Loving Mr. Darcy: Journeys Beyond Pemberley tds-2

by Sharon Lathan

  As pertained to their baby, they discussed a number of topics. Lizzy was to be seen by a local midwife, Mrs. Henderson, who had delivered at least half of the babies in the immediate vicinity. Darcy talked to probably every person he knew and all recommended Mrs. Henderson. Despite Uncle George's vague allusion to delivering their baby, neither felt they could depend upon his presence with complete certainty. Either way, he was currently absent, so Darcy insisted she be examined by an expert. Her pregnancy was proceeding without apparent complications, but Darcy, not surprisingly, refused to assume anything.

  Mrs. Henderson was a woman in her late fifties, a mother of six and grandmother of seven. She had delivered Harriet Vernor's and Marilyn Hughes's babies as well as Georgiana Darcy seventeen years ago. She was a large, very serious woman, and Lizzy was a bit intimidated by her, but her reputation was impeccable, which was all that truly mattered.

  Mrs. Henderson was greatly taken aback when Darcy accompanied Lizzy into the bedchamber. “Mr. Darcy, I plan to examine Mrs. Darcy. You should wait in the sitting room. We will rejoin you when all is complete.”

  Darcy, however, was shaking his head. “Thank you for your concern, Mrs. Henderson, but I have seen it before and wish to stay with my wife.” He was blushing mildly but the penetrating Darcy stare and commanding posture was in full effect. Mrs. Henderson, for all her authority, could not muster the strength to countermand, but she was clearly distressed.

  Lizzy eased the tension by softly touching her arm and saying, “I assure you, Mrs. Henderson, I want my husband with me. How about a compromise? He will stand by the window while you perform the examination, but speak freely. We have no secrets.”

  The midwife's professionalism overcame her nervousness eventually. Darcy frowned at Lizzy's compromise but obeyed, standing by the far window with back to the room, keen hearing missing nothing. Mrs. Henderson was thorough. Her examination concurred with the physician's assessment that the baby would arrive in early December. This meant that Lizzy was beginning her sixth month of pregnancy. She spoke at length as to the immediate expectations as Lizzy entered her last few months. She imparted nothing that they had not already gleaned from the book or Dr. Darcy, easing both their minds. Darcy spoke frequently and bluntly from his pose in the corner, startling Mrs. Henderson initially, but by the end of the interview, she was rather used to his presence and unusual interest in the subject. This, of course, had been Darcy's plan all along.

  He had thought long and hard on his uncle's statement regarding being with Lizzy when the baby was born. As shocked as he was at first, the more he ruminated, it became clear that he truthfully could not fathom not being there. He discussed it with his wife, who blanched at first, the same standard protocols and habits rising to the fore.

  Darcy grinned and repeated his uncle's words to him verbatim, “I know you tend to be a stickler for the rules”—Lizzy snorted at this fallacious assertion—“but it is not a law from the Crown, after all.” Lizzy had laughed, realizing as Darcy had, that neither could she imagine him not being with her. No one alive could comfort her as he could, and no one else should see their son before him.

  So, although the decision had been made, Darcy certain that nothing or no one except Lizzy herself would drag him from the birth chamber, they agreed that springing the idea on the midwife at this point in time would be unkind at the least.

  Darcy had not knowingly recognized any anxieties regarding Lizzy and the baby, yet hearing the midwife confirm all was well was a tremendous relief. With each passing day, as she swelled with the baby's maturing, he floated further and further off the ground. Darcy had long since given up rationalizing his devotion and ardor for his wife, accepting it fully, so was therefore blissfully unaware of how strange he was compared to most husbands in his circumstance. If he had desired his wife prior to pregnancy, and he most assuredly had nearly every second of every day, he now became obsessed. Not only was his sexual appetite as vigorous as always, but his yearning to merely gaze upon her body, to touch their child and feel him move, to talk to the burgeoning bulge, to massage the ointment over her skin, and to plan for their infant's arrival consumed him.

  Thankfully, Lizzy did not mind his devotion. It was also seriously fortunate that Mr. Keith was an excellent steward, as much of the necessary estate business fell unwittingly onto his shoulders. Darcy was frequently unfocused during their discussions or business excursions about the farms. If the issue was critical or required intense concentration, Mr. Keith knew how to phrase his words and tone his voice to crack through Darcy's haze, at which point the commanding Darcy snapped into place and assumed control, his mental faculties not the tiniest bit diminished. However, generally, Mr. Keith smiled and handled matters himself. He may not completely understand his Master's relationship with Mrs. Darcy, his own marriage being of a typical nature; however, long association with Mr. Darcy had given him great insight into the younger man's character. Although he may not have couched it in exactly the same words as the late Mrs. Darcy, he had long ago identified the passionate nature of Mr. Darcy as seen in all areas of his life but had been clarified most profoundly in the grief exhibited when he lost Elizabeth Bennet and the utter joy when he found her.

  The question of a nanny was answered before either of them had asked it. Darcy returned one afternoon from an excursion to several farms with mournful news. One of his tenants, Mr. Hanford, who had managed a plot of land for over thirty-five years, was found dead in a far field having apparently been felled by an abrupt heart seizure. Lizzy was terribly distressed, having grown fond of Mr. Hanford's gracious and motherly wife during her various visitations.

  The next day, Lizzy commandeered her new curricle for the first time to pay a call to Mrs. Hanford. She brought a basket hastily gathered with enough food for the entire family to subsist on for a week, a huge bouquet of flowers from the Pemberley gardens, and an envelope from Mr. Darcy. Darcy, per standard practice in these situations, paid for the burial expenses and allotted a sum to the widow adequate enough for her to survive for a couple of months until able to establish subsequent employment and residence. He was fortunate in this particular circumstance in that Mr. Hanford's eldest son already worked the farm with his father and was more than willing to assume the tenancy.

  Mrs. Hanford met Lizzy on the stoop when she drove up. Alighting quickly, Lizzy approached the widow with sympathy evident. “Mrs. Hanford, I am so very sorry for your loss. Mr. Hanford was a good man, decent and kind. He will be sorely missed by all.”

  Mrs. Hanford nodded, wiping at swollen red eyes. “Thank you, Mrs. Darcy. Please come inside. I have tea brewing.”

  Lizzy readily joined the grieving woman for tea. Mrs. Hanford scurried about the kitchen, Lizzy sitting quietly as the older woman spoke of her husband in tones of affectionate remembrance. The Hanfords, like many of the tenant farmers, were generational, meaning that Mr. Hanford's father had managed this particular plot of land as his son would now do. Altogether the Hanfords birthed six children who lived. All were married and settled in the region except for the youngest, a daughter now seventeen, who currently aided her mother in serving the Mistress of Pemberley tea and cakes.

  “What are your plans, Mrs. Hanford? Will you stay here or relocate with family elsewhere?” Lizzy asked quietly, sipping the excellently steeped tea.

  Mrs. Hanford sat at the table, fidgeting with a moist, wrinkled handkerchief. “My son and his wife have asked me to continue dwelling with them.” She smiled as she said, “For a time, I suppose this arrangement will work, but they are expecting their third child soon and the house is getting crowded. We had been talking lately of asking Mr. Darcy if another house was available or could be built, as my boy Roger did not want to leave Pemberley.” She paused to dab at her eyes, voice catching as she continued, “I guess his papa passing solved that problem, at least.”

  Lizzy patted her hand sympathetically, not knowing what to say. Mrs. Hanford gained control finally, looking at Lizzy with a br
ave smile. “Forgive my horrible manners, Mrs. Darcy. I understand you and Mr. Darcy are expecting and I have yet to congratulate. This is wonderful news, for all involved.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Hanford. We are very excited and pleased.”

  The widow nodded. “Babies are God's greatest gift, Mrs. Darcy. So soft and innocent. Then they grow to be the delight of their parent's heart. Naturally, those of us who depend on the Darcy family wish to see the line continue, but it is more than that. It is a tremendous blessing. I have ten grandchildren already,” she declared with pride. “Ten! I love them all so dearly and am doubly blessed to have them nearby.” Then, as if her last statement added to her grief, she hung her head and continued with a sob, “It will be hard to leave them, but I cannot intrude forever. Roger and Millie need their own home. My sister and her husband run an inn in Birmingham, so perhaps she could use my help.”

  As an epiphany, the solution dawned on Lizzy. Naturally, the reality of hiring a nanny was a concept she and Darcy understood, but it simply had not yet been discussed. Lizzy planned to nurse her baby, so a wet nurse was unnecessary, and she intended to personally attend to the bulk of his other needs. However, as her new status required a certain amount of social obligations and duties, a competent nanny was indispensable. Besides, Lizzy knew little about the rearing of a baby, which was all the more reason why the flash of inspiration regarding Mrs. Hanford was brilliant.

  “Mrs. Hanford,” Lizzy leaned forward saying seriously, eyes sparkling, “I have a proposition for you. I do not desire an answer forthwith, as I judge you need time to grieve and rationally decide the course best for you. However, I see that we both have a need that may best be fulfilled by the other. I will, come December, need a nanny. I want someone who has vast experience, as I have none, who loves babies, and who is faithful and respective of the Darcy family. You are such a woman, Mrs. Hanford. Of course, I would need to attain Mr. Darcy's approval, but I do not imagine he would disagree with my assessment.”

  Mrs. Hanford was clearly overcome, tears rushing anew down her cheeks. Even her daughter was crying. “Oh, Mrs. Darcy! Bless my stars! I do not need time to consider. I am honored, so honored… Oh my!” She blew her nose loudly, breathless and weeping.

  Lizzy laughed, standing to hug the poor woman where she sat. “Mrs. Hanford, calm yourself! Please, let us leave the offer on the table for now. I cannot promise until I speak with Mr. Darcy, and you are too overwrought, rightfully so, to render a clear decision. There, there.” The remaining time dissolving in tears of grief and joy, Lizzy finally left drained yet jubilant in spite of the sadness.

  Darcy thought Mrs. Hanford a capital choice as a nanny, knowing the family to be a strong one with all the children raised to be upstanding Derbyshire citizens. He spoke with Roger Hanford, extending the formal request of the Darcys for his mother's services but clarifying that they did not want an answer, affirmative or negative, for at least two weeks in order to allow Mrs. Hanford time to mourn and meditate on her options. Secretly, they estimated it a surety and were correct in their appraisal. Mrs. Hanford waited exactly two weeks, and then wrote a formal letter of acceptance to the post of nanny to the Darcy firstborn.

  Six days after the house had been emptied, Darcy woke to the joyous sensation of a cooling breeze and his wife nestled in his arms, back plastered against his chest. He had a lingering impression of a particularly vivid dream of him and Elizabeth under the copse of willows near Pemberley. They were making love as they occasionally did in the moonlight, only she was as thin as a reed, naturally beautiful with hair a mass of curls about her head, eyes luminous in the half-light, but her breasts were full and round, even more so than they were now in pregnancy. His dream-self nuzzled her bosom, delighting in her warmth in the crisp nighttime air, realizing suddenly that it was spring with fragrant buds of dandelions near his face. As he moved deliciously within her, he glanced over and noted a large basket sitting close by. It was swaying slightly, soft gurgles and mewls issuing forth. He reached one hand out and rocked the basket gently, murmuring, “Patience, my son, you can have your mother all to yourself in a few more minutes.” In the dream, Lizzy chuckled, grasping his face with a firm palm, drawing his lips to hers, and whispering before she kissed, “Perhaps more than a few minutes.”

  He smiled into her hair, inhaling deeply of her fragrance as he nuzzled into her neck. “Elizabeth, my eternal love,” he whispered, Lizzy stirring slightly. He cupped both breasts with his large palms, rolling partially onto his back and pulling her with him. She sighed and stretched, pressing her bottom into his groin with a wiggle. Darcy leisurely stroked over her front side as she woke further, in no haste whatsoever, his arousal increasing sweetly as he caressed all her succulent curves. He nibbled her earlobe, kissed along her neck, and tickled with the tip of his tongue.

  “I want you, my Lizzy. I need you and cannot wait. Please forgive my urgency. I dreamt of you loving me so beautifully, giving yourself gloriously to me, and I woke with desire and yearning. Oh, my love! How you arouse me! How I love you, Elizabeth, forever, my wife.”

  She turned in his arms, halting his murmured professions with a hearty kiss. She pressed firmly against him and he could feel the insistent prods of their son into his abdomen. Lizzy withdrew slightly, smile radiant as she stroked his face and lips. “Fitzwilliam. My husband, my soul, you do not need to ever apologize. However, I must ask you to hold this thought,” she said as she reached to his groin, stroking with a lusty smirk. “I must visit the water closet first!” He chuckled and nodded, Lizzy bestowing a quick peck as she left the bed.

  Darcy watched her walk across the room with studied devotion, eyes kept riveted to the door so as to observe her returning. He adored how she swayed so gracefully, flesh glowing in the dawn's light, and the beautiful bump of their child especially prominent when she stood. She sat beside him, Darcy instantly rising to encircle her waist, burying his face into a heavy breast.

  She held his head, fingers running through his thick hair as she sighed in contentment. “You had a dream?” He nodded, moving to the other breast, taking his sweet time before addressing her inquiry.

  Holding her tightly, he nuzzled up her chest to her neck while pulling her onto the bed. In between licks and kisses he responded, “We were at the willows making love and our son was in a basket with us.” He lifted to gaze into her eyes, caressing over her plump lips with one finger. “He began to wake but we both told him he would need to wait. Neither of us had any intention of halting our passion.” He smiled and Lizzy laughed with a shake of her head. “Anyway, you were transcendent in the moonlight and I was loving you with all my body and soul.”

  Lizzy smiled, reaching down to caress him, Darcy groaning hoarsely as he claimed her lips in an ardent kiss. Morning loving was generally of an extremely ravenous nature, Darcy usually waking in a state of near complete excitement. Lizzy was thankful, for selfish reasons, that he did not wake her each morning as he surely wanted to; yet knowing how difficult it was for him to calm once aroused, she was surprised he was so thoughtful. She felt a bit guilty about her increased need for sleep—not that it was entirely her fault—so she readily acquiesced when he did rouse her early. Of course, loving her husband was never a chore, her own passion for him as voracious as his for her.

  With equal yearning, they reached for each other, stroking and caressing until necessity demanded their merging. They kissed passionately, loving with consuming desire and unity. Lizzy withdrew from his mouth mere inches, gazing into his brilliant eyes while lightly fondling each beloved feature of his face.

  “Is your dream being fulfilled?” she whispered.

  “No dream ever has lived up to the reality of you, Elizabeth. The feel of you, your scent, your voice, how you hold me and touch me and kiss me… it is impossible to capture this in a dream.”

  She smiled, tenderly biting his lower lip. “Yet it must be somewhat reminiscent for you to wake so aroused, my potent husband!”

  “L
ord, Elizabeth! I do not need to dream of you vividly… you are in my heart always. The question is not why I am so easily excited when near you but how to prevent the reaction! I cannot look at you nor think of you without desire rising.” He kissed her consumingly as he rolled her onto her back, loving continuously as he fondled her breasts.

  Lizzy was mad with passion, legs roaming frantically from hip to calves and hands squeezing the taut muscles of his shoulders and back. The weight of his body crushed her deliciously and his raging heat burned her flesh divinely. “William, oh God, William! I love you so!”

  He slowed, rising over her with arms extended. His face was flushed, skin gleaming with sweat, and eyes vivid with reverential love and fervent hunger. Lizzy caressed his solid chest, their gazes shifting from the other's face to their bodies. Darcy spoke, voice muted and grating, “You tease, best beloved, at being a hopeless wanton, and I am overjoyed that you are! Yet, it is I who am truly wanton. Insatiable, ravenous for you, awestruck by how you move me.” He gulped, inhaling vigorously for control, arching his neck and closing his eyes in ecstasy.