The Trouble with Mr. Darcy (6 page)

“And you will shelter at the hospice for a day or more of rest,” Darcy ordered.

“Goodness knows I will need the hiatus.” Lord Matlock stretched his legs as if already imagining the ache from an arduous ride.

“The monks who honor Bernard of Menthon by maintaining the hospice will treat you well, my lord. The food is hot and satisfying, the fires raging, and the travelers constant through the pass. The monks and their dogs also patrol the trails for unsavory folk bent on thievery. That is no longer the concern it once was.”

“I hear the dogs of St. Bernard are as big as mastiffs. Is this true?”

“It is, Cousin,” Jurgen, youngest son of Herr Oeggl replied, leaning forward in his chair and holding his hand shoulder level. “Like small horses they are, but gentle. They gaze at you with their enormous brown eyes and compassion touches your heart. You can see why they love rescuing stranded people, risking their own lives selflessly to aid humans. It is beautiful.”

“My son is a lover of animals.” Herr Oeggl smiled fondly. “He wishes to join the monastery I believe and devote himself to breeding the St. Bernards. Hence his interest in this journey, unlike my lovely nieces who want to shop in Milano.”

“Milano designers and fabrics are unlike anywhere else, except perhaps Florence.” Romy sniffed. “It is worth any hardship for fashion.”

“Well,” countered her sister, Viveka, “Milano excites me as well, but I am also intrigued by the reputed brilliance of spring wildflowers that cover the meadows, the lakes and waterfalls, and any other vistas along the pass. I will be bringing my paints and pad, praying for flat terrain.”

“Painting while riding? You are talented to attempt it. You must show me how.”

“My pleasure, Miss Darcy, if you teach me how to play the harp as brilliantly as you.” She squeezed the blushing Georgiana’s hand.

“Not to put a damper on the youthful enthusiasm, but I am happy
not
to be making the trip; enormous dogs and stunning landscape are not enough to tempt me.”

“Why, Dr. Darcy”—Lady Matlock laughed—“after your adventures a steep mountain pass gives you pause? I am shocked and disappointed.”

“One word, madam: snow. No offense, Baron and Baroness, but I think my blood is now frozen solid and fear removing the three layers of stockings I wear, as I am positive I have frostbite!”

Everyone laughed. Georgiana leaned into her uncle, hugged his arm, and spoke to the crowd, “My dear uncle is delicate it seems. I, on the other hand, am determined to be brave and enjoy every moment!”

“That is the spirit, Cousin.” Herr Oeggl slapped his hand onto the chair’s arm. “Remember that only half of the journey is uphill. The rest is a descent, and how hard can that be?”

Lizzy filled two journals with notes and etchings of their time in Switzerland. Many of her entries were stories recounted by Darcy’s female cousins, those same ladies who taught him to dance the waltz so many years ago. Their remembrances were highly amusing, at least to Lizzy. Darcy flushed and attempted to correct their embellished reminiscences to no avail. He did prove, however, that their lessons in the Viennese waltz were intact, Lizzy reaping the benefits several times at the balls held in their honor.

Yet for all the entertainments and family memories, years later, Darcy would maintain that the best part of their stay in Switzerland was when he felt their baby move for the first time.

A week after arriving, on a night in May, Darcy reclined on a chair in their guest bedchamber with his feet crossed on the ottoman and mind engrossed in a book, while Lizzy sat at the desk writing in her journal. Silence ruled other than the crackle of the fire, muted tick of a clock, and scribble of her pen.

Sudden Lizzy released a sharp gasp and jumped up from her chair. It was so precipitous that Darcy had no chance to react before she plopped onto his lap. He grunted with the unexpected pressure, the book toppling to the floor when she grabbed his wrist with a jerk. Without a word she pressed his palm firmly against the small mound of her belly, smiling at his bewildered expression.

“Wait,” she whispered, “he will kick again, I am sure of it.”

He stared into her eyes, waiting as she said with his hand tight over the warm flesh encasing their baby. Lizzy held his gaze, lifted her legs until stretched over his, and leaned back onto his chest with her head resting on his inner shoulder.

“He is usually quiet in the evenings. When I feel him you are never around or we are in public. It has been frustrating.”

“I agree with the frustration,” Darcy breathed softly. “He, or she, is uncooperative. Hopefully not a sign of what is to come. Behave, little one, let your father know you are there.”

Lizzy shifted, moving his fingertips to the left side. “I think his legs are over here more. Wait.”

But the word barely left her mouth when their unborn child jabbed back at the seeking fingers invading his space, Darcy sucking in his breath at the sensation. He swiveled instantly misty eyes to her abdomen, as if possible to outwardly see the feeble movements.

“See, he is a cooperative boy.”

“He is amazing! Ah, how I have missed this miraculous feeling.” He buried his face in her hair and closed his eyes. He relaxed his taut muscles, inhaled deeply, and settled in to enjoy the profound emotions sweeping through him as their child lazily stirred under his broad hand.

It was only two or three minutes, the baby yet too small to exert energy for long. Darcy could sense his stretches spacing, and then a palpable rolling motion as he presumably flipped inside his watery home and ended the interlude. Still Darcy cradled the soft bulge, silent and at peace with his wife in his arms and the newfound connection charging through his veins. He could almost hear his heart expanding, each beat sending life-giving blood to the cells created to love this addition to his family, his head dizzy with the glorious feelings flooding over him.

“I love you, Elizabeth. You are a marvelous gift to me, and now you are blessing my life further with our children. I will be content with whatever God allots us, but I must say I selfishly wish for many.”

“Be careful what you ask for,” Lizzy chuckled. “
Many
is rather vague and as we are constantly being reminded, most children are not as complacent as Alexander!”

“It makes no never mind. I absolutely adore being a father and will gladly accept them all.”

“I shall note that remark in my journal in case I need to jog your memory of such a bold promise. The next one may well possess my personality, or worse yet, your father and George’s!”

He smiled benignly, cupping her face and rubbing a thumb over her cheek. “I will take my chances.” The kiss that followed was lengthy but soothing and soft. His fingertips brushed over her jaw for a momentary caress before returning to cradle the mound where his second child lay. With his other arm he drew her closer to his body, Lizzy instinctively curling and melting into the contours of his form.

A low hum of pleasure purred from the back of her throat when he finally released her lips, the sound wafting as a breath over the curve of his neck when she buried her face there. He held her, contentment a tangible blanket surrounding their bodies, and continued to fondle the pillowy swell for a long while. The baby moved occasionally, faint and fluttery but discernible now that he knew what to expect, but remained quiet for the most part. Eventually Darcy’s eyes grew heavy and he carried his sleeping wife to their bed to nestle with his hand tight over her belly and unconscious mind registering every prod.

Toward morning but while the sun yet hid below the surface of their area of the world, Darcy was roused by movement on Lizzy’s side of the bed and a brief but cold blast of air across his shoulders. He was on his back and rolled toward the space she typically occupied, only then sleepily assimilating that what roused him was her returning to bed.

“Why were you up?” he grated.

“Nature’s duties. I apologize for waking you.” He garbled something that sounded like
never mind
and reached for her body, Lizzy keeping a distance and whispering, “My gown is chilled and toes like ice. I will make you cold.”

He grabbed her anyway, strong arms slipping her over the sheets as if a feather, the heat radiating off his skin pouring through her. “Do not be ridiculous,” he rumbled, sending fresh shivers through her flesh, although not from the cold as Darcy thought. “I will have you warm in seconds.”

It was true. She cuddled against his hard chest and leeched the heat generated in droves by his internal furnace. She cinched her icy feet between his naked shins and while they thawed, the remainder of her body flared quickly to hot, especially with his hands drowsily rubbing over her back.

“It may warm up during the day, but at night it is as freezing as December,” she murmured, pressing an icicle nose onto his breastbone.

He chuckled, the hoarse sound reverberating under her face. “Trust me, it is much colder here in December. I will stir up the fire.” He started to draw away, but Lizzy clutched onto his thigh and held fast.

“No need. I am quite warm now. I have my own personal fire and he rapidly incites my internal flames.” And just in case he missed the innuendo she kissed his chest and caressed pointedly up his thigh and around to his rear.

Darcy, of course, was not an imbecile even if half asleep. The lazy caressing continued for several minutes while Lizzy planted kisses across his chest and Darcy smiled into her lavender scented hair. He snaked a hand under the thick nightgown she wore during the winter, pushing the cloth upward as his hand skimmed over her leg. He sighed contentedly, allowing the excitement to build in languid increments, savoring the tactile delight of her skin under his palm without a conscious agenda.

“He is quite active at this moment.”

Her whispered words broke into the silence, momentarily halting the fingers trailing over her hipbone. Eagerly they altered their random path, purposefully brushing along her inner thigh until reaching the swell above. As she said, the baby was moving with gentle nudges against his palm.

“Hmm… Wonderful. You continually say ‘he’ as if sure of the sex. Another vivid dream as with Alexander?”

“No. Not this time. More of a feeling.”

“Ah,
a feeling
. So scientific.” He accented his tease with a tiny pinch.

“As scientific as my dream, but that proved true.”

“Very well then. I suppose that means we do not have to assign a female name, and since Alexander was instantly agreed upon, we have a task on our hands. Any choices? Do you wish to name him after your father?”

“Thomas? Perhaps, although we could reserve it as a secondary name after your father’s. James should be chosen before Thomas.”

“I do want to pay homage to my father if possible, yes. However, I do want to add Charles as a secondary name as well, if you do not mind? He is a dear friend and instrumental in my meeting you.” He gently drew her away from his chest, attempting to see her eyes in the dark, but to no avail so he kissed her instead, his fingertips flittering over her most sensitive zones while maintaining contact with their unborn child.

“How sweet,” she said once her mouth was released. “Charles is mutually agreed upon. So, we have numerous secondary name choices but nothing for the Christian name. Do you have a favorite?”

“I have always liked Nathaniel. And Adam. Not common, I know, but nice names.”

“Possible. What do you think of Gabriel? Lisle’s son is Gabriel and it struck me as pleasant.”

Suddenly Darcy chuckled. “Gabriel, Thomas, Nathaniel, Adam. I think we are cornering Biblical names!”

“Indeed,” she joined his laughter. “Of course, if we have this
many
babies you alluded to last night, we may work our way through the entire Bible. Just do not ask for Methuselah. I draw the line there.”

“Does that mean Shadrach and Meshach are eliminated? And no on Potiphar or Boaz?”

She shook with laughter and a fair dose of arousal now that his fingers had crept to the apex between her legs and were confounding her senses with their antics. “Absolutely not! I have no urge to torture our son with a hideous name. What say we remain in the realm of non-ridiculing names like Matthew or Daniel or Michael…”

“Michael,” Darcy interrupted, although Lizzy’s voice had paused on the name. Even his fingers had ceased moving, a fact Lizzy did not initially register as she too was dwelling on the name. “That has a nice ring. Michael. Michael Darcy. Michael Charles Darcy. What do you think?” He tried vainly to see her eyes, but the room was still too dark. He felt her gaze upon his face, the gap of inches separating allowing him to feel her exhaled breaths. Somehow he knew she was smiling.

“I love it. Yes, very much. It does not have to be definitively settled as yet, but… It fits for some inexplicable reason. Michael Darcy.”

“Michael Darcy. Yes. At least the choice for the present and much better than Methuselah. Shall we seal it with a kiss, Mrs. Darcy?”

“More than a kiss please,” spoken huskily and with a demanding press to the immobile hand resting on her pubis.

“As you wish, my love.” His fingers resumed their teasing, Lizzy moaning and arching into the magic that was his touch.