Darcy shifted and pulled the covers up to his face to mask his smile.
He wanted a lifetime of bed crumbs, of bras in the middle of the floor, of tiny puddles of drool on pillows. He wanted her temper even if it meant having something hurled at his head, just as much as he wanted her beauty and her wit. Everything that made Lizzie, Lizzie whether it was adorable, or irritating, or ridiculous – these traits of hers would be his constant companions until the end of his days, and he wouldn't take no for an answer…
Because he was ardently in love with her.
If he were asked to pinpoint the onset of all of these feelings he wouldn't have been able to. So much of his relationship with Lizzie consisted of being thrown in the middle before he even knew they'd begun and being in love with her was no different; Darcy didn't get a grand moment of clarity – his love for her was simply there and it was as organic to him as the need to breathe.
Suddenly reaching for a pen on the nightstand Lizzie said, "Cadence Ariel is the perfect name for a little girl! Oh my god, I've gotta mark that page!"
Darcy bolted upright at the sound of this, eyes bulging and mouth agape, "What?! Have you lost your mind?"
"Wow, look who's awake," she snickered dryly.
With a loud groan and a withering look he dramatically flopped back down among the covers.
"Aww," Lizzie laughed, "I got tired of watching you play possum; it's no fun having you up if you're just gonna lay there pretending to be asleep thinking I haven't noticed you staring at me for the last fifteen minutes."
"I wasn't pretending," he grumbled, "I was trying to sleep as long as possible – I was hoping for a coma."
"Sadly, not even that would be enough to get you out of Auntie Catherine's Easter Extravaganza." She quickly added, "And you are totally not leaving me to go into that vole pit alone."
"But, you and Auntie have been spending so much time together – I thought you were becoming pals." Darcy grinned.
Lizzie snorted at this. "One day I'm gonna have to visit the opposite world in which you live in. It must be an awfully nice place." Shaking her head she said, "Quality time with Lady Catherine consists of her informing me that every thought I've had concerning the future of this baby is wrong over a light lunch; from strollers to names, she hasn't hesitated to give me her very decided opinion."
"Well, 'Cadence Ariel' does hint that you shouldn't be left completely to your own devices," he said thoughtfully.
"Oh shut up," she playfully smacked him in the face with her pillow. "I was joking; I would never give my daughter a name like 'Ariel' – everyone knows Belle is my favorite out of the Disney Princesses."
Smiling, Darcy pulled himself back up again, and kissed her cheek. "'Belle' won't be happening, either," he told her while cracking open the baby name book that had kept his wife occupied for the better part of the morning. "You seem to have a bit of a thing for girls names; do you know something I don't?"
"My family kinda has a track record in that department," she said matter-of-factly. "You're sleeping with the, would-be Sean Thomas Jr. – we should probably invest in some pink shit."
"Speaking as the one with the deciding factor DNA, I'm thinking we should probably have a game plan for both sexes." He added scrunching his face, "And, Abigail? You really shouldn't be left to your own devices."
"What's wrong with Abigail?"
"Nothing, if you put 'Goody' in front of it and wear buckles on your shoes."
Lizzie rolled her eyes. "Okay and your oh-so superior choice is…?"
"I've always been partial to Caitlin." Darcy shrugged.
"Caitlin?" With furrowed brow locked into place, Lizzie casually popped a cracker into her mouth. "Oh, that's awesome," she told him dryly, "in school she'll go by Caitlin D. #25."
"We can rule out everything ending in –son and –en," he said as he carefully read over the names she had marked. "Madison, Addison, Braden, Jaden, Caden, Hayden…it's too trendy."
"Right; well you know not every name can have that old-timey staying power like Caitlin." She sardonically nodded in agreement. "As a matter of fact, I was just speaking to my great-grandmother Caitlin the other day…"
Darcy shot her a look. "I said I was partial – it's not written in blood or anything."
"How about Michael?" Lizzie asked.
"I like it…"
Her eyes were hopeful. "…for a girl?"
He blinked. "Fuck and no."
"You're no fun at all," she started with a pout and suddenly her lips widened into a smile, "here's hoping little Caitlin gets my personality."
"Sometimes I wish I never bothered with learning how to talk," he grumbled and did his very best to look put-out with her, but the twinkle in his eyes gave him away.
With the book and the crackers now banished to the outer limits of the nightstand, Darcy and Lizzie returned to the comfort of fluffy pillows and sheets with astronomical thread-counts.
"You know if you'd never learned to speak I'd just mock you in sign language, right?"
Laughing, Darcy went in for a kiss. "Yeah, I figured as much…"
The alarm clock on Lizzie's cell phone buzzed and chimed obnoxiously signaling the end of playful conversation (and a quick death to any other roads a kiss might have lead them down) and the start of a day with Lady Catherine.
Their faces were mirror reflections of utter disappointment.
* * *
The honeymoon period was supposed to last a good three years or so. Presumably within that amount of time a couple would get past all of the excitement about toothbrushes sharing the same space, discover that an orgasm wasn't really needed to make it through the day, and learn to list and stow away a catalog of their partner's previously "cute", but now annoying traits (for future passive aggressive use and possible divorce court documentation).
As Sarah watched Daniel Wickham, clad only in his boxers and loudly slurping the milk out of his cereal bowl, she briefly wondered if they'd take home the prize for the shortest honeymoon period in history.
Three weeks, he had only been in her apartment for three lousy fucking weeks, and she wanted to murder him.
Week one: she was waxing poetic about toothbrushes and extra sets of washcloths; the two of them seemed to be practically powered by sperm, dumping his dirty laundry in with hers was a joy and his enthusiasm over the contents of her refrigerator greatly pleased the dormant Suzie Homemaker gene in Sarah's DNA.
Week two: he never cleaned up after himself, she noticed, and he didn't seem too keen on finding another job (to pay her back that grand he owed her – among other things…).
Week three: she found him going through her Blackberry ("Oh, heh – I'm in the mood for Chinese and I figured I'd order from that place you love so much; I thought you'd have the number in your phone."). He disappeared for hours at a time, kept a suspicious watchful eye on the street below, and swore that the woman with the self satisfied smirk Sarah caught walking out of their(her) apartment was just an 'old friend'.
Wickham plopped the now empty bowl on the coffee table in front of him and had the audacity to light up a cigarette.
Sarah's eye twitched. "Right, it's all set up; he'll be by first thing tomorrow morning to discuss the mural with her." She adjusted the Bluetooth on her ear in a fit to stay focused on the conversation. "I promise you're going to love him, Mr. Darcy. Haha, alright – try not to have too good of a time today," she chuckled. "Tell Lizzie 'Happy Easter' for me…alright, bye-bye."
"And what are the darling Darcy's getting up to on this fine holiday?" Wickham was smirking and blowing his stale secondhand into the air.
She fantasized about stubbing that cigarette out in his eyeball. "They're having brunch at his aunt's."
"At Rosings?" he asked and shrugged off of her look. "I caught the A&E biogeography on their family, I just assumed…"
"Yes, at Rosings," she sighed. "Listen, Danny I think we need to talk."
The look of dopey confusion that formed on Wickham's
face wouldn't leave even after Sarah had stuffed the last of his belongings into the backseat of his car.
There was a cruel bounce in her step when she made her way over to him after shutting the door on the Ford Focus, and she clapped a hand down onto his shoulder with a smile. "Take care, Danny. Oh, and please don't call me."
He remained rooted to that spot for what seemed like an eternity; even after Sarah had gone back inside the apartment – even after she'd bolted the door and shut the blinds. He had never felt so…(hurt? nah. unloved? hardly, he never really liked her in the first place) disposed of. This plain, gangly fucking thing sending him packing without a moment's notice was ego crushing, but he'd get over it.
He had five hundred bucks in his pocket and an itch to play the ponies before paying his old friend, Fitzdickhead, a visit. Wickham slid into the front seat with a derisive snort, "I'll at least let him finish his scone before I ruin his day."
* * *
Pemberly Ranch had all of the rustic charm that the name would imply. Darcy's digs in the Hills were the epitome of cool, understand elegance (though Lizzie's presence brought in a homey 'hey, people actually live here' kind of quality).
And Lady Catherine's home (read: castle) that loomed like a bloated spider at the top of a picturesque knoll in the Rosings Park gated community, so obviously steeped in Beverly Hills wealth that one would need a six figure income just to be able to peep at it through binoculars, held all of that gaudy self-importance the lower classes may expect out of someone with more money than God.
Lizzie, plainly stated, had come to hate the place. Since her first night there at "No, please dear, call me Auntie" Catherine's welcome home dinner, she'd been shipped there nearly every other day to have lunch ("Your mother is a considerable distance away and you need the guidance of a more experienced woman."). It wasn't Darcy's fault; he very much would rather have chewed off his own hand than have her go, but like clockwork Auntie's car and personal driver would show up and Lizzie would bear it with Jane-like patience and grace.
If Auntie possessed things like a personable demeanor and the ability to smile, it all wouldn't have been so bad; Lizzie might've even welcomed the change of scenery. As it were, Catherine De Bourg was pulled tight (in face and personality). She was considerably gorgeous, even for a woman pushing sixty, ice blue eyes, platinum hair, and a figure that rivaled any twenty-something Hollywood tart.
She was like Sharon Stone or Caroline Bingley in thirty years.
She was as pompous and overblown as her house. If their conversations weren't about Auntie's numerous accomplishments, her travels ("Preparing kimchi alongside the masters was an experience I'll never forget"), and her goddamn TV show ("I'll be finished with the Food Network by the fall. It's become so very pedestrian – with those reality show winners and god, don't get me started on that Sandra Lee woman; a Kwanzaa Cake? Do black people even really celebrate Kwanzaa? C'mon."), they were about finding a fault in Lizzie.
Oh, did Auntie ever do her best to find a fault. Lizzie slouched far too much, gave her opinion too assuredly for a girl of no significant birth or education who'd never set foot out of California. The frown on her face upon learning Lizzie's red hair was in fact natural was so deep and stern (and came with a highly offensive aside about having gingers in the family) that Lizzie worried it would stay that way. And the younger woman's cheeky comment about practicing 'Lapsed Catholicism' after being extended an invitation to join her and Anne for Easter services produced a silence from Catherine that chilled to the bone.
Lizzie was convinced that Auntie couldn't possibly like her (the feeling was quite mutual), and only bothered with the lunch dates because she was a bored, old bitch that got off on making someone feel like the dirt underneath her Blahnik heels.
The gates opened to let the car through and Lizzie swore very loudly. Darcy took this as a cue and immediately massaged her temples with his fingertips.
"It's only brunch; just keep telling yourself that," he said.
"I have this hypothesis," she started, her cheeks momentarily puffing out with frustration, "that Auntie sends a car for us so she can control when we leave."
He smiled. "I hate to break it to you, but your hypothesis was proven long ago, it's a theory now."
Their car came to a halt right next to another and Darcy and Lizzie were promptly escorted out to join the rest of the party.
Jane and Charlie were all smiles and politeness as they listened to Henry Collins extol on the fine and expensive qualities Lady Catherine's home had to offer. Charlotte feigned attention but wore the expression of someone being told the same story for the millionth-and-one time; and Richard desperately tried to console a visibly upset Daisy while an older woman whom Lizzie had never seen before, shared a J-14 magazine with his daughter, Jesse.
On seeing her sister and her husband, Jane's eyes lit up and she made her way to them immediately (missing the tail end of Henry's spiel about gold plated bathroom fixtures). "Lizzie!" she exclaimed throwing her arms around her. "You look so beautiful!"
"No, you look beautiful," she laughed, "I look like a beached whale in a sundress."
Jane shook her head disapprovingly but smiled anyway. "Hello, Darcy," she greeted warmly and accepted a kiss on the cheek.
"Jane; I can't say I was expecting to see you and Charles here – it's a nice surprise," he said and throwing a cursory nod in Charlie's direction and getting a 'God do I wish I could get away right now' half smile from his friend.
"Charlotte convinced us to come," Jane said. "She tried to spin it by playing on the fact we hardly get to see each other these days, but I think she just didn't want to ride alone with Henry."
"Hola cousins!" Richard called out with a frantic wave in their direction.
"Is that little Fitzwilliam?" the older woman had now relinquished full control of the teenybopper mag to Jesse in order to hug Darcy. "Not so 'little' now, I suppose," she added with a grin.
Darcy looked genuinely surprised. "Aunt Rose?"
Rose was practically beaming. "Maggie couldn't make it …"
"Headache," Richard supplied complete with air quotes and a roll of his eyes.
"And Rich thought it would be fun to relive his high school days and bring his mom as his date."
Lizzie laughed. "Richard, did you just get burned by your own mother?"
He shook his head with a frown. "She's getting mean in her old age."
Lizzie extended a hand in introduction, but it was quickly swatted away by Roseland in favor of a hug. "You must be Lizzie! It's nice to finally meet the woman my nephew talks so much about."
Darcy smiled. "Don't worry I left out all of the good stuff."
"Thanks, I almost doubted you for a second," Lizzie giggled. "It's nice to meet you, too."
"Oh, head's up!"
Everyone turned in the direction of Richard's cry to see several golf carts flying down the walk, the one in the lead containing Lady Catherine and Anne (who swatted mercilessly at flies).
"Alright everyone," Rose said loudly, "chin's up, shoulder's back, wipe any signs of joy or mirth off of those faces!" With a sarcastic snort she removed a silver flask from the depths of her purse and took a drink. "Let's get on with this shit show, shall we?"
Chapter 28
I am Trying to Break Your Heart. Part Two
The golf carts came to a stop in a perfect line in front of the mostly bemused guests; "mostly" because Collins was brimming with adoration, Jesse was enthralled with finding out Nick Jonas's favorite color, and Daisy had quit sniffling long enough to discover a ladybug on her dress.
Lizzie watched the scene that passed between Rose and Catherine very carefully: though they were shielded by Dolce & Gabbana sunglasses, the deeply set frown on Auntie's lips said that her eyes were just as hard and cold, but Rose took the chilly reception from her older sister in stride. She smiled brightly, raised her flask in Catherine's direction, and helped herself to another drink.
"What are you all
waiting on? Get in!" Catherine barked at them before rudely tapping her driver on the shoulder. "Let's go, and do stop swatting, Anne!"
"I'm being eaten alive!" Anne whined loudly as they once again started down the path. "Why can't we go inside? You know I hate being outdoors!"
"Hush!"
"Isn't Lady Catherine's daughter, Anne a real classic beauty?" Henry gushed. "She's so talented and poised, just like her mother. She will most certainly make some lucky man very happy one day."
"Yeah, she's a wet dream," Richard drolly replied.
When they were all situated in their respective carts with Jane, Charlie, Charlotte, and Henry occupying one, and Lizzie, Darcy, Richard, and Rose – the latter two who had to deal with fidgety little girls on their laps, shared the other, Darcy said, "Not that I'm not happy to see you Aunt Rose, but what are you doing here? This has got to be the last place on Earth you'd ever willingly agree to come to."
"It is," she answered truthfully, "but I couldn't pass up an opportunity to see you and finally meet Lizzie. Besides, it's always worth it to…" Rose quickly cupped her hands around Jesse's ears and Richard followed suit with Daisy, "fuck Cathy's day up a little."
Lizzie smiled widely. "I think you may be my new favorite person."
Rose laughed and patted her on the knee. "I'm fond of you already." Fixing a look on her son and nephew, she said, "Well, I got a very pretty 'Thank You' card for the bread maker I sent, and a couple of pictures, but neither one of you good for nothings thought to tell me about how the wedding went." That look, though mocking, still had the power to make Darcy and Richard slink in their seats like a couple of school boys, and she turned to Lizzie, "So how was the big day, sweetheart?"
Lizzie hesitated. "Um, it was…"
Darcy faltered as well and nervously played with the collar of his shirt. "Absolutely…"
"Just shy of a total nightmare," Lizzie admitted.
That got a nod of agreement from Darcy. "There were some good moments, but they drowned in all of that awful."
Twenty Months Page 17