Loving Mr. Darcy

by Sharon Lathan

  “I wonder if Marguerite knows of such French delicacies. I do hope so, for my valet's sake.” Darcy ran the back of two fingers along the swell of her breast under the bodice.

  Lizzy laughed. “Well, if she did not before, she does now, as she helps me dress and launders my undergarments. I deem Samuel will be quite satisfied, especially if his shy nature harbors great passion as it does with you, my heart.”

  Darcy blushed faintly, hiding his humility within her bosoms for a spell of nuzzling and kissing. Lizzy released a sigh of pleasure, kissing the top of his head. His muffled voice rose from where his lips were planted firmly on one nipple, “How many of these lingerie did you bring on this trip, my wife? Perhaps we should forego our plans for the morrow and stay inside.” He rose with a hopeful, questioning look to his wife, but Lizzy giggled and shook her head.

  “Forgive me, lover, for disappointing, but I only brought this one.” She laced her fingers through his hair, smiling happily and tickling her lips over his. “However,” she whispered breathily, “I do not judge the positive effects of this particular gown have yet been utterly exhausted.” With a last nip to his full lower lip, she twisted from his grasp and stood on the bed.

  Darcy smiled lasciviously, eyes brazenly grazing every inch of her head to toe. Lizzy flushed, boldly inventorying his physique as he was hers. Then she laughed, tossing her hair with a flip of her head and sweep of her hands. Arms raised over her head, she stretched, breasts jutting perkily and the bulge of the baby clearly defined by the clinging satin. Darcy continued to grin, groin already responding to all the marvelous attributes of his bride.

  “You see,” Lizzy spoke softly, fingers skimming airily down her neck toward her chest, “this is fine satin. A silk woven fabric that clings yet also glides and flows. Black as the night to contrast with ivory skin”—she brushed along her cleavage—“thin to display a hint of what hides underneath”—she lightly circled each visible nipple with one finger and Darcy licked his suddenly dry lips—“yet covering much of the skin to spark the imagination and tantalize.”

  She stroked over her hips and thighs, continuing huskily while Darcy's excitement manifested before her eyes. She undulated her hips, the long tails of the gown fluttering about her legs. “Note how it moves? So soft, cool to the touch, erotic in how it caresses the skin. Very, very, very stimulating,” she whispered, eyes open a mere slit as she observed her husband's avid passion.

  Darcy groaned audibly. “Elizabeth,” he murmured.

  Lizzy smiled naughtily. “I watch you, my handsome husband, in all your masculine glory. The memory of how you incite me coupled with the sensation of smooth satin encasing and caressing my body, and I am immeasurably aroused. I imagine you touching me, kissing me, loving me, and I lose all sense of anything but you.” Lizzy was truly growing highly excited, but no more so than Darcy, who was unable to speak in his hunger for her.

  With a thirsty glance, she wheezed, “Does this spur your ardor, my lover? Do you want to take me now, hard and fast?”

  Darcy snapped, sitting up and grasping her legs as Lizzy fell onto the bed. Within seconds he was over her, skirt rapidly moved aside, and he claimed her with a hoarse growl. It was over in seconds, yet still rapturous and intense. It was rushed, manic, dynamic, glorious, and wholly fulfilling.

  Collapsing in consummate bliss, Darcy rolled to the side with her encased in his arms. “Elizabeth Darcy, you take my breath away, literally.” He inhaled deep and shuddering, laughing shakily. “No sooner do I think I have reached the boundary of how far I can be aroused by you then you push me beyond. How will I survive this continual physical exertion?” He kissed her head and she laughed tremulously.

  “Your heart is strong, beloved. I trust you will survive brilliantly. Of course, if you deem it too much for you, I can desist.” She kissed his chest, lifting to gaze at his smiling, joyous face. He twisted a tress of her hair around his fingers, profound love emanating from every pore and beaming through his eyes.

  “No, my Lizzy, do not desist. I shall take my chances.” He clasped her face, drawing her to his mouth. “I love you, Elizabeth, forever.”

  “I love you, William, beyond forever.” They kissed languidly, tenderly, faithfully. Endlessly kissing and embracing, gentle caresses of devotion continued until sleep overtook them.

  THE FOLLOWING THREE DAYS were passed exclusively in sightseeing. Each day would begin with breakfast at the inn after which they would set out upon a new adventure abroad. Darcy rented a cabriolet, the newest carriage model from France, similar to a barouche but much lighter and swifter with a folding canvas calash hood and rear window. This particular cabriolet was designed to accommodate a separate driver mounted on the back, but Darcy preferred solitude and control, so operated the vehicle himself.

  The first day, they headed east toward Nottinghamshire. The country, once beyond Derby town limits, was exclusively devoted to agriculture. The plethora of rivers and streams created a lush land of vegetation, ample water supply, and numerous fisheries. Darcy confessed he had only twice traveled through the region to the east of Derby, once to travel to Nottingham itself on business, whereupon he grasped the opportunity to tour Sherwood Forest. Alas, the forest and numerous Robin Hood museums scattered throughout the area were too far north for them to comfortably reach on this trip.

  “Something to anticipate for another excursion, my love,” he placated, kissing her pouting lips.

  As they set out, Darcy began his narrative of the vicinity. Both Darcys had discovered to their immense delight that they were lovers of history. Darcy, as a fortunate result of his birth, had the means to quench his thirst for ancient history, architecture, and ruins. He confessed to Lizzy that he often believed that, if he had been the second son, he would likely have become an explorer or archeologist, such was his love of old buildings and stories. It was not an exaggeration when he told her about tramping through old ruins in France to the dismay of Bingley.

  Lizzy, sadly, had not been blessed from birth with the resources to travel beyond the confines of Hertfordshire. Instead, she embraced what history was found in her familial environs, frequented the various old houses, churches, and ruins nearby, and immersed herself in every book she could find. She surprised Darcy in possessing a fair knowledge of obscure English history, including Derbyshire. The truth is, she confessed, she had researched the area prior to her trip with the Gardiners and more extensively once they were engaged. This information pleased Darcy tremendously, and now he was fulfilling a dream of sharing such treasures with his wife. Of course, for Darcy it was also another positive entry on the long list indelibly etched on his heart of why Elizabeth Bennet was the only woman in the entire world meant for him.

  So, with no fear whatsoever that she would grow bored or annoyed, he launched into his tale. “This entire region was once the Saxon kingdom of Mercia from the fifth to sixth centuries. To this day, buried artifacts and old foundations from that era are unearthed. It was in the seventh century when the Saxons were introduced to Christianity, with a subsequent slow infusion of Biblical teaching and ways supplanting the old. In Spondon, there is an ancient church with both Celtic and Christian markings. In fact, religion was so important to the superstitious common folk that churches sprang up everywhere. Most of the remaining buildings from those times are churches.”

  Their first stop only a few miles outside of Derby was, not surprisingly, a church. The focal point of the small village of Chaddesden was the church dedicated to St. Mary the Virgin. The building was certainly not the grandest example of the genre, but many of the stones were ancient beyond dating, the foundations laid in a time so distant as to be forgotten. The main architecture dated from the 1300s and, aside from necessary restorations, was unaltered. Again, Lizzy and Darcy strolled through the hushed interior and then onto the grounds, leisurely admiring and absorbing the peace that infused such places before resuming their journey.

  They traveled through the village of Spondon, where an
other ancient church resided. The current building was rebuilt in 1390 to replace a far older one destroyed by fire. This one named after Saint Werburgh, the seventh century daughter of King Wulfhere of Mercia who became the senior Abbess of Mercia. So famous was she that some seventeen churches were dedicated to her throughout England. The little village sat on a hill offering a beautiful view of the encompassing Trent valley, including Derby itself a mere four miles away. Darcy and Lizzy paused to enjoy the panorama, sipping fruit juice contentedly in the relative silence of the sleepy town before continuing their quest.

  They passed through Ockbrook, not pausing to inspect the church there, turning vaguely south until reaching Long Eaton on the northern banks of the River Trent. They halted here for a brief stretch of their legs and light repast on the banks of the river. Reclining on a blanket, watching the ducks paddling and fish leaping, they talked and ate. Although Lizzy seemed completely unaffected by her pregnancy, stamina and bodily functions all within normal limits, Darcy fretted. The book and Dr. Darcy clearly listed muscle strain, backaches, fatigue, and benign uterine contractions as frequently occurring during the latter months of confinement, even to the degree of causing early labor or bleeding. For this reason, as well as the delight of a leisurely pace to better inspect the countryside, Darcy did not want to move too fast or venture a prolonged excursion abroad.

  The capstone of the day's expedition was Wollaton Hall near Radford in Nottinghamshire. This sixteenth-century masterpiece was reputed to be one of the most amazing manors in all of England. Darcy had long wanted to view it, but during his previous trips into Nottinghamshire he had taken a northeasterly route, which had precluded a visitation.

  “Is Wollaton Hall grander than Pemberley?” Lizzy inquired with a teasing smile.

  Darcy glanced at her face with a laugh. “Despite Miss Bingley's assertion that Pemberley is the grandest manor in all of England, and my own prejudice and pride regarding my ancestral home notwithstanding, I cannot in truth proclaim that it is the largest, most ornate, architecturally unique, or historically interesting specimen. Certainly not in all of the extensive kingdom, although I will affirm it the finest in all of Derbyshire. Or perhaps that is merely my arrogance shining through!”

  Lizzy lifted her brows in mock shock. “You arrogant? How absurd.”

  Darcy elbowed her side with a chuckle, continuing undeterred, “Be that as it may, we are now officially in Nottinghamshire, so I feel no sense of disloyalty if I am awestruck by another house.”

  The crossing into the bordering shire was unremarkable. There were no road signs or change in scenery to indicate the passage. They drove on through several small hamlets, most no larger than a pub, and three or four shops, and crossed two small rivers before finally entering the deer park surrounding Wollaton Hall. The massive house was easily visible from far away, a truly impressive example of Tudor structural design with spires, towers, gables, carvings, and niches. Lizzy's breath caught and Darcy's regulated mien of complacency slipped slightly. The house truly was magnificent.

  “Do you know the owner?” Lizzy asked in a stunned whisper.

  Darcy nodded. “We are not intimates, but I have socialized with Lord Middleton on a handful of occasions. His wife delivered an heir this spring, which is why they were not in London for the season; otherwise, I am sure you would have met him yourself. He is a pleasant man, a few years older than me I am guessing.”

  They alit some distance from the house, planning to merely walk about the grounds and admire. However, in one of those odd twists of fate which occur from time to time, one of the groundsmen spied them and recognized Darcy of Pemberley because the groundsman's sister happened to be a maid at Pemberley. Word traveled and within fifteen minutes of arriving, the housekeeper approached Darcy and Lizzy where they stood amid some shady trees.

  “Mr. Darcy of Pemberley, I believe?” She asked with a curtsey. Darcy was surprised but hid it well with a formal bow and confirmation. “My Lord Middleton requests the honor of your presence, sir, and Mrs. Darcy as well, if it is not too inconvenient?” Naturally, they could not refuse, in truth the idea of seeing the inside of the manor quite appealing.

  The Baron of Middleton greeted Darcy like an old and dear friend. “Mr. Darcy! What a delightful surprise. You must explain what business or pleasure brings you so far from Pemberley. But first, please introduce me to your wife.”

  What followed was an unplanned but in all ways pleasant noontime visit with Lord and Lady Middleton of Wollaton Hall. Luncheon of a substantially improved cuisine than the snacks packed in their carriage was shared by the four, and conversation was gay. Lizzy had little in common with the rather mousy Lady Middleton except for motherhood, a topic her ladyship delighted in sharing. They did embark on a thorough tour of the manor, Lord Middleton intricately familiar with the array of structural oddities, art, and history, a subject riveting to Darcy, so the two men had an endless host of discussion pieces.

  Finally pulling themselves away from their impromptu hosts, the Darcys resumed their journey. They were a bit behind schedule, but neither regretted the delay at Wollaton. Turning northwest, extending the loop toward Derby, they sedately traveled the five miles to Ilkeston. The moderate sized mining town naturally sported an old church, another dedicated to the Virgin Mary, built in 1150 with a noteworthy clock tower and effigy to the most powerful ancient Lord of Ilkeston, Nicholas de Cantelupe from the fourteenth century.

  Again, they paused to wander about the prosperous town. Several shops interested Lizzy, the weaving of fine hosiery being an Ilkeston specialty. However, by four o’clock they were weary and ready to finalize their journey. The seven miles to Locknell Hall passed easily, the Darcys arriving to joyous enthusiasm from Chloe Drury and a more sedate greeting from her husband, Clifton. Thereafter followed another block of time spent in engaging company, even Darcy and Clifton enjoying themselves with billiards and chess.

  Chloe could hardly wait to finagle privacy with Lizzy, grasping her hand the moment her parlor door was closed and pulling her to the settee. “Elizabeth, I was thrilled beyond words to receive your note. How fortuitous that you chose this time to visit. I have wonderful news.” She paused a moment before gushing with happiness, “Clifton and I are expecting!”

  Lizzy squealed and hugged her tight. “Oh Chloe! That is marvelous news. When is your date of confinement? How are you feeling? Have you told anyone else?”

  “Slow down, Elizabeth!” Chloe laughed. “One question at a time, please. The baby should arrive in late January, I am feeling as well as can be expected, and other than immediate family, we have told no others. There. Any other queries, Mrs. Curious?” They both laughed, Lizzy bending to pour tea.

  “Well, I am overjoyed. Our children will be months apart. In fact, we all seem to be procreating at an alarming rate, rather like rabbits! Filling Derbyshire with the next generation of citizens in one fell swoop.” Lizzy handed Chloe a cup. “Mr. Drury must be ecstatic. Tell me, is he as ridiculous as my husband? If he is, be warned, as the nursery will be decorated lavishly, and there may be no toys remaining in the little shop on Oak Street!”

  Chloe smiled sweetly. “Clifton is yet refusing to allow himself to anticipate fully.” She glanced at Lizzy's puzzled face and sighed. “I have told few this, Elizabeth, but I lost a child four years ago.”

  Lizzy squeezed her hand in sympathy, instinctively resting the other on her own baby, safe and secure in her womb. Chloe continued, “We had been married but a few months when I conceived. All seemed well until the third month.” She swallowed in remembered grief, shaking her head briefly and then smiling weakly. “Since then we have tried but to no avail. The physicians all said there was no reason why I should not conceive, but it simply did not happen until now. We waited to be sure, but quickening has occurred and I am feeling well. Clifton is yet afraid to hope and would rather I maintain the secrecy, but I am too happy.”

  “Oh Chloe, I am certain all will be well! It must be! You ap
pear hale enough, better than I did at your stage as a matter of fact.” Chloe laughed, confirming that she had hardly been ill a day, Lizzy declaring that horribly unfair, and the two pregnant friends embarked on a long discourse of all things baby.

  Day three, they headed south, halting first at Chellaston. This tiny suburb of Derby was famous for the alabaster quarried there and, not shockingly, was home to a thirteenth-century church. After a brief tour, they rambled on, meandering in no discernible pattern as far as Lizzy could ascertain. They passed through Swarkestone and over the famous thirteenth-century stone bridge spanning the River Trent. They paused on the far side, remaining in the cabriolet while Darcy explained that it was this bridge where the army of Prince Charles Stuart the Pretender was repulsed in its march on London. Local lore, he further informed her, maintained that the bridge and small, attached chapel was built by two sisters who lost their loves in the waters of the Trent during a flood. Whatever the truth, the bridge was a marvel of construction and art.

  Continuing on due south, they headed toward Calke Abbey. Calke Abbey was in fact not an abbey at all, but was built over the ancient site of an Augustinian abbey in the early 1700s and was given the illustrious name by one of its early residents. The Harpur family, Darcy told Lizzy, were known for their extremely strange eccentricities, rarely leaving the manor and constantly renovating the essentially baroque style mansion with rumored bizarre enhancements. Reclusive in the extreme, their brief appearance at the Cole's Masque was a shocking surprise. Darcy was unacquainted with the current occupants—few were—and presumed that the peculiar suppositions were probably exaggerated. Nonetheless, he thought it would be fun to view the manor and walk through the gardens, which were reputedly some of the grandest in all of England.