Mrs. Reynolds had proceeded efficiently with the plans for the Summer Festival as outlined before Elizabeth departed for London, so there was naught to do but wait for the day to arrive. She luxuriated in having zero demands on her person while her husband grew increasingly edgy and irritable. Twice he disappeared for several hours on long, strenuous hikes through the rough wooded areas of Pemberley, rationalizing that his legs were not injured so Dr. Darcy could not scowl at him for walking! He returned sweaty, filthy, with torn clothing, scraped hands, and brambles caught in his hair, indicating to his frowning wife that at least some rock climbing had ensued. However, the obvious pleasure and release attained from his exercise, without noticeable strain to his shoulder, prevented Lizzy from scolding.
Nevertheless, they all breathed huge sighs of relief when it was announced that a carriage and three men on horseback were approaching the manor. It was late afternoon and the occupants of Pemberley were scattered about in various pursuits. Darcy was currently in the attic storage rooms with several men assisting in the retrieval of nursery furniture from amongst the unorganized piles of boxes and ancient furnishings. Bingley had ridden over to the Hasberry property, as he had nearly every day, to learn first hand from Mr. Greystone. The older gentleman had taken quite a shine to Charles and was delightedly giving him a crash course in sheep rearing and walnut harvesting. The women sat in Lizzy's homey parlor, the windows open to the flowering garden beyond, actively discussing baby decorations.
Lizzy could not erase her vivid dream, so decided that subtle shades of blue and yellow would grace the walls. Harriet Vernor had recommended the decorator who had assisted her with their nursery, so an appointment was made for the following week. In the meantime, the women gladly offered inspired advice, more for the enjoyment of doing so than out of any real knowledge or expectation. Even Caroline chimed in now and again, apparently caught up in the enthusiasm, and was actually quilting a baby blanket. They were all shocked at the effort, and doubly at the skill she employed, as none of them would have imagined Caroline Bingley capable of wielding a sewing needle.
Thus, the footman announcing impending visitors found the ladies all bent over a baby project of some sort when he entered the room. Collectively, the fabrics and yarns were stowed as the occupants hastened from the room. Lizzy instructed Phillips to inform Mr. Darcy as she rushed to the foyer.
Entering the long, curved promenade were Dr. Darcy, Dr. Penaflor, and Colonel Fitzwilliam mounted on horseback trailed by a carriage with the Matlock crest. The females clustered on the porch as the men dismounted, Richard waving in greeting as he turned toward his parent's carriage. Dr. Darcy bounded up the steps first, sweeping Georgiana into an embrace and leaning for a kiss to Lizzy's cheek before either was fully aware of his intent. Lizzy blushed and Georgiana giggled, while Dr. Darcy's eyes swept over the house.
“Ah, Pemberley,” he said in a tone of deep affection. “How beautiful she is.” He sighed and smiled brightly. “It is good to be home!” He kissed Georgiana's forehead and turned toward Dr. Penaflor. “Did I not tell you it was the most excellent home in all of England, Raja?”
Dr. Penaflor merely nodded, busy bowing elegantly to each lady in succession. Darcy marched over the threshold at that moment, pulling his jacket over a dusty shirt in an attempt to make himself presentable, unaware of the cobwebs clinging to his hair.
“Uncle! How wonderful you have arrived. Welcome to Pemberley, Dr. Penaflor. I see you have brought the Matlocks in your wake.” Darcy shook hands with his uncle, both men grinning identically.
“Are you not too old to play adventurer in the attic William?” George asked with a brush to his nephew's hair.
Darcy swept frantically through his hair, making it worse in the process, finally laughing as he shrugged and gave up. “I was retrieving nursery furniture actually. Attics are not designed for frames such as mine.”
“Besides,” chimed in Colonel Fitzwilliam, “the game was ‘explorer’ and Darcy cannot be Marco Polo if I am not present to be Kublai Khan.” Richard mounted the last few steps, smiling broadly with a shyly smiling Anne de Bourgh on his arm, Lord and Lady Matlock following.
“Anne! How delightful.” Darcy kissed his cousin's hand. “We were so hopeful that you would visit.”
Joyful and heartfelt greetings proceeded all around as the group slowly wend their way into the house. Anne had not visited Pemberley in over five years and was thrilled to be here—and to be away from her mother. The Matlocks had cajoled, pleaded, threatened, and bribed, finally eroding Lady Catherine's will. The fact that Anne was twenty-seven and more than capable of deciding her own plans had very little bearing as far as Lady Catherine was concerned. Anne, however, was manifestly improving each day. She felt stronger and her cheeks were pink. Her daily-increasing exuberance, supplemented by her aunt and uncle's involvement, had bolstered Anne's usually timid nature and weak backbone. She had kindly but forcefully exerted herself, stating with a tremulous voice, yet unequivocally, that she was traveling to Pemberley. Lady Catherine had countered with the imperious declaration that she, therefore, would also be coming. Anne had blanched and hung her head in disappointment. Lord Matlock rapidly annihilated that threat by firmly reminding her that the Darcys had not invited her. One could almost raise a smattering of sympathy for poor Lady Catherine, who lately seemed to be receiving a lashing from nearly everyone!
Anne was immediately accosted by Georgiana, who reintroduced her to Miss Kitty, and the two were soon chatting giddily as they led Anne into the house.
“Dr. Darcy,” Lizzy began.
“It is George, Elizabeth. GEORGE.” He spoke slowly, shaking his head in mock exasperation, “Why can she not remember my name, William?”
Darcy smiled, squeezing his blushing wife's arm. “She is exhibiting proper manners, Uncle. You recall manners and propriety, I assume?”
“Ah yes. Manners: the bane of the English existence. Very well then, how may I help you, Mrs. Darcy?”
“Forgive me, George, I was hoping you could allot the time, as soon as feasible, to examine William's arm. He is frankly vexing us all with his moping glances toward the stables.” She smiled winsomely at her husband, who mumbled something about never moping.
Dr. Darcy, however, was gazing at him with raised brow and a slight lilt to his lips, “Does your arm yet pain you, William?”
“Not in the least, Uncle.”
“Even when you raise it above your head?”
“No.”
He shrugged. “Then why are you not riding your horse?”
Darcy stopped abruptly with a glare. “Because you, Doctor Darcy, ordered me not to until you examined me and gave the approval.”
George arched both brows in surprise. “Did I really say that?”
“Yes, you did,” Darcy said through gritted teeth.
“Hmmm, how odd.” George was stroking his chin in perplexity. “Although it does sound like something I would say, is that not so, Raja?”
“Yes, it does sound like you, George,” Dr. Penaflor was grinning, sparkling teeth flashing.
“If you declare it so, William, then I believe you. What I should have said is that you may resume all normal activities once no further pain is felt.” He clapped Darcy on the shoulder, the left one, with a brilliant smile. “How is that? Happy now?”
Darcy was staring at him open mouthed. With a final glare and shake of his head, he pivoted and stomped into the parlor. George met Lizzy's glittering eyes, winking broadly and grinning as he gallantly offered an arm. Once in the parlor, Lizzy approached her husband who was brooding by a far window. As humorous as George Darcy was—and a part of Lizzy did want to burst into laughter at his teasing of Darcy—she nonetheless sympathized with Darcy's frustration. She gently placed her hand on his arm and he turned to her.
“Are you alright, beloved? Your uncle was merely teasing you, so do not be too angry. I, for one, am glad you have given your shoulder the additional time to fully heal. I rather lik
e you perfectly intact and functional.” She tiptoed to kiss his cheek, caressing briefly over his chest.
Darcy sighed and smiled sheepishly. “You are right, of course. Am I pathetic if I admit that the truth is I miss my stallion?”
Lizzy chuckled. “Not in the least. If I must share your affections, I can endure it being for a horse. Promise me that you will rise early tomorrow and go for a long ride?”
Darcy hugged her and kissed her forehead. “Thank you, my dearest. I love you.”
“Yes, I know.” She brushed through his hair, removing the last of the cobwebs and smoothing it flat. With a final check to his cravat she declared him perfect.
They rejoined the group lounging about on the numerous sofas and chairs of the spacious parlor. George had helped himself to Darcy's whiskey, sipping with delight. “Wonderful blend, William. For some reason I have never ascertained, whiskey is nearly impossible to acquire in India. You should try some, Raja.”
“Thank you, but I prefer a nice red wine. Spirits do not agree with me. Mr. Darcy,” Dr. Penaflor addressed from his perch behind Anne, “is not your cousin, Miss de Bourgh, the very picture of health?”
The phrase was perhaps a bit overzealous, but Anne certainly was flourishing, especially with the bright blush currently spreading over her fuller cheeks. Darcy smiled fondly at his cousin. “She is radiant and beautiful. What exactly did you two prescribe?”
“Primarily foods rich in iron. Green vegetables, beans, red meat and organ meat, grains and nuts, and strawberries. Also, an herbal tea brewed of ingredients found to strengthen the blood. The taste is bitter, but Miss de Bourgh is brave and an excellent patient.” Dr. Penaflor was clearly pleased with the improvement to his patient.
“Miss de Bourgh,” Lizzy said, “you are radiant as Mr. Darcy stated. How are you feeling?”
Anne answered in her quiet voice, “You are too kind, Mrs. Darcy. I must confess that I am feeling so much stronger. I do not sleep as much as I did, I breathe easier, have more energy, and my appetite is improved. William, you remember the ruins a half mile or so from the manor that we used to play in?” He nodded. “I visited them the other day for the first time in probably twelve years! I could never walk so far.” She smiled brightly and giggled. “It brought back so many memories.” She turned to Lizzy. “Your husband, Richard, and I would play hide-and-seek amongst the fallen stones. I always won!” She declared with childish pride.
Darcy chuckled in remembrance. Richard spoke up with a grin, “You won, dearest cousin, because you were far smaller and could squeeze between and under the stones.”
“Remember how dirty you would get, Anne?” Darcy chimed in with an evil laugh. “Aunt Catherine would grab your ear and march you off for a bath, declaring all boys the spawn of Satan for messing up proper ladies. How many times did she forbid us to play outside?”
“Hundreds, I am sure,” Richard answered, suddenly bursting into a deep laugh. “Remember the one time when Anne had that big, black spider caught in her hair? Aunt Catherine shrieked so loudly we thought the rafters would cave. Maids and footman were running about trying to kill the poor arachnid while Aunt perched precariously on the arm of a chair. It was the funniest thing I ever saw.”
Lord Matlock spoke, “She wrote me a scathing letter demanding I thrash you. I know she wrote the same to James.”
“What ever happened to the spider?” Kitty asked.
“Smart fellow crawled away. Probably still resides in some unused room of the manor, begetting hundreds of little black children,” Darcy replied. The women shuddered but laughed nonetheless. The afternoon passed with remembrances and laughter, while the Pemberley staff efficiently readied guest chambers. The Matlocks would journey on to Rivallain after dining, but Richard would stay at Pemberley.
“I promised Lady Catherine I would be Anne's official chaperone,” he shared with Lizzy and Darcy, rolling his eyes. Then he glanced pointedly to Dr. Penaflor, who was relating a story about King Ferdinand of Spain to the avidly listening group. “I think she is afraid of the scary, swarthy-skinned fellow! He is a foreigner, after all, and you know you cannot trust them foreigners,” he whispered in a perfect imitation of his Aunt.
Dr. Darcy approached Darcy and Lizzy as the party broke up to prepare for dinner. “Elizabeth dear, I have something for you.” He handed her a large jar filled with tallow-colored cream. “It is a mixture of oils and wool fat. Indian women massage this over their bellies and breasts when pregnant to prevent the skin unduly stretching.”
Both of the Darcys peered at him with absolute incomprehension. George looked from one to the other with a raised brow. “You know, the splitting of the skin that can occur as the child grows?”
Lizzy frowned but Darcy paled in horror, clutching his wife to his side and speaking with a weak squeak, “The skin… splits! This is… abominable! How is it the book says nothing of this? What other grisly realities should we know of, Uncle?” He was trembling, grasping Lizzy so tightly that she could barely breathe.
George laughed and patted his shoulder. “No no, nephew. It is not as you imagine. Forgive me for frightening you. I sometimes forget how repressed this culture is, not sharing private details.” He shook his head. “Let me explain: the skin can tear, very superficially, as the baby grows. Usually the scars disappear, but at times they remain and can be unsightly, although in no way damaging. Keeping the skin well lubricated aids in the natural process. That is all. I was merely attempting to help. Please pardon me for frightening you both or crossing any lines of that proper English behavior that I persist in forgetting!”
Darcy was so visibly relieved that he nearly collapsed. “No, Uncle, please, share your knowledge with us by all means. Elizabeth and I want to be prepared for this experience.”
George smiled and nodded. Lizzy thanked him for the cream, her own relief intense. George bowed and turned away, pivoting back a second later. “By the way, William. Some find that having the spouse be the administer of the cream and massage leads to other enjoyable activities.” He grinned as the Darcys’ blushed. “Of course, I am a single man so have no idea what they are talking about.” With a final wink, he strode briskly down the hallway, whistling cheerily.
The next morning, three days now until the Festival, Lizzy woke to a room of blazing sunlight and already stifling heat. It was nearly nine and she was alone in their huge bed, the warmth of her husband's body long since dissipated. She had no memory of his leaving, assumed it was probably in the wee hours after dawn, not even an imprint remaining partly because she was clutching his pillow into her chest. She yawned and stretched, the baby flipping about in wakefulness, as her eyes alit on Darcy's hastily scratched note. She retrieved it from where it was propped against the lamp on the bed stand, laughing as she read the four words he had scrawled: Gone riding. Love you.
“How romantic,” she murmured with a smile, rising and pulling on her gauzy robe, moving briskly toward the water closet as the baby painfully danced on her bladder.
Darcy entered the room moments later, a rapid scan concluding that she must be in her dressing room. He rather doubted she had risen and was already downstairs. The oppressive heat in the closed room struck him as a physical blow, so he crossed to the balcony doors, opening them wide and then moved to the other windows. One of the advantages of being on the top floor, surely one of the reasons that the Master chambers were located here and facing the valley with the lake and river, were the crisp breezes consistently flowing. He stood for a moment at the far window, allowing the cooling current to brush over his sweaty brow and damp linen of his shirt.
He was aware of the fact that he was grinning happily. Parsifal had greeted his Master with unmistakable enthusiasm. Darcy saddled his stallion himself, softly scolding him to stand still, Parsifal leaping forward before Darcy was fully mounted. They had run for hours. The sad result of Darcy's injury was that the horse had not been run for close to a month. There was not a groom in Darcy's employ, not even Mr. Thurber,
who would brave taking Parsifal out, even if Darcy had ordered it. It was not that the animal was particularly reckless or unmanageable; it was the reality that he belonged to Mr. Darcy, the only person who had ever ridden him, and the thought of another on his back was quite simply unfathomable.
Darcy ended their race with an exhilaration not felt in weeks. He was renewed, with a sensation of health and vigor coursing through his body and making him feel a teenager again. His eyes had lifted from the stable yard to the corner of the manor where he knew his beautiful wife lay in slumber, and he had grinned slowly. Tossing the reins to a groom and nuzzling Parsifal one last time, Darcy rushed with long strides to a side door. In an odd twist from the last ride with Parsifal necessary to cool his passionate lust, this ride had heightened it. Taking the steps several at a time, nearly bowling over a towel-encumbered maid in his haste, Darcy lurched through their chamber's door with frankly only one thought on his mind.
Now he stood by the window, aroused, and impatiently allowing her about another minute to appear before he barged into her dressing room. She entered seconds later, yawning and rubbing her face. Darcy watched secretly from the corner as she arched her back in a sinuous stretch with arms over her head, the growing bulge of their child peeking through the diaphanous folds of her untied robe. He could easily see her pert breasts and the outline of all her luscious curves through the gossamer fabric. A sudden gust of air from the balcony stirred her hair and caused the silk of her robe to swirl away from her legs. Lizzy pivoted toward the window in fright, finally cognizant of the now open windows, when Darcy spoke.
Loving Mr. Darcy Page 31