My Dearest Mr. Darcy

by Sharon Lathan

  Lizzy's knock was answered by a maid who admitted Lizzy and exited to inform Lady Underwood she had a visitor. Lizzy waited, experiencing a strange detachment. All night, even in her sleep, she had imagined what she would say or do, never doubting for one second that she would not confront the so-called lady in some manner. Pistols or swords were out of the question, but she now better comprehended Darcy's need for retribution. With well-laid plans intact, she evaded her husband and now waited.

  However, calmly conceived ideas dissipated as rapidly as smoke in a stiff breeze the moment Lady Underwood entered the room.

  “Mrs. Darcy. What a delightful surprise to see you in my room so early in the morning.” She was dressed for breakfast, her hair yet unstyled, the smile on her lips only partially hiding the curiosity and trepidation.

  Instantly the fury of last evening poured through Lizzy, with vivid pictures of this creature touching her husband invading her mind. She lashed out with every ounce of the bizarrely extreme strength she possessed in her svelte body and delivered a stunning slap to Lady Underwood's left cheek. The stricken woman staggered and cried out in pain, gasping in shock.

  “That was for having the audacity to accost my husband,” Lizzy said calmly, following her words with another ringing blow to the same place. “That was for evilly pretending to be my friend.”

  Lady Underwood whimpered, tears stinging her eyes as she peered at Lizzy with undisguised fright and astonishment.

  “You are a disgrace to all that your title symbolizes and an ignominy to womankind. How you can live with yourself is a mystery. You should wither with the shame, but instead you persevere, which leads me to conclude you lack a soul and conscience. I pity you, my lady, I truly do. Yet my pity does not transcend my wrath. If you have even a shred of decency or, at the least, a modicum of wisdom, you will avoid my husband and me. I can do no more than strike you. Mr. Darcy of Pemberley can do far worse. You have been warned and would be very wise to remember that fact.”

  She left the room with chin held high. In truth she was trembling slightly from residual temper, but primarily felt exhilarated and satisfied. A flash of movement to her left caused her to glance toward the stairs leading to the ground floor where Darcy was in the process of descending in a rush.

  “William?”

  He halted and twirled about all in one motion, nearly tumbling down the stairs and grasping the banister to correct his imbalance. His face was suffused with distress, paling substantially as he glanced from Lizzy to the door she had just exited.

  “Elizabeth, what…”

  Words abruptly ceased when Lord and Lady Stewart appeared from around the corner. Pleasantries were conveyed, Darcy recovering quickly although he kept glancing to Lizzy, who acted as if nothing was amiss. In fact, she was particularly effusive. The second they were out of sight he turned to his wife, running hands over her upper body as if checking for injury. He noted the redness to her right palm before she had the chance to speak, eyes widening with sudden shock as he peered into her mildly embarrassed but triumphant eyes.

  “I do not believe Lady Underwood will be as pretty as she usually is for several days. Perhaps that will inhibit her ensnaring any other innocent gentlemen.”

  “You… hit her?”

  “Well, she deserved it!”

  “Indubitably.” He laughed shortly, taking her elbow and steering her to the third-floor stairwell. “I should scold you most profoundly, but I…” He laughed again, a bit hysterically, leaning his head back against the wall with eyes pleading heavenward. “Lord, why? I honestly did wish for a simple life. Was that too much to ask for?”

  “Oh bother! Simplicity is overrated. Spirit and passion are preferential. Now quit whining and take me to breakfast. I have worked up an appetite.” She tiptoed for a quick peck to his cheek, but he stayed her for a sober examination of her eyes.

  “Are you certain you are well, Elizabeth? Completely, heart and soul? And our child? I truly was very frightened when you were gone.” His voice caught, Lizzy doused with sorrow. She encircled his waist tightly, entire body pressed hard against him with their son protesting and kicking vigorously.

  “I assure you we are perfect, body and soul. I beg your forgiveness, but it was something I had to do. Tell me you understand?”

  He nodded, but his eyes were troubled. “I suppose I do. But you could have been injured, Elizabeth. Like it or not, it is my duty to protect you and handle physical confrontations.”

  “There are some matters that are mine to deal with, William.” She looked up into his face, smiling comfortingly although her voice was resolute. “No woman will ever be allowed to touch you without hearing from me. Never!”

  Lady Underwood departed the resort that morning, offering no good-byes. Speculative gossip abounded, but the Darcy name was never mentioned. As for the Darcys, they spoke no further on the subject. Lessons were learned, similar errors would never be made in the future, and thus the book was closed. Darcy would not completely forget. He was not a vengeful man by nature so did nothing permanently designed to punish Lady Underwood. However, his claim of power was not an exaggeration. There were ways available to a man of superior means, avenues open to exhibit one's clout and potential without actually doing anything. Suffice to say, Lady Underwood also learned a lesson and would be a bit more cautious in her future seductions.

  THE REMAINING DAYS OF their seaside sojourn would pass exclusively at the resort and were uneventful, comparatively speaking. By mutual agreement they decided that sightseeing, although educational and exhilarating, was not as preferable as simply lying about the beach and assuredly not as divinely stimulating as seabathing. Therefore, they reverted to the pattern established on their first few days: sleeping late and dining late followed by a time in the water; lazy afternoons on the beach; leisurely strolls along the wooded trails or shoreline collecting shells; evenings in various pursuits with the other guests; quiet contemplations of the ever-changing sunset; moonlight walks on the sand or pier; and the occasional individual recreations.

  One day it clouded and drizzled, but Lizzy insisted on taking their walk regardless, to Darcy's initial discomfort. The nuzzling kisses enjoyed under the close confines of the umbrella dispelled most of his unease; the rich aroma of wet loam and pine allayed the residual. The storm worsened in the afternoon, causing the surf to roar and upsurge dramatically. They sat cozily in the parlor sipping hot cocoa before the fire and watched the impressive display all afternoon.

  A hastily discharged missive to the Lathrops was equally hastily replied to, the positive response arriving the day before the Darcys were to depart. They were both very anxious to be home, but decided a short three-day visit to the Lathrops' estate, Stonecrest, a perfect cap to a perfect holiday.

  Their final night was passed on the end of the pier. Dinner was arranged by the resort staff, privately by candlelight as the sun provided a majestic living mural in its decline and the tides supplied the music. The fare was superb, but it would not have mattered as it was the atmosphere and communion that brought the greatest joy to their hearts.

  “May I have this dance, Mrs. Darcy?”

  Lizzy laughed, taking her husband's proffered hand and assuming a waltz pose. He did this frequently, surprising her at odd moments with a request to dance as he hummed a tune. Of course, the primary excuse was to hold her tightly, the formal posture of a strict waltz not maintained for very long. Darcy could not sing if his life depended upon it, but he could hum fairly well, or at least enough to set a tempo for the amusement. Over the course of time he had taught her a number of couples dances learned during his travels, most of which were far more intimate and livelier than the waltz. Lizzy was only proficient in the typical English country line dances, but was growing exceedingly fond of the duo dances popular in more progressive countries. Along the way they invented their own steps and movements, usually involving motions clearly sensual in nature and thus wholly inappropriate for public viewing, but quite scin
tillating in the privacy of one's bedchamber.

  Here at the far end of a lonely pier they allowed themselves to cross a few boundaries, but did retain a dignified restraint. Darcy was as graceful and debonair as always, body fluid and flawless as he guided his wife and lover over the rough wooden planks. Lizzy experienced a slight awkwardness with bulging belly preventing total ease and refinement, but they enjoyed themselves nonetheless. They ended against the rail in the shadows after a lavolta lift and turn, Lizzy breathless in Darcy's arms with his face inches from hers.

  “I did not think you would be able to lift me,” she teased, seconds before his lips met hers with astounding passion. He cupped long fingers around her neck, thumbs caressing as the kiss varied in intensity and lasted for endless minutes. On and on they kissed with no sense of hurrying, both abundantly content to focus all senses on shared breath and taste. Lizzy's hands rested lightly on his waist, Darcy never left her slender neck or creamy shoulders. He withdrew for brief moments to caress her face with his eyes, never halting feathering strokes with delicate fingertips, and always returning to her mouth for more.

  I love you whispered ceaselessly by both, kisses traveling unhastily over jaws to ears, passion bubbling, but overruled by adoration as moonlight shimmered palely.

  “I am sure it is unnecessary, but I am compelled to verbalize to you how remarkable this entire holiday has been for me.” His voice was low and vibrant, Lizzy shivering at the sensations educed. “Superlatives are jumbling in my mind, competing with each other to adequately convey my joy, but none do it justice.” He paused for an interlude of fresh kisses and nibbles, knuckles lightly rubbing up and down her neck. “I love you, Elizabeth, with all my heart and soul. My happiness is higher than the heavens. I may live to be one hundred, and pray I do with you by my side, but I will never forget this time with you.”

  Claiming her sweet mouth yet again, Lizzy now encircling his shoulders with fingers running through his hair, he slowly glided downward, brushing over her breasts to the beautiful swell of their child. Tenderly, devotedly he smoothed and kneaded big hands over her abdomen, adoring the feel of taut flesh cocooning their baby. The wonder of it never failed to awe him. Daily she expanded as the product of their love grew stronger, miraculously nourished and harbored by his mother while adored by an eager father. Lizzy was well into the seventh month of her pregnancy, health generally excellent if a bit prone to fatigue and slight imbalance. She was lovelier to him than ever, glowing, robust, and with a peace emanating from her core.

  “As anxious as I am to hold our infant I believe I shall miss this.” He spoke softly, palms moving steadily on her stomach.

  “As virile and amorous as you are, my love, I suspect the swollen belly will reappear frequently. I visualize Pemberley cluttered with rambunctious little Darcys.”

  He smiled, truly delighted at the vision and refusing to dwell on the risks of numerous births. A final walk along the beach by moonlight, Lizzy even convincing Darcy to remove his shoes and feel the cold water lap at bare ankles, was the culmination to their outdoor activities. The crowning touch was discovered when they returned to their room. Per Lizzy's instructions, servants had fashioned a makeshift picnic tableau on the chamber floor before the open balcony. Privacy was not assured on the balcony itself; other rooms situated without direct visual contact, but open windows too close for complete comfort. A thick blanket was spread with several large pillows, a platter of fruit and pastries, mulled wine in clay mugs, and two candelabras for illumination sat waiting. A low fire burned as the evenings were increasingly cool.

  Darcy grinned happily at his smugly beaming wife, wordlessly taking her hand and leading to the blanket. Passionate lovemaking was the ultimate crescendo, but only after prolonged intimate conversation, frolicking, cuddling, feeding each other, and titillating foreplay.

  The ancestral home of the Lathrops, Stonecrest Hall, was located roughly five miles northeast of Melton Mowbray. The modest home of grey bricks sat in a shallow dell amongst a dense forest of ancient oaks and was surrounded by a broad expanse of compact grass and clover. There was a natural essence to the property, much as Hasberry possessed, which was relaxing and homey if not as grand as the formality and cultivation of Pemberley. Beyond the house proper were the extensive barns and fields amid the oaks where the cows and bulls roamed. The wealth of the Lathrop family was partially from the cattle market but primarily from dairy products, the cheeses produced considered some of the best in the country.

  The Darcys arrived late in the afternoon, having decided to travel straight through from Caister. Lizzy was tired and her back ached, but the physical discomforts were offset by her excitement. Mr. Lathrop greeted them warmly, informing Lizzy that Amelia was with the baby. With a kind smile of complete understanding he directed a waiting maid to escort Mrs. Darcy to the nursery after the briefest of welcomes. The men chuckled once she was away, Stephen leading Darcy to the parlor for a much needed brandy.

  Amelia was rocking and nursing her daughter when Lizzy was admitted. Kisses of true delight were shared while the baby obliviously fed on, eyes closed and tiny mouth working diligently. One delicate fist lay atop Amelia's breast, minute fingers kneading. Tears welled in Lizzy's eyes at the sight. Several of her friends, both in Hertfordshire and in Derbyshire, had children, but she had never witnessed a scene so intimately maternal. Her heart gave a massive lurch, one hand instinctively caressing her belly as she gingerly touched Fiona's downy cheek.

  “Oh, Amelia, she is absolutely beautiful! How small she is! Oh…” Her voice caught and she swiped at her tears. Amelia was radiant, as all proud mothers are. Lizzy peered closely at her friend's face. “You look amazing, my dear friend. Are you fully recovered from the ordeal?”

  Lizzy sat on a nearby stool, hands massaging her back while Amelia answered with a laugh. “Nearly. My bum still hurts and I am a wee bit sleep deprived, but it is a joy not to be carrying the extra weight!” Lizzy laughed, nodding as she rubbed aching muscles.

  The following hour was spent in sweet companionship, both women sharing tales of motherhood. Amelia, in the forthright manner that she possessed, imparted detailed information of her labor and birth, Lizzy paling frequently but absorbing each point. Amelia commiserated with Lizzy's current travails, thankful that they were minor. She, too, had been blessed with a relatively easy pregnancy, but a certain number of aches and pains were universal. Fiona finished her meal, falling into the drugged sleep typical of the satisfied newborn. Amelia insisted Lizzy hold the slumbering infant while she freshened up for their guests, Lizzy not requiring too much persuasion.

  Lizzy had held a few small babies in her life, but not since becoming a wife and soon-to-be mother. The rush of emotions was overwhelming. For the first time she experienced an intense urgency to hurry through the incubation process so she could gaze upon their son, as her prescient dream so many months prior had planted the assurance, and nestle him to her breast. For several minutes it was as if her spirit soared with an uncontainable need to flee this place for Pemberley, for home, where the focus would all be on final preparations for their child. The hunger to lay eyes on the nursery and all the waiting infant items was nearly painful and a sob caught in her throat.

  Then Fiona stretched, releasing a weak gurgle as pink lips pursed and sucked on an imaginary nipple. Her eyes fluttered open briefly, a flash of greenish-blue before closing in renewed sleep. Lizzy smiled, stroking the soft cheek, and bending to smell the fresh fragrance that all newborns emanate. Her baby delivered a grouping of lazy kicks, as if to remind his mother of his viability and equal eagerness to be known. Lizzy chuckled under her breath, rubbing over his prodding limb. “Do not fret, my sweet, I love you best and will wait patiently.”

  The women joined the reclining men in the parlor. Amelia held the baby, Darcy's eyes instantly alighting on the swaddled bundle. Lizzy recalled with a smile that her husband had never actually beheld a very young infant. His careful regulation was slipping rapidly as
they approached. The gentlemen rose, Stephen quickly crossing to assist his still sore wife to a comfortable chair. Lizzy squeezed Darcy's arm, eyes meeting with tender communication before he turned his gaze back to Amelia and the baby.

  “Mrs. Lathrop, you appear well. Congratulations on your blessing.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Darcy. I am quite well, all considered. Now sit down and relax. My arms are frankly aching. Dearest,” she looked to her husband with a wink, “perhaps you can assist me? Mr. Darcy, could I trouble you to hold the baby while my husband fetches Elizabeth and me some tea? Elizabeth, could you be a dear and plump up this pillow for me?”

  With smoothly manipulated orders, Amelia fulfilled Darcy's wish without him needing to ask, which he likely would never have had the nerve to do. Fairly before he could take a breath, he found his arms blissfully encumbered with the blanketed, softly squirming baby. He sat stiffly, afraid to move an inch or even breathe lest he disturb the peaceful bundle or, heaven forbid, drop her. Heart pounding and inhaling shallowly, Darcy studied the diminutive life form in his rigid arms. She was so small! Every feature dainty in the extreme, wisps of pale hair, cheeks so round and pink, and incredibly light. Gradually he relaxed, sinking comfortably into the sofa and cuddling her close to his chest.

  It was absolutely amazing. Never had he seen anything so tiny. Still, she seemed too large to actually reside inside another human being and with a sudden flash of insight he completely understood his wife's aches and complaints as their son intruded on internal organs and placed stress on muscles. Lizzy joined him on the sofa, reaching to gently pull the blanket away from Fiona's chest to unveil a petite hand.