Almost from the time Darcy could walk, he spent hours in the stables with his grandfather. Anne fretted, fearful of losing another child in the dangerous environment, but the old man was domineering and had not abdicated all authority. James Jr. agreed, his own fears of a similar fate befalling his son offset by the desire for him to be comfortable with horses and an outdoorsman. By the time Darcy was ten, he knew how to shoe a horse, could ride as well as most of the grooms, could muck a stall faster than any of the stable boys, had broken his first pony, and had intently absorbed everything his grandfather could teach him. When he was eleven his grandfather died, plunging Darcy into an abyss of grief. If he had spent the majority his free time in the stable yard before, he now practically dwelt there. His parents barely saw him except for meals, and even his studies suffered. It was the long awaited birth of a sibling which brought him back into the manor and the broader world outside of the barns.
Anne had despaired of ever having another child. After her son, she simply did not conceive. It certainly was not for lack of trying, the love between the two Darcys having multiplied over the years and being frequently expressed in the physical realm. Anne's pregnancy and delivery of Georgiana was complicated from inception to parturition, leaving Anne near death for days and weakened thereafter, but Georgiana was stout and perfect. Darcy immediately fell deeply and wholly in love with his sister. It was this love which would save him on many occasions over the ensuing years, when sorrow and the weight of responsibility threatened to break him. As close as Darcy was to his cousins Richard and Anne, it was his sister who had his heart utterly wrapped around her tiny fingers.
Darcy was a person who required few confidantes, and therefore, he did not exert tremendous effort into cultivating relationships. Those whom he loved, he loved with an entirety that was formidable. Those whom he deemed superfluous would be generally ignored. Hence the minimal energy expended to associate with his disseminated cousins. For this reason, the personal circle of Darcy family members was relatively minute, despite the number reality to the contrary. Lizzy rather doubted she would ever meet the majority of her husband's family, but she was excited about meeting George Darcy. He was a favorite, and the stories she had heard of the adventurous, eccentric doctor piqued her curiosity.
Georgiana was ecstatic. She regaled them all evening with tale upon tale of her favored Darcy uncle. Even Mary expressed a fascination to meet this grand individual. Of course, Mary was in an unusually high humor. Mr. Daniels had wasted no time after speaking with Darcy, formally requesting to call upon Miss Mary Bennet for tea the following day. It perhaps was not the most fortuitous of days, with George Darcy and friend arriving as well at a time unknown, but neither Lizzy nor Darcy would have dreamed of inducing her to decline.
With the excitement of blossoming romance, family visitations, and a dinner party event with Darcy's shipping partners, Lizzy and Darcy had no chance to talk privately until before bed. As typical, he entered her dressing room to assume the task of brushing her hair. Initially, no words were spoken as the two lovers purely delighted in serene companionship. Darcy could never verbalize why it was that he so adored brushing his wife's hair. It was intimate, enlivening, and comforting. Primarily, he simply gloried in her beauty as reflected in the mirror with her luxuriant, silky locks falling about her slender frame and through his hands.
Lizzy smiled and stood, leaning over the vanity bench to kiss her husband. “Shall we sit on the patio for a spell, my love?”
The stars were bright, the air fresh in the warm summer evening, and the fragrance of multiple blooms floated to where they reclined on the patio chaise. Darcy related his conversation with Lady Catherine.
“Do you believe she will cooperate?”
Darcy sighed. “I honestly do not know and am not sure if I care, as horrid as that is to confess. She was silent and inscrutable when I left, so I could not hazard a guess as to her state of mind. If it were not for Anne, I am not certain I would even try.” Darcy paused, then resumed with a mournful tone, “Forgive me, Elizabeth. That is an unbecoming sentiment. She is my aunt, my flesh and blood, yet I am still so angry at her for all she has said that I find it an immense struggle to generate leniency.”
“I understand, darling. I too have quite mixed feelings on the subject of your aunt. Would you think less of me if I confessed to a desire to never set eyes on the woman again?”
Darcy laughed lowly. “No, as I tend to harbor the identical emotions. I will say this, if she does show up and offers an apology, even a lame one, it will speak volumes as to her repentance.”
Lizzy snuggled tighter against his body, Darcy's arms firmly around her with one hand gently stroking her belly. “How is your shoulder?”
“Tolerable. The bath helped tremendously. I probably incited the staff to severe irritation, but the water was so hot I could barely enter it. Nevertheless, when Wentworth clapped me on the shoulder tonight I nearly slugged him in reflexive defense!”
Lizzy stifled a laugh. “That would have made for a lively evening to be sure. Shame you behaved yourself.” She turned to better see his face, kissing his smiling lips. “Come, my beloved, infirm husband. A massage was promised and then we shall see what else I can do to improve your overall state of well-being.”
OOH! THIS ONE WOULD look wonderful on you, Mary!” Georgiana appeared from the inside of her closet holding a beautiful, deep purple gown with embroidered vines of wisteria cascading from the bodice to the hem.
Kitty clapped her hands in delight but Mary frowned. “I am not so sure, Georgiana. The color is lovely but the flowers are simply not me. Far too ostentatious.”
“You must make an impression that he will not forget, Mary,” Kitty explained wearily for the hundredth time, while Georgiana rolled her eyes.
“His impression should be of me, not the dress I am wearing,” Mary firmly declared. “I do not wish to be courted by a man who is only interested in me for my clothing.”
“Well, of course not,” Georgiana soothed, “yet there is no shame in presenting an appealing vision. It shows that you care for yourself and desire to please him. Men expect such efforts.”
“The expert, are we, Miss Darcy?” Mary said with a soft laugh. “Lizzy never fussed over herself and Mr. Darcy fell in love. This is what I desire. To have a man want me for whom I am.” Mary spoke quietly and with embarrassment.
The Mary Bennet sitting sedately on the edge of Georgiana's bed was an altered creature from the antisocial young girl who pounded out morbid tunes and declared how she hated balls. No longer did she look at the world with eyes clouded by misinterpretation and somber disgust. Her character overall had not drastically changed; rather, it was her revelation of the broader world beyond Meryton and Longbourn. The events of the past months and her friendship with the shyly proper but intelligent Georgiana had radically opened her eyes. No longer did she liberally sweep anything remotely frivolous out the door as wholly worthless and unorthodox.
Above all, Mary was amazed at her changed attitude toward the opposite sex. She had grown up with a family of mostly females consisting of a mother who seemingly thought of nothing but marrying her daughters off to the first eligible man who came along, two younger sisters who acted the fool around anything in trousers, and two older sisters who had snapped up the richest men available. Mary was the odd woman who did not swoon over the ridiculous frippery that comprised the standard male population. Mr. Collins had briefly intrigued her in that he was sober and not a dandy. She had thought Lizzy an imbecile for refusing his proposal, totally baffled at the decision until Mr. Darcy's proposal was accepted. Mary was now wholly ashamed for her conclusion, but at the time, it appeared evident to her that Lizzy had succumbed to his wealth, somehow ensnaring the pompous man with her hidden charms and prostituting herself at the altar of riches and prestige. Mary had been horribly disappointed in Lizzy, as she had been the one of all her sisters that she deemed the most sensible and least likely to yield, but there a
ppeared to be no other logical deduction. Not one to study poetry or waste precious time reading romantic novels or gossip with twittery girls about flirtations, Mary simply had no concept of love.
During the two months of her sisters’ engagements, Mary had primarily avoided them all in disgust. When she did note the affectionate glance or oblique touch between one of the pairs of couples, she either did not grasp it or chalked it up to men's bestial lusts, those sins of the flesh warned against in scripture and other doctrinal writings. In the following months, she observed the steady affection between Jane and Mr. Bingley, grudgingly deciding that their marriage was not solely about money after all. Her misplaced and low opinion of Lizzy had not altered until this sojourn in London. Mary witnessed a rare emotion between her older sister and husband. She frankly had not comprehended it for a time, been confused at the blatant and occasionally mortifying affection displayed by the two, shocked at the depth of Lizzy's despair when he was absent, but predominately flabbergasted at the metamorphosis in Mr. Darcy. Not unlike Caroline Bingley, although without the accompanying jealousy, Mary gradually came to identify it for what it was: love in the purest form.
It would be inaccurate to state that Mary had a crush on her brother-in-law, but she did recognize his gentleness, intelligence, devotion to Lizzy and Georgiana, maturity, grace, elegance, humor, and many other admirable qualities. She began to wonder if there were other men like him and if even a particle of the love Lizzy and Mr. Darcy shared could be available for her. Her eyes were further opened by Colonel Fitzwilliam and the married men of her recent acquaintance who possessed similar fine qualities. It finally occurred to her, as if a startling epiphany, that men could carry on a conversation with a woman, might even be pleasant to have about, and were not creatures of a divergent species.
Now there was Mr. Joshua Daniels. Mary was mystified by the encounter with him. That Mr. Daniels had immediately been attracted to her was a given fact and Mary was egotistically gratified, although the emotion rather embarrassed her. Her newfound adoption of wearing moderately stylish clothing, limited conversing with the male population, and enjoyment of social activities was pleasurable but still mildly uncomfortable. The few glances and nods her direction while at the opera and dinner parties were flattering, but she also remained confused as to how to interpret the attention. Moreover, no man had ever noticed her in the way Mr. Daniels had nor asked to specifically visit her, and Mary was not sure how she felt about it. Mr. Daniels comported himself with propriety and grace, and impressed her as clever and capable. Still, the idea of actually being courted filled her with anxiety.
“Not all men are as special as my brother, Mary,” Georgiana said, interrupting her musings, “and Elizabeth now takes great pains to dress to her station and to please her husband. You do wish to be married, do you not?”
“Naturally she does!” Kitty answered for her, as if the converse concept was unfathomable. “How about the dark blue gown, Georgiana? It is simple, a somber color, yet designed so beautifully.”
“Yes! Excellent choice, Kitty!” Georgiana ducked back into her closet, returning moments later with the gown indicated. “This is perfect, Mary. Here, try it on.”
Mary scrambled for an excuse, in truth adoring the gown in question. “I do not think one of your dresses will fit me, and what about the—”
“Try it on!” Kitty and Georgiana interjected simultaneously with exasperation, Mary relenting with a sigh.
Down on the first floor, the Darcys sat in quiet company. Darcy read the day's newspaper and drank coffee. His wife finished the last pages of her book while sipping tea and nibbling on a piece of marmalade-smeared toast. Lizzy closed the book with a happy sigh and glanced over at her frowning, intently reading spouse.
“Bad news, William?” He did not answer, wholly absorbed in the words before him. “Dearest? Fitzwilliam? Mr. Darcy?”
“Pardon?” He looked up with a start.
“What has so captivated your attention, love?”
He waved his hand airily. “Nothing really. Just a minor riot at the docks last evening. These occurrences happen from time to time. Apparently, a group of Scots took issue with slurs trumpeted by a shipload of Irish and a brawl ensued. I was concerned as one of my ships is currently docked there, but the melee was further upriver thankfully.” He nodded toward her hands. “You finished your book?”
“Yes. It was very good, as you professed. Rather deep and meditative, however. I believe I am now in the mood for fluff.” She took a bite of toast and stood, walking toward the bookcase, Darcy observing with a smile.
“How about the one Aunt Madeline lent you? The Mysteries of Udolpho. Sounds appropriately fluffy to me.”
Lizzy glanced over her shoulder. “A perfect woman's book, you mean. All romance, castles, villains, and lovers.”
He shrugged and laughed. “You said you wanted fluff. I am merely trying to assist you in not taxing your fragile brain.”
“I would argue or tickle you into begging my forgiveness, but at the moment I find I concur with your assessment.” She pulled the indicated volume off the shelf, flipping it open as she did. Moments later she felt the delightful sensation of warm, strong hands on her shoulders. Peering up at her smiling husband, she asked, “Riots, world events, and the finance page no longer interest you, my love?”
“Not as greatly as this tiny spot of skin right here,” he murmured, leaning in to kiss behind her left ear. She sighed as he proceeded to tenderly suck her earlobe then traveled down the slope of her neck while peeling the robe off her shoulders. Gathering her hair in his right hand to pull the thick mass aside, he attacked the nape of her neck with soft lips, shivers cascading down her spine. His left hand dipped into her bodice to cup one full breast. Lizzy pressed her bottom into him and he responded as would be expected. “I adore you, my Lizzy. Love you so immensely.”
“Do you want me, Fitzwilliam?” she asked with a purr. “Desperately?”
He moved to the other breast while simultaneously clutching her hip and pulling harshly against him. “Always I want you, my love. To love you, to be inside you while touching your flesh is my greatest joy.” He met her eyes, passion evident in darkened orbs. “I woke this morning with your glorious bared body beside me and I was painfully aroused. I urgently desired you, but you slept peacefully, so instead I contented myself with gazing at your beauty and cupping my palm over our child. Then you woke and expressed immediate hunger, which I certainly cannot in good conscience deny you, as your increased appetite is partially my fault.” He laughed, rubbing over her mildly protruding stomach before traveling lower with probing caresses. “Now, however, you have satisfied one pressing hunger and I have satisfied none.” He left her bosom to stroke her jaw and cheek, inclining to taste sweet lips.
Leaning fully onto his body, head resting on his right shoulder, Lizzy submitted to the rampant vibrations elicited by skillful fingers and mouth. “Elizabeth, my precious, beautiful wife. I love you forever. The very thought of you excites me tremendously. Your scent, your velvet skin, your breath, your touch…” Endlessly he whispered as he kissed over her neck and shoulder. Darcy was a verbal lover, Lizzy had discovered to her delight. Unless his mouth was otherwise occupied, he generally was expressing words of love and pleasure. It was enormously stimulating, Lizzy found, for both of them. Lizzy tended to principally remain silent and had asked him if this dismayed him in any way. Darcy had smiled and laughed lowly, grasping her cheeks as he replied, “Oh, my lovely Lizzy, you are not the least bit silent when we make love. You moan and sigh and gasp and articulate the most amazingly sensual sounds, all unwittingly in response to me. Then, invariably, you cry my name. You need say nothing else for me to know how profoundly I have moved and gratified you.”
Such was the case now, as her incredible husband murmured love while arousing her body with an infinitely perfect touch. For a blissful period of time, they loved as they stood, finding that no place was beyond acceptable for the passi
on which raced through them. In time, Darcy halted, pulling her hard against his heaving and trembling chest. “My love,” he rasped, “come to our bed so I can love you face to face.” He inhaled shakily. “I would carry you, but I do not trust my strength.”
Lizzy pivoted in his arms with a sigh, capturing his mouth with a hungry urgency and stepping toward the door. Thus entwined and kissing voraciously, they slowly reached their intended destination. Lizzy discarded his encumbering robe, baring all his flushed skin to her seeking strokes. Darcy preferred to keep her gown on, experiencing one of those times when her partially and gauzily draped form whetted his appetite. He sat her on the edge of their bed, kneeling on the floor amid her parted legs.
They allowed a moment to calm and gaze at each other, visually feasting on the beauty to be found in the other's body. Darcy ran light fingertips all over her, admiring and worshipping, but especially thanking God for bringing her into his life. Lizzy kissed sensitively over the colorful contusion to his left chest, palms brushing up and down his back, across derriere and hips.
Lizzy smiled, meeting his intensely blue eyes. “Bruised and beaten, you are still stunningly gorgeous, my husband, my lover. How handsome you are, William! Hard, muscular, skin so soft and fair, your hairs exquisite under my hands,” she caressed up his chest to his neck as she said, “straight shoulders and your neck, I love your neck! I do not know why exactly, but I think it my favorite part of you, although that is impossible to pinpoint.” She finished with a laugh, pulling him to her lips as she fell onto the bed.
Darcy wasted no time returning to the warmth of her body. They kissed fervidly between pants and gasps of pleasure. Lizzy clutched his shoulders, squeezing mindlessly and causing Darcy to release a muffled cry of pain.
“Oh William, I am so sorry! Are you…?”
He shook his head and smiled, only momentarily faltering in expressing his ardency for her. After a dynamic period of amatory delight, Darcy rose up, smoothing hair from her perspiring, rosy face. “Mrs. Darcy, I adore you,” he huskily whispered. “More than my life, I love you and always shall.” He kissed her lips, loving totally until both were overcome with flaming sensations.
Loving Mr. Darcy Page 24