Loving Mr. Darcy: Journeys Beyond Pemberley

Chapter Twenty-Four Touring Derbyshire

The following three days were passed exclusively in sightseeing. Each day would begin with breakfast at the inn after which they would set out upon a new adventure abroad. Darcy rented a cabriolet, the newest carriage model from France, similar to a barouche but much lighter and swifter with a folding canvas calash hood and rear window. This particular cabriolet was designed to accommodate a separate driver mounted on the back, but Darcy preferred solitude and control, so operated the vehicle himself.

The first day, they headed east toward Nottinghamshire. The country, once beyond Derby town limits, was exclusively devoted to agriculture. The plethora of rivers and streams created a lush land of vegetation, ample water supply, and numerous fisheries. Darcy confessed he had only twice traveled through the region to the east of Derby, once to travel to Nottingham itself on business, whereupon he grasped the opportunity to tour Sherwood Forest. Alas, the forest and numerous Robin Hood museums scattered throughout the area were too far north for them to comfortably reach on this trip.

“Something to anticipate for another excursion, my love,” he placated, kissing her pouting lips.

As they set out, Darcy began his narrative of the vicinity. Both Darcys had discovered to their immense delight that they were lovers of history. Darcy, as a fortunate result of his birth, had the means to quench his thirst for ancient history, architecture, and ruins. He confessed to Lizzy that he often believed that, if he had been the second son, he would likely have become an explorer or archeologist, such was his love of old buildings and stories. It was not an exaggeration when he told her about tramping through old ruins in France to the dismay of Bingley.

Lizzy, sadly, had not been blessed from birth with the resources to travel beyond the confines of Hertfordshire. Instead, she embraced what history was found in her familial environs, frequented the various old houses, churches, and ruins nearby, and immersed herself in every book she could find. She surprised Darcy in possessing a fair knowledge of obscure English history, including Derbyshire. The truth is, she confessed, she had researched the area prior to her trip with the Gardiners and more extensively once they were engaged. This information pleased Darcy tremendously, and now he was fulfilling a dream of sharing such treasures with his wife. Of course, for Darcy it was also another positive entry on the long list indelibly etched on his heart of why Elizabeth Bennet was the only woman in the entire world meant for him.

So, with no fear whatsoever that she would grow bored or annoyed, he launched into his tale. “This entire region was once the Saxon kingdom of Mercia from the fifth to sixth centuries. To this day, buried artifacts and old foundations from that era are unearthed. It was in the seventh century when the Saxons were introduced to Christianity, with a subsequent slow infusion of Biblical teaching and ways supplanting the old. In Spondon, there is an ancient church with both Celtic and Christian markings. In fact, religion was so important to the superstitious common folk that churches sprang up everywhere. Most of the remaining buildings from those times are churches.”

Their first stop only a few miles outside of Derby was, not surprisingly, a church. The focal point of the small village of Chaddesden was the church dedicated to St. Mary the Virgin. The building was certainly not the grandest example of the genre, but many of the stones were ancient beyond dating, the foundations laid in a time so distant as to be forgotten. The main architecture dated from the 1300s and, aside from necessary restorations, was unaltered. Again, Lizzy and Darcy strolled through the hushed interior and then onto the grounds, leisurely admiring and absorbing the peace that infused such places before resuming their journey.

They traveled through the village of Spondon, where another ancient church resided. The current building was rebuilt in 1390 to replace a far older one destroyed by fire. This one named after Saint Werburgh, the seventh century daughter of King Wulfhere of Mercia who became the senior Abbess of Mercia. So famous was she that some seventeen churches were dedicated to her throughout England. The little village sat on a hill offering a beautiful view of the encompassing Trent valley, including Derby itself a mere four miles away. Darcy and Lizzy paused to enjoy the panorama, sipping fruit juice contentedly in the relative silence of the sleepy town before continuing their quest.

They passed through Ockbrook, not pausing to inspect the church there, turning vaguely south until reaching Long Eaton on the northern banks of the River Trent. They halted here for a brief stretch of their legs and light repast on the banks of the river. Reclining on a blanket, watching the ducks paddling and fish leaping, they talked and ate. Although Lizzy seemed completely unaffected by her pregnancy, stamina and bodily functions all within normal limits, Darcy fretted. The book and Dr. Darcy clearly listed muscle strain, backaches, fatigue, and benign uterine contractions as frequently occurring during the latter months of confinement, even to the degree of causing early labor or bleeding. For this reason, as well as the delight of a leisurely pace to better inspect the countryside, Darcy did not want to move too fast or venture a prolonged excursion abroad.

The capstone of the day's expedition was Wollaton Hall near Radford in Nottinghamshire. This sixteenth-century masterpiece was reputed to be one of the most amazing manors in all of England. Darcy had long wanted to view it, but during his previous trips into Nottinghamshire he had taken a northeasterly route, which had precluded a visitation.

“Is Wollaton Hall grander than Pemberley?” Lizzy inquired with a teasing smile.

Darcy glanced at her face with a laugh. “Despite Miss Bingley's assertion that Pemberley is the grandest manor in all of England, and my own prejudice and pride regarding my ancestral home notwithstanding, I cannot in truth proclaim that it is the largest, most ornate, architecturally unique, or historically interesting specimen. Certainly not in all of the extensive kingdom, although I will affirm it the finest in all of Derbyshire. Or perhaps that is merely my arrogance shining through!”

Lizzy lifted her brows in mock shock. “You arrogant? How absurd.”

Darcy elbowed her side with a chuckle, continuing undeterred, “Be that as it may, we are now officially in Nottinghamshire, so I feel no sense of disloyalty if I am awestruck by another house.”

The crossing into the bordering shire was unremarkable. There were no road signs or change in scenery to indicate the passage. They drove on through several small hamlets, most no larger than a pub, and three or four shops, and crossed two small rivers before finally entering the deer park surrounding Wollaton Hall. The massive house was easily visible from far away, a truly impressive example of Tudor structural design with spires, towers, gables, carvings, and niches. Lizzy's breath caught and Darcy's regulated mien of complacency slipped slightly. The house truly was magnificent.

“Do you know the owner?” Lizzy asked in a stunned whisper.

Darcy nodded. “We are not intimates, but I have socialized with Lord Middleton on a handful of occasions. His wife delivered an heir this spring, which is why they were not in London for the season; otherwise, I am sure you would have met him yourself. He is a pleasant man, a few years older than me I am guessing.”

They alit some distance from the house, planning to merely walk about the grounds and admire. However, in one of those odd twists of fate which occur from time to time, one of the groundsmen spied them and recognized Darcy of Pemberley because the groundsman's sister happened to be a maid at Pemberley. Word traveled and within fifteen minutes of arriving, the housekeeper approached Darcy and Lizzy where they stood amid some shady trees.

“Mr. Darcy of Pemberley, I believe?” She asked with a curtsey. Darcy was surprised but hid it well with a formal bow and confirmation. “My Lord Middleton requests the honor of your presence, sir, and Mrs. Darcy as well, if it is not too inconvenient?” Naturally, they could not refuse, in truth the idea of seeing the inside of the manor quite appealing.

The Baron of Middleton greeted Darcy like an old and dear friend. “Mr. Darcy! What a delightful surprise. You must explain what business or pleasure brings you so far from Pemberley. But first, please introduce me to your wife.”

What followed was an unplanned but in all ways pleasant noontime visit with Lord and Lady Middleton of Wollaton Hall. Luncheon of a substantially improved cuisine than the snacks packed in their carriage was shared by the four, and conversation was gay. Lizzy had little in common with the rather mousy Lady Middleton except for motherhood, a topic her ladyship delighted in sharing. They did embark on a thorough tour of the manor, Lord Middleton intricately familiar with the array of structural oddities, art, and history, a subject riveting to Darcy, so the two men had an endless host of discussion pieces.

Finally pulling themselves away from their impromptu hosts, the Darcys resumed their journey. They were a bit behind schedule, but neither regretted the delay at Wollaton. Turning northwest, extending the loop toward Derby, they sedately traveled the five miles to Ilkeston. The moderate sized mining town naturally sported an old church, another dedicated to the Virgin Mary, built in 1150 with a noteworthy clock tower and effigy to the most powerful ancient Lord of Ilkeston, Nicholas de Cantelupe from the fourteenth century.

Again, they paused to wander about the prosperous town. Several shops interested Lizzy, the weaving of fine hosiery being an Ilkeston specialty. However, by four o’clock they were weary and ready to finalize their journey. The seven miles to Locknell Hall passed easily, the Darcys arriving to joyous enthusiasm from Chloe Drury and a more sedate greeting from her husband, Clifton. Thereafter followed another block of time spent in engaging company, even Darcy and Clifton enjoying themselves with billiards and chess.

Chloe could hardly wait to finagle privacy with Lizzy, grasping her hand the moment her parlor door was closed and pulling her to the settee. “Elizabeth, I was thrilled beyond words to receive your note. How fortuitous that you chose this time to visit. I have wonderful news.” She paused a moment before gushing with happiness, “Clifton and I are expecting!”

Lizzy squealed and hugged her tight. “Oh Chloe! That is marvelous news. When is your date of confinement? How are you feeling? Have you told anyone else?”

“Slow down, Elizabeth!” Chloe laughed. “One question at a time, please. The baby should arrive in late January, I am feeling as well as can be expected, and other than immediate family, we have told no others. There. Any other queries, Mrs. Curious?” They both laughed, Lizzy bending to pour tea.

“Well, I am overjoyed. Our children will be months apart. In fact, we all seem to be procreating at an alarming rate, rather like rabbits! Filling Derbyshire with the next generation of citizens in one fell swoop.” Lizzy handed Chloe a cup. “Mr. Drury must be ecstatic. Tell me, is he as ridiculous as my husband? If he is, be warned, as the nursery will be decorated lavishly, and there may be no toys remaining in the little shop on Oak Street!”

Chloe smiled sweetly. “Clifton is yet refusing to allow himself to anticipate fully.” She glanced at Lizzy's puzzled face and sighed. “I have told few this, Elizabeth, but I lost a child four years ago.”

Lizzy squeezed her hand in sympathy, instinctively resting the other on her own baby, safe and secure in her womb. Chloe continued, “We had been married but a few months when I conceived. All seemed well until the third month.” She swallowed in remembered grief, shaking her head briefly and then smiling weakly. “Since then we have tried but to no avail. The physicians all said there was no reason why I should not conceive, but it simply did not happen until now. We waited to be sure, but quickening has occurred and I am feeling well. Clifton is yet afraid to hope and would rather I maintain the secrecy, but I am too happy.”

“Oh Chloe, I am certain all will be well! It must be! You appear hale enough, better than I did at your stage as a matter of fact.” Chloe laughed, confirming that she had hardly been ill a day, Lizzy declaring that horribly unfair, and the two pregnant friends embarked on a long discourse of all things baby.

Day three, they headed south, halting first at Chellaston. This tiny suburb of Derby was famous for the alabaster quarried there and, not shockingly, was home to a thirteenth-century church. After a brief tour, they rambled on, meandering in no discernible pattern as far as Lizzy could ascertain. They passed through Swarkestone and over the famous thirteenth-century stone bridge spanning the River Trent. They paused on the far side, remaining in the cabriolet while Darcy explained that it was this bridge where the army of Prince Charles Stuart the Pretender was repulsed in its march on London. Local lore, he further informed her, maintained that the bridge and small, attached chapel was built by two sisters who lost their loves in the waters of the Trent during a flood. Whatever the truth, the bridge was a marvel of construction and art.

Continuing on due south, they headed toward Calke Abbey. Calke Abbey was in fact not an abbey at all, but was built over the ancient site of an Augustinian abbey in the early 1700s and was given the illustrious name by one of its early residents. The Harpur family, Darcy told Lizzy, were known for their extremely strange eccentricities, rarely leaving the manor and constantly renovating the essentially baroque style mansion with rumored bizarre enhancements. Reclusive in the extreme, their brief appearance at the Cole's Masque was a shocking surprise. Darcy was unacquainted with the current occupants—few were—and presumed that the peculiar suppositions were probably exaggerated. Nonetheless, he thought it would be fun to view the manor and walk through the gardens, which were reputedly some of the grandest in all of England.

Lizzy immediately noted the similarity between Calke Abbey and Pemberley. Both country manors were of the baroque style with extensive, cultivated grounds surrounding. Where Pemberley boasted fountains, a river, and ponds as a focal point, Calke Abbey centered on exotic vegetation and garden buildings. The notoriety of the sculptured and varied landscaping was not unfounded. Lizzy and Darcy could have easily passed all day strolling about the grounds so incredible were they. Apparently, other tourists agreed, as the area was busy with gaping pedestrians.

They toured the small church, the psychic garden, one of the greenhouses, and the recently constructed domed orangery. Darcy gazed with longing at the fantastic stables, but they were near the house proper and restricted to visitors. The expression on his face was so pathetic that Lizzy squeezed his arm tightly to her side and kissed his cheek.

“In two days we shall be home, beloved, and you can salve your aching heart in your own stables.” He smiled and returned her kiss, causing two elderly ladies to gasp in shock, and causing Lizzy to giggle as they ducked quickly around a corner.

After two hours and a snack necessary for the woman feeding two, Darcy and Lizzy recommenced the trek, heading due west through Bretby to Burton-upon-Trent just over the border in Staffordshire. They halted here, as Darcy worded it, “Out of necessity, as Burton-upon-Trent produces the finest ales in all of England.” This particular claim to fame held little weight to Lizzy, as she detested ale, but Darcy was of a differing opinion altogether. The village itself was quite small, the fame of Burton's breweries having not spread too far beyond the immediately surrounding shires, although Darcy was of the mindset that this would change in time. For the present, they located a pub that seemed decent for luncheon and, therefore, Darcy's requisite pint or two.

With sudden inspiration, Darcy settled his wife in the carriage and commanded her to stay put, walking briskly back into the pub. Lizzy obeyed, watching the front door with bafflement. Hence her extreme surprise when Darcy appeared on the other side with two pub workers in tow, each of them carrying a heavy cask of ale.

He was grinning, obviously quite proud of himself. “What brilliant maneuver have you dreamed up now, my heart? You are positively glowing with self-satisfaction.”

“It occurred to me that the rear driver's bench is empty, saddened by fulfilling no purpose in life. Therefore, in an effort to appease its grief, I am loading it with a burden.”

Lizzy laughed, Darcy swinging up beside her, embracing her quickly and bestowing a tender kiss. A mile north, Darcy veered off the main road onto a nearly invisible trail between trees that made it barely wide enough for the carriage. “Where are we headed now?” Lizzy asked, Darcy demurring, only telling her it was a surprise.

The trail twisted amongst the thick trees, the main road long since vanished, as the carriage bumped along the rugged trail. Lizzy held on securely, clutching Darcy's arm and the side rail. Just about the time she was prepared to beg him to halt—the jerking sending vague twinges through the stretched muscles and ligaments of her lower abdomen—the path opened into a narrow glade, grassy with a minute pond to the left. Not dissimilar to Darcy's grotto, although far smaller and less lush, it nonetheless presented a serene atmosphere.

Lizzy turned to her husband's smiling face. “It is lovely, William, but how did you know this was here?”

He shrugged. “A friend of mine from Cambridge, Mr. Harold Kensington, resides near here. In fact, we are on his lands, but I do not think he will mind, especially since he is abroad right now.” Darcy reached up and cupped Lizzy's face, bending until brushing her lips. “I experienced an overwhelming urge to be alone with you, to kiss you without old-fashioned biddies gasping in shock.” Lizzy giggled, but he interrupted her with a consuming kiss, leaving her breathless. “Also, I want you to rest. You overexerted yesterday—do not deny it, my love—and were falling asleep in the carriage.” He trailed one finger along the tops of her breasts. “Additionally, my selfishness is unmasked in that I desire my wife alert tonight so I can ravish her body, bringing her joy unlimited as well as my own profound satisfaction.”

They spread a blanket along the shady tree edge, reclining contentedly. Darcy removed his jacket, stretching long legs and laying back with one arm folded under his head and the other around his wife's waist, stroking her arm gently. “Are you enjoying yourself, dearest?”

Lizzy gazed at her husband with undisguised love. “I am having a marvelous time.” She stretched beside him, chin resting on his chest, fingering his cravat. “The scenery is sublime. The history and buildings fascinating. The tour guide is handsome and extraordinarily intelligent. I honestly cannot fathom how the outing could be improved upon.”

Darcy was smiling happily, playing with loosened strands of her hair and her ear. Lizzy nibbled the corner of her lip, dexterously untying a knot of his cravat. “Hmmm… Perhaps, I can fathom an improvement after all.” After she had another knot unraveled, she continued, “Such a gorgeous and talented tour guide should be rewarded. Let me think… What could a man of such dazzling capabilities want from a simple girl like me? A kiss? Would that please my handsome guide?” The cravat was completely undone, Lizzy working her way down the buttons of his waistcoat when she bestowed her kiss.

The kiss was thorough, encompassing, teasing with tongues and lips altering between soft and demanding. Darcy loosened more strands of her hair, otherwise allowing Lizzy to lead the kiss in whichever direction she chose and becoming rapidly intoxicated by the taste of her. Lizzy completed the task of unbuttoning the vest, next removing his shirt from breeches waistband and running a hand over his abdomen. She lifted her face then, Darcy's eyes hazy with desire.

Fingering over his lips to chin, then along solid jaw line, she whispered, “William, my husband. I love you immensely. I do not wish to wait until tonight to love you. I intend to ravish your body right now. I trust this meets with your approval?” She smiled impishly, allowing no opportunity for more than a slight nod before capturing his mouth with hungry urgency. Darcy reciprocated equally, moaning deep in his chest and clutching her shoulders. With a final rough suck to his lower lip and sharp nip, she withdrew, delivering wet kisses over his jaw to exposed neck. Darcy arched with a delighted sigh, shifting to relieve the sudden tightness in his groin.

“Elizabeth,” he murmured, “you are astounding and amazing. How did I live without you?”

Lizzy rose from the vicinity of his sternum with a grin, hands peeling the shirt hem upwards. “I do not know, William, but you have me now and I assure your absolute gratification.” With a hike of skirts, she straddled his thighs and lustily attacked the flesh of his abdomen with her mouth.

Darcy closed his eyes with a heady sigh, relaxing into the waves of pleasure washing through every cell. Never, he mused, will I not be rendered a helpless puddle of arousal when she touches me. He remembered every moment they had touched, from that day so long ago at Netherfield until today, and always, each and every time, he received an electric shock of profound magnitude. Love, that elusive emotion, was now the cornerstone of his existence. As thrilling as her touch was in a purely sexual aspect, the ruling stimulus was their infinite love and devotion. She reached the soul encased within his flesh, arousing the very fiber of his being to a level that eclipsed the physical.

Passion, faithfulness, and veneration raged through both of them, the giving and taking of kisses and caresses a potent impulse. Lizzy continued to ravage his torso, her hands roamed under him to squeeze his derriere, continued on down clenched thighs, and traveled, with brushing glances, over to his groin. Darcy was moaning, uttering unintelligible words, hands flattened on the ground as he rocked into her body.

“Elizabeth! Please… I beg you… I need you!” He lurched to a sitting position, grasping Lizzy about the waist desperately. She responded with alacrity, clutching his shoulders and rising while he frantically swept her skirts aside. In a swift second they were joined.

Darcy released a reverberant growl, gripping her body to his chest intently and kissing greedily. Lizzy wrapped arms tightly over his shoulders and neck. They raged on, eager and consumed, precipitously attaining their peak. As if by telepathy, they slowed at the same time, mutually sensing the demand to prolong the loving.

Retreating an inch, breath mixing as they panted opened mouth with gazes locking. Lizzy fingered airily over his face while Darcy caressed her back.

“Fitzwilliam,” she whispered, “my love. So perfect… all mine… always.” She kissed his nose and then returned to his mouth, nibbling. “Oh, my lover, the feel of you! Oh God, William! I love you so! How can I describe the joy of your body buried in me?” Uncontainable passion whirled and radiated, bonding them together in unity. Lizzy cupped his face and rested her forehead against his, submitting to the power of his love.

“Elizabeth,” he moaned, “my love… let go… come with me… now!” Pressing his mouth blissfully against hers they allowed the rush of acute pleasure to overtake them.

They held each other tightly, kissing and fondling, neither desiring to leave the other, relishing the intimacy of where their naked flesh connected. Inexplicably, an upsurge of emotion brought tears to Lizzy's eyes and she released a shuddering sob. Darcy withdrew to see her face, frowning as he brushed her tears with his thumbs. “Elizabeth, what is wrong?”

She was shaking her head, squeezing him tight. “Nothing, forgive me, William, I just… love you so much… sometimes it… overwhelms me.” He kissed her tenderly, shushing and soothing. Laying back onto the blanket with her firm in his embrace and pressed over his body, he murmured adoration until she quieted. Finally, with a tremulous laugh and while lodging one arm possessively against the hot skin of his chest, she spoke, “Pregnancy emotions running amok, I suppose.” She nestled closer, more than half her body lying on his.

Silently they enveloped each other, feeling each respiration and heartbeat. Lizzy delighted in the sensation of her husband's warmth. Darcy reveled in the softness of her form under his hands, even clothed, and the occasional movement of their baby against his lower right abdomen. Darcy, cognizant of the change in her breathing signaling that she was moments away from sleep, drew her closer to his body and held her thus for over an hour, ignoring the cramping muscles and sharp rock under his left shoulder blade.

Their final destination for the day was the village of Repton. Darcy thoroughly detailed the history of the pivotal town as they drove, Lizzy in a fever of excitement by the time they crested the small rise and viewed the town spread before them on the sloping hillside.

“Essentially, in the present,” Darcy explained, “Repton is no more than the typical farming and fishing village. Except for the school. Repton School is the oldest independent school for boys in all of England, functioning unbroken since 1557 if you can imagine. My grandfather attended here for three years and my father considered sending me, but the headmasters following my grandfather's day had allowed the school to decline. I honestly do not know the reputation currently. I remember I was disappointed, as the idea of formal education appealed to me. I begged for Eton or Winchester or Harrow instead, but mother was ill, and I think father could not bear wounding her heart by sending me away.” He paused in memory, Lizzy squeezing his knee.

With a smile, he resumed his narrative, “We will tour the school, as it sits on the same campus as Saint Wystan's Church, which is the real draw of the area. Repton, my love, unassuming as it is, was the capital of Mercia in the sixth century. All the kings and princes resided here and were buried in the church. The crypt and mausoleum are mostly intact and the remains of several kings can be viewed. It is very exciting! In fact, these artifacts are some of the oldest and best-preserved Saxon relics in England. Additionally, Repton is the first village where Christianity was preached in the Midlands. Priests were sent from Northumbria, as northern England then was, to convert the pagan Mercian kings. Amazingly, they were successful. The church was built over the mausoleum in the eighth century and has remained relatively unchanged to this day. A priory was founded here as well, but no longer remains, except as the foundation stones for the school.”

“Who was Saint Wystan?”

Darcy pursed his lips in thought. “A prince, if I recall correctly, the son of one of the Kings of Mercia. He was murdered, and miracles apparently ensued as an aftermath. The history is vague, as it often is with legends and superstitions. Eventually, he was sanctified and the church was named for him as its patron saint.”

Lizzy was very impressed, thrilled to touch the ancient stones and imagine medieval men carving and building. Of all the marvels seen on their short jaunt into the past, these ruins were the most ancient. The press of age and history, life lived to the fullest if utterly divergent from the modern familiar, was palpable as they descended the archaic, worn stone steps to the crypt. It was easy to sense trapped emotions and memories, the ethereal whisper of forgotten voices echoing. It was eerie yet oddly comforting to know that time marched on but the indelible stamp of the past endured.

They roved about the grounds, sat in serene contemplation inside the church itself, and then strolled through the town. Like all country hamlets, the buildings were primarily stone and thatch, most old with the random, newer construction interposed. Children dashed about the streets, dogs yapping at their feet as they laughed and skipped and teased. It was very relaxing, and neither Darcy nor Lizzy were in any hurry to return to Derby. The numerous evidences of the past at each turn delighted them and further astounded. It was the perfect end to a perfect day.

The final day of the Darcy journey through the lower Midlands of Derbyshire dawned cloudy with rain threatening. Darcy was tempted to cancel the outing, but Lizzy refused. “You will not melt, William.” She declared firmly. “This is England, after all. If rain halted us, we would never accomplish anything.”

He assumed a disapproving frown, lips twitching. “Very well, Elizabeth, but if you catch a cold do not expect me to nurse you!”

The day's excursion would be interrupted somewhat by intermittent showers, but as luck would have it, they were light and occurred primarily while driving. Elizabeth inhaled deeply of the clean air, lifting her face to the sprinkles, and despite Darcy's dire prediction, did not become ill.

The first stop was Tutbury, a village technically in Staffordshire although it hugged the border so closely that many Tutbury residents lived on the Derbyshire side of the River Dove. The reason Darcy wished his wife to visit the sleepy village was for the thirteenth-century castle. The ruins of the once vast fortress strategically located on a promontory above Tutbury was notable for its aesthetic value and crowning Norman architectural significance; however, it was the history that interested Darcy.

“The fortress city was initially built by the Kings of Mercia long ago,” he told Lizzy, who actually already knew the history, but she loved to hear his voice so did not interrupt. “The natural butte was a perfect location for tactical reasons, and there is archeological evidence that the Romans built a settlement here. The main road we traveled on is a Roman road constructed before the turn of the millennium, a trade route between the south and north. Unfortunately, other than a few coins and similar artifacts, little is known of what the structure here might have been. It may have been no more than a campsite as soldiers moved from one battlefield to the next.”

He paused as they reached the northern edge of the cliff, both captivated by the panoramic view of the Dove valley far below, odiferous bog clearly visible.

Darcy resumed his tale in a hushed voice, “You can imagine why this place was ideal. A fortress was built and some of the kings resided here. Along with Repton, Tutbury was the prime seat of power. However, from the eighth to the eleventh century, between Saxons, Vikings, and the Normans, war raged. Tutbury changed hands numerous times, was ravaged and rebuilt, abandoned and reoccupied. I venture it is nearly impossible to ascertain now which stones were laid when or what the fortress may have actually looked like. In fact, the early Mercian castle was undoubtedly more wood than stone.” They strolled about the fallen piles of rock and half erect walls, catching vague glimpses of rooms and symmetry, only to have the emerging shape lost abruptly in open grassy spaces.

“Over the centuries, various inhabitants renovated the castle, but never to full potency. The constant civil wars of our Norman ancestors, and later the English rulers, prevailed well into the 1300s, love, as you know. As a fortress and city of authority, Tutbury was inhabited and besieged over and over again. One would barely manage to bolster the defenses when another would come along and break holes.” He shook his head at the stupidity of it all. Taking Lizzy's hand, they descended the slick steps leading into the dungeon and remains of the castle, heading toward the south tower. They paused inside the dungeon, not nearly as ominous as it probably once was now that the roof and one wall were collapsed.

“The following three hundred years were peaceful and attempts were made to rebuild with fair success. It was never entirely completed, long years of disuse and delayed restoration preventing full restitution. Nonetheless, the South Tower was considered impenetrable and served as one of the many prisons for Mary, Queen of Scots in the late 1500s. Of all the places she was confined in during those eighteen years, she wrote that she hated Tutbury the most. The castle was largely falling down and poorly constructed, the area surrounding extraordinarily damp and marshy with foul odors frequently arising, and the distance from London detained the delivery of necessary goods. The legends say she became very ill here from the harsh winters.”

One look at the moldy damp stones of the ruined keep and Lizzy felt a surge of sympathy for the long dead Mary, despite her English prejudice toward the treasonous Queen. Lizzy shivered the entire time they rambled about the place, actually thankful to depart.

They turned north from Tutbury, planning a relatively short circle back to Derby. The journey home would be long, as Darcy intended to visit a few places of interest along the way, so he did not wish to travel too far afield today. Therefore, they snaked leisurely through the farmlands and tiny towns dotting the plain. They traveled north through Church Broughton to Longford, onward to Shirley then veering east to Brailsford. Along the way, they stopped as the mood arose to sightsee another church or ruin, nibble a snack, or simply stretch their legs.

After luncheon at a pub in Brailsford, they turned southeast toward Derby. The last stop of significance was Mackworth Castle—or rather, the finely detailed gatehouse of what may have been a castle. Here was a location of true mystery. Why would the arch and façade of a two-story structure be all that remained of a manor house? Was the house destroyed utterly without leaving a trace except for the untouched gatehouse? Or was it some unknown man's folly and never completed? Why was there no history surrounding the structure? Apparently the questions would never be answered.

It was a humorous, puzzling end to a glorious sojourn in lower Derbyshire. The goal of acquainting Elizabeth Darcy with her new home was flourishing. Darcy was supremely satisfied in all ways, and Lizzy did sense a greater kinship and connection to the land that would be her home for many years to come and her children's home. She knew that Darcy now itched to drag her to the wealth of attractions the Peak District boasted. Englishmen were by nature territorial, especially the gentry. For a man of Darcy's station and lineage, Derbyshire was more than merely the place he resided. It was in his blood. His very identity was first as a man of Derbyshire then as an Englishman. Lizzy did not know if she would ever attain his level of affinity for the region, but she understood his passion and felt it touch her through him. It affected her most profoundly when their child moved inside her. The reality that she carried the heir to Pemberley, and all that it meant not only to her husband but also to the future of Derbyshire, was a staggering, but also a joyous honor.