There was the time they made love in her bath on Christmas Eve, discovering the unique joy and delight in mixing water, soap, and desire. After her brush with death as a result of Lord Orman’s wicked attack, their passion was augmented by their thankfulness to be alive. On her birthday when she undressed for him in an erotic dance. In the seawater of Caister-on-Sea. When she staged a romantic tableau in their bedchamber for their rejoining after Alexander’s birth. Her surprise intrusion into his dressing room mere weeks after their marriage. That one night when passion consumed and they made love in the billiard room, on the billiard table. Under the willows in Hertfordshire.
He knew even before this session of lovemaking began that it would join the mental montage. Just as when they loved after he felt Alexander for the first time, profound emotions raced through his being, adding to the transcendent physical bliss of satisfying sex. It was a celebration of new life and the love that created this life.
Gone was the caution in expressing their passion too vocally due to thin walls of the chateau. Did their neighbors sleep through their shouts? They would never know. Nor would they care.
CHAPTER THREE
Summer Draws to a Close
The time to say good-bye, or auf Wiedersehen as it were, to the Oeggl multitude came for four of the English travelers during the second week in June. Lizzy continued to feel incredible, but with her pregnancy advancing they were forced to depart. It was difficult to leave for a host of reasons. Mary’s illness, although never spoken of openly, left no doubt that they would never see her again. The impact on George was striking, even as he presented his typical comical front. He embraced her tightly, murmuring into her ear, and the surreptitious swipe at wetness collecting on his cheek was noted by many.
Darcy’s parting from his sister was difficult, but not as intensely painful as he had imagined.
“I will miss you every moment of every day, Brother,” she whispered while holding him tightly.
Darcy smiled, pulling away an inch to kiss her forehead. “I shall miss you as well, Georgie. I shall think of you constantly and expect letters; however, I do not anticipate that you will be thinking of me every day, let alone every moment. In fact, I would be greatly disappointed if you did! I want you to experience life and art as you have long desired. This is your time to shine and enjoy.”
“Thank you, William.”
“Just promise to be safe and return with stories to tell.”
“I promise.”
His brave face remained calm as they said their official farewells. Lizzy was not fooled by the lightness, nor was Georgiana. Lord Matlock was surprised to only receive a handful of warnings regarding Georgiana’s safety and was sympathetic to Darcy’s emotions, so he did not tease or counter argue. Darcy’s melancholia coupled with George’s sadness over Mary cast a pall on the initial days of their return journey, but gorgeous scenery and intriguing places overcame.
They set a faster pace as they traveled north from Geneva to Luxembourg and then west to Calais. Lizzy suffered not a twinge of discomfort as her abdomen continued to grow, yet as the baby exerted more influence, Darcy’s gut coiled tighter. The urge to be on English soil and in their home became stronger with each passing mile. Nevertheless, they did pause for frequent periods of rest or sightseeing, finally boarding the ship as the first days of July dawned.
The distance from Dover to Rosings in Kent was only some thirty miles, a fact Darcy and George were blissfully happy about, as the seas were rough for the short crossing. Lizzy suggested tarrying in Dover until they recuperated, but the vehement insistence to get as far away from the ocean as possible was heeded. The carriages were unloaded as speedily as possible, the suffering men collapsing into the cushions and not notably improving even when the smell of tar, sea, and fish was finally left behind. The swaying carriage did not help, Lizzy fully expecting one or both of them to succumb to churning stomachs. Fortunately the buckets she brought along just in case were never used, but whether that was due to the Dr. Darcy–brewed tonic they sipped nonstop or sheer willpower she never knew. Alexander was not as fortunate; the Darcy gene for seasickness activated this time. He did recuperate once on dry ground and did not vomit after leaving the docks, a boon Lizzy was eternally grateful for since his retching would certainly have affected the men in a most negative fashion.
Anne Penaflor, née de Bourgh, greeted their carriage alone. She stood calmly on the steps before Rosings’s imposing entrance, her fragile figure dressed in a fashionable gown of pale yellow and green that gathered in an attempt to hide the swell of her abdomen. The clever design was unsuccessful mainly due to a breeze shifting the fabric over her body but also because Anne held one hand atop the precious bulge. Lizzy smiled at the gesture, understanding precisely why she wore the voluminous garment—her mother’s requirement, without a doubt—but also why Anne would rebel in this small way.
This was Anne’s fourth pregnancy and the first to carry past the initial months. The anemia that plagued her adult life was pernicious and unexplainable. Her husband devoted a vast amount of his time in searching, consulting, and experimenting in hopes of finding a cure for her illness. So far the skilled physician had managed palliative measures only and pregnancy had proven a challenging state. Twice she miscarried early in the initial weeks when her condition was not completely certain. The third miscarriage occurred in the fourth month—after quickening had given them greater hope. Emotionally these losses were draining, but the serious affliction was physical. It was as if all the progress made prior due to the medications and treatments by Dr. Penaflor and Dr. Darcy were erased. Anne bled for weeks afterwards and grew frighteningly weak. But each time she healed and regained her newfound vigor and serenity with life.
The image Anne presented as she walked toward them onto the graveled drive was not of a woman suffering ill health. Yes, she was thin as she always had been and it was doubtful Anne would ever possess true ruddiness to her skin, but her cheeks were pink and her entire being glowed. Darcy had verbalized to Lizzy his doubts over the wisdom of Anne marrying and then continuing to conceive. Yet now, as they gazed upon her visage, they both realized how wrong that assessment.
She embraced Elizabeth first, their protruding abdomens bumping together and inciting girlish giggles. “Welcome, Elizabeth! You have no idea how you have been missed! Now we shall have even more to talk about.” She rubbed over her belly briefly and then turned to Darcy with a beaming grin. “Oh my, Wills, obviously the Channel crossing took a toll. You look positively dreadful.”
“Thank you. Just what every man prefers to hear from a woman.” He smiled wanly, kissing her hand. “Thankfully, I cannot claim the same for you, dear cousin. You are radiant. I would embrace you but fear the outcome may be unpleasant.”
“You can embrace Lady Catherine instead. That would be amusing.”
Anne choked a laugh at Lizzy’s remark. Darcy tried to frown but his features were so pinched it came out as more of a sour grimace. George voiced their feelings succinctly when he exited the carriage. “This physician’s treatment plan is brandy, or better yet whiskey, in large quantities, and a bed. Not necessarily in that order.”
“As you wish, Doctor.” She turned, arm in arm with Lizzy, leading into the cavernous foyer and directing servants with ease and confidence. “Unfortunately the greeting to my mother will have to wait. She is visiting an ill friend in Ashford. Sorry to disappoint your amusement, Elizabeth”—she winked sidelong at her companion—“and my husband is at the hospital. We were unsure when you would arrive. I do apologize. Now,” she paused before the parlor doors, waving her hand toward the staircase, “off to bed with the three of you.” She inclined her head to include Alexander, fast asleep in Mrs. Hanford’s arms. “Your indisposition allots us time to chatter and gossip.”
And almost like wayward boys being scolded, Darcy and George obeyed.
For two weeks they dwelt at Rosings.
Lizzy inevitably felt odd whenever their p
aths and duty took them to Kent. The memories associated with the first time she ever came here were not necessarily pleasant. She and her husband had long since buried the past misconceptions with a love so profound that any guilt or sadness was washed clean. Nevertheless, one does not ever forget, especially when boldly confronted with places triggering those memories.
This alone may not have created a great burden. Lizzy and Darcy were able to find ways to erase or supplant bad remembrances with happier ones—just ask the silent walls of Netherfield or immobile willows near Longbourn! Making love on the floor of the Hunsford parlor or Rosings drawing room was clearly not an option, but even if it were, Mr. Collins and Lady Catherine would still be there to annoy Elizabeth when the pleasure abated.
Lady Catherine’s acerbic tongue and outward disdain toward Elizabeth were carefully curbed. During their first visit to Rosings, Lady Catherine’s subtle slurs led to a second confrontation, minor compared to the one in London shortly after their marriage. Nevertheless, Darcy’s barely controlled rage, now seen twice by his aunt, and promise to leave the area never to return effectively quashed her lingering ire toward Elizabeth. Or at least it prevented her openly declaring her scorn. Now the two women tiptoed around each other. Lizzy would never like her and received perverse joy in vexing her, even if the behavior was unbecoming. She just could not help herself and Darcy gave up scolding her for it. Besides, it was rather amusing—not that he would ever admit it—to see his aunt befuddled by his wife’s clever wit.
“How can you allow your son, the heir to Pemberley, to wear such outlandish garments?” Lady Catherine indicated Alexander, who was running about the lawn with Rachel and Leah Collins, and the flowing tunic of Indian silk painted with jungle vines and monkeys that he wore.
“We want him to be a free spirit.” Lizzy’s voice was gay, bordering on vapid. “And besides, it allows the genitalia to grow freely.” She tossed George’s words out, Lady Catherine’s lips puckering so tightly in response that Lizzy was forced to jump up and join the children in their play to avoid bursting into laughter.
Another time: “You intend to walk to the village alone? In your condition? What does Fitzwilliam think of this?”
“Of the walk or my ‘condition’?” Lizzy asked innocently.
“Of you walking in your condition!”
Lizzy shrugged. “I did not ask specifically about this walk, but usually he does not tend to inhibit my walking. And the ‘condition’ I am in does not seem to influence his attitude on the subject in a negative way, as far as I have been able to ascertain. It is partially his fault, after all, so he cannot very well argue my need for exercise, now can he?”
Lizzy grabbed her bonnet by the strings, curtsied to Lady Catherine, and turned to make for the door.
“Are you not going to put your hat on? The sun is bright and without hat or gloves on you will become tanned.” Lady Catherine uttered the word “tanned” as if the worst curse word imaginable. “I cannot imagine Fitzwilliam would be pleased at that.”
“He has never complained before. But I promise that if he expresses any distaste, I shall henceforth don my bonnet from the outset.” She smiled brilliantly, curtsied again, and left—with the bonnet dangling by her side. Needless to say, Darcy did not mind her bronze skin in the least.
Another time: “Here is your book, Elizabeth.”
“Thank you, William.”
“May I ask what you are reading, Mrs. Darcy?”
“Of course, Lady Catherine. I am reading Evelina by Frances Burney. Have you read it?”
“I most certainly have not,” Lady Catherine sniffed. “I prefer to read books of intellectual quality and strong moral lessons rather than the nonsensical romanticism of novels.”
“As you have admittedly not read Evelina, how can you assert it is nonsensical? Romantic to be sure, but the titular character’s virtues and attention to upright morals in the face of difficulties are to be admired. Evelina is a lesson in etiquette and propriety.”
Lady Catherine was not convinced. “I am surprised you would allow such reading material for your wife, Fitzwilliam.”
“I do not dictate my wife’s reading material, Aunt Catherine. Her choices are invariably sound ones. Although in this case, I would disagree with Mrs. Darcy’s assessment. I found Evelina to be somewhat boring as a character. But perhaps my judgment is colored as I prefer women with spunk and a ready wit.”
He smiled at his wife but did note his aunt’s incredulous expression. “You read this… novel?” she sputtered.
“Indeed I have.”
“He tolerated it,” Lizzy put in with a laugh. Then she added, looking directly at Lady Catherine, “He much prefers a novel with a bit more excitement and controversy, like Tom Jones.”
Lady Catherine was so stunned she could not form a reasonable response. Darcy shot his wife a glare, but she noticed the twitching of his lips. Denying the charge was impossible since it was true, so he said nothing. Thankfully the topic turned away from dubious literature at that point!
But the worse forms of irritation to the priggish woman were unintentionally caused, and that was the blatant affection between her formerly staid nephew and the woman who had driven that good sense and propriety out of him. She was pleased on a certain level that Darcy was happy, as she was for Anne and Raul, finally accepting that her daughter never would have given Darcy what he needed and vice versa. She also accepted that the Darcys truly loved each other, and as ridiculous as she regarded that emotion, she was forced to acknowledge that Lizzy had not pursued him for his wealth and position as Lady Catherine had surmised. That acceptance did not necessarily mean she approved of his choice or saw Lizzy any differently than she did before, however. Witnessing his frivolity, as she interpreted it, and catching them amid loving displays only served to confirm her opinion of Elizabeth’s character.
Anne and Raul knew when to show affection, and that was behind a firmly closed door. The two were overwhelmingly in love, but other than polite pecks on the cheek or sappy gazes, they restrained themselves. Lizzy and Darcy had never learned to master that extreme caution, nor had they overly tried. They did not wantonly embrace or kiss in public, Darcy sooner dying than to go that far, but they were definitely more demonstrative than typically customary and, if alone, they could, and often did, lose control to a degree.
“William, come! A whole family of ducks is being herded by Lady Catherine’s corgi. It is hysterical!”
He rose from his seat to join his wife by the library window where she stood watching the antics of the corgi, he intent on rounding the uncooperative ducks and ducklings. “I believe my aunt would have a seizure if she knew her prized pet was playing with farm animals,” he rumbled, breaking into a laugh when one of the ducks snapped at the yipping dog’s tail, missing by less than an inch.
They watched the entire escapade, the corgi finally triumphing when every last duck entered the pond. Darcy unconsciously caressed the small of her back, his hand gliding over her waist when she turned and leaned into the window’s edge. “He does well for a little thing. Perhaps we should think of getting one. They are quite cute.”
“Dogs are meant to guard and protect, not be useless balls of fur labeled ‘cute’ that yap constantly and tread through the house.”
“You mean like our cat? That worthless ball of fur who ends up curled by your feet and has never once been kicked aside as you threaten to do on a daily basis?”
Darcy smiled, reaching to slowly sweep a loose curl off her cheek and tuck it behind her ear. “He catches mice, therefore earning his keep. Plus he keeps my feet warm.”
“Your feet are never cold, Mr. Darcy, so I am not buying that for a second. I think a fluffy corgi would worm his way into your heart until you are spoiling him worse than I. Dare you deny it?”
“I shall maintain my silence on the subject.” His fingers brushed over her cheeks and down her neck, his eyes following. “What I shall not deny is how lovely you look with the
sun striking your skin and that amused sparkle in your eyes. I am breathless and suddenly thirsty.”
“Shall I pour you some water, sir? Will that alleviate your distress?”
“Not in the least, minx.” He bent his head, planting a delicate kiss to her collarbone, right where the sun’s ray illuminated. He continued to deliver airy kisses and feathery touches of his tongue all along the glowing beam painting her skin, traveling ever closer to her décolletage.
Lizzy was helpless to do anything but to close her eyes, melting into the hard wall and instinctively slipping both hands inside his jacket to hold onto his waist.
“This only serves to make me thirstier,” he growled, stopping before kissing the furthest edge of the beam, conveniently located precisely between her breasts. He straighten, only for a moment, before leaning into her body, pressing and pulling at the same time, and engaging her lips this time for a searing kiss. “Alexander is asleep and the house is quiet,” he continued some minutes later, “so I say we take our appetite upstairs, yes, Mrs. Darcy?”
Lizzy nodded in agreement but chose to bridge the narrow gap between their mouths and crush his hard body closer rather than take a step toward the door. Darcy chose to deepen the kiss, grind his lower body against her softness, and release a long moan of pleasure rather than taking a step toward the door.
The door which opened at that moment to admit Lady Catherine.
Her gasp was lost in the air, the click of the rapidly closed door not registering to the impassioned lovers who soon composed themselves enough to exit the room still ignorant of the interloper. They took their tryst to their chamber to be completed without any interruptions. Lady Catherine took to her bed also, smelling salts on the stand just in case!
The Trouble with Mr. Darcy Page 5