Imperative: Volume 2, A Tale of Pride and Prejudice (39 page)

“Do you wish to be alone?”  Elizabeth laced their fingers and squeezed tightly.

“No.  I just did not want to disturb you.  I could not sleep.”

“Your hands are freezing.”  Darcy said nothing.  She looked up at his neck and could see how rapidly his pulse was pounding. 
Dear man.
  Letting go, she moved around to face him.  His eyes remained closed.  “I love you with every fibre of my being, too.”

Darcy’s eyes flew open and he stared at her.  “How . . .?”

“I read the letter on your desk.”

“Before you embraced me?”  He cried.

“I am sorry; did I do that out of order?”  She laughed when his cheeks coloured.  “You are the one who taught me observation.  I arrive; you are staring off into the night.  On your desk is a pen leaking ink onto your blotter and a letter.  One is very uncharacteristic; the other would probably give me an idea of what is wrong.”

The small smile appeared on his lips.  “You could be a detective.”

“Reading the characters of strangers is a hobby, reading you is an entire occupation.”  She reached up to caress back the hair that fell across his brow.  “I could not sleep, either.”

“You just said that you woke and were cold.”

“I could not sleep because I am thinking of the same things you are.  I was cold because you were gone.”

“I was gone so that you could . . .” He swallowed and looked down.  “I should have embraced you.”

“It might have helped.  You would not have disturbed me and it would have been most welcome.”  Taking his hand, she led him to the desk where a small bottle sat.  She poured out a dose into a wine glass and added some port.  Swirling it, she handed it to him.  “Drink.”

“And what is this potion?”  Darcy asked with a little smile.  “Mistress Witch.”

Elizabeth shook her head as she put the cork back into the bottle. “I should never have told you that Mrs. Dickson called me that.”

“I think that you liked her recognizing your knowledge of remedies.  She admired your raspberry leaf tea for Georgiana.”

“And you should drink up your willow bark.”  Nodding, she tipped the glass towards his lips.  “Your heart hurts.”

“Everything hurts.”  Swallowing the tincture, he made a face.

“I notice that this seems to help you.”  She took the glass from him and set it down before slipping her arms back around his waist.  “How do you feel?”

“So much better for you being with me.  When will I learn that you provide the relief I seek?”  He drew a deep breath and held her to him.  Together they swayed gently.  “What are you humming?”

“It occurs to me that we are in Scotland and we are yet to dance a jig.”  Elizabeth smiled when he chuckled.  Looking down at the floor she laughed at the misshapen slippers Darcy wore on his feet. “What are those?”   He smiled sadly and she knelt down to examine them.  “Oh my.”

“Georgiana presented them to me when I wished her goodnight.  I understand that when fine needlework became too difficult with her swollen hands, she began to learn knitting.”

“Yes, she must have been doing this when she was alone.”  Elizabeth squeezed his foot and taking his hand stood again.  “She surprised me with a . . . scarf of sorts.”

“Of sorts.”  Darcy looked away.

“What is wrong?”  Elizabeth caressed his hair and turned his face back to hers. 

“What if she dies, this is all I will have to remember her by.”

“Oh, Will . . .”
So this is the root of the problem tonight.

“I . . . I remember Mother spending month after month decorating little gowns for her baby.  And how happy she was . . . and she never lived to see them worn.”  He licked his lips.  “Georgiana is labouring.”

“She is barely begun; Mrs. Dickson said that her womb is just softening in preparation.”  Elizabeth held him tightly.  “It could be days yet.  You must not think the worst.”

“I cannot help it.  I have perfected the technique.”  Darcy said bitterly.

“This day had to come!  There is no sense in vilifying the inevitable!  You will send yourself to an early grave and I will never forgive you that.”  She chastised him sternly and her eyes softened to see his misery.  “I am sorry.  I should not have said that.”

“Lizzy, everything you say is true.  I know all of this . . .  I am well . . .”  Bowing to her sigh, he admitted,  “I am terrified.” 

“So am I.  So is she.”  Their eyes held.  “You cannot control everything.  And you must stop trying to fix everything by yourself.”

“I must always try, Lizzy.”  Darcy said determinedly.

Frustrated she cried, “I am not saying not to try . . .” 

“Shhh.  I hear you, I do.”  He nuzzled her hair and drank in the comforting scent of roses and lavender.  “The pain is fading.”

“It is?”

Brushing her temple with his lips, he asked softly, “Shall we retire?”

“We will be safe and warm.”  Elizabeth whispered.

He rested his cheek on her head.  “I remember promising that to you.  It seems so long ago.” 

“Were you frightened that day?”

“No.  I was full of anticipation, I was . . .” He closed his eyes.  “I thought that I was at last in control.  Lord, what an arrogant fool I was.” 

“Considering how intense the previous months had been I can understand your incredible determination when you took me into your arms.” 

Darcy eyes warmed and he nodded as he played with her hair.  “You understand me so very well.”

“I understand that you have the strongest heart I have ever known.”  She kissed his chest and sighed when he shook his head.  “You do, Will.  Do you see me crying over you?”  Darcy’s brow creased and his mouth opened and shut.  “There, do you see?  If I was worried, you know how I would be.”

“You would be . . . you would be a terrible mess.”  He laughed.

Affronted, she pushed him away.  “And look at you smiling at the thought of my misery!”

“I do not know what came over me . . .” Feeling his spirits rising, Darcy pulled her close.  “Not a tear mars your face.”

“No.  Do you know why?” 

“Tell me, love.” 

“I would rather show you.”    Elizabeth slipped her hand behind his neck and drew his head down.  They stood together, kissing, and gradually Darcy felt the tension and pain disappear.  Slipping her arms around his waist, she rested her ear against his steadily beating heart.

“No, no, do not leave me now.”  With one hand caressing her bottom and the other buried within the mane of her hair, he lifted her head and looked down at her.  “Why did I leave you tonight?”  Darcy put all of his love into his kiss.  Elizabeth could feel the passion in his insistent, overwhelming caress.  Drawing away, he traced his thumb along her jaw, and smiled at the expression gracing her face.  “You are determined to ease me through this.” 

Elizabeth blinked and tried to find her balance.  “That is why you married me, is it not?” 

“No.” 

“Why then?”  She demanded.

Tenderly, he kissed her nose, and taking her hand tightly in his, he nodded to the door.  “Shall we retire?”

“Will you answer my question?” 

“I already have.”  Tilting his head, he watched her thinking.  “I want to keep you safe and warm.”    Blowing out the lamp burning on the desk, they started on their way upstairs. 

Elizabeth came to a stop at the bottom of the stairs.  “You will not give up protecting everything in your domain, will you?” 

“No more than you will.”  Raising her hand to his lips, he smiled when she closed her eyes.  “Thank you for tonight, love.” 

She pinched his bottom and rubbing over the spot, she slipped her arm around his waist, and started them up the stairs.  “You are welcome.”

“HERE, TRY A PINCH OF THIS.”  Lord Penzey offered his snuff box to Lord Matlock and passed it around to the other men gathered at the card table.  “Fantastic blend.”  Simultaneously they sniffed and sneezed loudly.  “What did I tell you?”  He beamed.

“That is quite good.”  Lord Matlock wiped at his nose with a blue silk handkerchief.  “Where did you find it?”

“Ahh, that is my secret; and it is not from Mayfair.    This comes straight from the man who cuts it.  He obtains his tobacco from Virginia and . . . well, I could wax poetic, but that is only because the man does himself.  He goes on and on about it.”  Lord Penzey laughed.  “I suppose if you are to be in trade, you may as well be enthusiastic about it!”

“In trade?  So the man is in Cheapside?”  Lord Matlock grinned.

“Damn and blast!” 

“You have dropped enough clues.  What is the shop’s name so we may give him our custom?”

“I am not telling.”  He said smugly.  “I stumbled upon it one day.  But I tell you, the shopkeeper is an entertaining sort.  I was in there last week and he was telling a whopper of a tale!”

“Oh?”  Lord Lynch took a card and looked at him expectantly.  “So?”

“It seems a patron came in, looking for another.  Well, in the man comes and the first man, a big one, late of the Navy, puts it to the little one . . .”

“Navy, no wonder he likes the story.”  Lord Sussen rolled his eyes.  “They are always Navy men . . .”

Lynch laughed.  “His son is a captain, after all!”  He lifted his chin, “Little one?”

Lord Penzey stopped his glare at Sussen and waved his hand at Lynch.  “He ends up pissing his breeches, so he has to be a little one!”

“I think that we just heard the bite of the joke.”  Lord Matlock chuckled and took two cards. 

“No, no!”  Lord Penzey cried.  “Listen!  The little one had demanded money to keep quiet about ruining the big bloke’s sister!” 

“Ah, and the Navy man ruined him instead?”  Lord Lynch grinned.  “Good for him.”

“Too bad for the girl.  I suppose she’s been married off to someone suitable.”

“I suppose.”  Lord Penzey rubbed his chin.  “It was much better when the shopkeeper told it.  He said the name of the family . . . from up your way, I think, Matlock.”

“The way that you tell a tale that could mean Kent.  You are the worst storyteller I have ever known.”  He laughed.  “What is the name?”

“Damned if I know.  It did not stick.”  Frowning, he stared at his cards and sighed.  “It really was a good story.” 

“No doubt.”  Lord Matlock winked.  “Well, if you ever get the details right . . .”

“Forget it.  I will not be asking him, he will think me more of a fool than you do.” 

“Speaking of fools,” Lord Sussen nodded to the door.  “Here comes one on your daughter’s arm.” 

“She looks frighteningly like her mother.  I wonder what she is about.”

“Do not turn him down flat, Matlock, you need to marry her off.”

“Not to that one.”  Lord Matlock observed.  “She looks like a cat bringing home a dead mouse to play with.”  The men chuckled softly as they approached.

“Papa, Gentlemen,” Cathy nodded when the men grunted into a standing position.  “Oh, please sit.”  She smiled prettily.  “Papa, I wanted to introduce you to my dancing partner.   This is Mr. Walker.”

“Walker.” 

The man smiled and bowed eagerly, “Lord Matlock, sir, I had no idea that I was dancing with the daughter of an earl!” 

“I bet.”  Lord Lynch muttered as he resumed his seat.

“Has that changed your opinion of my daughter, sir?  And may ask is it negative or positive?”

“Oh, sir.  Most positive, she is lovely and . . .”

“How long have you known him, Cathy?”

“A half-hour, Papa.”

“And why after such a significant acquaintance do you feel the need to introduce him to me?”  Lord Matlock saw the glint in his daughter’s eye and waited expectantly. 

“Why, Mr. Walker is from Scotland.”

“Are you?  I do not hear it in your voice.”  Lord Matlock looked at him assessingly.  “What part?”

“Dumfries, sir.  But I was raised in London, so of course that is my influence.” 

“Mmmhmm.” 

“Mr. Walker is the heir to an estate, Papa.  What is it called?”  Cathy smiled at him so widely that Walker could not help but preen.  “Was it Summerdale?”

“Close, Sommerwald.”  

“Sommerwald.”  Lord Matlock started and looked at his daughter before sitting forward.  “Sommerwald in Dumfries.”

“Yes, sir.  It is a beautiful estate, although I am sure that it is nothing to Matlock.” 

Lynch snorted and spoke under his breath, “Of course not.”

Lord Matlock stared at the young man.  “You are the owner?”

“Heir, actually.”  He smiled.

“Heir to Sommerwald.”

“Yes, sir.  My family has been there for years.”

“Five?” 

“Well, I have only been there during breaks from school in past few years, that is true, but then our branch of the family only recently inherited it.  How did you know that number, sir?”

“Because . . .” Lord Matlock stood and slammed his cards on the table.  “Sommerwald is owned by Fitzwilliam Darcy who inherited it five years ago when his father died.  He leased it out soon after, however he is in residence as we speak.”  He growled and pointed his finger in Walker’s face,  “Now, boy, either you are trying to pull the wool over our eyes, or your father has done a good job of fooling you, but either way, I assure you, I will be writing to my nephew and informing him that the Walkers are using him!”

“Sir . . . sir, I swear, I did not know!”  Walker stammered.

“Cathy, step away from this imposter.  I will dance this set with you.”  Glaring at Walker, he dropped his cards.  “Save my seat.” 

“Absolutely.” Lord Penzey chuckled as Lord Matlock stalked away, muttering under his breath.  “Mr. Walker,” he tossed him a handkerchief.  “I would go stand before the fire while your breeches dry before you go tell your father that you are homeless.”

“And next time, own up to what you own . . .  I like that . . .” Lord Lynch laughed.  “Own up to what you own.”

“Quiet Lynch.”  Lord Sussen muttered and smirked as the red faced young man hurried to stand at the fireplace.  “That Lady Cathy is quite like her namesake, I remember Lady Catherine’s first season.”

“And second.”

“And third.”  

The three men snorted at each other.  “Poor de Bourgh.  Any more of that snuff, Penzey?”

“Hmm, oh, certainly.”  He took out his box and stared at it thoughtfully.  “Darcy.”