All eyes now focused on the new arrival: a man in his mid-thirties of average height, stocky build, and swarthy, with coal black eyes and thick, curly hair as black as a starless midnight sky. He smiled, teeth gleaming ivory as he bowed. He too wore an outfit of traditional Indian style, although far more sedate and unadorned than George Darcy's. So dark was he that Lizzy thought he was Indian, but then he spoke. “Saludo. Greetings.”
“Allow me to introduce my colleague Dr. Raul Penaflor Aleman de Vigo. His full name is far longer and I frankly cannot remember it all. A Spaniard, but do not let that influence your opinion! He is a good man and excellent physician—nearly as skilled as me! Is not that so, Raja?”
Dr. Penaflor flashed another dazzling smile. “As you say, George.” His voice was rich with a heavy accent, his enunciation of “George” so altered as to be nearly indistinguishable.
Darcy stepped forward, exerting his authority as the Master of the manor to extend all the proper introductions. Mr. Daniels, with a last glance and nod to Mary, finally escaped. The rest retreated to the parlor, Dr. Darcy's robust timbre frequently ringing out with a witticism or comment. Lizzy understood why Darcy said his uncle reminded him of Richard Fitzwilliam. The two did have a similar easy humor and irreverence about them at odds with the seriousness of their professions. The comparable traits between Darcy and his uncle were as striking as their contradictory characteristics. Despite the aforementioned minor physical differences, there was no doubt to Lizzy she was catching an arcane vision of her husband in twenty years. Like his nephew, George Darcy missed nothing. His hawk-eyed gaze was piercing and showed his supreme intelligence, and his brows arched intensely, as did Darcy's, but with a profound softness at the edges, undoubtedly a result of ultimate empathy and daily dealing with suffering. Both men were quick witted, but George Darcy seemed utterly indifferent to the nuances of propriety and clever phrasing. He spoke eloquently but bluntly, not purposely offensive yet unconcerned with coddling one's sensibilities. Lizzy found it refreshing and liked him immensely.
Dr. Penaflor, in contrast, was reticent. When he spoke it was meaningful and succinct. Nonetheless, he sat in gentle repose with an amused lilt to his mouth, obviously highly entertained by his friend's banter and family felicity. When Darcy eventually submitted to an examination by his uncle, Lizzy hovering in nervous interest, Dr. Penaflor trailed along with clear professional curiosity.
Darcy related the event while Lizzy assisted the removal of his jackets and shirt. All traces of humor disappeared as Dr. Darcy and Dr. Penaflor bent over Darcy's left side. No words were spoken as George carefully palpated the chest and rib cage. He asked a few brief questions as he prodded, glancing frequently into Darcy's face.
“The bones are intact, although there is internal bruising of the cartilage over the print itself. I am surprised your breathing has not been affected. The bruising is as expected. Did you bring any leeches with you, Raul?”
“Leeches!” Lizzy exclaimed in horror.
Dr. Penaflor answered them both, “Unfortunately, no, George. Leeches reduce the bleeding and swelling, Mrs. Darcy, and inject substances that coagulate the blood and aid absorption. We do not know why, yet it works.”
George had moved on to the left hand, testing each finger and Darcy's grip strength before feeling the pulses and then probing along each ligament and muscle as he traveled upward. Darcy displayed no ill effect until the upper arm and shoulder were touched. He winced and recoiled instinctively. George pursed his lips, gingerly proceeding with his inspection in miniscule increments, not overlooking an inch. He gently but purposefully rotated and lifted the arm in all directions, gauging the injury's intensity by the expressions of discomfort crossing Darcy's face as sweat beaded. Lizzy sat at his side and clutched his right hand, dabbing at teary eyes with his handkerchief still in her possession, bravely enduring his crushing grip.
Finally, Dr. Darcy ceased his examination. Lizzy wiped Darcy's perspiring, pale forehead while he offered the diagnosis. “As you figured, William, the muscles were torn a bit. Also, you have developed a nasty inflammation to the bursae. That, Mrs. Darcy, is not as horrid as it sounds.”
Dr. Penaflor was already rummaging through his trunk of medical supplies, extracting several glass jars while George continued. “The bursae are the fluid pouches found in the joints and ends of muscles. With a serious tearing as you have suffered, William, those areas are damaged and become inflamed. Anyway, enough medical gibberish. Your treatment is twofold. We have several ointments which will decrease the inflammation and swelling, menthol and camphor primarily, so the odor will not be pleasant. Mrs. Darcy, you will need to massage a generous amount in each night, deeply into the tissue, as firmly as William can handle it. Keep the area wrapped and immobilized. Raul is very good at constructing comfortable straps if you have any extra fabric about, my dear, and will demonstrate how it must be. William, you are required to be a complacent patient and do all I say. Once the swelling is reduced adequately—as I deem it, not you—then I will show you some exercises to strengthen the muscles.”
“How long?” Darcy asked.
“A week, perhaps two. If you comply, the recovery will be swift. Loving care is the key, and I think you have that in abundance,” he finished with an affectionate smile to Lizzy, who had yet to relinquish Darcy's hand.
Lizzy accepted her nursing responsibilities seriously. Dr. Penaflor mixed the foul-smelling unguent and concocted several cushiony arm slings, instructing an avidly absorbed Lizzy in their use. Darcy, now recovered from his uncle's exploration, observed his wife's anxious study with a fond smile. Fortunately, his adoration was immense, because Lizzy so intensely enforced her duties she burst in on the gentlemen's revelry much later that evening, declaring with a firm voice and tapping foot that it was time for her husband to retire for his medicine. The three of them were more than slightly intoxicated, George winking broadly at Lizzy as he sent Darcy on his way with several observations about henpecked spouses.
Darcy submitted blearily to the massage, essentially feeling little pain. This mild anesthesia was to Lizzy's advantage, since she pressed harshly with strong hands, kneading deeply as instructed, the only deterrent to her treatment being the need to constantly slap her husband's seeking right hand. However, by the time she had him slathered and wrapped as a mummy, he gratefully sank onto the pillows and fell immediately asleep.
Lizzy lovingly observed his restful face for a time, eventually curling up alone on the far side of the bed. The combination of his pungent aroma and rumbling snores, activated, as always, when he imbibed excessively, precluded any snuggling—for this night at least.
DARCY WOKE LATE, CONFUSED and with heart pounding from a troublesome dream: He was bound to a post with thick ropes, unable to control any of his limbs, and having extreme difficulty inhaling deeply, with spasms pounding through his head and entire left side blazing. Meanwhile, his luscious wife performed an erotic, disrobing dance far across the room. His dream self was obscenely aroused, throbbing in agony with the need to join with her, yet he could not move and any effort to do so caused her to slip further away. The mingled torments of frustration, desire, and physical pain jolted him awake.
He was alone in their bed, sunlight streaming through the crack in the curtained window, marked physical arousal evident while his bound shoulder and arm weighed him down. “Elizabeth?” His voice cracked oddly with a note of hysteria, the unsettling dream still lingering about the edges of his consciousness and the combined pains a reality. “Elizabeth!” he called again, attempting awkwardly to rise without success. During the night, the carefully wrapped bandage had constricted further, preventing even the slightest mobility.
“Beloved, I am here,” she replied, her voice floating through the sitting room door mere moments before she entered bearing a coffee-laden tray. “Stay still, love. I will help you up.” Then she laughed at his appearance. “Apparently I was mistaken. You obviously need no assistance from me as you appear fairly ‘up’ alrea
dy.”
“Most amusing, Mrs. Darcy. Suffering from grievous injuries and hideous nightmares, yet she teases me. What happened to the doctor's prescribed tender loving care?”
“If nightmares elicit this response, I cannot fathom what sensual dreams inspire.” She threw his robe off her shoulders, exposing her nakedness to greedy eyes with bed sheets fluttering from the response.
“Elizabeth, please do not toy with me! I need you, now!” Forcefully hurling the blanket aside so she could access his body, Lizzy straddled his thighs and attacked.
“Oh God!” he cried with an arch, moaning blissfully as his perfect wife worked magic. Quite adept after their months of experimenting with all aspects of lovemaking, Lizzy knew precisely how to stimulate her fabulous spouse. Her own passion escalated at the taste, aroma, sight, and sound of him. Even his fabric-swathed body with its lingering medicinal scent was insufficient to quench her excitement. It was crazy morning loving, their fiery passion rising to indescribable levels as Darcy's hurting miraculously dissolved.
All medicinal treatments unified over the following days, with Darcy healing rapidly as a young man vigorously in the bloom of health can do. He argued the prescribed trammeling of his arm fruitlessly but with minimal cogency, as the truth was it did help the pain.
The atmosphere inundating the house escalated dramatically with the arrival of George Darcy. His naturally extroverted and loquacious personality was on full display, heightened by the parade of visitors suddenly flooding the place in a desire to see him. Darcy attempted to concentrate on estate business, but rapidly gave up. He happily relinquished the endeavor for the time being in order to delight in his uncle's company.
The dinner party planned by the Darcys for the following evening was greatly anticipated. Darcy had sent a formal invitation to his Aunt Catherine and Anne, but had not received a reply. He and Lizzy had mixed emotions on their possible attendance, although primarily they discovered, to their mutual surprise, that they hoped for an appearance. Their desire was to place the rift in the past. Perhaps aspiring for a close relationship was misguided; however, they could seek relative peace.
Nonetheless, with the sudden addition of a gregarious and eccentric Uncle George, further speculation or worry over the de Bourgh situation was forgotten. Darcy hired an orchestra for an informal ball and ordered the polishing of the long disused ballroom until it gleamed from the hundreds of lights gracing the three chandeliers. Lizzy planned an exotic menu of unusual cuisines, augmented with enthusiasm by George and Dr. Penaflor, both of whom marched into the kitchen amid cries of dismay from the cook to whip up a couple Indian and Spanish dishes.
The guest list was small, or at least small compared to most London society soirees. Naturally, the Bingleys, Miss Bingley, the Gardiners, Colonel Fitzwilliam, and Lord and Lady Matlock attended. Also invited were the Drurys, both Vernor couples, Miss Bertha Vernor, the Lathrops, Fitzherberts, Sitwells, and Hugheses. Darcy had added a few of his other close friends from Town, along with Mr. and Mrs. Andrew Daniels and Mr. Joshua Daniels.
The general reception was held in the ballroom, the foyer far too humble in size, with the orchestra playing softly in the background. Dr. Darcy and Dr. Penaflor stood next to Lizzy, Darcy, and Georgiana for easy introductions. Lord and Lady Matlock, as well as Richard, were delighted to see George again, it having been years. Lord Matlock and George had known each other all their lives and were rapidly engaged in reminiscences and storytelling, to the amusement of all.
Darcy was seriously annoyed at the insistence of his wife and uncle that his arm remain bound. This required, in his opinion, not only the ludicrous exhibition of his coat sleeve dangling emptily and the handicap of managing one-handed, but also the wearying certainty of repeating the tale of his injury endlessly. He argued to no avail, the two only relenting in loosening the bindings enough so that he had limited use of his hand.
His vexation was mitigated by the overall festive atmosphere, the beauty and vivaciousness of his wife, and his excitement at the surprise planned for his beloved Elizabeth. He gazed at her, dressed exquisitely in a new white and silver gown, face radiantly glowing with mirth and health as she greeted the Vernors. For Darcy, these events have always been painful. The need to create idle conversation compounded by the pressure of the spotlight on him as host had prevented him from organizing anything grander than intimate family gatherings since becoming Master. Now, with the unequaled perfection that was Elizabeth Darcy as Mistress, his joy and enthusiasm for parties and social activities of all kinds had drastically altered. The truly amazing aspect of it all was that many other women would have made delightful hostesses but none with the innocent honesty, true grace, and artless pleasure of Elizabeth. Darcy was so overwhelmingly proud that he felt near to bursting.
He stood quietly by her side, greeting friends and family in his usual reserved manner, but a soft smile danced over his lips, widening appreciable every time Elizabeth laughed, which was often, or met his eyes. They remained close to each other, frequently touching in sweet communion. Over her shoulder, as she spoke softly with Harriet Vernor, Darcy noticed the Gardiners entering. His grin spread and he lightly caressed the small of her back.
“Dearest, your aunt and uncle have arrived.”
Lizzy turned with a ready smile on her face, a smile that was instantly replaced by a dropped jaw and widened eyes. Darcy was laughing at her pleased astonishment, Lizzy pivoting for a quick embrace and kiss and whispered I love you before twirling about to dash into the arms of her father.
“Papa! I cannot believe it… Mama!” The wonderment multiplied by the sight of her mother's stupefied countenance as she peered about the ornate room from behind her husband. Lizzy embraced her goggle-eyed mother. Mrs. Bennet had not yet seen any of the Darcy homes and was clearly speechlessly impressed. Mr. Bennet had visited Darcy House during his daughter's engagement, remembering the library with special fondness, yet was amazed anew at the glittering opulence of the ballroom and surrounds. His amazement was increased by the casual elegance of his second daughter and the improved appearances of both Kitty and Mary, who were now approaching for hugs and kisses.
He gazed over his daughters, Jane and Mr. Bingley crossing the room as well, and addressed Lizzy, “Your husband bribed me with unfettered access to his library and port, so how could I refuse.” He winked at Darcy. “Your mother needed only to hear the word ‘shopping’ and she was compliant. Quite the shindig, Lizzy. I am duly impressed.”
“Perhaps, Papa, I can induce you to dance with me? As you can see, my usual dancing partner is crippled and you appear dressed for the occasion,” Lizzy teased with a tug on his jacket.
Mr. Bennet, in fact, was dandified in a new suit tailored in the latest fashion, although he had refused long trousers clinging stubbornly to the familiarity of knee breeches. Lizzy had never in her life seen him dressed so finely. “I shall consider the matter, Lizzy. If I dance with you, I will likely be required to extend the courtesy to Jane, Kitty, your mother, and Mary, the last of which will probably make this young man irritated.”
His amused eyes lit on Mr. Daniels, who was trailing Mary about as if physically tied to her. Of course, it was understandable to some degree, as Mary was stunning. Kitty and Georgiana had sufficiently nagged until Mary exhaustedly relented and agreed to wear the purple gown with woven wisteria. Mr. Daniels's eyes had literally bulged when he saw her, and the two were since inseparable. If Mary was in any way disturbed by his attention, it did not show. In fact, she was radiant, blushing prettily at her father's reference.
Introductions were extended all around, the flamboyant Dr. George Darcy joining the fray. Mr. Daniels boldly enforced his acquaintance on both Bennet parents, snatching at the fortuitous circumstance. The hubbub around the doorway was convivial and rowdy; therefore, it was several minutes before anyone noticed the newest arrivals.
“Lady Catherine de Bourgh! What a delightful surprise.” Dr. Darcy's booming voice ruptured the tumult, s
ilence descending suddenly as nearly every eye jerked to George and then the door. Lady Catherine stood placidly under the glare, Anne meekly at her side with head slightly drooping. Darcy immediately placed a hand onto the small of Lizzy's back, jointly stepped forward without hesitation to sequester the new arrivals near the elaborate lintel. He bowed regally before his aunt and cousin, Elizabeth at his side with an elegant curtsey.
“Lady Catherine, Miss de Bourgh. Welcome to Darcy House. Mrs. Darcy and I are pleased you have come.” Darcy paused, waiting patiently for her acknowledgement.
“Fitzwilliam, thank you for the invitation. Darcy House is lovely. Reminiscent of the days when your dear mother was Mistress.” She turned toward Lizzy, inclining her head. “I esteem the manor responds positively to having a woman in residence. Mrs. Darcy, I am willing to accept that my prior opinions were hastily reached, and perhaps I should apportion the time to amend this oversight now.”
“‘Perhaps,’ Aunt Catherine?” Darcy said with a cold inflection and scowl, his free hand possessively about Elizabeth's waist.
“Fitzwilliam, you stated as much yourself, accusing me of not allotting the former Miss Bennet the opportunity to prove herself to me. In this you are correct and I confess to this being a fault on my part. Mrs. Darcy she may now be, and I do recognize this as an unalterable fact, yet should I not be given the chance to form my own opinion of your wife? Even if it is arrived at late and after extreme errors in my conduct?”
Darcy was glowering, not at all certain he wished to be reasonable when it came to any action remotely demeaning or judgmental on his wife. Lizzy sensed his rising irritation and spoke first. “Lady Catherine, Mr. Darcy and I wish to end this dispute and heal the rift. We are willing to bend to a degree. This invitation to our home was in an effort to accomplish this, and we are pleased you are here. If you feel you need to observe me to ease your heart, then do so with my blessing. However, I pray you do fully understand that your opinion ultimately matters naught to either of us.”
Loving Mr. Darcy Page 26