Loving Mr. Darcy: Journeys Beyond Pemberley

Chapter Fourteen Visitations

“Ooh! This one would look wonderful on you, Mary!” Georgiana appeared from the inside of her closet holding a beautiful, deep purple gown with embroidered vines of wisteria cascading from the bodice to the hem.

Kitty clapped her hands in delight but Mary frowned. “I am not so sure, Georgiana. The color is lovely but the flowers are simply not me. Far too ostentatious.”

“You must make an impression that he will not forget, Mary,” Kitty explained wearily for the hundredth time, while Georgiana rolled her eyes.

“His impression should be of me, not the dress I am wearing,” Mary firmly declared. “I do not wish to be courted by a man who is only interested in me for my clothing.”

“Well, of course not,” Georgiana soothed, “yet there is no shame in presenting an appealing vision. It shows that you care for yourself and desire to please him. Men expect such efforts.”

“The expert, are we, Miss Darcy?” Mary said with a soft laugh. “Lizzy never fussed over herself and Mr. Darcy fell in love. This is what I desire. To have a man want me for whom I am.” Mary spoke quietly and with embarrassment.

The Mary Bennet sitting sedately on the edge of Georgiana's bed was an altered creature from the antisocial young girl who pounded out morbid tunes and declared how she hated balls. No longer did she look at the world with eyes clouded by misinterpretation and somber disgust. Her character overall had not drastically changed; rather, it was her revelation of the broader world beyond Meryton and Longbourn. The events of the past months and her friendship with the shyly proper but intelligent Georgiana had radically opened her eyes. No longer did she liberally sweep anything remotely frivolous out the door as wholly worthless and unorthodox.

Above all, Mary was amazed at her changed attitude toward the opposite sex. She had grown up with a family of mostly females consisting of a mother who seemingly thought of nothing but marrying her daughters off to the first eligible man who came along, two younger sisters who acted the fool around anything in trousers, and two older sisters who had snapped up the richest men available. Mary was the odd woman who did not swoon over the ridiculous frippery that comprised the standard male population. Mr. Collins had briefly intrigued her in that he was sober and not a dandy. She had thought Lizzy an imbecile for refusing his proposal, totally baffled at the decision until Mr. Darcy's proposal was accepted. Mary was now wholly ashamed for her conclusion, but at the time, it appeared evident to her that Lizzy had succumbed to his wealth, somehow ensnaring the pompous man with her hidden charms and prostituting herself at the altar of riches and prestige. Mary had been horribly disappointed in Lizzy, as she had been the one of all her sisters that she deemed the most sensible and least likely to yield, but there appeared to be no other logical deduction. Not one to study poetry or waste precious time reading romantic novels or gossip with twittery girls about flirtations, Mary simply had no concept of love.

During the two months of her sisters’ engagements, Mary had primarily avoided them all in disgust. When she did note the affectionate glance or oblique touch between one of the pairs of couples, she either did not grasp it or chalked it up to men's bestial lusts, those sins of the flesh warned against in scripture and other doctrinal writings. In the following months, she observed the steady affection between Jane and Mr. Bingley, grudgingly deciding that their marriage was not solely about money after all. Her misplaced and low opinion of Lizzy had not altered until this sojourn in London. Mary witnessed a rare emotion between her older sister and husband. She frankly had not comprehended it for a time, been confused at the blatant and occasionally mortifying affection displayed by the two, shocked at the depth of Lizzy's despair when he was absent, but predominately flabbergasted at the metamorphosis in Mr. Darcy. Not unlike Caroline Bingley, although without the accompanying jealousy, Mary gradually came to identify it for what it was: love in the purest form.

It would be inaccurate to state that Mary had a crush on her brother-in-law, but she did recognize his gentleness, intelligence, devotion to Lizzy and Georgiana, maturity, grace, elegance, humor, and many other admirable qualities. She began to wonder if there were other men like him and if even a particle of the love Lizzy and Mr. Darcy shared could be available for her. Her eyes were further opened by Colonel Fitzwilliam and the married men of her recent acquaintance who possessed similar fine qualities. It finally occurred to her, as if a startling epiphany, that men could carry on a conversation with a woman, might even be pleasant to have about, and were not creatures of a divergent species.

Now there was Mr. Joshua Daniels. Mary was mystified by the encounter with him. That Mr. Daniels had immediately been attracted to her was a given fact and Mary was egotistically gratified, although the emotion rather embarrassed her. Her newfound adoption of wearing moderately stylish clothing, limited conversing with the male population, and enjoyment of social activities was pleasurable but still mildly uncomfortable. The few glances and nods her direction while at the opera and dinner parties were flattering, but she also remained confused as to how to interpret the attention. Moreover, no man had ever noticed her in the way Mr. Daniels had nor asked to specifically visit her, and Mary was not sure how she felt about it. Mr. Daniels comported himself with propriety and grace, and impressed her as clever and capable. Still, the idea of actually being courted filled her with anxiety.

“Not all men are as special as my brother, Mary,” Georgiana said, interrupting her musings, “and Elizabeth now takes great pains to dress to her station and to please her husband. You do wish to be married, do you not?”

“Naturally she does!” Kitty answered for her, as if the converse concept was unfathomable. “How about the dark blue gown, Georgiana? It is simple, a somber color, yet designed so beautifully.”

“Yes! Excellent choice, Kitty!” Georgiana ducked back into her closet, returning moments later with the gown indicated. “This is perfect, Mary. Here, try it on.”

Mary scrambled for an excuse, in truth adoring the gown in question. “I do not think one of your dresses will fit me, and what about the—”

“Try it on!” Kitty and Georgiana interjected simultaneously with exasperation, Mary relenting with a sigh.

Down on the first floor, the Darcys sat in quiet company. Darcy read the day's newspaper and drank coffee. His wife finished the last pages of her book while sipping tea and nibbling on a piece of marmalade-smeared toast. Lizzy closed the book with a happy sigh and glanced over at her frowning, intently reading spouse.

“Bad news, William?” He did not answer, wholly absorbed in the words before him. “Dearest? Fitzwilliam? Mr. Darcy?”

“Pardon?” He looked up with a start.

“What has so captivated your attention, love?”

He waved his hand airily. “Nothing really. Just a minor riot at the docks last evening. These occurrences happen from time to time. Apparently, a group of Scots took issue with slurs trumpeted by a shipload of Irish and a brawl ensued. I was concerned as one of my ships is currently docked there, but the melee was further upriver thankfully.” He nodded toward her hands. “You finished your book?”

“Yes. It was very good, as you professed. Rather deep and meditative, however. I believe I am now in the mood for fluff.” She took a bite of toast and stood, walking toward the bookcase, Darcy observing with a smile.

“How about the one Aunt Madeline lent you? The Mysteries of Udolpho. Sounds appropriately fluffy to me.”

Lizzy glanced over her shoulder. “A perfect woman's book, you mean. All romance, castles, villains, and lovers.”

He shrugged and laughed. “You said you wanted fluff. I am merely trying to assist you in not taxing your fragile brain.”

“I would argue or tickle you into begging my forgiveness, but at the moment I find I concur with your assessment.” She pulled the indicated volume off the shelf, flipping it open as she did. Moments later she felt the delightful sensation of warm, strong hands on her shoulders. Peering up at her smiling husband, she asked, “Riots, world events, and the finance page no longer interest you, my love?”

“Not as greatly as this tiny spot of skin right here,” he murmured, leaning in to kiss behind her left ear. She sighed as he proceeded to tenderly suck her earlobe then traveled down the slope of her neck while peeling the robe off her shoulders. Gathering her hair in his right hand to pull the thick mass aside, he attacked the nape of her neck with soft lips, shivers cascading down her spine. His left hand dipped into her bodice to cup one full breast. Lizzy pressed her bottom into him and he responded as would be expected. “I adore you, my Lizzy. Love you so immensely.”

“Do you want me, Fitzwilliam?” she asked with a purr. “Desperately?”

He moved to the other breast while simultaneously clutching her hip and pulling harshly against him. “Always I want you, my love. To love you, to be inside you while touching your flesh is my greatest joy.” He met her eyes, passion evident in darkened orbs. “I woke this morning with your glorious bared body beside me and I was painfully aroused. I urgently desired you, but you slept peacefully, so instead I contented myself with gazing at your beauty and cupping my palm over our child. Then you woke and expressed immediate hunger, which I certainly cannot in good conscience deny you, as your increased appetite is partially my fault.” He laughed, rubbing over her mildly protruding stomach before traveling lower with probing caresses. “Now, however, you have satisfied one pressing hunger and I have satisfied none.” He left her bosom to stroke her jaw and cheek, inclining to taste sweet lips.

Leaning fully onto his body, head resting on his right shoulder, Lizzy submitted to the rampant vibrations elicited by skillful fingers and mouth. “Elizabeth, my precious, beautiful wife. I love you forever. The very thought of you excites me tremendously. Your scent, your velvet skin, your breath, your touch…” Endlessly he whispered as he kissed over her neck and shoulder. Darcy was a verbal lover, Lizzy had discovered to her delight. Unless his mouth was otherwise occupied, he generally was expressing words of love and pleasure. It was enormously stimulating, Lizzy found, for both of them. Lizzy tended to principally remain silent and had asked him if this dismayed him in any way. Darcy had smiled and laughed lowly, grasping her cheeks as he replied, “Oh, my lovely Lizzy, you are not the least bit silent when we make love. You moan and sigh and gasp and articulate the most amazingly sensual sounds, all unwittingly in response to me. Then, invariably, you cry my name. You need say nothing else for me to know how profoundly I have moved and gratified you.”

Such was the case now, as her incredible husband murmured love while arousing her body with an infinitely perfect touch. For a blissful period of time, they loved as they stood, finding that no place was beyond acceptable for the passion which raced through them. In time, Darcy halted, pulling her hard against his heaving and trembling chest. “My love,” he rasped, “come to our bed so I can love you face to face.” He inhaled shakily. “I would carry you, but I do not trust my strength.”

Lizzy pivoted in his arms with a sigh, capturing his mouth with a hungry urgency and stepping toward the door. Thus entwined and kissing voraciously, they slowly reached their intended destination. Lizzy discarded his encumbering robe, baring all his flushed skin to her seeking strokes. Darcy preferred to keep her gown on, experiencing one of those times when her partially and gauzily draped form whetted his appetite. He sat her on the edge of their bed, kneeling on the floor amid her parted legs.

They allowed a moment to calm and gaze at each other, visually feasting on the beauty to be found in the other's body. Darcy ran light fingertips all over her, admiring and worshipping, but especially thanking God for bringing her into his life. Lizzy kissed sensitively over the colorful contusion to his left chest, palms brushing up and down his back, across derriere and hips.

Lizzy smiled, meeting his intensely blue eyes. “Bruised and beaten, you are still stunningly gorgeous, my husband, my lover. How handsome you are, William! Hard, muscular, skin so soft and fair, your hairs exquisite under my hands,” she caressed up his chest to his neck as she said, “straight shoulders and your neck, I love your neck! I do not know why exactly, but I think it my favorite part of you, although that is impossible to pinpoint.” She finished with a laugh, pulling him to her lips as she fell onto the bed.

Darcy wasted no time returning to the warmth of her body. They kissed fervidly between pants and gasps of pleasure. Lizzy clutched his shoulders, squeezing mindlessly and causing Darcy to release a muffled cry of pain.

“Oh William, I am so sorry! Are you…?”

He shook his head and smiled, only momentarily faltering in expressing his ardency for her. After a dynamic period of amatory delight, Darcy rose up, smoothing hair from her perspiring, rosy face. “Mrs. Darcy, I adore you,” he huskily whispered. “More than my life, I love you and always shall.” He kissed her lips, loving totally until both were overcome with flaming sensations.

As he shuddered and fell to rest his head on her chest with unsteady respirations, Lizzy laced fingers through his hair, fighting for oxygen as well, yet contented and trembling with bliss. In time their breathing slowed and Darcy kissed her breasts, lifting to gaze into her glazed brown eyes. She smiled, reaching to feather over his face.

“I love you,” she said simply.

“I love you,” he answered back, smiling as he kissed her. “Every time with you, my heart, is better than the last. Is this possible?”

“Our love grows, dearest. I suppose it is a reflection of that.”

Darcy stood shakily then flopped onto the bed, drawing her into a tight embrace. Lizzy nestled as close as feasible, inhaling deeply of his male aroma that was augmented deliciously by love-induced sweat. She delicately fondled him, reveling in the afterglow of their rapture and so exhilarated to simply be near him. She kissed his chest. “I wish we could stay like this all day. Rest for a spell then make love again, eat a bit then make love more. I think I could happily remain in your embrace for all eternity, endlessly touching and arousing you.” She giggled then looked up into his sparkling eyes. “See what you have done to me? Hopelessly wanton and amorous.”

“How terrible for me,” he grinned. “What shall I do with you?” Twining his fingers through her hair, he drew her in for a lingering kiss.

“You must grant me whatever I wish,” she replied saucily once he released her. “Your vows demand it!” He merely chuckled and did not answer except to kiss her forehead and squeeze tighter. Lizzy fingered over his bruised chest. The colors were amazing and Lizzy, no stranger to bruising herself, was impressed. The feeling, circulation, and strength to his arm had been restored completely. It was the shoulder and upper arm that yet pained him. Lizzy speculated it was undoubtedly from the severe wrenching when Athena reared rather than the impact with her hoof. The chest area itself was only mildly painful, as typical with a serious contusion. “You will ask your uncle to examine your injury as soon as possible, will you not, beloved?”

Darcy nodded. “I will. In all honesty, I am anxious to hear his opinion. It does hurt more than I expected it to after so many days, which concerns me somewhat.” He studied her anxious eyes, wiping away the tears that readily sprung. “I was not evading when I told you I have suffered worse, love. Once, when I was seventeen, I was thrown and my heel caught in the stirrup. I was dragged only a few feet, but my thigh muscle was strained terribly. I could not bear weight for a whole week, which drove me and every servant in the manor nearly insane.” He laughed in memory, softly caressing her face. “I am not a complacent patient, my dear. Your moments of pique during your convalescence were sweet compared to mine.”

He turned to his side, caressing over her skin with a heady sigh and penetrating gaze. “You are so beautiful, Elizabeth,” he said dreamily.

“We were discussing your body, Mr. Darcy, not mine.”

“Yours is profoundly more interesting, my love.” He nestled into her neck for gentle nibbles, and speaking lowly, said, “I have been bruised and sprained so many times I have lost count. Not to mention the scrapes, lacerations, and twice broken bones. In the end, I think sprains are the worst in that only time mends them.” He met her eyes with a smile. “I told you I had a reckless youth. My uncle may know a different treatment to speed recovery, as he learns varied techniques from the cultures he lives with. He travels all over the Far East—not just in India where he now resides—always learning. The man is insatiable. His thirst for knowledge exceeds mine tenfold, if that gives you any indication of the breadth of his wisdom.”

All during his monologue, Darcy had been intermittently kissing his wife and fondling gently, Lizzy trying to attend diligently to his words. He stroked over her abdomen, pausing at the swell of their baby, hoping to feel movement to no avail. Continuing on with titillating manipulation, he lovingly adored his wife, proving yet again his ardent desire for her and astounding potency and masculinity.

“I have rested, my lover, and am perfectly willing to fulfill my vows as you requested,” he whispered huskily with a naughty leer.

Lizzy opened her mouth to flash a smart retort, but at that moment the mantle clock chimed nine o’clock. They both glanced over then returned their gazes to the other, Darcy never relenting in his stimulation.

“Breakfast will be served soon, Fitzwilliam. We should rise and dress. I do not think—” She gasped, closing her eyes briefly in pleasure. “Beloved, there is not time…”

“There is always time to love you, my wife,” he firmly proclaimed, pulling her body onto his front side, “always time.” Then, he halted any further argument with a persuasive kiss—not that Lizzy had any desire to argue.

Mr. Joshua Daniels arrived promptly at two o’clock, adding punctuality to his growing list of virtues. Darcy opted to stay home despite several business needs, both to act as chaperone and to await his uncle's appearance. He worked all morning in his study, listening attentively for the door chime, while the ladies meticulously planned the tea. Mary thought them all slightly mad at the attention to detail, yet was embarrassingly pleased by the fuss.

Mary was beautiful in the gown Georgiana had lent her. It was a solid deep blue with a faint metallic sheen subtly woven in, the cut simple and temperate, although Mary's fuller figure did stretch the bodice beyond true modesty. She resisted Marguerite coifing her hair, insisting on pulling it back into a basic chignon and relenting only in wearing a clip of tiny pearls. Lizzy deliberately rearranged the parlor with a small table and two chairs positioned off to one side, close enough for the other occupants to converse and offer support yet separate enough to allow the young couple to talk quietly together. Darcy had stood insolently leaning against the doorjamb, grinning humorously as Lizzy ordered footmen about like a general planning a military campaign. He extended the occasional quip and droll suggestion but was essentially ignored, Lizzy finally commanding him to “go do something useful.”

An array of edible delights had been concocted by the excellent kitchen staff for the tea, and Darcy even joined the group initially, though adding little to the general conversation, his wife being far more adept at orchestrating flowing communication. Correctly assuming that his dominating and severe presence would hamper full relaxation, Darcy shortly excused himself, pleading a pile of work on his desk, which was the truth.

Lizzy was impressed by Mr. Daniels's general ease. He was mildly nervous, but conversed effortlessly on numerous subjects. Following a predetermined agenda, Georgiana and Kitty excused themselves, leaving Lizzy to play chaperone from a chair in the far corner. With head bent diligently over her embroidery, Lizzy surreptitiously observed her sister.

Mary said little during tea, interjecting with the occasional comment, but allowing the others to lead. Despite the fact that Mary was her sister, Lizzy could not well ascertain the thoughts behind Mary's calm demeanor. Now, with just the two of them relatively alone, Mr. Daniels visibly relaxed and Mary slowly opened up as well. Lizzy noted that their dialogue steadily continued with the appropriate amount of smiles, eye contact, and soft laughs.

“How are you enjoying your stay in Town, Miss Bennet?”

“Tremendously. But I will confess that the noise and diminished fresh air is bothersome to me. I have lived all my life in the country, so the environment of the city is odd. However, there is certainly no lack of entertainment.”

“Have you never been to London?”

“Infrequently, and not for a number of years. My aunt and uncle dwell in Cheapside, so we visit from time to time; however, my parents are not fond of Town. I must say I have been surprisingly pleased at how enjoyable my sojourn here has thus far been.”

“I imagine the Darcys have taken the opportunity to show you many of the sights to be had? The theatre, opera, museum, and the like?”

Mary nodded. “Yes, although it is a vast area with far too many wonders to absorb in three weeks. I have yet to visit the museum, although my sister did and thought it marvelous. Do you appreciate history and ancient cultures, Mr. Daniels?”

“Absolutely. As I pointed out when we met, I am a scholar. Difficult to pull my nose out of a book, to the supreme amusement of my eldest brother, who is the consummate outdoorsman.” They both laughed, then he cleared his throat nervously before resuming, “Perhaps, Miss Bennet, providing it is of interest to you and meets with the approval of the Darcys, you would consider accompanying me to the British Museum? Properly chaperoned, naturally. One should not tarry in London without touring the Museum. It would be a sin.” He finished with a small smile.

Mary raised her brow, initially unsure if he was serious. With a careful study of his artless countenance, she recognized the jest. “I am not quite certain I agree with it necessarily entering the same realm as sloth and gluttony; however, I will concur that it would be a terrible shame.”

“Excellent! By the way, how much longer will you be in Town? After all, there are many other wonders to behold, all of which I would be delighted to show you.”

Mary was peering at him intently. “Mr. Daniels, you barely know me. Perhaps you should not be so swift to offer your time and person.”

He flushed slightly, startled and discomfited at her bluntness. One look into her eyes though, and he realized it was one of the attributes he liked about her and had sensed immediately. She was honest, forthright, and humble. He leaned forward, meeting her frank gaze. “Miss Bennet, it is precisely because I barely know you that I wish to pass as much time as possible with you. My time is short ere you depart, and I very much desire to utilize the time granted me to improve my knowledge of you.”

“Why?” She was frowning mildly, gazing at him intently. With a sudden jolt, he perceived that the question was asked with true perplexity and curiosity.

“Miss Bennet, I shall be completely blunt and honest and beg your pardon if I cross a line in some manner; however, I sense you are requesting a candid response.” He paused, awaiting her favor until she nodded. “I feel drawn to you in a way I do not totally understand, yet there it is. I have never felt so inclined toward another. What this connection bodes for the future, I do not know. You are pretty, intelligent, honest, proper, and many other fine qualities I believe I could list without hesitation. I think it entirely probable you and I would be perfect for each other. It is my intention to discover if this is possible. I do not wish to trifle with your emotions, nor do I wish to have my own sensibilities manipulated; therefore, if you cannot imagine even the remotest chance of returning affection, tell me now and I shall abide by your pleasure. On the other hand, if you sense, even vaguely, a returned interest in me, then let us proceed with willing minds and hearts.”

Mary remained silent for a bit, studying his guileless face. Her thoughts rushed. Mary was a simple, innocent young woman, unaware of the fact that what was passing between them was highly improper in its frankness. A true society woman would faint away at being addressed so boldly by a gentleman. Mr. Daniels knew this and anticipated her reply with bated breath; fearful of having spoken too candidly and thus frightening the first woman he had ever been truly drawn to. Yet, Miss Bennet appeared not the least bit frightened or shocked, merely intrigued.

With a small smile she said, “Very well, Mr. Daniels. With open minds and hearts, we shall proceed. Now, tell me exactly what a solicitor's duties are.” And with a casual sip of tea, she turned the conversation to mundane matters. Mr. Daniels smiled happily, then launched into a detailed accounting of his profession.

Lizzy sat across the room attending with extreme concentration to her needlework, in truth having completed perhaps ten stitches. She could not hear every word spoken between her sister and Mr. Daniels, but enough to glean the context. It was difficult to contain her smile. Approximately ten minutes later, Kitty and Georgiana returned via the arrangement, allowing Lizzy to dash to Darcy's study.

She told him everything, ending by teasing that he should have taken the time to acquaint himself with Mr. Daniels years ago, then perhaps he would have known how to be forthright with a woman. To which he replied that it no longer mattered, for now he had won his maiden's hand and forthright conversation was therefore not essential. Of course, Lizzy took umbrage and assaulted her husband with well-placed tickles, leading to kisses and intimate caresses that quite likely would have lead to further intimate activities, but the door chime interrupted them.

Quickly readjusting clothing, they hurried to the foyer, but rather than Darcy's uncle it was a representative from Tillbury's Carriages. With a broad beam Darcy grasped his wife's hand and followed the man to the street where Lizzy's curricle sat. Completed, it was more beautiful than Lizzy had imagined. Polished to a high sheen, metal and wood glistening in the bright sunlight, the curricle was exquisite. Lizzy had chosen a brocade of forest green with maroon and gold stripes for the cushions, elegantly coordinating with the glossy maroon enameled sides. The Darcy crest blazed in the sun. Again Lizzy was moved to tears, Darcy casually handing her his handkerchief while the man from Tillbury's rendered a full inspection for Mr. Darcy's approval.

Reentering the foyer while the curricle was being properly stowed for later delivery to Pemberley, they encountered Mr. Daniels and the girls approaching.

“Mr. Darcy, Mrs. Darcy,” Mr. Daniels said, bowing. “I wish to thank you for allowing me to call upon Miss Bennet and for guesting me in your enchanting home. I have had a delightful afternoon.”

Darcy bowed in return, formally welcoming Mr. Daniels to visit whenever he wished, which led to discussions of museums and picnics with Miss Bennet, Mary quietly standing nearby. Kitty giggled, reverting momentarily to her naturally giddy behavior, while Georgiana merely smiled sweetly. A state of moderate chaos reigned while Mr. Travers patiently waited by the open front doors with Mr. Daniels's overcoat and hat. No one was attending to the doorway itself, which is why the booming voice startled all of them into abrupt silence.

“I daresay, William, do you always host festivities in the grand foyer?”

All eyes snapped to the towering gentleman blocking the sunlight from his casual dominance on the threshold. It was Georgiana who first speared the oppressive silence with a squeal as she rushed into the arms of the lanky intruder, declaring with confident delight that it was Uncle George.

“Unhand me, woman!” Dr. Darcy mockingly commanded, with a wink to a broadly smiling Darcy. “It is not proper for a woman of breeding to embrace a strange man!”

“Uncle George! It is me! Georgiana!”

“Impossible! Georgiana is a grubby faced child with pigtails.”

“I have never worn pigtails in my life!”

Dr. Darcy peered intently into his niece's face, the corners of his mouth twitching precisely as Darcy's did when attempting not to laugh. “Well, you do resemble her somewhat, although the Georgiana I remember did not have bosoms and curves. William, how could you allow this to transpire? Did I not instruct you to prevent her growing?”

Darcy spread his hands. “Unless you have discovered a potion to stunt aging, Uncle, I have no control over the matter.”

George Darcy, a man of some fifty years, so resembled his nephew it was uncanny. They were of an identical height, although Dr. Darcy was far leaner, almost skeletal, with sharp angles at every joint. His eyes were the same brilliant blue, hair the same brown, though with streaks of gray at the temples and wavy where Darcy's was straight. His handsome face was a thinner, lined mirror image of Darcy's, with skin tanned bronze by the harsh desert sun. Instead of traditional English garb, he wore an impeccably tailored Indian Punjabi suit, consisting of churidar trousers and kameez tunic in bright turquoise with red trim and a tan sherwani richly embroidered with a rainbow of hues across the hem and over the long sleeves. The effect was exotic and beautiful.

Georgiana was beaming, far too ecstatic to be embarrassed by references to “bosoms and curves,” tenderly gripped by her uncle's right arm as he surveyed the stunned occupants of the foyer. “Well, as my nephew appears to have lost his wits and well-honed English manners, I shall guess.” He looked straight into Elizabeth's face with a friendly but piercing gaze all too familiar to her and stated assuredly with a proper bow, “Mrs. Darcy, I am certain. The combination of intelligence, long-suffering, and humor, all of which are of necessity to endure marriage to the man-child behind you, as well as the fact that you are obviously with child, mathematically compute. Congratulations, Mrs. Darcy, on your nuptials, and blessed tidings.”

He bowed yet again, brushing her slack fingers with his lips, and then laughed a resonant chuckle identical to her spouse's. “Do not be so shocked, my dear. I am a physician. Your state is clearly written upon you.” Still laughing, he glanced up at Darcy. “Congratulations to you as well, nephew. Despite the paralysis of your beautiful spouse, I am confident of my original assessment and am therefore relieved that you have chosen wisely.”

Darcy laughed and bowed dramatically. “Thank you, Uncle George, on both counts.” He stepped forward, clasping hands with his uncle who then enveloped him in a hug, Darcy wincing slightly but returning the embrace with enthusiasm. “Allow me. This is my wife, Elizabeth Darcy. Dearest, my uncle, Dr. George Darcy.”

“Please, ‘George’ is what I prefer. I am on vacation, so the doctor has been left in India, although I will take a gander at that arm of yours, William, if you wish it.”

“How did you…?” Lizzy blurted in surprise.

George smiled. “He flinched, grunted faintly, and did not grip as tight as he normally would have. Let me guess. A horse, William? Or have you taken up pugilism as well as dueling? Ah, there you are, Raja!”

All eyes now focused on the new arrival: a man in his mid-thirties of average height, stocky build, and swarthy, with coal black eyes and thick, curly hair as black as a starless midnight sky. He smiled, teeth gleaming ivory as he bowed. He too wore an outfit of traditional Indian style, although far more sedate and unadorned than George Darcy's. So dark was he that Lizzy thought he was Indian, but then he spoke. “Saludo. Greetings.”

“Allow me to introduce my colleague Dr. Raul Penaflor Aleman de Vigo. His full name is far longer and I frankly cannot remember it all. A Spaniard, but do not let that influence your opinion! He is a good man and excellent physician—nearly as skilled as me! Is not that so, Raja?”

Dr. Penaflor flashed another dazzling smile. “As you say, George.” His voice was rich with a heavy accent, his enunciation of “George” so altered as to be nearly indistinguishable.

Darcy stepped forward, exerting his authority as the Master of the manor to extend all the proper introductions. Mr. Daniels, with a last glance and nod to Mary, finally escaped. The rest retreated to the parlor, Dr. Darcy's robust timbre frequently ringing out with a witticism or comment. Lizzy understood why Darcy said his uncle reminded him of Richard Fitzwilliam. The two did have a similar easy humor and irreverence about them at odds with the seriousness of their professions. The comparable traits between Darcy and his uncle were as striking as their contradictory characteristics. Despite the aforementioned minor physical differences, there was no doubt to Lizzy she was catching an arcane vision of her husband in twenty years. Like his nephew, George Darcy missed nothing. His hawk-eyed gaze was piercing and showed his supreme intelligence, and his brows arched intensely, as did Darcy's, but with a profound softness at the edges, undoubtedly a result of ultimate empathy and daily dealing with suffering. Both men were quick witted, but George Darcy seemed utterly indifferent to the nuances of propriety and clever phrasing. He spoke eloquently but bluntly, not purposely offensive yet unconcerned with coddling one's sensibilities. Lizzy found it refreshing and liked him immensely.

Dr. Penaflor, in contrast, was reticent. When he spoke it was meaningful and succinct. Nonetheless, he sat in gentle repose with an amused lilt to his mouth, obviously highly entertained by his friend's banter and family felicity. When Darcy eventually submitted to an examination by his uncle, Lizzy hovering in nervous interest, Dr. Penaflor trailed along with clear professional curiosity.

Darcy related the event while Lizzy assisted the removal of his jackets and shirt. All traces of humor disappeared as Dr. Darcy and Dr. Penaflor bent over Darcy's left side. No words were spoken as George carefully palpated the chest and rib cage. He asked a few brief questions as he prodded, glancing frequently into Darcy's face.

“The bones are intact, although there is internal bruising of the cartilage over the print itself. I am surprised your breathing has not been affected. The bruising is as expected. Did you bring any leeches with you, Raul?”

“Leeches!” Lizzy exclaimed in horror.

Dr. Penaflor answered them both, “Unfortunately, no, George. Leeches reduce the bleeding and swelling, Mrs. Darcy, and inject substances that coagulate the blood and aid absorption. We do not know why, yet it works.”

George had moved on to the left hand, testing each finger and Darcy's grip strength before feeling the pulses and then probing along each ligament and muscle as he traveled upward. Darcy displayed no ill effect until the upper arm and shoulder were touched. He winced and recoiled instinctively. George pursed his lips, gingerly proceeding with his inspection in miniscule increments, not overlooking an inch. He gently but purposefully rotated and lifted the arm in all directions, gauging the injury's intensity by the expressions of discomfort crossing Darcy's face as sweat beaded. Lizzy sat at his side and clutched his right hand, dabbing at teary eyes with his handkerchief still in her possession, bravely enduring his crushing grip.

Finally, Dr. Darcy ceased his examination. Lizzy wiped Darcy's perspiring, pale forehead while he offered the diagnosis. “As you figured, William, the muscles were torn a bit. Also, you have developed a nasty inflammation to the bursae. That, Mrs. Darcy, is not as horrid as it sounds.”

Dr. Penaflor was already rummaging through his trunk of medical supplies, extracting several glass jars while George continued. “The bursae are the fluid pouches found in the joints and ends of muscles. With a serious tearing as you have suffered, William, those areas are damaged and become inflamed. Anyway, enough medical gibberish. Your treatment is twofold. We have several ointments which will decrease the inflammation and swelling, menthol and camphor primarily, so the odor will not be pleasant. Mrs. Darcy, you will need to massage a generous amount in each night, deeply into the tissue, as firmly as William can handle it. Keep the area wrapped and immobilized. Raul is very good at constructing comfortable straps if you have any extra fabric about, my dear, and will demonstrate how it must be. William, you are required to be a complacent patient and do all I say. Once the swelling is reduced adequately—as I deem it, not you—then I will show you some exercises to strengthen the muscles.”

“How long?” Darcy asked.

“A week, perhaps two. If you comply, the recovery will be swift. Loving care is the key, and I think you have that in abundance,” he finished with an affectionate smile to Lizzy, who had yet to relinquish Darcy's hand.

Lizzy accepted her nursing responsibilities seriously. Dr. Penaflor mixed the foul-smelling unguent and concocted several cushiony arm slings, instructing an avidly absorbed Lizzy in their use. Darcy, now recovered from his uncle's exploration, observed his wife's anxious study with a fond smile. Fortunately, his adoration was immense, because Lizzy so intensely enforced her duties she burst in on the gentlemen's revelry much later that evening, declaring with a firm voice and tapping foot that it was time for her husband to retire for his medicine. The three of them were more than slightly intoxicated, George winking broadly at Lizzy as he sent Darcy on his way with several observations about henpecked spouses.

Darcy submitted blearily to the massage, essentially feeling little pain. This mild anesthesia was to Lizzy's advantage, since she pressed harshly with strong hands, kneading deeply as instructed, the only deterrent to her treatment being the need to constantly slap her husband's seeking right hand. However, by the time she had him slathered and wrapped as a mummy, he gratefully sank onto the pillows and fell immediately asleep.

Lizzy lovingly observed his restful face for a time, eventually curling up alone on the far side of the bed. The combination of his pungent aroma and rumbling snores, activated, as always, when he imbibed excessively, precluded any snuggling—for this night at least.