The Trouble with Mr. Darcy (7 page)

Baby names were forgotten in the wake of escalating incitement. Lizzy’s amorousness that was dampened while discussing the baby flared into a raging inferno of desire. This was becoming a pattern and Darcy teased that her fervency was due to pregnancy wrecking havoc on her insides. It was true that she typically possessed more restraint in comparison to his voracious sexual appetite, but her craving for him at odd times was not unheard of, pregnant or not. Whatever the truth, his skillful manipulations rapidly achieved the desired results. Then his lips left her mouth to travel down her neck to the breast freed from the gown’s bodice with a flick of his little finger and he drew the sensitized, puckered nipple in for a sharp suck instantly turning her pants to gasping shouts as spasms buffeted through every muscle.

Darcy groaned, growled really, but held on and rode the cresting wave of her release, encouraging the pleasure to arc ever higher with practiced strokes. He waited, knowing the precise moment when the sensations began to wane. It was then that he lifted his body, rolled smoothly between her legs, and plunged in as deeply as possible. Raspy moans vibrated against her lips as he parted them with a greedy tongue bent on plundering deeply. Yet instead of initiating a furious rhythm of lovemaking he held still. Buried completely, he absorbed the final tremors, kissing ravenously as the feel of her wildly increased his desire to the point where
not moving
was necessary or their interlude would be over in a second.

And that would never do. What had begun as an unplanned assignation in the darkest, coldest hours of the night need not be swift. Darcy was wide awake now, his body thrumming with urgency and passion. Every sense was alive, except for sight since the darkness prevented even a glimmer of the beloved person pressed so deliciously under his solid frame. But he knew her face intimately, could picture each feature vividly, and the deprivation of light only enhanced every other sensation. This fact was proven true when she squeezed with her lissome legs, lifting her hips in a clear indication that she wanted more. The rivers of flame rushed from his toes to the crown of his head, animalistic lust and rapturous love demanding he respond.

And he did, hard and fast. Heaving breaths accenting the furious strokes and his hands held her hips in place for each fierce push.

“
Yeeeesssss
…” Her sibilant utterance spurred Darcy on, the pace of his thrusts varying as they undulated together in no rush to end the pleasure.

After nearly three years of wedded bliss Darcy could not claim to recall each time they made love in specific detail. Always their unions were amazing and satisfying, but there were those times that created lasting memories. Their wedding night, of course, and not merely because it was their first time together as well as the first time either had shared such intimacy with another person, but also because it was perfect in every way. His soul had truly come alive that night; his heart irrevocably changed when his wife entered inside and took up residence.

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.

C
HAPTER
T
HREE

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 paths 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?”