Loving Mr. Darcy: Journeys Beyond Pemberley

Chapter Eighteen Lazy Days of Summer

For the following several days, the company at Pemberley basically did absolutely nothing.

Darcy spent approximately an hour with Mr. Keith discussing estate affairs, hastily and randomly shuffled through the stack of papers on his desk, sighed and ran a hand over his face, and then walked out of the room without a backward glance. He would not even enter his study for another week. Mr. Keith had smoothly handled all pressing concerns, of which there had been few; the crops were on their own as they grew and ripened, and the various livestock were not a pressing issue as they fattened up, so not much human interference was called for. What work was mandated was efficiently managed by the tenant farmers and livestock handlers.

Therefore, Darcy was freed to attend to the onerous task of relaxing! This he embraced with a ready heart… for a time. Day after day he lounged about reading, playing billiards or chess with Bingley while they discussed sheep, entertaining the women, taking strolls with his wife, and avoiding the stables. Therein lay the down side. Darcy had not been on a horse since his brief stay at Pemberley with the Duke, and he missed the activity profoundly. It was more than the desire to ride itself that disturbed him and wore on his nerves. It was the raging need for strenuous physical activity. Darcy was a man who required a balance in his life: tranquil pursuits entailing minimal energy or concentration, enterprises offering a challenge to his intellect or that advanced his education, and labor of a concrete variety where his muscles were exercised and a healthy sweat attained. The first he was surrounded by in limitless quantities, and the second he was happy to eschew, his mind quite overdue for a caesura. To the frustration of all, the latter was impossible due to his uncle's proscription.

Lizzy, on the other hand, experienced a sort of exhaustive collapse. She slept late each day and was yawning by early evening. It was not exactly the same as the crushing fatigue encountered during the first months of her pregnancy, but reminiscent. She simply could not muster the emotional or physical energy to do anything beyond strolling about the gardens and visiting with her sisters. She did visit the stables once, the women in tow, to bring gifts to Wolfram. He capered in jubilant happiness, pausing between leaps to munch the treats she brought him. Parsifal studied Lizzy with great intensity, Lizzy actually discovering herself blushing guiltily at a horse! She did not leave Pemberley at all, the closest excursion abroad being to visit the children at the orphanage. They capered about their patroness as happily as Wolfram had, delighted with the toys and sweets she brought.

Mrs. Reynolds had proceeded efficiently with the plans for the Summer Festival as outlined before Elizabeth departed for London, so there was naught to do but wait for the day to arrive. She luxuriated in having zero demands on her person while her husband grew increasingly edgy and irritable. Twice he disappeared for several hours on long, strenuous hikes through the rough wooded areas of Pemberley, rationalizing that his legs were not injured so Dr. Darcy could not scowl at him for walking! He returned sweaty, filthy, with torn clothing, scraped hands, and brambles caught in his hair, indicating to his frowning wife that at least some rock climbing had ensued. However, the obvious pleasure and release attained from his exercise, without noticeable strain to his shoulder, prevented Lizzy from scolding.

Nevertheless, they all breathed huge sighs of relief when it was announced that a carriage and three men on horseback were approaching the manor. It was late afternoon and the occupants of Pemberley were scattered about in various pursuits. Darcy was currently in the attic storage rooms with several men assisting in the retrieval of nursery furniture from amongst the unorganized piles of boxes and ancient furnishings. Bingley had ridden over to the Hasberry property, as he had nearly every day, to learn first hand from Mr. Greystone. The older gentleman had taken quite a shine to Charles and was delightedly giving him a crash course in sheep rearing and walnut harvesting. The women sat in Lizzy's homey parlor, the windows open to the flowering garden beyond, actively discussing baby decorations.

Lizzy could not erase her vivid dream, so decided that subtle shades of blue and yellow would grace the walls. Harriet Vernor had recommended the decorator who had assisted her with their nursery, so an appointment was made for the following week. In the meantime, the women gladly offered inspired advice, more for the enjoyment of doing so than out of any real knowledge or expectation. Even Caroline chimed in now and again, apparently caught up in the enthusiasm, and was actually quilting a baby blanket. They were all shocked at the effort, and doubly at the skill she employed, as none of them would have imagined Caroline Bingley capable of wielding a sewing needle.

Thus, the footman announcing impending visitors found the ladies all bent over a baby project of some sort when he entered the room. Collectively, the fabrics and yarns were stowed as the occupants hastened from the room. Lizzy instructed Phillips to inform Mr. Darcy as she rushed to the foyer.

Entering the long, curved promenade were Dr. Darcy, Dr. Penaflor, and Colonel Fitzwilliam mounted on horseback trailed by a carriage with the Matlock crest. The females clustered on the porch as the men dismounted, Richard waving in greeting as he turned toward his parent's carriage. Dr. Darcy bounded up the steps first, sweeping Georgiana into an embrace and leaning for a kiss to Lizzy's cheek before either was fully aware of his intent. Lizzy blushed and Georgiana giggled, while Dr. Darcy's eyes swept over the house.

“Ah, Pemberley,” he said in a tone of deep affection. “How beautiful she is.” He sighed and smiled brightly. “It is good to be home!” He kissed Georgiana's forehead and turned toward Dr. Penaflor. “Did I not tell you it was the most excellent home in all of England, Raja?”

Dr. Penaflor merely nodded, busy bowing elegantly to each lady in succession. Darcy marched over the threshold at that moment, pulling his jacket over a dusty shirt in an attempt to make himself presentable, unaware of the cobwebs clinging to his hair.

“Uncle! How wonderful you have arrived. Welcome to Pemberley, Dr. Penaflor. I see you have brought the Matlocks in your wake.” Darcy shook hands with his uncle, both men grinning identically.

“Are you not too old to play adventurer in the attic William?” George asked with a brush to his nephew's hair.

Darcy swept frantically through his hair, making it worse in the process, finally laughing as he shrugged and gave up. “I was retrieving nursery furniture actually. Attics are not designed for frames such as mine.”

“Besides,” chimed in Colonel Fitzwilliam, “the game was ‘explorer’ and Darcy cannot be Marco Polo if I am not present to be Kublai Khan.” Richard mounted the last few steps, smiling broadly with a shyly smiling Anne de Bourgh on his arm, Lord and Lady Matlock following.

“Anne! How delightful.” Darcy kissed his cousin's hand. “We were so hopeful that you would visit.”

Joyful and heartfelt greetings proceeded all around as the group slowly wend their way into the house. Anne had not visited Pemberley in over five years and was thrilled to be here—and to be away from her mother. The Matlocks had cajoled, pleaded, threatened, and bribed, finally eroding Lady Catherine's will. The fact that Anne was twenty-seven and more than capable of deciding her own plans had very little bearing as far as Lady Catherine was concerned. Anne, however, was manifestly improving each day. She felt stronger and her cheeks were pink. Her daily-increasing exuberance, supplemented by her aunt and uncle's involvement, had bolstered Anne's usually timid nature and weak backbone. She had kindly but forcefully exerted herself, stating with a tremulous voice, yet unequivocally, that she was traveling to Pemberley. Lady Catherine had countered with the imperious declaration that she, therefore, would also be coming. Anne had blanched and hung her head in disappointment. Lord Matlock rapidly annihilated that threat by firmly reminding her that the Darcys had not invited her. One could almost raise a smattering of sympathy for poor Lady Catherine, who lately seemed to be receiving a lashing from nearly everyone!

Anne was immediately accosted by Georgiana, who reintroduced her to Miss Kitty, and the two were soon chatting giddily as they led Anne into the house.

“Dr. Darcy,” Lizzy began.

“It is George, Elizabeth. GEORGE.” He spoke slowly, shaking his head in mock exasperation, “Why can she not remember my name, William?”

Darcy smiled, squeezing his blushing wife's arm. “She is exhibiting proper manners, Uncle. You recall manners and propriety, I assume?”

“Ah yes. Manners: the bane of the English existence. Very well then, how may I help you, Mrs. Darcy?”

“Forgive me, George, I was hoping you could allot the time, as soon as feasible, to examine William's arm. He is frankly vexing us all with his moping glances toward the stables.” She smiled winsomely at her husband, who mumbled something about never moping.

Dr. Darcy, however, was gazing at him with raised brow and a slight lilt to his lips, “Does your arm yet pain you, William?”

“Not in the least, Uncle.”

“Even when you raise it above your head?”

“No.”

He shrugged. “Then why are you not riding your horse?”

Darcy stopped abruptly with a glare. “Because you, Doctor Darcy, ordered me not to until you examined me and gave the approval.”

George arched both brows in surprise. “Did I really say that?”

“Yes, you did,” Darcy said through gritted teeth.

“Hmmm, how odd.” George was stroking his chin in perplexity. “Although it does sound like something I would say, is that not so, Raja?”

“Yes, it does sound like you, George,” Dr. Penaflor was grinning, sparkling teeth flashing.

“If you declare it so, William, then I believe you. What I should have said is that you may resume all normal activities once no further pain is felt.” He clapped Darcy on the shoulder, the left one, with a brilliant smile. “How is that? Happy now?”

Darcy was staring at him open mouthed. With a final glare and shake of his head, he pivoted and stomped into the parlor. George met Lizzy's glittering eyes, winking broadly and grinning as he gallantly offered an arm. Once in the parlor, Lizzy approached her husband who was brooding by a far window. As humorous as George Darcy was—and a part of Lizzy did want to burst into laughter at his teasing of Darcy—she nonetheless sympathized with Darcy's frustration. She gently placed her hand on his arm and he turned to her.

“Are you alright, beloved? Your uncle was merely teasing you, so do not be too angry. I, for one, am glad you have given your shoulder the additional time to fully heal. I rather like you perfectly intact and functional.” She tiptoed to kiss his cheek, caressing briefly over his chest.

Darcy sighed and smiled sheepishly. “You are right, of course. Am I pathetic if I admit that the truth is I miss my stallion?”

Lizzy chuckled. “Not in the least. If I must share your affections, I can endure it being for a horse. Promise me that you will rise early tomorrow and go for a long ride?”

Darcy hugged her and kissed her forehead. “Thank you, my dearest. I love you.”

“Yes, I know.” She brushed through his hair, removing the last of the cobwebs and smoothing it flat. With a final check to his cravat she declared him perfect.

They rejoined the group lounging about on the numerous sofas and chairs of the spacious parlor. George had helped himself to Darcy's whiskey, sipping with delight. “Wonderful blend, William. For some reason I have never ascertained, whiskey is nearly impossible to acquire in India. You should try some, Raja.”

“Thank you, but I prefer a nice red wine. Spirits do not agree with me. Mr. Darcy,” Dr. Penaflor addressed from his perch behind Anne, “is not your cousin, Miss de Bourgh, the very picture of health?”

The phrase was perhaps a bit overzealous, but Anne certainly was flourishing, especially with the bright blush currently spreading over her fuller cheeks. Darcy smiled fondly at his cousin. “She is radiant and beautiful. What exactly did you two prescribe?”

“Primarily foods rich in iron. Green vegetables, beans, red meat and organ meat, grains and nuts, and strawberries. Also, an herbal tea brewed of ingredients found to strengthen the blood. The taste is bitter, but Miss de Bourgh is brave and an excellent patient.” Dr. Penaflor was clearly pleased with the improvement to his patient.

“Miss de Bourgh,” Lizzy said, “you are radiant as Mr. Darcy stated. How are you feeling?”

Anne answered in her quiet voice, “You are too kind, Mrs. Darcy. I must confess that I am feeling so much stronger. I do not sleep as much as I did, I breathe easier, have more energy, and my appetite is improved. William, you remember the ruins a half mile or so from the manor that we used to play in?” He nodded. “I visited them the other day for the first time in probably twelve years! I could never walk so far.” She smiled brightly and giggled. “It brought back so many memories.” She turned to Lizzy. “Your husband, Richard, and I would play hide-and-seek amongst the fallen stones. I always won!” She declared with childish pride.

Darcy chuckled in remembrance. Richard spoke up with a grin, “You won, dearest cousin, because you were far smaller and could squeeze between and under the stones.”

“Remember how dirty you would get, Anne?” Darcy chimed in with an evil laugh. “Aunt Catherine would grab your ear and march you off for a bath, declaring all boys the spawn of Satan for messing up proper ladies. How many times did she forbid us to play outside?”

“Hundreds, I am sure,” Richard answered, suddenly bursting into a deep laugh. “Remember the one time when Anne had that big, black spider caught in her hair? Aunt Catherine shrieked so loudly we thought the rafters would cave. Maids and footman were running about trying to kill the poor arachnid while Aunt perched precariously on the arm of a chair. It was the funniest thing I ever saw.”

Lord Matlock spoke, “She wrote me a scathing letter demanding I thrash you. I know she wrote the same to James.”

“What ever happened to the spider?” Kitty asked.

“Smart fellow crawled away. Probably still resides in some unused room of the manor, begetting hundreds of little black children,” Darcy replied. The women shuddered but laughed nonetheless. The afternoon passed with remembrances and laughter, while the Pemberley staff efficiently readied guest chambers. The Matlocks would journey on to Rivallain after dining, but Richard would stay at Pemberley.

“I promised Lady Catherine I would be Anne's official chaperone,” he shared with Lizzy and Darcy, rolling his eyes. Then he glanced pointedly to Dr. Penaflor, who was relating a story about King Ferdinand of Spain to the avidly listening group. “I think she is afraid of the scary, swarthy-skinned fellow! He is a foreigner, after all, and you know you cannot trust them foreigners,” he whispered in a perfect imitation of his Aunt.

Dr. Darcy approached Darcy and Lizzy as the party broke up to prepare for dinner. “Elizabeth dear, I have something for you.” He handed her a large jar filled with tallow-colored cream. “It is a mixture of oils and wool fat. Indian women massage this over their bellies and breasts when pregnant to prevent the skin unduly stretching.”

Both of the Darcys peered at him with absolute incomprehension. George looked from one to the other with a raised brow. “You know, the splitting of the skin that can occur as the child grows?”

Lizzy frowned but Darcy paled in horror, clutching his wife to his side and speaking with a weak squeak, “The skin… splits! This is… abominable! How is it the book says nothing of this? What other grisly realities should we know of, Uncle?” He was trembling, grasping Lizzy so tightly that she could barely breathe.

George laughed and patted his shoulder. “No no, nephew. It is not as you imagine. Forgive me for frightening you. I sometimes forget how repressed this culture is, not sharing private details.” He shook his head. “Let me explain: the skin can tear, very superficially, as the baby grows. Usually the scars disappear, but at times they remain and can be unsightly, although in no way damaging. Keeping the skin well lubricated aids in the natural process. That is all. I was merely attempting to help. Please pardon me for frightening you both or crossing any lines of that proper English behavior that I persist in forgetting!”

Darcy was so visibly relieved that he nearly collapsed. “No, Uncle, please, share your knowledge with us by all means. Elizabeth and I want to be prepared for this experience.”

George smiled and nodded. Lizzy thanked him for the cream, her own relief intense. George bowed and turned away, pivoting back a second later. “By the way, William. Some find that having the spouse be the administer of the cream and massage leads to other enjoyable activities.” He grinned as the Darcys’ blushed. “Of course, I am a single man so have no idea what they are talking about.” With a final wink, he strode briskly down the hallway, whistling cheerily.

The next morning, three days now until the Festival, Lizzy woke to a room of blazing sunlight and already stifling heat. It was nearly nine and she was alone in their huge bed, the warmth of her husband's body long since dissipated. She had no memory of his leaving, assumed it was probably in the wee hours after dawn, not even an imprint remaining partly because she was clutching his pillow into her chest. She yawned and stretched, the baby flipping about in wakefulness, as her eyes alit on Darcy's hastily scratched note. She retrieved it from where it was propped against the lamp on the bed stand, laughing as she read the four words he had scrawled: Gone riding. Love you.

“How romantic,” she murmured with a smile, rising and pulling on her gauzy robe, moving briskly toward the water closet as the baby painfully danced on her bladder.

Darcy entered the room moments later, a rapid scan concluding that she must be in her dressing room. He rather doubted she had risen and was already downstairs. The oppressive heat in the closed room struck him as a physical blow, so he crossed to the balcony doors, opening them wide and then moved to the other windows. One of the advantages of being on the top floor, surely one of the reasons that the Master chambers were located here and facing the valley with the lake and river, were the crisp breezes consistently flowing. He stood for a moment at the far window, allowing the cooling current to brush over his sweaty brow and damp linen of his shirt.

He was aware of the fact that he was grinning happily. Parsifal had greeted his Master with unmistakable enthusiasm. Darcy saddled his stallion himself, softly scolding him to stand still, Parsifal leaping forward before Darcy was fully mounted. They had run for hours. The sad result of Darcy's injury was that the horse had not been run for close to a month. There was not a groom in Darcy's employ, not even Mr. Thurber, who would brave taking Parsifal out, even if Darcy had ordered it. It was not that the animal was particularly reckless or unmanageable; it was the reality that he belonged to Mr. Darcy, the only person who had ever ridden him, and the thought of another on his back was quite simply unfathomable.

Darcy ended their race with an exhilaration not felt in weeks. He was renewed, with a sensation of health and vigor coursing through his body and making him feel a teenager again. His eyes had lifted from the stable yard to the corner of the manor where he knew his beautiful wife lay in slumber, and he had grinned slowly. Tossing the reins to a groom and nuzzling Parsifal one last time, Darcy rushed with long strides to a side door. In an odd twist from the last ride with Parsifal necessary to cool his passionate lust, this ride had heightened it. Taking the steps several at a time, nearly bowling over a towel-encumbered maid in his haste, Darcy lurched through their chamber's door with frankly only one thought on his mind.

Now he stood by the window, aroused, and impatiently allowing her about another minute to appear before he barged into her dressing room. She entered seconds later, yawning and rubbing her face. Darcy watched secretly from the corner as she arched her back in a sinuous stretch with arms over her head, the growing bulge of their child peeking through the diaphanous folds of her untied robe. He could easily see her pert breasts and the outline of all her luscious curves through the gossamer fabric. A sudden gust of air from the balcony stirred her hair and caused the silk of her robe to swirl away from her legs. Lizzy pivoted toward the window in fright, finally cognizant of the now open windows, when Darcy spoke.

“Elizabeth.”

She twirled about, a hand rising to her heart. “William! You frightened me! When did you return?”

“Only a moment ago,” he answered huskily as he slowly and gracefully moved around the bed and toward his wife, a sensual smile playing over his lips as darkened eyes scoured over her body. Lizzy was staring with undisguised appreciation. It had been two months since beholding him after a ride, and she swiftly recalled why it was she became so incredibly aroused when he returned. Darcy's handsome virility never failed to stun her, but the appearance of him in only a thin shirt and tailored pants damply clinging to tight muscles, unshaven face flushed from the wind and sun with hair disheveled, and his natural musky scent mingled with horse and sweat, buckled her knees.

Without a further word, he snaked one arm about her waist while tangling the other through her hair, pulling her into his body for a pervading kiss. Lizzy clutched his upper arms, moaning hoarsely and wilting weakly into his embrace. He swept her into his arms, kissing ardently without cessation, and carried her to the unlit fireplace. Laying her onto the bearskin rug, carefully ensuring her comfort without leaving her lips, he positioned his body fully over hers. Legs parting naturally, Lizzy encircled his waist and squeezed.

Darcy groaned with desperate need, kissing vigorously as he rapidly joined with his wife. Darcy rumbled in his chest but spoke no words, mad with desire and passionate fire. Lizzy gripped his head with steely fingers twined in his hair, returning his bruising kiss with equal fervor. On they loved with raging heat, gasping and growling, hearts racing frantically, and sweat soaking both of them.

Darcy's moans turned to whimpers as the torrents focused with a knot of indescribably pleasure before exploding outward to all points of his sizable body, releasing with an unleashed cry of rapture. Lizzy grazed her nails over his shoulders, so overcome with passion that she bit his lower lip hard enough to draw a drop of blood.

As the mutual tremors waned, their eyes opened sluggishly and met. Far too breathless to vocalize, they merely stared in profound rhapsody. Lizzy gently suckled his slightly swollen lip then tenderly kissed over his face. “My precious love,” she whispered as he finally dropped his head to her chest, inhaling with a shudder and not yet attempting to move off her.

Lizzy blissfully held him, stroking over his back as they recovered. Darcy rose enough to kiss each breast, only then rolling to her side. Propping on an elbow, he caressed her chest lazily for a time before traveling leisurely down her abdomen. Palming the firm rise above her pubis, Darcy pressed gently.

“Apparently, he is growing accustomed to being jostled about,” he smiled, and Lizzy laughed.

She feathered fingertips over his face while he resumed caressing. “How was your ride?”

“Invigorating, stupendous, refreshing, intoxicating, and heavenly.” He kissed her softly. “The horse ride was nice, too,” he finished, burying his face into her neck and nibbling while Lizzy giggled.

“Silly man!” she said as she sighed contentedly, absently running the back of her hand over his abdomen. “I was about to call for a tray when you so pleasantly startled me. Are you hungry, beloved?”

“Starved,” he mumbled into her ear, lips and tongue exploring along her neck, journeying from shoulder to bosom, one hand stroking her inner thigh. Unhurriedly, he roused her with the magic of his hands and mouth, worshipping all of her body as he drove her insane.

Lizzy's need for food was forgotten as her husband artfully restimulated her ardor. Skillfully, he brought her to the pinnacle of perfect desire, her release sending ripples of frenzy washing head to toe. Rapidly he was there, enfolding her trembling body against his sturdy chest with arms and legs wrapped about her. Murmuring endearments incessantly, he kissed her forehead and smoothed her hair until she was breathing easier. He cupped one cheek, loitering over her mouth with his, sighing happily. “Mine, sweet wife only mine, forever. I love you so tremendously, Elizabeth, my soul.”

Lizzy smiled. “Fitzwilliam Darcy, you are truly amazing. I think I should order you out of bed every morning for a long ride!” She kissed him, nestling tightly into his embrace with a contented sigh.

Later that day, after a boisterous luncheon with the entire Pemberley household, Darcy retreated to the solitude of his study to catch up on a stack of neglected papers. All were fairly straightforward, more along the lines of reports and inventories with an occasional document requiring his signature. Midway through the pile, a gentle knock at the door revealed his lovely wife. She smiled sweetly at his beaming face, crossing the room with a flowing grace until near enough to bestow a tender kiss to his brow.

“What do you need of me, dearest?”

“I need you, only you, my love,” he answered, reaching to clasp her head and pull in for a kiss.

Lizzy caressed his face, love clearly evident in their eyes. “You are silly, William, but I do so love you. You called me in here merely for a kiss?”

Darcy raised a brow in surprise. “I did not call for you, love. Not that I am complaining mind you.”

Lizzy frowned. “Mrs. Reynolds said you asked for me.”

At that moment, there was a knock at the door. Leaving the mystery aside for the present, Darcy granted entrance. To the shock of both Darcys, it was Samuel and Marguerite. Samuel approached hesitantly, clearly nervous, with Marguerite a pace behind.

Samuel was the quintessential valet: utterly proper and seriously devoted to his Master. He had been Darcy's manservant since Darcy was twenty, Samuel now in his early forties. Yet, despite the long association and obvious intimacy with Darcy's personal preferences and requirements, Darcy had revealed to Lizzy that Samuel was intensely private. Any attempts on Darcy's part to converse or familiarize himself with Samuel as an individual was met with stony silence and disapproval. Therefore, Darcy had given up years ago. That Samuel was incredibly shy was evident. Lizzy had probably heard him speak a handful of times and he rarely addressed her.

Marguerite was nearly as decorous. She took her job very seriously and had endeavored to learn all personal information with a steadfast vigor. However, she did laugh upon occasion with her Mistress and shared the sporadic story or anecdote, albeit with reserve and caution. Lizzy knew little about her private life or intimate thoughts, but there was warmth between the two women and her dry humor frequently shone forth, even with Mr. Darcy.

Both Master and Mistress had not the least doubt they could trust their personal servant implicitly and although not friendly, they cared deeply for them and would grant nearly any wish requested. Seeing them enter the study together was astonishing. That Samuel and Marguerite spoke was manifest by how Lizzy and Darcy's clothing inevitably matched whenever dressing for a formal event, the frequent messages passed, and the perfection in timing between the two dressing rooms. However, neither had ever actually witnessed them speaking or in the same room, for that matter.

Samuel bowed toward his Master and then toward Lizzy, Marguerite dropping flawless curtseys. “Mr. Darcy. Mrs. Darcy. Pardon the deception. Miss Charbonneau and I implored Mrs. Reynolds's assistance, as we wished to speak with you together in a formal setting.” He paused, glancing to Marguerite, who smiled faintly and nodded. Samuel cleared his throat, cheeks pink as he met Darcy's confused eyes. Lizzy was looking from one to the other with a dawning suspicion.

Samuel continued, “Sir, Miss Charbonneau and I have, naturally, increased our acquaintance since she joined the staff. Our friendship has grown to an affection and,” he paused and took a deep breath, Marguerite stepping closer until beside him, arms brushing lightly. “Sir, Madame, we humbly request your permission for us to be wed.” He finished in a rush, visage scarlet. Marguerite was smiling lovingly, delicate face radiant as she possessively laid her hand on his arm.

Darcy was stunned speechless. Lizzy was equally as surprised but collected her wits before her husband, rounding the desk to clasp Marguerite's hands. “Oh! This is marvelous! We are so delighted for you both. Surprised, certainly, but extremely thrilled.” She leaned in to kiss Marguerite's flushed cheek, squeezing Samuel's hand briefly.

Darcy stood, senses slowly restored, as he too rounded the desk. Clasping Samuel's hand, to the valet's intense embarrassment, Darcy congratulated him as well, adding, “You do not need my permission, Samuel, but you do have my complete blessing. This is remarkable news. Mrs. Darcy and I are delighted and will grant whatever you wish for your nuptials.”

Samuel's face was a shade of red truly magnificent to behold. Lizzy wanted to laugh but maintained her composure. “Thank you, sir,” he stammered, “Miss Charbonneau and I do not want a fuss nor to disrupt the household or abandon our duties. We can marry quietly in the village without causing any disturbance or lack of service to you or Mrs. Darcy.”

Darcy waved his hand airily. “Nonsense, Samuel! Weddings are special events and a marriage should not begin in haste or with anyone besides the couple unduly considered. It is your day and we, Mrs. Darcy and I, intend to make it as unforgettable as possible. Many staff members have been married in the Pemberley Chapel and, naturally, you two would need time alone afterwards. We can arrange this for whatever date you wish.”

“Definitely!” Lizzy chimed in with enthusiasm, “There are available rooms in the couple's apartments both downstairs and at the Staff Domicile. In fact, one of the cottages is vacant since Morrison's wife passed. Mrs. Reynolds will happily show you the options, and you can choose whichever one suits your taste.”

Lizzy and Darcy continued to verbalize plans and offerings, Samuel and Marguerite nearly forgotten in their excitement. Their personal servants were overwhelmed by the outpouring, rarely interjecting into the conversation. In the end, it was decided that the two would be wed in the Pemberley Chapel one month hence. Marguerite was to be dressed in a new gown purchased as a gift from Mrs. Darcy, and then the newlyweds would embark on a two-week honeymoon to the Lake District arranged and paid for by Mr. Darcy.

Samuel's mien had rapidly transmuted from its impressive shade of maroon to bloodless ivory at the concept of his Master without Samuel's service for two whole weeks, stuttering and stammering in embarrassed shock. Darcy, however, waved his concerns aside, clapped him on the back, and assured the devoted valet that his absence was in fact fortuitous.

“I will be vacationing with Mrs. Darcy at the seacoast during that time and was not planning on taking you with me anyway, so now you will have a far more pleasant diversion to occupy your time than fretting about me.”

“But, sir,” Samuel spluttered, the redness creeping over his cheeks once again, “Who will shave you or assist you dressing or draw your bath or—”

“Have no fear, Samuel. I can take care of myself in a pinch, and there will be staff available. None as efficient as you, but I will survive.” Darcy smiled at his servant, touched at his devotion, and terribly amused, wisely choosing not to remind the man that he had managed capably before Samuel's procurement and on several occasions over the years. Marguerite was smiling serenely but with a hint of adoring humor, noticeably not offering the same arguments regarding her Mistress.

Eventually it was settled; Samuel's bashfulness was so acute at moments that Lizzy honestly feared the man would faint. She offered to learn how to shave her husband, thinking the idea would ease his disquiet, but he had looked at her with such horror at the concept that she hastily demurred. Marguerite's dulcet tones of French accented English calmed him while she skillfully and lovingly steered the wedding discussions along their proper course, all matters eventually established as Lizzy strongly suspected she had intended it all along.

When the betrothed couple finally exited, the Darcys collapsed onto the sofa in hysterical laughter. “After an hour of discussion, I am yet flabbergasted at what has been revealed here! Have you ever seen the two of them together?” Darcy asked his wife.

“Rarely, and never speaking to each other,” she answered, wiping at wet eyes and still laughing.

Darcy shook his head. “She must be the most tenacious woman on the planet to crack Samuel's shell. I have noted maids gazing speculatively at my valet in the past, but I am quite certain he has remained oblivious.” He laughed afresh. “Heavens! The man's shyness is unparalleled. I am convivial compared to him! I never thought I would see the day. Must be the rumored allurement of the French. The sensual mystique they purportedly have,” he mused with a small smile.

Lizzy glanced at him. “You have been to France. Did you observe this French mystique and allurement? Did any French maidens attempt their magic on you, Mr. Darcy?”

He looked at her sharply and noted the teasing lift to her beautiful mouth. He snorted, “You know me, dearest, blessedly inconscient to the machinations of the opposite sex. I was far too busy exploring museums, ruins, and old chalets to notice the ladies. Bingley was nigh on ready to strangle me for dragging him to such places. I think that is why he tricked me into dancing the waltz. As payback for avoiding the numerous fêtes and cotillions we were invited to. What magic ventured was nullified by my ignorance or imbecilic behavior.”

Lizzy laughed at the vision educed, hugging her husband's arm. “Oh, William! You are a priceless treasure! I love you so.”

He grinned, kissing the tip of her nose. “Excellent news that is! Now, I must talk to Mrs. Reynolds. My curiosity is raging.” He rose and rang for the housekeeper, who arrived moments later with eyes downcast and a mild flush to her dear cheeks.

“Sir,” she began, “please forgive the deception with Mrs. Darcy…”

“Do not be ridiculous, Mrs. Reynolds, it is of no moment. Tell me what you know of this romance. How long has it been in the works?”

Lizzy sat on the sofa, listening to the tale and observing Darcy's avid face with a rising humor. What an old gossip monger he is! she realized, though, that it was not so much a desire for juicy gossip as it was an honest affection for his servant and interest in his well-being. Quite touching, actually.

According to Mrs. Reynolds, Marguerite had set her sights on a fortunate but utterly unsuspecting Samuel immediately upon entering the house. With careful and circumspect deliberation, she stalked her prey and snared her prize. None of the staff had any notion of the budding romance, the two cautious in the extreme and intensely private. Samuel's only true friends amongst the staff are the footmen Phillips and Watson. Marguerite's only confidante has been Miss Jameson, the still-maid, the two having developed a close bond. Mrs. Reynolds herself was completely unaware of the two personal servants being more than casual acquaintances until four days ago! Now the entire staff knew, the engagement having officially been proposed and accepted a week ago, and all were delighted if tremendously shocked.

Darcy had vacationed at the Lake District of County Cumbria twice in his life, so he was acquainted with the area somewhat. He and Mr. Keith sat down that afternoon and set the plans in motion for both the honeymoon of Samuel and Marguerite and the vacation of the Darcys. Lizzy left the men to their plotting, rejoining the ladies in her parlor for tea. Some three hours later the group of chattering females, accompanied by Colonel Fitzwilliam and Dr. Penaflor, returned to the manor having taken a leisurely and entertaining stroll about the grounds. They were greeted on the southern terrace by a reclining Dr. Darcy, attired today in an Indian kurta of deepest blue with swirls of fuchsia, book in hand. Lizzy had readily discovered that Darcy's uncle boasted an identical love of books as his nephew, happily ensconced in the Darcy House and Pemberley libraries for hours unending as he thoroughly examined the shelves for anything new.

“New books can be very difficult to attain while rambling through the far reaches of the Indian countryside,” he had told Lizzy, “I think I visit home as much to obtain fresh reading material as to see family and friends!”

“How was the walk?” he inquired now, peering at Miss de Bourgh with a smile. “Why Miss Anne, you have rosy cheeks and are perspiring so delightfully! How wonderful.”

Anne blushed further, but met his direct gaze. “Dr. Darcy, we walked all the way to the stone arch and around the lily pond. It was invigorating and I feel marvelous, thanks to you and Dr. Penaflor.” She glanced to the beaming Spaniard with an easy smile. “However, I must say I am vaguely fatigued and thirsty.”

Lizzy started to speak but George jumped up from his chair with a lurch, bony frame towering over all of them, and offered his arm to Miss Anne. “This can be arranged! Lemonade all around,” he declared, ushering them into the hall by sheer force of presence.

There they encounter further evidence of the power emanating naturally from the Darcy men by the appearance of the Master of Pemberley. Walking sedately, yet with a coiled energy and dominating deportment, Darcy approached with a wide smile and barely contained vibrancy, eyes sweeping the crowd but alighting on Elizabeth.

“Ladies, gentlemen,” he said as he bowed, “How was your walk?” He spoke calmly, but Lizzy could detect the scantily regulated ebullience to his tone. Praise burst forth on the plethora of virtues to be found on the landscape of Pemberley, Darcy nodding and offering his thanks as expected. Nevertheless, his impatient gaze repeatedly returned to his wife, Lizzy clearly deducing he wished to share some news of import but having no clue as to the direction. Finally, the proper pleasantries completed, Darcy extended his hand to Lizzy. “If I may be so bold as to claim my wife for a brief interval, thus divesting her enchanting company from the assemblage. I promise to return her forthwith to further charm you all with her witty conversation.”

Once out of earshot and ascending the stairs, Lizzy said, “Quite the charming speech, beloved. Where are we going? Or is that a redundant question?” She grinned impishly and Darcy laughed.

“Later, my lover, later. You quite exhausted and satisfied me this morning. I shall likely not be up to the task for several days.”

“Ha! Unlikely that! You, Mr. Darcy, are insatiable.”

“Not insatiable, my Elizabeth, merely in passionate love with the most beautiful creature in the entire world.” He paused on the stairs to kiss her chastely, resuming their climb. “Actually, at this particular moment my thoughts are on the end product of our love. I am escorting you to the nursery.”

Crossing into the chamber that Lizzy still persisted in thinking of as Darcy's mother's, they entered the nursery. Darcy was grinning with undisguised excitement. Several boxes marked “baby items” were scattered about the room among large sheet draped pieces of furniture. In the middle of the floor, resting on a canvas tarp spotted with drips of paint and varnish, sat a cradle of hard English oak. The cradle was big, elaborately scrolled with etchings of trailing ivy along the side railing and an incredible carving of a horse, naturally, gracing the head panel and the Darcy family crest on the footboard. The entire cradle had been freshly stained, varnished, and polished to a high gloss. It was exquisite, the workmanship unparalleled.

“It is still wet, my love, so you cannot touch it, but what do you think? Do you like it?” He was staring into her face with puzzlement, Lizzy displaying a mingled expression of appreciative awe and faint fright. “It has been in the family for generations, carved and constructed by a distant grandfather from an oak cut down in Pemberley's forest. However, if you do not like it we can purchase a new one.”

“No, no, William! I love it, truly. It is astoundingly beautiful and I am overwhelmed. It is just,” she paused and swallowed, looking into Darcy's anxious eyes with her own teary ones, continuing in a whisper, “in my dream of you with our son, this cradle was there! I remember the horse and beveled rails, although it was lighter in color. I know I told you how real the dream, like a premonition or message, and I do feel certain in my soul we are having a boy, yet this…”

Darcy smiled and laughed, enfolding her into his arms and kissing the top of her head. “I assured you before that I did not warrant you insane and I still do not. Nor do I reckon you are suddenly a soothsayer.” He cupped her face. “Undoubtedly your unconscious mind recalled the cradle, as it has appeared in several portraits in the Hall. Particular heirlooms have a tendency to do that. For instance,” he pulled away and stepped to one of the sheet covered bulks, tugging an edge to reveal an equally exquisitely sculpted rocking chair, “Was this what my dream-self sat on?”

Lizzy nodded an affirmative, relief washing over her countenance. She moved to his side, touching the fabulous chair. Darcy stroked her back. “Sit on it, love. I want to envision you there with our baby.” He spoke huskily and Lizzy glanced up at his tender face, smiling as she did his bidding. The chair was sturdy, comfortably structured with armrests at the perfect level for holding a baby to one's breast, curved support for the lower back, and a seat worn smooth by generations of Darcy mothers. Lizzy rocked slowly, caressing palms over the wide armrests while gazing at the shining cradle, touched anew by the significance to being part of a lineage with such a wealth of history. Happiness and peace consumed her soul, enhanced by a sense of intense pride for the family she was now indelibly a part of.

Darcy knelt before her and placed one broad hand over her belly, the other grasping her hand, entwining her delicate fingers with his long, mildly calloused but elegant ones. It was then that Lizzy noticed the stains on Darcy's generally pristine fingers.

“You painted the cradle yourself?” she asked in surprise.

Darcy smiled and arched a brow. “Of course! Do you think I would allow anyone else to touch the bed my son shall lay on? Or perhaps you are merely amazed at how competent I am?” he teased, leaning in to kiss her soft lips. “You may be surprised, my dearest, at how diverse my talents.” Lizzy laughed and hugged him tight.