Loving Mr. Darcy

  In the meantime, they spent nearly every waking moment together. Darcy cancelled all business affairs, other than the ones to do with the trip, and Lizzy postponed her scheduled shopping and afternoon appointments. The logical, sensible portion of their personalities knew they were being ridiculous. It had been inevitable that a separation of extended time would occur, and they recognized that it would likely happen numerous times over the long course of their marriage. In some far corner of their minds, they were embarrassed by and laughed at their panic and dismay, yet they could not halt the emotions. For Darcy it dredged up the terror of her accident, when she was mentally parted from him and he feared her death. Lizzy, strangely, found she relived the moment he had walked out the door of the inn in Lambton and she thought she had lost him forever.

  The days were filled with the tension of expectation to the point that both of them actually found themselves privately longing for the day to arrive so that time could then hurry to when he returned. They made love numerous times over the two days with an unreasoning fear of detachment.

  On the very morning he had broken the news to her, they made love again in her dressing room after breakfast. Lizzy kissed him and departed to her dressing room, not noting the sensual expression crossing his countenance. Several minutes later, while Marguerite was thankfully in the closet retrieving a gown, Darcy suddenly appeared in the doorway. This was not odd, but the clear suggestive gaze roaming over her body as she stood before her washbasin in only her chemise left no doubt it was not a casual visit. He dismissed Lizzy's maid curtly without turning about, this being unusual, but Marguerite did not flinch. He then rapidly crossed to where she stood, robe falling to the floor and revealing him to be fully aroused—a sight Marguerite would not have been able to ignore if she had taken even three more steps into the room.

  “Elizabeth, I need you, please,” he said, as his mouth descended in a crushing kiss and he pinned her against the wall, fingers groping. It was sudden and unexpected, but her husband never failed to inflame her.

  That evening while hosting a dinner party, their eyes linked from across the room and desire was immediately evident. Darcy nodded imperceptibly and slipped away, Lizzy following a few minutes later. Whether anyone noticed they never knew, nor did they care. Darcy stood in the darkened hall and without a word took her hand, leading her to the library and locking the door. They fell onto the comfortable sofa and wasted no time in their frenetic yearning, moans suppressed. The room was pitch black, but light was unnecessary.

  Nighttime and morning liaisons were languid and relaxing, offering a sustaining and consuming rapture, more emotional and spiritual in nature than the chiefly physical trysts afforded. The afternoon of the day before his departure found them in the study, Darcy writing at his desk while Lizzy read on the already several times utilized sofa. Sensing his penetrating gaze, she glanced up into darkened eyes.

  “Staring, Mr. Darcy?”

  “Admiring, Mrs. Darcy,” he answered in a gravelly whisper. “Adoring, loving, wanting, craving.” He rose, gliding from the desk toward her. “Worshipping, desiring, cherishing.” He knelt and began lifting her skirts, never breaking away from her eyes. “Yearning, esteeming, caressing, tasting…” His mumbled huskiness was lost amid folded yards of fabric and tender flesh.

  Lizzy groaned, “William, I so love you!”

  Their last night together was spent quietly at home with Georgiana, Mary, and Kitty. Occasional playing of the pianoforte was interspersed with conversation and laughter. Despite the now looming departure, Darcy and Lizzy were in joyful moods, entertained by the silliness of the girls. Darcy contentedly sat beside his wife, who was embroidering a design of bunnies and bluebirds on what was to be a small pillow for the baby's crib. As they finally moved toward their perspective bedchambers, Darcy was stunned to have Mary approach him, Georgiana and Kitty solemnly behind her.

  “Mr. Darcy,” she said with a small curtsey, “you must not fret over Lizzy. We shall care for her and keep her amused. I know she will miss you, as will we all, but no harm will befall her. We promise.”

  Darcy was nearly unable to find his voice. Mary had probably spoken ten sentences to him in the past three weeks, and this was by far the longest! “Thank you, Miss Mary. I appreciate your vow and understand it comes from your heart. Thus, you have eased mine.” With a stately bow, he kissed her hand, bringing a deep flush to her cheeks, and then repeated the words and action with his sister and Kitty.

  Lizzy barely slept, Darcy endlessly embracing and caressing and kissing all throughout the night. They made love again, Lizzy exhausted and sore as she had not been since their honeymoon. Still, it was a monumental effort to not burst into tears when he left. He graced her with a dazzling smile as he waved a final farewell, pretending with all the theatrics at his disposal to not be aching and ripping apart inside. Lizzy retired immediately to their chamber, stretching on the empty bed with his scent-filled pillow clutched to her chest and crying until lack of sleep and heartache overtook her.

  She woke refreshed and determined to shake off any depression. Amelia and Jane arrived in the early afternoon, and along with the girls, they retired to the parlor to sew and visit. Harriet was expected to arrive any minute to augment the fun. Lizzy surprisingly discovered her sadness leaving in the delight of lively communion. Her humor was high, health whole, and the tiny flutters far inside a constant reminder of her bliss.

  A knock at the door lead to the entry of the footman, Hobbes. He bowed, Lizzy fully anticipating him to announce Mrs. Vernor, when he said, “Madame, there is a visitor asking to see Mr. Darcy…”

  Before he could finish, the door flew open with a bang into the wall and, with a flurry of swirling skirts, in breezed Lady Catherine de Bourgh.

  THE ECHOING THUD FROM the door screamed loudly into the otherwise palpable stunned silence that descended. Hobbes was aghast at the visitor—a Lady, so she had stated—entering unannounced, and he honestly could not fathom how to react. Amelia did not know who the rude woman was, yet it was obvious by the universal expressions of shock and dismay that her company was not particularly welcomed.

  Lady Catherine stood imperiously, well aware of the impact her arrival engendered. Her cool gaze swept the room with an utter lack of interest and supreme condescension, alighting lastly on Elizabeth.

  Experiencing a rush of anger mingled with frantic consternation, Lizzy nonetheless recovered her wits first, standing and curtsying brusquely. “Lady Catherine. Mr. Darcy is away—”

  “Mrs. Darcy,” she interrupted, snapping the name as if painful to articulate, “I have been informed that my nephew is unavailable. I wish to see him at once. Tell me where I can locate him.”

  “My husband,” Lizzy emphasized, “is out of Town on business. Perhaps I…”

  “Left you alone already, has he? When do you expect him to return?”

  Lizzy was only angry now. Drawing up to her full height with a stiff spine, pinched brows, steely gaze, clenched jaw, and lifted chin, a pose of intimidation she had learned from her spouse, Lizzy turned to the paralyzed Hobbes. “Thank you, Hobbes. You may be excused.”

  He started then bowed properly. “As you wish Madame. Ring if you require assistance.” With a piercing look to the “Lady,” he exited.

  “Lady Catherine, accompany me to the study where we can speak privately.” She turned to the ladies. “Excuse me for a moment.” Without another word to Lady Catherine or a backward glance, she gracefully departed the room. Walking with stately dignity, Lizzy lead to Darcy's study. Initially unsure whether Lady Catherine was trailing, and unclear as to the proper handling if she refused, Lizzy breathed silent relief upon hearing the tap of heels. Her mind traveled to Darcy with a desperate wish for his commanding presence, but sadly it would be up to her to handle this situation.

  Determined to make him proud, she stood behind her husband's immense desk, one hand resting possessively on the polished wood, and turned to face his aunt.

  L
izzy opened her mouth to speak, but Lady Catherine burst forth with, “You dare to order me about in my nephew's house! It is fortunate I brought to the fore my breeding and manners—”

  “Lady Catherine,” Lizzy interjected dispassionately, another Darcy maneuver, “I believe it best we do not discuss manners under the circumstances of your arrival in what is now my house as well as Mr. Darcy's. Mr. Darcy, as I previously informed, is away on business. He will return in a week. Perhaps I can assist you?”

  Lady Catherine pursed her lips. “It seems, Mrs. Darcy, that surrounding you are perpetual rumors. Or is it that you delight in persuading my nephew to harbor secrets from his family?”

  “I can assure you I do not persuade Mr. Darcy to do anything. He is master of his own life and choices. As for rumors, I regret that I am ignorant as to what you refer.”

  Lady Catherine flared, gesturing to Elizabeth's midsection. “The rumor that you are with child! The potential Heir to Pemberley, assuming the Bennet stock is even capable of supplying males, and I must receive the news from my parson! This is unconscionable! Why did you feel the necessity to induce Mr. Darcy to confidences?”

  Instantly Lizzy realized that she should have suspected this. She had privately wondered when, or if, Darcy planned on informing his aunt, but mentioning her name invariably met with a flash of irritation and stubbornness, so she had not broached the subject. Fighting for serenity, she replied, “Lady Catherine, the confirmation of our blessing has quite recently occurred. We have cautiously shared our news with friends and family. I trust William to decide how he wishes to deal with all matters concerning your relationship. Under the circumstances, it is best this way.”

  “Those circumstances you so flippantly allude to would not exist if you had listened to reason and kept your proper place rather than grasping for wealth and—”

  “Lady Catherine! I will not allow you to insult me in my house! This is a topic that is closed. If you have even the remotest desire to renew a relationship with your nephew and to be granted access to his children, then I beg you to halt your tongue. Continued remonstrations and vitriolic commentary benefit you naught. We are married. You may as well accept this.”

  Lady Catherine paused, her countenance stony as she appeared to ruminate on the next statement. “Tell me, Mrs. Darcy,” always pronounced through gritted teeth, “how many calling cards and invitations and business appointments has Mr. Darcy received? After languishing half the season in Derbyshire rather than attending to his duties in Town, he should be far too busy to absent himself for a week.”

  Lizzy was unnerved by the sudden altered direction. Aside from the unwitting reference to her prolonged recuperation that had prevented an earlier departure from Pemberley, Lizzy was confused as to where Lady Catherine's inquiry was leading. “Forgive me, Lady Catherine, but I fear I do not apprehend your meaning. Mr. Darcy is—”

  “Then allow me to explain,” she interrupted, the hint of warmth in her voice bewildering Lizzy further. “A girl with your provincial upbringing would inevitably be ignorant of the requirements for those in the higher levels of society. Mr. Darcy's business ventures and responsibilities are extensive. Normally, he would have arrived in Town by late March, attending to his commitments and social obligations, the flood of solicitations so plentiful as to necessitate declining dozens each day. As Master of Pemberley, his company is sought by the elite members of society, including royalty, all of who are honored by his appearance. As his aunt I am deeply concerned for the ramifications of his… decisions of late. Not only has he eschewed his annual visit to Rosings, thus renouncing his familial obligations forsworn to my late husband prior to his death, his flaunting of conventions could seriously damage the reputation of the Darcy name and financial solvency of Pemberley. Of course, you selfishly considered none of this, did you? You who claim to love my nephew thought of only yourself—”

  “Lady Catherine,” Lizzy halted her in a barely controlled voice, Darcy's beloved face firm in her mind lending her strength, “I believe our conversation has exhausted itself. I will end this discussion with these words. You have now not only insulted me yet again, a slight your nephew will have difficulty overlooking, but you have outrageously slandered his character.” In a tightly checked rage, Lizzy stepped nearer the white faced Lady Catherine. “To suggest that he would ever shirk his responsibilities or comport himself in a less than superior manner or hastily engage in activities that he has not thoroughly deliberated is abominable! I wonder if, despite your assertions, you know Mr. Darcy at all, or if you truly care for him.”

  Lady Catherine's face was pale, expression unreadable, yet she did not reply, merely gazing at Lizzy with a deep intensity. Lizzy calmly reached for the servant's bell, not yet pulling. “Lady Catherine, regardless your opinion of me, I am not pleased with the estrangement between you and William. My heart would desire to see reconciliation, yet I can guarantee this will not occur if you do not reevaluate your judgment of our relationship.”

  At that moment the door opened, Mr. Travers entering with a formal bow, six female bodies flanking him. “Mrs. Darcy, may I be of any assistance?”

  “Yes, Mr. Travers, you can escort Lady Catherine to the door. Madame, I politely request you leave now. I shall inform Mr. Darcy of your visit, you may be assured. Good day.”

  Lady Catherine hesitated momentarily and Lizzy sensed rising panic at the concept of physically evicting Darcy's aunt. Luckily, with a swirl of skirts and muttered articulations of disgust, Lady Catherine barged past the mass of women and Mr. Travers, her irritated voice echoing down the corridor. Lizzy sank into the comforting bulk of Darcy's leather desk chair, allowing the trembles to race through her. Mary was the first to her side, a glass of sherry pressed into slack hands.

  “Drink this, Lizzy. Mama says it calms her nerves.” Lizzy sipped the offered beverage, an attack of the giggles bubbling forth as she glanced up at the array of faces above her. Mary and Jane serene and commanding, Kitty confused, Georgiana anxious and flushed, Harriet and Amelia stern and angry.

  Eyes glittering, Lizzy laughingly asked, “Were you all eavesdropping?”

  Georgiana flushed further and hung her head, but the others merely nodded. It was Kitty who replied, “Of course we were! We promised Mr. Darcy we would look after you. That harridan should not be allowed to upset you, Lizzy.”

  “You should order the servants to slam the door in her face if she appears, Elizabeth,” Harriet stated firmly, then smiled. “You handled her well, though. I am proud of you.”

  “Perhaps we should send word to my brother or cousin Richard at least, Elizabeth,” Georgiana spoke softly, tension evident in her shaky tone. “William will be so angry. Oh, this is too horrible!”

  “Georgie, rest easy, my dear. I am fine, truly. Merely a bit aquiver. There is absolutely no reason to distress or interrupt William. Perhaps I will speak with Colonel Fitzwilliam or Lord Matlock. Honestly, I am fine.”

  Generally, Lizzy was fine. That night, the first in six months without her husband, she stood in their private garden gazing at the stars, one of Darcy's robes engulfing her, and mused over the day's events. Her friends had comforted her all afternoon by their presence and witty chatter. Lizzy had not spoken of Lady Catherine's words, nor had she shared the event with Richard or the Matlocks at dinner that evening. She planned to speak with them eventually, but a dinner party with some thirty partakers did not offer the proper opportunity. Instead, she buried her turmoil, charming the guests and the hosts, a Lord and Lady Carlyle, passing a pleasant evening, although the ache of Darcy's absence never escaped her heart.

  Now, it was quiet. The girls were abed, probably gossiping and giggling in one of their rooms. Between missing her husband and the residual commotion elicited from Lady Catherine's statements, Lizzy dreaded lying on the empty bed and attempting sleep. The majority of Lady Catherine's accusations Lizzy recognized as spiteful and without any foundation. The love Darcy and Lizzy shared was of a depth few could und
erstand. The notion of regrets or faulty decisions on his part was laughable in the extreme.

  Nonetheless, Lizzy did wonder. The truth is, she was completely ignorant of the social proprieties of Darcy's world. The idea that his marriage to her may have damaged the Darcy reputation or affected the estate in a tangible way seemed unlikely, yet she suddenly found the words of his first proposal echoing in her head. My rank, family expectations, your birth and inferior circumstances. Isolated at Pemberley, deliriously blissful in her husband's arms, Lizzy had given none of it the slightest consideration. Ultimately she trusted Darcy, believed in his love for her and in his competence to manage affairs as brilliantly as always. Yet, his aunt's words stung. How had she known the invitations had been minimal? Until two days ago they had received not a one, other than from their circle of intimates. Additionally, the opportunity with Duke Grafton was nearly refused due to Darcy's reluctance to abandon her. What else had he allowed to slip through his fingers?

  Tears slid down her cheeks and the pain of his absence became unbearable. She could not regret marrying him nor could he regret marrying her, and Lizzy recollected his frequent slurs against the fickleness of society with mild encouragement. The influx of calling cards and invitations over the past two days proved how quickly the supposed importance of pedigree and station was overshadowed by wealth and connections. She could hear his voice: “By next year, beloved, not a soul will remember you as other than Mrs. Darcy of Pemberley.” The melancholy was not borne of remorse but of causing his life to be troubled in any way, no matter how minute or innocent.

  A knock at the bedroom door interrupted her reverie. It was Samuel with an envelope he was charged to deliver to Mrs. Darcy prior to her retiring.

  My beloved, precious wife,