruins of the castle sat rather forlornly on an expanse of wild land, the main pathway and road the only areas attended to. The moat had long since been drained and filled in with the debris of time, only the vaguest markings indicating that it had ever existed.

  Built in 1432, the glorified manor house was notable for a couple reasons. One, the owner and architect was Sir John Falstaff, or Fastolfe depending on the reference, who was the inspiration for William Shakespeare's character of the same name. Luckily for Sir Falstaff, he was long since deceased before his name was immortalized in three of Shakespeare's plays as the depiction was not a favorable one. Secondly, Henry VI granted only five licenses to crenellate during his entire fifty-year reign, a legal necessity from the crown in order to build a defensible structure with battlements, moats, and gunports. Caister Manor, the home of Sir Falstaff, received this honor, allowing him to fortify his home with a ninety-foot tower, three-foot-thick bricks, and separate courtyards.

  Lizzy and Darcy were two of a dozen persons wandering via the lush grounds and tumbling stones. The castle was actually well preserved despite the anomalous holes and general decay. The rusted chains to the absent drawbridge dangled beside the main entrance, the inner courtyard building frames were readily discernible, and the tall tower with sturdy spiraling stairway was easily navigable. Lizzy felt perky after so many days of lazing about, but did ascend the stairs in gradual stages with Darcy's hand as a rock on her elbow. The view from on high was well worth the breathlessness.

  Another day found them comfortably settled into one of the resort's phaetons as they passed several hours meandering about the immediate countryside with no distinct destination on the agenda. This was a highly irregular occurrence, Darcy being a man extremely detail oriented and organized with little spontaneity to his character! It was Lizzy's idea to set out randomly and Darcy blanched and spluttered at the concept, Lizzy laughing as she propelled him to the cozy carriage stocked with a picnic lunch, local map, and thick rug.

  “Anywhere but east, Mr. Darcy,” she said with lifted chin and imperiously pointing finger.

  Darcy stared at her for a whole ten minutes, Lizzy maintaining her humorously commanding pose, while his mind raced with nearly audible clicks as the meticulous list of activities written in his firm hand were mentally checked. Finally he nodded, a tiny smile lifting the corners of his lips. “Certainly not east. Very well, Mrs. Darcy, as you wish. Ha!” The last to the horses and with a slap of the reins, they set off.

  In truth, if one did not travel due south into Great Yarmouth, a destination for another day, or north where they had already traversed, west was the only remaining direction, and this meant touring the Broads. The extensive wetlands unique in all of England, given the name “Broads” due to the seemingly endless expanses of shallow lakes and connecting rivers, was honestly a sight to behold. Darcy drove the road north of the River Bure heading toward Stokesby. Within two miles they were on the fringes of the marsh, the ground notably soggier and air humid. Darcy cleared his throat, the usual precursor to an oration, but Lizzy spoke into the silence first.

  “The Norfolk Broads,” she began, in a strong lecturing tone as if reciting from a textbook, “an area approximately one hundred twenty square miles composed of seven rivers and fifty broads, most navigable. Home to a plethora of diverse wildlife, many believed to only reside here, and the necessary livelihood for the residents from Norwich and all the small burgs in the vicinity as the essential commerce route to Great Yarmouth and beyond. Most believe the vast waterways a natural landscape fashioned by God and time; others contend it at least partially a result of centuries of peat excavation. Whatever the case, currently the marshlands serve as a perfect habitation for farmers and fishermen. With vegetation naturally in abundance, cattle, sheep, and waterfowl flourish. The infinite quantities of hay, sedge, and reed are easily cultivated and sold.”

  She continued to ramble on as Darcy drove, his grin spreading with each passing word. When she had memorized the book he had brought with him, he had no idea, but his pleasure in her interest and recall was tremendous. He said little as they wheeled along the rutted tracks and across the numerous bridges, allowing his delightful wife to bask in her education and tease with her frequent inflections, gestures, and word usages, which were precisely meant to mimic him.

  All the while they passed sprawling flatlands thick with reeds, rushes, fen orchid, ragged robin, and meadow thistle; all inundated with moths, butterflies, and dragonflies of truly astounding proportions and colors. Neither Lizzy nor Darcy had ever seen so many flying bugs. At times it was rather frightening, the masses of damselflies and gnats swarming about their heads. Twice they caught glimpses of otters slipping into the murky waters, and Darcy spied a red deer that agilely bounded behind a copse of sallow trees before Lizzy turned the direction of Darcy's pointing finger. The birds were as abundant as the insects, far too many to adequately identify. Even Darcy relinquished the endeavor, opting to purely take pleasure in the array of colors, shapes, and sounds.

  Darcy kept the map on his knees, useful as a blanket shielding Lizzy's rubbing hand, but primarily to prevent him driving them astray. Unlike all their previous journeys where either Lizzy was supremely oriented, as during their frequent treks about Hertfordshire while engaged, or Darcy was knowledgeable, as in London and Derbyshire, here they were both utterly out of their element. The vague sense of unease never left him throughout the day, Darcy not comfortable in unfamiliar terrains. Lizzy had no trepidation whatsoever, giddily admiring the stupendous environs and trusting her husband's formidable competence as well as her own excellent sense of direction.

  In the end, they suffered no mishaps. Aside from the reams of wildlife, people were also a constant. The river keels and wherries were interminable, not to mention the intermittent homesteads, all with congenially waving individuals aplenty. At Acle they veered northward to Thurne then turning easterly until reaching Hemesby, where they looped south to Caister. The landscaping remained stupendous and wildly diverse with wonders so numerous that they gave up even pointing or commenting, simply observing in serene awe.

  By mid afternoon they were safely returned to the inn. Darcy escorted his wilting wife to their room, intent on tucking her in for a needed nap. Faint hopes were momentarily raised when she pivoted in his arms at the bedside, one arm slithering over his shoulder while tiny creeping fingertips fiddled with his cravat.

  “Care to join me, my love?” she asked with upturned face and presented lips.

  Darcy bent, accepting her invitation wholeheartedly, only to have her gift abruptly nullified by a jaw-cracking yawn. He chuckled against her mouth, withdrawing inches and caressing her rosy cheek. “Thank you for the offer, dearest, but I think I shall put you both to bed.” He bussed her nose, whirling her about gently, and with a pat on the bottom assisted her into the bed. Sitting next to her warm body, he noticed not for the first time the increased inability to nestle snuggly against the front part of her. Not that he in any way was perturbed by this, joyously settling as close as feasible and resting a large hand over their child. He was extremely active at the present, kicking and jabbing his father's hand with great enthusiasm.

  “I do not believe he appreciated the pickled herring,” Lizzy mumbled, eyes already slipping closed. “He has been pummeling me since lunch.”

  Darcy laughed softly, leaning until his mouth rested over Lizzy's flattening navel. “Listen carefully, young one. Your father commands you to behave and allow your mother to rest. She promises to never consume pickled herring again. Be a good boy no
w and sleep.” He continued on, Lizzy smiling at his silliness while the baby apparently disregarded his father's authority, exercise unabating. Internal calisthenics were not a deterrent to Lizzy's slumber after all, sleep claiming her within minutes. Darcy gently massaged her belly, sitting in serene contemplation for a bit before rising. After a soft kiss to her forehead and whispered I love you, he retrieved his book from the table and left the room.

  The main patio was cast in deep shadows this time of day and nearly vacant. The men were bathing, but Darcy opted to enjoy the solitude. The book, Moll Flanders by Daniel Defoe, sat open on his knees, forgotten for the moment as he watched the waves and a group of children splashing.

  “Mr. Darcy. I am surprised to see you here all alone and not bathing with the gentlemen.”

  Darcy glanced upward with a start, rising and bowing elegantly. “Lady Underwood. I trust you are well today and enjoying your visit?”

  “Tolerably,” she said with a smile, sitting gracefully on an empty chair across from Darcy. “It can be boring and somewhat lonely to travel unaccompanied, but I refuse to be a burden to my friends. Please sit, Mr. Darcy. No need to stand at attention.” She smiled sweetly, fluttering her fan toward his chair.

  Darcy hesitated, uncomfortably glancing about to ensure they were not alone, before resuming his seat. He sat with back ramrod straight, his bottom on the extreme edge, ready to spring up at the first opportunity for escape.

  Lady Underwood laughed. “Relax, Mr. Darcy! I shan't bite, promise. Where is Mrs. Darcy, by the way?”

  “She is resting.”

  Lady Underwood fanned her face, staring boldly at Darcy with a pensive expression. “Have you been married long, Mr. Darcy?”