“Furthermore, Aunt, your assaults on Elizabeth demand an apology which should be rendered, regardless of what your estimation of her may be. In addition, although I cannot fathom an opinion of my wife less than enthusiastically favorable, I will not tolerate a negative word uttered in this house. In that incomprehensible event, you will be escorted out and never welcomed again. Are we clear?”
“Perfectly, Fitzwilliam. Mrs. Darcy, I do apologize for my behavior both recently and in the past. I will not attempt to offer excuses and only pray you will forgive me.”
Lizzy nodded. “Very well, Lady Catherine. Let us start fresh. Welcome to Darcy House.” She glanced past her to Anne and curtseyed politely. “Miss de Bourgh, it is wonderful to see you again. William speaks so fondly of you, and I am overjoyed to have the opportunity to enhance our relationship.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Darcy.” Anne smiled shyly, glancing timidly at the array of bodies in the room. At the initial greetings, most in the ballroom had moved away, busily diverting their attention from the drama unfolding at the door. Lord Matlock and Colonel Fitzwilliam stood nearby, as did Dr. Darcy and Mr. Bennet. Lord Matlock smoothly apprehended his sister, with Colonel Fitzwilliam offering an arm to Anne, both men steering them away and performing the task of introductions.
“Interesting family intrigue,” George stated with a chuckle. “One of the disadvantages of living a continent away is all the fun interpersonal dynamics one misses. Lady Catherine has always been fodder for a laugh or two.” He breathed deeply and patted his chest with both hands, smiling broadly. “All I need now is food and dancing with a beautiful woman or two and life will be complete! Come, Mr. Bennet, let us see what we can scare up.” Laughing, the gentlemen moved away, leaving Lizzy and Darcy in relative solitude.
Darcy was gazing intently into his wife's face, tenderly cupping her cheek while running his thumb over her smiling lips. “You were brilliant, my love. Are you well?”
Lizzy's smile widened. “I am perfect.” She kissed his palm, encircling his neck with both hands and rising on tiptoes to brush his lips. “I have you. How could I be anything else? Now come, we have other guests to attend to. I am rather enjoying being Mistress!”
Darcy laughed, leaning for a kiss to her temple. “You should enjoy it since you are quite adept, as I knew you would be. I love you, you know?”
“I love you too, William.”
Arm in arm, they rejoined their guests. Gerald and Harriet Vernor were talking with Stephen and Amelia Lathrop. Amelia was fast approaching the final two months of her pregnancy and planned to return to Leicestershire on the morrow for the remainder of her confinement. Lizzy was already saddened, especially knowing that with her own condition advancing, it would likely be months before they saw each other.
“Ah, Darcy! Excellent timing,” Gerald Vernor said. “The ladies insist on discussing birth and infancy related topics. Lathrop and I are turning green over here, so rescue us before they move on to the riveting issue of swaddling cloths.”
“Yes, by all means,” Lizzy replied with an impish smile and wave of her hand, “move away, feeble men, and discuss something delicate such as hunting or boxing.” Darcy and Lathrop blushed but Vernor winked, guiding the two toward another knot of men seemingly centered on an effervescent George Darcy.
The orchestra struck up a lively dance tune, the floor taken by several couples. Mary and Mr. Daniels, not surprisingly, were accompanied by the Hugheses, Colonel Fitzwilliam and Miss Bertha, several others, and, to Lizzy's amazed curiosity, Anne de Bourgh and Dr. Raul Penaflor. Lady Catherine sat beside Lord and Lady Matlock, scowlingly observing her daughter.
The mystery of Anne de Bourgh had, in all honesty, not overly interested Lizzy. Her stay in Kent had offered her few opportunities to talk to Anne, only enough to arrive at the conclusion that the sickly young woman was polite but rather timid. Darcy spoke fondly of his cousin, mostly regarding their childhood antics. Lizzy gathered that Anne had been healthy as a youth, or at least Darcy intimated so. Lizzy had no idea what the illness was that rendered Anne pale and listless. Suddenly, Lizzy felt shame for not having taken the initiative to inquire as to the history involving Darcy's cousin, but any mention of the name “de Bourgh” educed the infamous Darcy glower.
She observed her now with inquisitiveness. Anne wore a dark green gown of an older style that completely covered every inch of her skin, only her bloodless, pinched face visible. She was pretty, with a slim figure, lovely brown eyes, and curly black hair. Her pallor was a sharp contrast to the dusky-hued Dr. Penaflor. Little in the way of words was exchanged as they danced. Surprisingly, the frail Anne managed the dance easily and with a natural grace. A faint flush rose on her cheeks, although whether from the exertion or touch of her partner Lizzy could not ascertain. When the dance ended, Dr. Penaflor escorted Anne to her mother's side, bowing with cultured finesse and brushing her fingers with his lips. Lady Catherine glared, though the physician remained unperturbed as evidenced by the dazzling smile sent her way before he retreated.
Lizzy hid a laugh as she meandered through the room, engaging her guests in easy conversation, eventually reaching Darcy's side. He stood with his Uncle George, Richard, and Lizzy's parents. Dr. Penaflor was now dancing with Kitty.
Lizzy linked arms with her spouse but addressed the doctor. “Your friend is apparently intent on squiring each young maiden in the room, Dr. Darcy.”
George laughed. “Yes, that would be Raja. Raised with courtly manners, he would deem it his duty. Although I judge his interest in Miss de Bourgh is primarily professional.”
“What do you mean, Uncle?”
He waved his hand dismissively. “One of the side effects of being a diagnostician. We never can fully push our instincts aside. We were both curiously discussing what treatment she is on for her anemia. Do you know, William?”
Darcy, however, was staring at him in total bafflement. “I fear, Uncle, I do not understand. The physician my aunt employs has determined it to be a heart condition.”
Dr. Darcy raised a brow, apparently an inherited Darcy gesture when perplexed. “A heart condition? That seems unlikely. Of course, I would need to examine her fully to be certain, but she is pale, not cyanotic or breathless, nor is there obvious evidence of edema.” He was frowning as he muttered, studying Anne as she sat across the room, fingers twitching over his lips.
Lizzy found the whole episode intriguing, not only Dr. Darcy's unconscious gesticulations so akin to her husband's, but also the references to Anne's affliction. Darcy was watching his uncle with interest and a glimmer of hope.
“I have long encouraged Aunt Catherine to seek an alternate opinion. Do you think you could help her, Uncle George?”
Dr. Darcy shrugged. “I know of several tonics as well as natural remedies for anemia, if that is her ailment. Heart diseases are difficult. Far too many variables. I have seen some success with the distillation of digitalis. Hmmm… The question is your Aunt Catherine. She never cared for me. I am too outrageous and improper,” he declared in Lizzy's direction with a grin. “You are not the first to earn her disfavor, my dear.”
“How comforting,” Lizzy murmured sarcastically.
“Dr. Darcy, pardon me, but what did you mean by Dr. Penaflor raised with courtly manners?” Mrs. Bennet asked, a keen glint in her eyes.
“Raul Penaflor, Mrs. Bennet, is the third son of a Spanish Duke, and his mother is one of many royal sisters to King Ferdinand. It is all rather a jumble of intermarriage intrigue that exhausts me, frankly.”
Mrs. Bennet's eyes had opened widely, and she was peering at Kitty and Dr. Penaflor as they completed their dance with unveiled calculation. Lizzy coughed a laugh, turning slightly to hide her face into Darcy's sleeve as Mrs. Bennet continued. “How very interesting! Has he a grand inheritance then? Or perhaps a family income?”
Dr. Darcy smiled innocently at Mrs. Bennet. “They have not disowned him, Mrs. Bennet, if that information profits you. Raja, however, is apathetic reg
arding his lineage and rank. I tease and call him ‘raja,’ which is prince in Hindi, yet he is indifferent. Healing is all that truly matters to him.”
Mrs. Bennet was obviously saddened at the news and chose to ignore Dr. Penaflor thereafter. The evening progressed with all in attendance enjoying themselves immensely. Lizzy danced twice, once with Colonel Fitzwilliam and then with George Darcy. Primarily, she stood happily by her husband, the two randomly conversing with all guests equally. Occasionally, she sensed Aunt Catherine's eyes boring into her, but essentially, she ignored the woman, far too delighted in the evening's gaiety to be irritated. Darcy was in a felicitous mood, smiling incessantly and laughing often. Even his trifling annoyance at his bound arm was insufficient to dampen his spirits.
Dinner was a success, Aunt Catherine and a couple others the only members to express repugnance at the exotic cuisines. Lizzy sat to Darcy's right, ready to assist him if necessary, but he managed proficiently without moving his left arm beyond the proscribed degrees. Lizzy had quickly rearranged the seating assignment so that Anne de Bourgh sat next to Dr. Raul Penaflor and quite far from her mother. She also rapidly ensured that her parents sat close to Mary and the Daniels family. Lady Catherine sat on the far side of Lord and Lady Matlock, near Darcy and Elizabeth. This, too, was on purpose. If Lady Catherine wished to “observe” Lizzy, then she would encourage the action.
All in all, it was a lively gathering. Food and wine flowed in abundance, the entire meal lasting several hours. Lizzy was amused to note Lady Catherine ingesting a vast quantity of red wine, becoming cheerful and borderline animated as the meal progressed. The Darcys shared many an entertaining glance and whispered comment, not to mention the typical loving touches that were now so natural and essential to their existence that they hardly noticed them any longer.
The largest shock of the evening came as they said their farewells to their guests. Lady Catherine approached with a shyly smiling Anne. She was a bit unsteady on her feet, yet appeared in control of her faculties when she grasped Elizabeth's hands. Peering intently into Lizzy's eyes, she spoke clearly, “Mrs. Darcy. I regret my prior actions. I may not fully approve of how Fitzwilliam went about choosing his bride, but I can no longer deny his… affection for you and yours for him. He is happy. Any fool can see that. Tonight's event has proven to me conclusively not only this fact, but also your excellence as Mistress. Thank you for the invitation. Understand that you are always welcome at Rosings Park.”
Finally alone, weary yet jubilant, Lizzy sat astride Darcy's lap as she firmly massaged the medicinal ointment into his shoulder. They talked quietly, comparing notes and laughing in remembrance. Darcy endured the massage, expressing clearly how he intended for the evening to end.
“How am I ever to manage fulfilling my nursing duties each night if you distract me so, Mr. Darcy?”
“Am I distracting you, beloved? So very sorry. Perhaps you should give me what I want so I shall no longer disturb you so.” His muffled voice rose from the vicinity of her bosom.
“Fitzwilliam,” she began hoarsely, grip faltering yet again.
He pulled her into his chest, kissing lustily as he rolled to the side with her pinned beneath his body. “Such an excellent Mistress as you, Mrs. Darcy, deserves to be rewarded in a most satisfying way. I believe I know exactly what you shall find most satisfying.”
Lizzy gasped in pleasure, yet attempted one last time to forestall his raging amorousness, “William, we should at least bind your arm…”
“Damn my arm! I love you, Elizabeth, and I have wanted you all evening. No longer shall I wait to love you, my wife, my heart and soul. Kiss me, my Lizzy!”
She did, wholeheartedly. They loved blissfully and, indeed, most satisfyingly.
THE DAY IN MID July when the Darcys were to return to Pemberley dawned fair with the promise of extreme heat. Darcy woke even earlier than usual, the sun barely cresting the tops of the buildings surrounding Grosvenor Square. The bedchamber remained sunken in deep shadows, the drawn curtains effectively blocking the faint rays of light. Darcy lay comfortably in that hazy realm between sleep and full wakefulness. Elizabeth lay with her head nestled perfectly in the bend of his shoulder and chest, the remainder of her lovely body pressed firmly into his with one leg draped over him. Her steady respirations indicated her sleeping state.
Darcy smiled drowsily and pulled her closer, softly stroking her hip. The prospect of being home filled him with bliss and peace. This sojourn in London, although of less duration than usual, had without any doubt been his most satisfying in recent memory. The reason was all wrapped up with the woman he held in his arms… his wife. Each event attended, soiree or ball danced at, and conversation engaged in had transcended all past ones. In addition, he had managed to conclude all pressing business, paving the way for another long tarriance in Derbyshire.
His happiness was almost frightening in its intensity. That small pessimistic part of his subconscious occasionally reared up, invading his joy with a stab of fear. His heart would clench, breathing increase, and skin cool for brief moments, all evaporating the second she looked into his eyes or laughed her sparkling laugh. He simply could not harbor anxiety in a soul so utterly invaded with love. Is that not what the Scriptures taught? Light drives out all darkness? She was his light, his lover, his breath and heartbeat, his soul.
He yawned and stretched slightly, not wishing to wake her. It was very early and, once again, they had entered their bed late. His greatest concern lately had been her health. While his arm healed and strength increased, Elizabeth had grown paler, with tiny lines of weariness appearing about her fine eyes. It was the endless agenda of visitations and parties in which she insisted they partake. Despite his assurances to the contrary, she yet fretted over his societal responsibilities and continued to foster a residual need to prove herself to both him and the ton. It angered him and they had argued over it, but she could not be swayed.
Recognizing that his irritation and attempts at logic merely wore on her already fragile emotions, he turned in frustration to his Aunt Madeline. She encouraged him to surrender and allow Elizabeth to follow through on what she perceived as her responsibility to him.
“Elizabeth is far stronger than you give her credit, William. She is well, and the child is well. She needs to do this to feel wholly competent as Mistress and Mrs. Darcy. Soon you shall be in Pemberley without the demands on your wife. In the end, this time to dazzle society and win their approval will benefit her heart and mind. Quit playing the mothering hen, and leave her be. Do not attempt to comprehend her emotions because she is a female and you will not succeed. Instead, trust me and trust her. Your wife loves you, William, and does this for you, however misplaced you deem it. Show your appreciation and quit harping!”
Thus, he had done so, as difficult as it was. His relief at the prospect of being surrounded by the solitude of Pemberley was a tangible thing; however, he could not deny that Elizabeth had dazzled the ton, far beyond what he had expected. His pride in her had grown profoundly. She was amazing in all ways and he loved her deeply for the extents she had gone to for him. Once he figuratively stepped back and allowed her free rein, it further stunned him at the breadth of her nearly inexhaustible stamina and shrewd assimilation of society's mores. She was always perfectly groomed, always witty and lively, remembered all names and gossipy facts gleaned, was suitably serious or humorous depending on the situation, never remotely overstepped the boundaries of propriety, and never once forgot that she was Mrs. Darcy of Pemberley. In all situations she shone, yet in a way that placed the spotlight equally on both of them.
If all that was not enough, she heightened his love and respect by always supremely placing his needs and desires first. She met his hungry passion with equal fervor, devoted time to be with him, and proved daily, in the minutest details, just how boundless her love, adoration, and appreciation. The unique methods she devised to demonstrate her love amazed him. For instance, each meal taken at home included at least
one of his favorite dishes. In fact, lemon-flavored desserts in dozens of varieties had so frequently been served that he was nearly to the point of desiring to never see a lemon for the remainder of his life. Not that he would dream of revealing this to her.
There were the little gifts she purchased for him whenever she wandered near a shopping district; the fresh cut flowers daily placed by her hand in his dressing room; the household duties she flawlessly assumed that, in turn, freed his time; the spontaneous massages to his feet or neck, shoulders or back; the tea or cocoa or brandy she brought to his study while he worked; and the notes she secreted in one of his pockets whenever he left the house. The first time she had done this, the third day after arriving in London, he had discovered the folded piece of parchment while in a meeting with Mr. Andrew Daniels. The note was brief, but contained an explicit reference to a particular part of his anatomy, raising a brisk flush to his cheeks and causing Mr. Daniels to inquire after his health! Some of the notes simply said “I love you” or something equally romantic, some were humorous or contained a short sonnet, others were extremely intimate or downright erotic. He never knew what to expect. His favorite was the one which merely had an imprint of her perfectly pursed and luscious lips. All of them now resided in his third box of Elizabeth-related mementos.
Darcy smiled into the fading light, turning to plant a tender kiss to her head as he sighed. God, how I love her! He captured a clump of her scattered hair, running it through his fingers and bringing it to his nose to inhale her scent. Lavender, as usual, and soft as silk. Seven months plus they had now been wed. Such a short amount of time, really, in the larger span of one's entire life. Yet, for both of them, it was as an eternity while also seeming like a mere day. They knew each other so intimately, their faults and virtues revealed in total, and they were connected on a visceral level; nevertheless, they still were daily stunned at how tremendously they desired to understand even more of each other. Not merely physically, although their ardor certainly was intense, but in even the tiniest ways. Simply to be in the same room was bliss.