In the Arms of Mr. Darcy

Chapter Sixteen The Dark Peak

That Darcy was a deep sleeper was a well-established fact. He no longer heard the bell that announced Alexander needing his mother, nor did he note when Lizzy left their bed or returned. Gale force winds and driving sleet battering the windows only served to make him burrow further into the warm mattress. Lizzy was quite convinced that a raging herd of jungle animals could storm the corridors without him flinching. Once Samuel had dropped a tray carrying several glass bottles onto the tiled floor surrounding Darcy’s bathing area, creating a noisy crash that echoed through the shut door into their bedchamber. Lizzy woke from her dead sleep and the only reason she did not jump a foot into the air was due to the immobile weight of her husband’s leg and arm securing her to the bed. He slept on, his breathing not even effected.

A month or so after their marriage, once she realized just how impenetrable his slumber, she had asked him with concern if he ever worried over a catastrophe happening that he would sleep right through.

“Not at all,” he had replied confidently. “Samuel knows how to wake me in the case of an emergency.”

“Oh. Is that why the doors are unlocked?” She looked nervously at the doors between their inner sanctum and the dressing rooms and sitting room beyond. Her disquiet over the doors remaining unlocked when they spent a great portion of their time in this room naked and engaged in highly intimate activity was a frequently raised topic. No matter how often Darcy assured her that no one would ever enter his bedchamber until he personally opened the door or left it standing wide open to be cleaned, she was not completely assuaged.

So he laughed as he always did, brushing aside her trepidation. “I have no reason to lock a door that none would dare enter. Not even Samuel,” he said before she verbalized what he knew she was thinking. “Trust me, I will and do respond when necessary.”

And he grew secretive as he often did when teasing her.

Several weeks after that conversation, she learned what he meant when he suddenly bolted out of bed one night, grabbing the robe hanging on the bedpost, and was across the room opening the door to the sitting room before Lizzy had fully assimilated that the sound that had woken her was a rapping knock. Why he instantly responded to the bang of the ornamental brass bob striking the plate affixed upon the solid oak was a mystery, but it roused him every time without fail.

This reality was again put to the test one night in early June, shortly after two in the morning. The resounding thud was heard by both of them, but Darcy was robed and reaching for the knob before Lizzy managed to drowsily lift her head from the pillow.

“Yes,” he said, his voice firm without any traces of sleep.

“A message from Hasberry, sir,” Rothchilde’s hushed voice carried to Lizzy, who sat up in bed eagerly.

She heard the rip of a wax seal, the paper being unfolded, and then seconds later Darcy’s instructions, “Have the landau prepared. Wake Mrs. Hanford. We will be leaving immediately.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Thank you,” Darcy said, shutting the door and returning to their bed with the opened parchment sheet. “Sleep is over for the night, my love. Bingley writes, in trembling hand I must add, that Jane is laboring.” He chuckled, eyes on the words. “He apologizes for disturbing us but the process is moving hastily.” He looked at Elizabeth, who was already out of bed and drawing on her robe. “Is it too soon to tease over the fact that she is some weeks earlier than expected and that the labor is apparently of short duration?”

“Yes,” she snapped, glaring at his amused expression, “just as it is too soon for me to harass my sister for not taking two days to accomplish the task as it nearly did me.” Her eyes clouded. “Too much can yet go wrong.”

“Of course you are correct. Forgive me for jesting inappropriately. Get dressed and I will meet you in the foyer.” He placed his hands upon her shoulder, squeezing in assurance. “Jane will be fine, Elizabeth. Have no fears.”

They arrived to discover Bingley wide-eyed, pale, and pacing the parlor in circles. Unlike Darcy, Bingley had no intention of being anywhere near the birthing room. The thought was unappealing to Jane as well, for many of the obvious reasons but also because Charles was one of those individuals who became physically ill at the sight of blood. Thus, he was doing what most men did in these circumstances: pacing and sweating. Darcy assumed control, distracting the frantic father-to-be with conversation, an adorable six-month old who complaisantly latched onto being woken up in the middle of the night as a time to play, and a generous shot of brandy.

Lizzy rapidly ascended the stairs. Jane had chosen a local midwife to deliver her firstborn, again sticking to traditional methods. She admired Dr. Darcy, knew he was a gifted physician, but her timid nature quailed at the idea of any man, especially one she knew familiarly, witnessing her birth. George understood completely, so was not offended. He did, however, have the midwife’s experience verified and sought her out for a frank obstetrical conversation that may have shocked the poor woman to an early grave if not for the extraordinary reputation of Dr. Darcy that was now common knowledge. She saw their consultation with his approval as a badge of honor to increase her renown and her income!

George’s “interference” was based on his affection for the Bingleys, and was met with tremendous relief, especially from Charles, who was not handling the whole idea of birth very well. Since the esteemed Dr. Darcy could not deliver his child personally, the next best was a midwife who had passed the formidable doctor’s inspection. In truth his fears were the same as every man who loves his wife, but where Darcy possessed rigid control of his emotions for the most part, Bingley was transparent. It was rather comical, but Darcy was sympathetic enough not to point it out.

What Lizzy had said about so many possible complications was absolutely true. But in the end Jane continued the legacy set by Mrs. Bennet with all five of her deliveries. Minutes before eight that morning, after less than twelve hours of labor, Ethan Charles Howard Bingley was born. There were no incidents, no abnormalities, and no untoward aftermath. By the time Charles was ushered into the room an hour later, his wife was sitting serenely in bed—as beautiful as always with only the dusky circles under her eyes and tiny burst blood vessels around her pupils an indication of anything unusual having occurred—with their son bundled in her arms.

Lizzy and Alexander stayed at Hasberry for a week. Darcy returned to Pemberley that day, as it was a busy season for him, but rode over frequently to visit. Alexander was introduced to his new cousin, but the six-month-old wasn’t terribly impressed. There was plenty of time to develop a cousinly relationship.

The close proximity of Hasberry to Pemberley was a continual source of joy for the four people involved. Lizzy often commandeered her curricle, taking Alexander for fresh-air drives to visit his aunt for an afternoon. Numerous evenings were spent together, at one house or the other, as the adults dined and played games. Frequently, they were joined by Gerald and Harriet Vernor or Albert and Marilyn Hughes, their nearest neighbors. But the fine weather of summer allowed for dozens of visits with those like the Sitwells who lived a bit farther away. The men gathered for hunts and rides on a weekly basis, the ladies meeting for tea and conversation while the children played. It was a period of gay entertainment from dozens of avenues.

Nevertheless, Pemberley Manor was amazingly quiet that summer. With George and Georgiana away, the upper halls and family rooms seemed surprisingly empty. Alexander was a good-natured child, not disturbing the tranquil atmosphere to any great degree. His moments of temper were exceedingly rare, so loud cries or tantrums were not a common disruption. There were adjustments made to the furniture arrangements in some rooms as he grew more mobile, learning to roll and then creep. Primarily, of course, he was kept to the top floor nursery and bedchambers, as this was where Darcy and Lizzy passed large portions of their day. But it was not at all unusual to find the infant lying on a spread blanket littered with toys and within eyeshot of Darcy as he worked at his desk. Or in the parlor or library with whichever parent was tending him at the time. Mrs. Hanford’s services were employed, naturally, both Mr. and Mrs. Darcy busy people. But a large percentage of his waking hours, or even when asleep, Alexander was with a doting parent.

Frequently, he accompanied his father to the stables. Darcy would hold him tightly as they walked among the stalls or watched the grooms and trainers at work. Alexander observed it all with intent eyes, fearlessly touching the enormous animals with his tiny fingers. Parsifal tolerated the oddity only because it was held by his master and did not interrupt the expected treats. Naturally the groomsmen and stable hands thought he was adorable, fussing over the baby while maintaining a reverential respect for the young heir of Pemberley. He was introduced to the Connemara ponies, although even Darcy was uncomfortable with placing the baby onto one’s back as yet. Lizzy glared and sternly reminded him each time they headed out the door that taking Alexander riding was forbidden. Darcy pretended to argue, just for the fun of seeing his wife’s eyes flash, but he agreed that it was too soon. The delight in observing Alexander’s infantile interest in the environs was enough for the present.

Lizzy welcomed the beautiful weather. She resumed her gardening, the joy of kneeling and digging in the soft earth one that could not be denied. Alexander joined her, usually sitting or sleeping in his well-used perambulator under the shade of a tree. Long walks were essential, both day and evening. Again the baby carriage was utilized, the springs devised by Stan providing for a smoother ride, and there were few Pemberley trails unnavigable. Alexander loved the outdoors, a trait that immeasurably pleased his nature-loving parents. His first touches of grass or dirt or the cool water of the pond were met with the serious gaze they were rapidly growing accustomed too. Alexander examined everything with an intensity that was remarkable. Whether it was a toy or flower or attached appendage, Alexander studied it carefully before deciding what to do with it, that usually entailing trying to eat it. The rescue of any number of inedible objects, some quite disgusting now that he was proficient at escaping his confines, was a fulltime occupation.

She and Darcy carried on their tradition of nightly strolls along the terrace and private garden with Alexander brought along to enjoy the expanse of stars, splashing fountains, and chirping crickets. Darcy happily toted the bright infant in his strong embrace, pointing to the constellations, vegetation, or glimpsed animal as he instructed. Lizzy laughed at his informative dictations, but Alexander listened to every word spoken in his father’s resonant timbre as if keenly aware of the meaning.

In this way, the lazy days of summer slipped by with little in the way of drama to intrude. The only lengthy excursion beyond the immediate area was a weeklong trip to the Peaks.

Darcy’s yearning to show his wife the one remaining region of Derbyshire that she had yet to fully explore had burned within his soul for ages. Interruptions of a harrowing nature so continually intruded upon his plans that the normally non-superstitious man was almost afraid to bring up the subject. But a casual comment by Gerald Vernor restarted the wheels in his mind.

A mutual friend named Mr. Ward Logan owned an estate outside of Castleton, his manor house on the banks of the River Noe in Hope Valley. Darcy and Logan were not close confidants, but did overlap at Cambridge and were friendly enough to play billiards and engage in stimulating discourse from time to time. Over the years since University, chance encounters would occur while in Town or at a Derbyshire function, each man genuinely pleased to pause for a reacquainting conversation. Lizzy had met Mr. and Mrs. Logan at several social events during the past year-and-a-half, first at the Cole’s Masque. Only once had Darcy traveled to the Logan estate, Chelmbridge. It was over eight years ago, before Logan was married. He opened his house to a group of Cambridge alumni, the gentlemen spending a week hiking the numerous trails, exploring the caverns, and hunting the wealth of game roaming the rocky moors of the High Peaks.

Thus when Vernor told Darcy that he had seen Logan while on a recent trip to Chesterfield, and that Logan had informed him that he was in town with his wife shopping for a planned summertime trip abroad, Darcy decided it was a sign.

He wrote to Logan, asking if it would be possible for his family to reside at Chelmbridge for a few days early in July while touring the Peaks. Mr. Logan’s reply was swift and positive. Darcy was especially pleased with the arrangement, knowing that the comfort and privacy of a house was preferred over a questionable inn. Above all, he insisted on his wife and child being pampered and untroubled. Additionally, Chelmbridge was beautifully located in the valley created by the Noe with uneven hills of green dotted with the gritstone and limestone boulders prevalent in the region. It was nestled on a slight rise above the river, almost precisely upon the dividing line between Hope Valley and the Edale Vale with Mam Tor shadowing. It was an ideal placement with the distance to the main four caverns of the area, and Kinder Scout to the north within an accessible distance.

The plans were set, arrangements made, and their baggage packed without the tiniest upset interfering. Still, Darcy did not breathe freely until the carriage entered the outskirts of Castleton and made the eastern turn toward Peveril Castle. Lizzy was mesmerized by the passing scenery, but not unaware of her husband’s foreboding. She shared a look, her lips lifted in the teasing manner that inevitably brightened his spirits.

“Peveril Castle straight ahead,” she declared, staring directly into his eyes with laughter held in check. “Our tour of the Dark Peak has official begun.”

“Ready for a hard walk, Mrs. Darcy? Your tour involves intense exertion.”

Lizzy grinned, accepting his playful challenge. “I bet I shall arrive at the top same time as you, Mr. Darcy.”

“We shall see,” he said smugly, finally releasing the residual threads of his tension.

As it turned out, he reached the summit of Castle Hill simultaneously with his wife, but that was only because he shortened his stride on the chance he was needed to assist her up the rocky, snaking trail. That, of course, was unnecessary as Lizzy was an excellent walker and climber, navigating the difficult terrain and cresting the hill with relative ease. She did pause, partially to fan her glistening face and inhale deeply several times, but also to appreciate the view.

The impregnable apex flanked by steep cliffs offered an impressive view of the landscape in all directions. The rooftops of Castleton nestled in the sylvan vale below with the blue ribbons of the rivers cutting through the dales. The full breadth of Mam Tor looming to the west, the rugged stone outcroppings bounding the flat pinnacle, and the heights of Hathersage moorland were all stunningly visible. Bravely, they gazed down the sheer precipice into the yawning chasm marking the main entrance to the greatest Peak cavern, Devil’s Arse, far below. The panoramic view was truly breathtaking and abundantly worth the strenuous climb even without the Tudor castle sitting in glory upon the knoll.

Built originally in 1080 and later fortified of stone by Henry II from 1155 onward, the once massive keep remained an evocative example of a time long past. Although largely fallen into ruins, the twelfth century gatehouse serving as the entrance to Perevil was intact, opening into a vast courtyard with the sixty-foot gritstone keep dominating the picture.

As with their visit to Bolsover last summer, another ancient castle built by a William Peverel only one hundred years later, Lizzy and Darcy were content to stroll about the grounds and examine the ruins. A brisk breeze blew, tempering the fiercely shining July sun. It was a pleasant way to begin their trip, the adventurous, nature-loving Darcys ready to explore.

The week’s agenda was set, Darcy ever the meticulous planner, but of course with Alexander along for the excursion, each day’s enterprise could not be as time consuming as they may have wished. They began each day slowly, not leaving the house until after Alexander’s morning nap, and maintained a sedate pace, piling into the carriage rather than walking the short distances to the surrounding caves. Mrs. Hanford cared for the infant from the safety of the carriage or shaded locale with Mr. Anders and Watson providing protection while Lizzy and Darcy were away. He was a compliant baby, easy to amuse and keep contained, and handled the rigors of travel and strange environs with amazing composure.

On their first full day in the Peak, they drove to Treak Cliff Cavern, a mine for the beautiful and rare Blue John Stone, a type of bluish-purple mineral found only within the caverns of Derbyshire. Visitors were allowed limited access to the foremost chambers, paying a small fee for a guide to lead the way safely and point to the richly glittering veins of fluorspar. The polished stones were prevalent in the shops of Castleton and Hope, sold as jewelry, ornaments, and utensils, and were even sold in their raw crystallized form from vendors clustered about the mine’s trailhead. First mined and fashioned into priceless vessels by the Romans, the unique stone was not rediscovered until the mid-1700s, it now a prime commodity of the Derbyshire region.

Lizzy was awed by her first real cave, the Pemberley cave paling in comparison. Her husband, of course, was not offended by this. He was well aware that the Pemberley cave was dull, only a young boy’s imagination seeing it as anything to spark great interest. The humorous aspect of his wife’s response to Treak Cliff was that, aside from the Blue John which was remarkable, the cave itself was mundane compared to the others to be visited. Darcy purchased several items made from the multi-colored stone including three pairs of earrings, a necklace, and a hair comb for Lizzy; a carved horse figurine for Alexander’s collection; and a set of wine goblets as souvenirs of their visit.

Lizzy’s enthusiasm after just one day of hiking steep trails and investigating subterranean cavities was so high that Darcy could barely contain his own zeal to get started the following day. Prior arrangements had been made for their tour of Speedwell Cavern. Darcy vividly remembered the one time he entered the horizontal mouth cut naturally into the sloping hill and descended the 105 steps to the submerged basin. He had no idea what to expect, his jaw dropping at the incredible journey taken and the wonders seen. Therefore, he was excited to share the experience with Elizabeth, knowing she would be as awestruck as he had been.

Hacked by miners searching for lead in the late 1700s, unsuccessfully as it turned out, the narrow entrance at the foot of Winnats Pass was easily reached by a short walk. The carved steps steeply declined, the relatively smooth tunnel a marvel not so much in workmanship, as it was crudely cut, but in the staggering revelation of how difficult the labor must have been. It was cool under the layers of solid rock and dimly lit. Great care was necessary, but the stairs were clear and stable, and they arrived at the gravel and wood landing without mishap.

Darcy was watching Lizzy avidly as they neared the end, thus he saw her momentary confusion as she glanced around, looking for the rocky ground or trail that one would expect. Then he saw her eyes widen in shock as the guide moved unerringly forward and the other people in their small group parted to follow him, allowing her to see that nothing was before them except a line of boats tied to simple wooden posts nailed into the rough wooden dock. They bobbed gently on the canal of dirty water that covered the unseeable rock floor of what was a rounded tunnel gouged horizontally into the solid rock. The “roof” of the small cavern landing was not much higher than a tall man, Darcy’s hair brushing the ceiling in places, and the tunnel that could be seen before it disappeared into darkness around a bend, was considerably lower.

He had not worried that Elizabeth would grow frightened, since she had never exhibited a fear of confined places, including the Pemberley cave, but watching her eyes now he began to regret that he had not warned her. She appeared so stunned, looking about with eyes wide and dilated, that he leaned in, his arm pulling her tight to his side.

Yet, just as he was about to whisper that they could leave if she wished, she gazed up at him with the lively exuberance so typically Elizabeth, her voice breathless when she spoke. “We take the boats? Through the tunnel? Oh my word! William, this is incredible! Where do they lead? How do we row? It is so narrow! How far…?”

His laugh stayed her endless questions. “Here I was thinking you were nervous.” He kissed her forehead, propelling her gently toward the front boat that was being boarded. “Be patient, Mrs. Darcy. You shall see.”

The guide sat in the front, facing forward, with the ten passengers settled onto plank benches. Darcy sat on the outside with Lizzy close to his side, although his caution was probably unnecessary as the boats were inches narrower than the tunnel width, the bottom flat to lend stability, so the likelihood of capsizing was slim. The answer to Lizzy’s question of rowing was quickly revealed when the guide grabbed onto a post sticking up from the platform and pulled hard, propelling the boat forward over the water. The speed was faster than one would think, hidden undercurrents from the numerous waterfalls feeding the cavern not only creating a constant echo of rumbling water but aiding the driver’s efforts. He used embedded rails and grooves in the rock to grab onto and keep them moving. Spaced lamps swung from hooks in the ceiling, illuminating the passageway and casting ruddy glows onto the striated rock.

It was eerie but beautiful. Dozens of colors wove within the layers of limestone and gritstone, the seeping rivulets of water creating patterns over the encrusted surface. Talking was muted, even the hushed voices carrying strangely and mingling with the echo of moving water. They reached a wider pool, called Halfway House the guide informed them, where they passed another boatload of passengers returning to the dock. Spirits were high, their faces expressing their awe and pleasure as they waved to the newcomers. As they traveled on the one-boat width tunnel, the concept of time passing skewed in the dusky atmosphere, the guide told the story of the past-century’s miners searching for the lead they suspected lurked below due to the prevalence of the metal in other parts of the Peaks. It was an endeavor destined to be a financial catastrophe, unfortunately, with tourism being the only recompense.

Finally, they reached the end. A huge pile of rubble formed a beach of sort upon which they disembarked and gathered in a cluster to view the true marvel of Speedwell Cavern. Before them spread a cathedral-like cavern so huge that the ceiling was lost in darkness and so wide that the walls were a vague shadow. The entire area was the site of a vast lake known as the Bottomless Pit due to the fact that decades of excavation with thousands upon thousands of pounds of crumbled rock hewn from the tunnel system had been dumped into the pool without the water level ever changing. No appreciable dent was made, the underground lake seemingly extending to the center of the earth.

They stood on the edge, tossing rocks into the murky water, hearing the plunk as the waving surface was pierced, and wondering when, or if, the rock would finally come to rest upon another. But no one had the answer.

The ride back was quiet, no one wanting to disturb the experience with idle chitchat. It was not until they were again in their carriage heading back to Chelmbridge that Lizzy broke her dazed silence as she tried to describe the environment to Alexander. He, of course, had no idea what she was talking about, but he listened intently nevertheless!

Chelmbridge was a comfortable abode, as Darcy knew it would be. Alexander settled happily into his new surroundings and strange bed, once again proving that he was an unusually accommodating child. Lizzy and Darcy had no comparison, assuming it was fairly normal, a presumption that George found especially amusing. He humorously cautioned them to stop while they were ahead, a jest Darcy frowned at. Yet as they spent more time with the offspring of their friends, they began to realize just how fortunate they were. Not that the Vernor boys or Hughes children were unruly, but they clearly possessed degrees of naughtiness and irritability that Alexander, so far, seemed to lack.

Tonight was a perfect example. Darcy feared Alexander might be weary or especially cranky after three days away from the routine of Pemberley and his familiar surrounds, and being dragged about the rugged countryside in the heat. He was wrong.

The baby ate well of his mashed sweet yams and barley porridge, and then nursed until Lizzy was drained. Darcy assumed care from there, taking Alexander into his temporary nursery for story time while Lizzy relaxed and penned a letter to her sister, Jane. Darcy read from his novel, this time Rob Roy by Walter Scott, while Alexander reclined in his arms, sucked on his thumb, and rubbed rhythmically on one ear of his favorite stuffed toy—the hound dog Darcy had purchased so long ago at the shop in Derby, now officially dubbed “Dog” and Alexander’s constant companion. He was wide awake tonight, calm and attending to each spoken word. He stared at his father, eyes following the movement of his lips and studying the dramatic expressions Darcy added to the text as he read. Sometimes the babe fell asleep within ten minutes of warm cuddling against his father’s strongly beating heart, the musical tones of Darcy’s baritone soothing him into a deep slumber. Other times he was alert, babbling and pointing pudgy fingers on the pages opened before him as if reading along with the words.

However the interlude went, Darcy considered it his favorite time of the day. Long after Alexander fell asleep, Darcy would hold him, rocking and embracing. Frequently, time was lost in rapt contemplation of the face he loved so intensely it was a sweet ache. Like his adoration for Elizabeth, the emotions never ceased to uplift his heart and overwhelm him.

Eventually though, it was time to nestle the infant into his cushioned bed, turning his immediate care over to his devoted nanny. Several kisses later, Darcy crossed the hall to the bedchamber suite set aside for the Darcys. Mr. Logan had prepared a spacious set of rooms with a wonderful view of Mam Tor, the chambers airy and elegantly decorated. They were homey, Lizzy and Darcy settling almost as easily as Alexander had.

Darcy had no expectations for romance when he entered the room a half-hour later after washing and undressing, but one glance at his wife revised that opinion. He stopped cold four paces into the room, only able to stare as the blood instantly departed his brain for places further south.

She sat on a chair facing toward him, her long shapely legs crossed at the knees, the top one swinging gracefully. Her arms rested on the chair arms, slim fingers tapping lightly. She was smiling, that sultry smile that alone drove him mad, and her chocolate eyes glittered in the candlelight. She wore the Blue John earrings he bought her, the vivid blue and silver dangling against the ivory expanse of her neck; her thick hair was loosely piled atop her head secured with the Blue John comb, dozens of curly strands falling over her shoulders and framing her face; and the necklace of blue and yellow veined stone hung about her neck, the pendant cradled between her naked breasts. In fact, as he noted immediately upon crossing the threshold, she was completely naked. Except for the jewelry, that is. Not that he noticed them for several seconds, but once he did they added to the eroticism of the spectacle in a profound way that only weakened him further as more blood rushed to his lower regions.

“Enjoying the view, Fitzwilliam?”

“Immensely. Lovely necklace.”

“Thank you,” she said, running her fingertips seductively over the pendant and brushing the swell of her breasts. “My husband has excellent taste.”

“Indeed I do,” he murmured huskily, his roving eyes leaving no doubt that he was not referring to the jewels.

Her smile deepened. She stood and paused for effect, knowing full well that her libidinous spouse would appreciate the picture. Then she languidly strolled toward him, her lissome body swaying sensuously, meeting him where he remained rooted in the middle of the room.

He could have moved, his muscles not so weak or paralyzed, but he rather delighted in the visual treat of her slender figure sinuously approaching. She was as svelte as the day they married, but softer with lush, womanly curves in all the right places. Her breasts bounced pleasantly as she walked, the stray wisps of wavy hair buoyantly brushing over her lightly bronzed skin.

She encircled his shoulders and laced her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck. “And how was that view? As breathtaking as the previous?”

His answer was a lascivious grin and gravelly growl as he drew her firmly against his body. “Any question as to how immensely I admired the view?” The blazing heat emanating from his skin and the aroused length of him pressing into her belly did indeed answer her redundant question.

She chuckled, succumbing rapidly to her own response, especially now that he was already kissing his way down her neck and skillfully caressing her bare flesh. She released the belt holding his robe in place, parting the satiny fabric and sliding her hands over his waist and derriere. She pressed her breasts against his chest, rubbing deliciously over the hair covering his steely muscles, and lifted on her tiptoes to capture an earlobe between her lips.

“I thought it was past time to see if this bed is as sturdy as ours at home.” And then she proceeded to lick lightly over his ear.

Darcy groaned. “Are you intending to test the craftsmanship most vigorously, my lover?”

She pulled away, her grin devilish as she peeled the robe off his shoulders and watched it fall to the carpeted floor as her eyes leisurely scanned over the masculine figure exposed. She sighed happily, hands skimming lightly over his broad upper torso and then downward over his flat, solidly muscled abdomen with feathering touches until reaching the juncture of his thighs, the pressure applied there quite firm.

Darcy shuddered, his knees flexing while the rest of his body tensed and arched at the electrifying pleasure. “Elizabeth,” he grated, clasping her face in his hands and bending to kiss her.

But she twisted in his arms, leaning backward against him with her arms again draped over his shoulders and playing with his hair. Darcy adjusted speedily, cupping a breast while his mouth busily applied nibbling caresses to her arched neck.

“I am definitely feeling the urge for aggressive, enthusiastic lovemaking and sense the same from you, yes?”

Darcy muttered a harsh yes while adjusting his posture and hold upon her body. Some minutes passed before they relocated to the bed, which held up miraculously well through what was assuredly not a gentle interlude but one of crazed passion.

Darcy collapsed beside his panting and still moaning wife, stretching alongside her shivering flesh. Lizzy sluggishly wiggled closer, laying an arm over his heaving chest and kissing his shoulder. It was several minutes before either was capable of coherent speech, but then they began to talk in soft voices about the wonders of the caverns and the delightful holiday they were having thus far. In time, Lizzy propped her head on one hand, the other lazily caressing his body. He, meanwhile, removed the decorative comb and idly played with the long tresses spilling over her back and onto his chest.

Their passion reawakened gradually as the aimless caresses roused the desires perpetually lurking under the surface. Darcy moved first, pulling her onto his body for a long kiss before rotating her onto her back to commence a focused assault. It began slow and gentle as they rolled about the bed, but eventually the heat escalated to inferno magnitude when the need to unite overwhelmed. Darcy grasped her bottom, sliding forward in a measured pace and releasing a long groan of bliss.

“William!” Lizzy gasped, clutching his head to her bosom as spasms of pleasure instantly burst through her body.

“You wanted me,” he said, impassioned voice thick and breathless near her mouth, his eyes a steaming azure as he stared at her flushed face. “God, how I love that! Feeling your release while in my arms. Lord, my Lizzy, there is nothing to compare!” He kissed her, hard and deep, lost in the moment and regulation gone as he plunged farther and fiercer with a rapidly accelerating tempo.

Abruptly, he rolled to his back, taking Lizzy with him and maintaining their connection. He grabbed onto the edge of the headboard, arching his entire back and shouting gruffly between the heavenly quakes wracking his body. Lizzy’s delirium matched his, again succumbing to the euphoria of amazing lovemaking.

Jests about the solidity of the bed, especially the hardiness of the cherry wood headboard against Darcy’s formidable potency and strength were a while in coming. But eventually, they rallied enough to assume their customary sleeping position with Lizzy embraced within her husband’s arms, a light coverlet over their love-warmed skin, and sharing a smattering of teases and declarations of eternal adoration. Tradition held with their final whispered words as they fell into satisfied, tranquilized sleep, “I love you.”

The next day they changed their tactic, deciding to drive northeast and investigate the stunning vistas and wonders found above ground.

They borrowed the Logans’ landau, the top completely folded down, loading it with necessary supplies: a large basket of food and liquids, freshly brushed blankets, and infant requirements. It was a fair day with the sun shining brightly in a brilliant blue sky with streaks of wispy white clouds. A light breeze tempered the heat, although Darcy warned that the wind in the higher elevations could be quite brisk. This only brought a wide smile to Lizzy’s face.

Within minutes, they left the sloping, rocky landscape of the Hope Valley, entering the equally sloping and rocky terrain of the Edale Vale. Initially the scenery was unchanged, but as they gradually began to climb toward the higher elevations, the subtle differences were noted. The air was cooler with the gentle breezes augmented by occasional blusters. The rock formations were not just the rubble of gritstone and limestone noted before, but often fashioned into such oddly sculpted statues that were so incredibly beautiful one felt God Himself must have touched them with His hands.

Mr. Anders drove slowly over the rough roads cut into the hills and moors. They were well traveled, but the rugged land did not always yield easily to carriage wheels, even time and traffic not noticeably smoothing the path in places. Darcy held an awake, bouncing, and bonneted Alexander in his arms. They occupied the bench across from his wife and Mrs. Hanford, both women enraptured by the view. Mrs. Hanford, especially, was glowing with an exuberance that shaved ten years off her age. Mrs. Hanford’s joy at joining the Darcy household nearly a year ago was primarily due to two factors. One, she was relieved to be dwelling near her extensive family and friends. She was born in Baslow, living there until she married Mr. Hanford when seventeen, whereupon she moved to his tenant’s cottage on the Pemberley estate. Never had she traveled away from Derbyshire; it was the only home she knew.

Therefore, her second fount of joy was in being able to continue serving the Darcy family. Proudly, she proclaimed the Hanford association with the esteemed Darcy landowners. She considered it a miracle and the greatest of honors to be granted the chance to not only maintain that connection but to do it in such a personal way.

Mrs. Hanford had contentedly raised six children and was blessed with a dozen grandchildren, so knew that caring for the Darcy baby would be a delight. Mrs. Hanford loved all children, her gift one of easy affinity with youngsters of all ages. Yet, one can’t deny that some children are easier to love and tolerate than others! Alexander was a handsome child physically, but his temperament was so carefree and amiable that falling in love with him as an individual was impossible to resist.

Her only unexpected consequence to her employment as nanny was the travel. It had never entered her mind that caring for their son and heir meant she would be accompanying them wherever they went! Of course, many aristocratic families did not travel so extensively with their children, a reality Mrs. Hanford knew to be so even if she did believe to be sad, so if Mr. and Mrs. Darcy had gone on their journeys while leaving Alexander in her care at Pemberley, she would not have been shocked. However, their devotion to Alexander was pronounced and just another of the numerous reasons she respected them and was gratified to be a peripheral part of their family.

When Mrs. Darcy had first asked for her learned opinion on how best to travel with an infant, she was utterly at a loss as to what to say. Finally, she pulled herself together, stammering that she did not possess a “learned opinion” as she had never traveled far with her children, summer or winter.

“That may be so, Mrs. Hanford,” Mrs. Darcy said, “but I still trust your instincts in the matter. We have some two months to plan our trip and I am confident that your expertise with infants in general will aid in securing a safe, smooth journey for my son.” Then she leaned forward and affectionately squeezed Mrs. Hanford’s hand, smiling sincerely. “I am just glad that you will be there to assist us. Between all of us I know it will be well.”

And it was then that she fully comprehended that her future would entail more than simply the happiness of helping to raise the future Master of Pemberley and any other children the Darcys were blessed with. So far, she had been fortunate to see the lush landscapes of several counties, breathe the air and walk the fields of Kent and Hertfordshire, gaze upon the tall buildings of London, revel in the finery and jewels of the social elite, explore the wonders of grand parks and busy city streets, and so much more that she had filled two journals already. Now she was ascending the magnificent heights of the Peaks, those famous mountains and moors that were glimpses on the distant horizon all her life but never seen up close. Her exuberance was indeed bubbling, and she felt far more than ten years younger.

The tiny village of Edale was unremarkable. Their carriage rumbled along the road that wound through the narrow gorge created by the Noe, passing the huts known as booths that housed the boothmen, those hardy souls who lived in the rustic dwelling places while tending the wandering livestock that fed off the moor grasses. Edale itself was a collection of stone buildings scattered without symmetrical planning, the bare necessities provided to the local residents and not much else. Naturally there was a pub, but the ramshackle construction was dubious at best, even Darcy’s thirst for a cool ale not strong enough to brave the possibility of the place crumbling down when the door slammed behind him! The seventeenth century church sat on a lovely grassy knoll, but was plain and boasted no historical significance, so they chose not to investigate.

They detoured on the road leading to Hayfield, halting at Edale Cross. The medieval stone cross erected some seven-hundred years prior by the Abbots of Basingwerk Abbey to mark the southern boundary of their land was eroded and chipped in places, but astoundingly intact. Re-erected in 1810, the ancient marker was now a local monument and historical artifact proudly preserved and tended to. The cultural significance was intriguing to Darcy and Lizzy, and the Edale Cross area was also a good place to pause for refreshments and casually stroll with the baby.

But they tarried for only a short hiatus, both of them anxious to commence the real point of the day’s outing: attaining the plateau of Kinder Scout. They decided on the trails leading from Edale. It was a longer route but a bit less strenuous. Nevertheless, many of the trail portions were steep and nearly invisible amid the thick peat and stones. Hardy folks frequently braved the challenge in order to view the breathtaking vistas from the two thousand foot moor, and Darcy and Lizzy were two such people. Or at least they intended to try.

Leaving a well-fed and sleeping Alexander behind in the care of Mrs. Hanford, Mr. Anders, and Watson, they set out on their adventure. By the end, as the sun was setting to the west and the dimness of twilight illuminated the avenue leading to Chelmbridge, Lizzy was leaning onto her husband’s shoulder drowsily holding her eyes open by sheer willpower. But her incredible stamina and walking skills had prevailed, to Darcy’s pride and satisfaction. They reached the highest point of Kinder Scout, traversed the craggy heathland, and stood upon the edge of Kinder Downfall with the spray of the waterfall misting their sweaty brows.

Lizzy was not ashamed to admit that she required her strong spouse’s assistance over the harsher climbs upon occasion. But for the most part, she accomplished the deed on her own steam and was as proud of herself as Darcy was of her. If she fell asleep less than half an hour after entering the house, without a full meal, and only budged for the subsequent ten hours to dazedly nestle Alexander to her breast, it was worth it. She did not complain about the soreness to her legs or the painful blister on one toe, the memories burned into her brain of the spectacular tableau visualized erasing any discomfort. They did, however, opt to stay at the estate the next day. Or rather Darcy insisted, claiming his own fatigue and desire to fish in the river, go for a horse ride, and picnic on the shaded lawns as the excuse. Lizzy did not believe the fatigue pretext, but a day of rest was a pleasant enough prospect, so she did not argue.

For their final day, they again packed up the landau for what was planned to be a two-part jaunt—the morning for a visit to the grandest of the Peak’s caverns, the bizarrely named Devil’s Arse, and the afternoon a leisurely drive through the woodlands and moors where the Dark Peak and White Peak merged, and then on to the ancient Roman town of Buxton, now primarily known for her thermal springs and Poole’s Cavern.

During the short drive, Mrs. Hanford asked a question that, naturally, launched Darcy into teaching mode.

“Is it true, sir, that thieves live within the depths of the cavern?”

“Indeed, that is what the rumors hold,” he answered, smiling at her frightened expression.

Lizzy knew the stories, but the nanny did not, so listened spellbound as Darcy enlightened her. Alexander also seemed to be riveted to the tale, staring at his father from Lizzy’s lap.

“It is doubtful that bands of brigands call the inner caves their home in this progressive age,” he assured her. “However, in centuries past, it was primarily the baser elements who braved the dark recesses of the Devil’s Arse. Some say that it was they who caused such a name to be.”

“How do you mean?” she asked, leaning forward unconsciously.

Darcy shrugged. “The name, if you will pardon me, Mrs. Hanford, was given due to the unusual noises that would escape from the mouth. Noises that resembled, forgive me, the passing of wind. Flatulence, you see. Some claim the noises are caused by ghosts who haunt the depths. Others believe the cavern extends to Hades, hence the ‘devil’ part of the name and why the subterranean river is called the Styx, and that the sounds are of demons. Still others think, more logically, that it may be the echoes from people, the thieving gangs, living below. Of course, the first two are nonsense, so I rather believe the legends of bandits is more probable, or perhaps some scientific explanation yet to be understood.”

“So, there is no doubt that thieves dwelt there, at some time?”

“No. Enough evidence exists, especially the wealth of stories. According to legend, and the tales of Samuel Rid, somewhere in the mid-1500s the notorious knave Cock Lorel met with the current King of the Gypsies, whoever that was, at his hideaway in Devil’s Arse. Together they devised a secret language that only rogues would understand.” He shrugged again. “Probably that is a romantic myth, but the language, thieves’ cant or rogues’ cant depending upon the source, is verified. More likely it is a compilation of slang words from dozens of underworld guilds. The colorful argot is a common feature of numerous Elizabethan literature and plays. I have a collection of books from the Era, including Life by Bampfylde Moore Carew, who claimed to be King of the Beggars.”

“There’s a title to wear proudly,” Lizzy interjected with a laugh.

“Truly,” Darcy agreed with a smile. “You are welcome to read them, Mrs. Hanford, as well as anything else in the library, as you know.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Today I can promise that we shall see no thieves. We will, however, observe the troglodytes. The cave dwellers, that is. These are normal citizens who chose to live within the upper reaches of the cave. As you shall see, it is quite large. They build small houses under the rock, a whole miniature village, in fact, with barns for their livestock and workshops to ply their trade. Living quite happily and secure, one would imagine.”

“How odd,” the nanny declared, obviously baffled by the concept.

“I would tend to agree with you, madam. It is not how I would choose to live. But they have done so for centuries, perhaps at one time living in harmony with the thieves!” He laughed, and they joined in. “Now they continue the ancient tradition of making rope for the local mines. The moist atmosphere of the cavern aids the process. Rather ingenious, actually. The poet Charles Cotton wrote in his ‘Wonders of the Peake,’ Now to the cave we come, wherein is found,A new strange thing, a village underground:Houses and barns for men and beasts behoof,With walls distinct, under one solid roof.

“Cotton was a devoted Derbyshire gentleman and his poems express his great love for our fair county. I have several compilations of his writings if you appreciate poetry.”

Peak Cliff cavern, previously glimpsed from the crest above where Peveril Castle proudly guarded, was easily reached. The gently sloping, picturesque tree and brush-lined pathway leading to the cave followed the river and was a pleasant walk. Dozens of cottages nestled within the trees, residents going about the business of normal life and impervious to the tourists treading past in endless streams. A last curve in the road revealed the massive opening, the effect dazzling to behold.

The yawning portal, entirely natural as this cavern had rarely been used for mining, was a rounded, gaping hole resembling an unpillared arch, easily a hundred feet across and sixty feet high. It cut perpendicularly into the vertical cliff of solid limestone that rose nearly three hundred feet to the bluff above. The floor was predominately level on the right side, swept clean of debris by the people who called this gulf their home, and tapered downward on the leftward side into uneven terraces. The lowest point was where the Peakshole River flowed. The mouth was so wide that one could see a great distance into the interior, the magnitude of just how enormous the cavern was readily discernable. The farthest reaches faded to grey and then inky black as the blaze of day no longer penetrated, but the immediate area was well lighted.

A cluster of small huts covered the area to the right. The flat terraces provided the working surface, the area cluttered with industrious workers and yards of rope strung across the tall posts and wound around big spools. For a fee that they were happy to pay, a local man gave them a tour of the village and demonstrated the art of rope making. Darcy, of course, was especially fascinated.

Alexander and Mrs. Hanford were left outside, sheltered under canopies set up for visitors, while their guide led a small group of adventurous souls deeper into the residential portion of the cave, known as “the vestibule.” They passed women and playing children, the activities and mood strangely normal despite the tonnage of solid rock overhead. It was eerie.

They were handed lights and instructed to stay close. The vestibule cavern narrowed toward the back into a low tunnel that required Darcy and several others to stoop in order to pass through, but was fortunately short, before opening into the first of the two largest inner chambers. The Great Cavern, also referred to as Bell House due to its general shape, was dry and cool. The walls were difficult to discern in the dim light, but the floor was littered with loose rocks and fascinating calcifications that glowed in the lamplight hung from the ceiling. Flitches of Bacon, the guide called them, and as absurd as the moniker was, they did rather resemble wavy strips of bacon.

A long walk brought them to a broad river, the fancifully named Styx. Ferrying across the river in tiny boats that required the passenger to lie flat was the only way to reach the next chamber. Darcy had taken the trip once before, during his sojourn with Mr. Logan and his Cambridge friends, so he knew it to be safe if mildly scary. He hesitated, glancing to Lizzy to gauge her opinion. That she was nervous was obvious, but she was not to be deterred.

“I have come this far, William, and I won’t turn back.” Her voice quavered slightly, but she lifted her chin and bravely stepped into the boat. Darcy chuckled, his heart swelling with pride at her tenacity.

The chamber across the river was larger and far more interesting. Here the walls and ceiling were impossible to see, the breadth of the cave known to be over two hundred feet although one only had the impression of vast space. They cautiously explored, holding tightly to their lights and, in the case of Darcy and Lizzy, tightly to each other. Their feet veered instinctively toward the extremity of the vacuity where the echoing splash of water hinted strongly to what they would see.

Another underground stream, this one shallow, flowed and was fed by an incessant rain of droplets from crevices in the rock high above. It was this natural aperture from whence the cavern’s name derived: Roger Rain’s House. The combination of moisture in the air, damp rock, nonexistent sunlight, and still air created an environment that was bordering on cold.

Traversing the remaining rock hollows accessible meant crossing the running rivulet numerous times, but the water was shallow. The deeper caves descended gradually as they bored into the earth and were smaller. They were filled with stalactites in all sizes, some enormous and reaching completely to the ground to form natural pillars. Most were intact but many were broken or dislocated from their original placement on the ceiling. There were other oddities such as a huge pile of sand carried in and deposited by the river, the marine exuviae embedded into the strata of the limestone walls, and the three arches so perfectly carved into one rock wall that they appeared hand hewn.

But the crescendo was the spontaneous chorus that broke out. Disembodied voices burst forth from the unseen upper heights of the chasm, lifted in a song that reverberated against the walls. It was beautiful and creepy, pleasurable and astonishing. The mystery was quickly solved once the voices faded, a group of singers descending down a makeshift stairway to stand visible on a sort of chancel where they accepted applause and praise.

Returning to the surface was a relief, even though the enterprise had been thrilling. Both Lizzy and Darcy blinked in the sun that seemed far brighter than it had an hour previously and sucked in huge lungfuls of air.

Lizzy’s mien was the common one of impish enthusiasm that Darcy knew meant she had thoroughly enjoyed herself. He had as well, his expression controlled but the wide smile and shimmering eyes revealed his delight in the escapade. Still, Lizzy’s first words upon crossing the arched portal echoed his sentiments, “I do not believe I have ever been so happy to see the sun.”

They paused on the threshold, gazing back into the abyss. Mrs. Hanford saw them and rose with a still sleeping Alexander in her arms, walking to join them.

Darcy nodded. “I know what you mean. I love adventure, but cave exploration is definitely not on my list of possible hobbies. That takes a special breed of man. But now I have a greater appreciation for the rapidly increasing number of men who are embracing the activity.”

“Think how amazing it must be to happen upon a subterranean wonder, knowing that you are the first human eyes to ever behold it. That would be quite exhilarating.”

Darcy laughed softly, nudging her hand with his. “You are too busy as a wife and mother to dash off and discover caves, my dear.”

She laughed, turning to take Alexander into her arms. “Have no fear. I am abundantly content to care for my husband and son. That is plenty of adventure for me.” She kissed the infant’s forehead, curly locks tickling her nose, and looked up at her husband with a teasing grin. She opened her mouth to speak, most likely planning a humorous jibe, but the words were never uttered.

A loud cracking sound pierced the air, echoing through the ravine.

Everyone froze, reflexively gazing upward to where the noise originated. A chunk of rock protruding from the face of limestone near the edge of the towering cliff was suddenly and inexplicably breaking away. The clap of severing stone mixed with the high-pitched scrape of rock upon rock and the crunch of crumbling gravel. Time seemed to stop as they stared transfixed at the five-foot boulder directly above their heads that, with a final reverberating boom, disengaged. It started sliding down the flat face, the motion painfully slow in the paralyzed time, but gained speed quickly. The rock’s weight and rain of dirt, plants, and gravel caused it to twist in the air, toppling over as the jagged projectile plummeted down the three hundred foot escarpment.

Voices lifted in shouts and screams. People scattered in all directions. Lizzy stood open-mouthed, immobile in stupefied terror, staring at the calamity heading straight for her. Darcy, thankfully, reacted with brisk efficiency. At the second plangent crack, he pivoted, grabbing his wife and child in a crushing embrace, lifting bodily until Lizzy’s feet were off the ground, and lunged up the trail away from where the avalanche was destined to land. He whipped his head toward Mrs. Hanford, who also stood rooted to the spot, yelling in a snapping command, “Mrs. Hanford! Move!”

She jolted, but his penetrating order did the trick, she too twirling about. Watson grasped onto her upper arm, hauling hard as they all dashed to safety. Yet, everything was happening so fast. The debris of tiny rocks and dirt showered their shoulders seconds before the rock crashed into the hard-packed ground, sundering down the middle with shards splintering from the edges and flying through the air.

Darcy’s wide strides carried them ten feet from the place of impact, almost precisely where they had been standing moments before. Watson and Mrs. Hanford ducked to the left, behind a large tree mere milliseconds before a sharp limestone sliver forcefully speared the trunk inches above Watson’s head. Darcy did not look back, plunging headlong with his body curled around his family and his back to the danger. He faltered only once, grunting hoarsely as his step momentarily tottering to the right, but he adroitly recovered and ran until so winded he could barely breathe. Then he ran more, placing a good distance between them and the cavern portal before halting.

The abrupt silence, or relative silence in comparison to the smashing and ripping sounds that still echoed within the cavern recesses, was proof that the immediate danger was past. Nevertheless, he looked behind, making absolutely sure that nothing menacing remained before loosening the bruising grip around Lizzy and settling her to the ground.

She was trembling violently, her eyes wide and pupils dilated. Alexander was awake and equally alarmed, sucking vigorously on a thumb while the other hand was painfully clenched in his mother’s hair. Darcy studied them closely, gazing with penetrating intensity into their eyes, and bent to cup Lizzy’s cheek.

“Are you hurt? In any way?”

She shook her head, swallowing past the desert in her throat before able to speak. “I’m fine. We are fine.”

He scanned over their bodies to verify her claim, and then nodded curtly. His face was grim as he turned to look for Mrs. Hanford and survey the damage.

“William! Oh my God! You are hurt!” She lifted shaking fingertips to the two-inch gash along the underside of his left jawline, the oozing blood that had already soaked into his cravat and collar coating her fingers.

He did not even look at her, shaking his head shortly. “It is nothing. Ah, there is Mrs. Hanford and Watson. They appear uninjured. Stay here,” he commanded, glancing at her then as he started to step away. The expression of severe dismay and teary eyes blinking furiously as she tried to remain calm halted him. He sighed, gently clasping her face and bending for a tender, brief kiss. “I am fine, Elizabeth. A scratch only that will easily mend.” He wiped the spilled tears from her cheeks. “Now that I know you and Alexander are safe, I must check if anyone needs assistance. Stay here, promise me. I will instruct Watson to take you to the carriage. I will return swiftly.” He kissed her again, smiling into her troubled eyes.

She nodded. “Yes. Of course. As you wish. But then we are finding a physician to look at your wound.” She spoke firmly, once again in control and exerting her authority, meeting his eyes with a challenge.

He chuckled. “As you wish, Mrs. Darcy.” Then he pivoted and strode briskly back to the cave.

Miraculously, no one was severely injured. There were a number of scrapes and abrasion from falling debris or stumbling while running away. Three people suffered cuts similar to Darcy’s from launched shards. One man was impaled through the upper arm from a larger piece of rock, a wound messy and extremely painful but not fatal. Another man miscalculated his footing, slipping on a terrace edge, and tumbling down the slope to land in the river gorge. He hit his head hard enough to swoon and develop a huge knot, but aside from a massive headache and the pain from dozens of scrapes, he recovered without defect.

A boy was sent to Castleton to fetch the surgeon. He was a disreputable looking character, but he tended the wounds efficiently enough, so Darcy allowed him to examine his laceration. The wound was not deep, the bleeding clotted long before the surgeon touched it. He cleaned it well, declared that it did not require stitching—not that Darcy would have permitted the scruffy fellow to pierce his skin with a needle—and slathered the slice with an herbal poultice and resin ointment to adhere the skin edges.

The troglodytes rallied together admirably. Moments after the boulder landed, while the sound of impact still shook the air, they were soberly and resourcefully organizing. No one person appeared to be in charge, and few orders were given, but before Darcy or any of the visitors returned to the scene, the cave dwellers had triaged the injured to the main hut and were in the process of rescuing the poor man lying in the riverbed. Children were picking up the smaller rocks and women were sweeping the debris. Several burly men were staring intently at the heavy pieces of stone, clinically discussing where best to discard it, while others were examining the precious ropes and equipment for any damage.

Of all the sights seen that strange morning, in some respects the cool practicality of these hardy people who lived roughly among rock, darkness, and the elements was the oddest.

There was little for any of the gentlemen to do, so the Darcys were finally able to leave the Devil’s Arse with relief. The blood-soaked cravat was stowed in a pocket, and Darcy had washed his grimy hands and brushed the dirt off his jacket and out of his hair. The mundane tasks had served to restore his calm for the most part, and he rounded the corner beyond which the carriage waited with his emotions largely under control.

Lizzy, unfortunately, had not been so lucky in finding an outlet for her worry. Alexander had nursed, more for the need to be cuddled than for nourishment, promptly falling back to sleep. This left Lizzy with nothing to do but pace for what felt like hours. She envied the infant’s ability to pacify, as she was a bundle of nerves ready to explode! The trauma coupled with visions of her husband bleeding, even though she knew the injury minor, threatened to undo her. When Darcy finally reappeared, walking briskly but composedly, her frayed regulation ripped apart. Tears spilled and she flew across the short distance, barely halting before slamming bodily into him.

As abruptly as the tears fell, she flared irritably. The release of her fear brought on a case of serious pique and she grasped hard onto his upper arm while the other hand lifted his chin so she could examine the dressing.

“He did an adequate job, I suppose,” she declared. “I saw him arrive and his appearance did not engender confidence. George would sooner kiss Lady Catherine than dress so disheveled and dirty. Tell me he washed his hands before slathering your face with this?”

Darcy was smiling. “He did, sort of. Do not fear, love. I have sufficient knowledge of how to treat abrasions and lacerations. I have had a few others in my lifetime,” he said dryly, Lizzy snorting while she continued to blink her eyes furiously and fuss roughly. “I will send a servant to the apothecary for the necessary ingredients. I doubt it will leave a scar.”

He clutched her hands, stopping them from their incessant fidgeting over his garments and person, and brought her fingers to his mouth for a tender kiss. When he spoke, his voice was low, steeped in checked emotion. “We are all well, dearest. But, if you are not too disappointed, I believe I would rather forego the afternoon’s agenda and return to Chelmbridge. Not only do I desperately need to change clothing, I also desperately need to hold my family close.”

She nodded, smiling as her churlishness evaporated. She leaned into his chest, Darcy embracing and kissing the top of her head. “Indeed, I think I have seen enough caves to last me several years. Take me home, Fitzwilliam.”

They would not return “home” for two more days, but the Logans’ lovely estate was adequate for the requisite rest, affection, and sweet lovemaking they craved. Mutual agreement meant that Poole’s Cavern would be saved for another excursion at a much later date. They ended their holiday staying above ground, leisurely driving over the beautiful and unique landscape of the Peak from Chapel-en-le-Frith down to Buxton and through Tideswell to Hathersage before veering south. They reverted to the favored pastime of touring historical places and churches as they strolled along manicured lawns and easy pathways, pushing a fascinated Alexander in his perambulator.

The last days of peace and delightful entertainment were necessary to erase the fright that cast a pall upon the whole vacation, both of them glad they had not succumbed to their nerves and rushed back to Pemberley immediately. On their first night in the familiar mansion that was in every way their home, after Alexander was tucked into his bed, Darcy pulled his naked wife onto his bared body. He drew her earlobe between his lips, sucking lightly, and then whispered huskily, “Shall we see how our bed compares to the Chelmbridge one in the sturdiness department?”

He grinned, lifting his left brow, Lizzy dissolving in laughter as she nodded a definite affirmative. And with that declaration, and the passion that ensued, the holiday at the Peaks was cemented within their minds as one of tremendous enjoyment only.