Loving Mr. Darcy: Journeys Beyond Pemberley

Chapter Twenty-Five North and East

Lizzy woke the following at eight-thirty to an empty bed. There was nothing at all unusual about that, although she was surprised Darcy had allowed her to sleep so late. His agenda for the journey home was a secret, but the distance to Pemberley was a nearly two-hour carriage ride without halting. She had assumed he would want to depart early.

Donning a robe, she entered the small sitting room to discover her husband busily scribbling at the desk. He jumped up when she entered, Lizzy laughing and waving him down. She was forever telling him not to do that, but long years of gentlemanly manners could not be erased. He ignored her gesture, approaching with a smile.

“Good morning, my love! Did you sleep well?” He kissed her forehead, smoothing through her hair.

“I always sleep well, dearest, except for when your hot body smothers me completely!”

Darcy grinned. “Forgive me. Even subconsciously I must be near you. I have no control over the matter. Tea and a scone?”

“Yes, please.” She sat, tucking her feet under her. “No need to apologize, William. I simply elbow you hard and you roll away, temporarily at least. Come winter you can repay the treatment when I slip my frozen feet between your thighs.” She lifted her face for a kiss, which he happily bestowed. “What are you so diligently working on this morning?”

He resumed his seat, taking a long gulp of coffee before answering. “A letter to Mr. Keith.” He turned to her, face animated. “I had a thought, if you are amenable and physically tolerant. Our miniature holiday prior to our main one in September has thus far proceeded so enjoyably that I am considering extending it for a few more days. Does this appeal to you?”

Lizzy was already nodding positively. “It definitely appeals to me! I am having a marvelous time, darling, and love sightseeing. Physically I am wonderful, although I would request traversing well maintained roads.” She rubbed her lower abdomen with a grimace, Darcy instantly frowning.

“Why do you say that?”

“The bumpy road to the glade day before yesterday was uncomfortable on my stretching muscles.” She smiled and smoothed the robe fabric tight over a remarkably protruding belly.

Darcy, however, was pale and scowling. “You did not tell me you were in pain, Elizabeth.” His voice was low and stern, eyes steely.

Lizzy sighed, rolling her eyes. “I never will tell you, Mr. Darcy, if you display that face each time! You worry too much, William. It is perfectly normal but uncomfortable nonetheless. I was fine the second we stopped, as you are well aware by how I attacked you not ten minutes later! All I am requesting is we avoid rugged terrain, otherwise I am right as rain and eager for more adventures with you.” She smiled placidly and sipped her tea.

Darcy was yet frowning and thinking frantically. The fear of her not confiding in him due to his overbearing anxiety was a threat he could readily imagine his stubborn Elizabeth implementing. However, he could not pretend he did not fret nor could he allow her stubbornness to push her into overextending herself or ignoring a negative symptom. With consideration of her one request, he resumed.

“Very well then. I have been giving this some thought for the past two days, assuming you would be agreeable to prolonging our journey.” He leaned forward, gazing at her seriously. “My preference, in truth my greatest desire, is to travel through Dovedale and tour the High Peak. Not only is the region majestic and the supreme attraction in all Derbyshire, but,” he paused and shifted uncomfortably, holding her eyes, “Elizabeth, I am keenly cognizant that your trip was prematurely cancelled last year. Since that time, I have deeply yearned to be the one to show you my country, be your tour guide as it were.” He smiled faintly, Lizzy gazing with love in return. “I had a trip planned for early May, but that too was interrupted.”

A cloud of pain crossed his face and Lizzy hastily rose and nestled onto his lap, Darcy hugging tightly. He rested his head against her shoulder, Lizzy kissing the top. “I never knew, William,” she said softly. “Why did you not tell me?”

He shrugged. “It slipped my mind at first and then seemed irrelevant. My joy was having you alive. Adventures and prideful boasting of landscapes paled in significance. Anyway, I imagined that we could tour this fall, but I fear I still judge it unwise.” He glanced up at his wife with a slight grin. “At the risk of incurring your irritation at my worrying overly and being presumptuous and domineering, I will remind you of your own request to avoid rugged roads.”

She arched a brow, gazing questioningly, “You are confusing me, beloved. Are we touring the High Peak or not?”

“I fear not. It is my desire, but perhaps we can finagle a trip there in the spring or next fall. I do worry about you and our child, Elizabeth. Forgive me, but I cannot deny it. Also, I am needed back at Pemberley in five days at the latest for the arrival of Duke Grafton's mares. We could not do justice to the region if rushed, but that does not mean we cannot prolong our trip other places. Please tell me you understand, love?”

Lizzy chuckled, cupping his cheek and leaning in for a long kiss. “My dearest love, you do worry far too much! I will be residing in Derbyshire for the remainder of my life. I am quite certain this will accord us a multitude of opportunities to travel. I do not believe the Peaks will be disappearing anytime soon. Wherever we go will be wonderful because I am with you, not due to the landscape or artifacts.”

Darcy sighed in relief. “I love you, Mrs. Darcy, so very much.”

“Yes, I know,” she answered pertly with a peck to his nose.

She rose, but he grasped her hand, halting her leaving. Placing both broad hands over the daily-burgeoning swell of their son, he held her, waiting and smiling happily when a faint nudge was felt. “I can no longer completely secure him under my hands,” he noted. “In four months we shall see his face, my heart, perhaps less.” He nuzzled his face against the soft mound, kissing tenderly and murmuring nonsense.

Lizzy ran her fingers through his hair, delighting in these moments which were fast becoming a ritual. Darcy's need to connect on some level with his child was instinctual and so incredibly endearing. Additionally, his devotion to and adoration for her “bump,” as she teasingly named it, allayed her sporadic private feelings of dismay at her changing form. Already, though with so much baby growth yet to occur, Lizzy experienced moments of awkwardness and unattractiveness. Her husband, however, seemed unaffected, unless it was to be increasingly amorous and worshipful of her body.

Two hours later they were on the road. Now traveling in the Darcy coach, comfortably nestled on the plushly padded seats with windows open and shades up, Lizzy said a silent adieu to Derby. Their purchases were to be delivered to Pemberley, Darcy having hired a transport wagon yesterday. Today he had sent letters to Mr. Keith and Mrs. Reynolds by express courier warning of the wagon's arrival and of their plans. As for the plans themselves, Lizzy remained uninformed.

Darcy relished these little surprises and Lizzy trusted him, so had no issue with sitting back and watching the scenery go by. They exited town, heading north on the main thoroughfare, which they had entered on, slicing down the middle of Derbyshire. Assuming they had adequately covered the southern and immediate east and west of the lower Midland of Derbyshire, and aware that they were foregoing the northwest and far north for this trek, Lizzy figured they would veer northeast. She was correct.

Only a mile or two up the road, they did diverge. At this point, Darcy decided to enlighten his wife. “I realized we would not have the time to traverse the entire Peak, beloved; however, I figured we could see a remnant of it. Since you relish caverns, the least we can do on this trip is explore one or two.” Lizzy's eyes brightened with excitement and Darcy laughed, squeezing her hand. “Before you leap for joy and rap your head on the ceiling, allow me to explain. I have plotted a circuitous route through the Ilkeston district to Chesterfield today. The town is second to Derby in size, so we can shop if you are not yet weary of the activity.” He paused with a grin, halting her sharp retort with a kiss.

“We can tarry there for a couple of days, shop, see the local attractions, and visit the Sitwells, if you wish it, as Reniswahl Manor is nearby. Then we can travel to Castleton to view Peak Cavern before returning to Pemberley. It is merely the lower edge of the Peak, but it will provide a taste of what to expect at a later date.”

Lizzy was practically bouncing in her seat with enthusiasm. “William, you are brilliant! This is a perfect end to our holiday!” She threw her arms about his neck, hugging his shoulders and kissing his face.

Laughingly, he grabbed her rapidly moving face, pulling in for a centered kiss, and then withdrew to meet her shining eyes. “Thank you for your enthusiasm, love. I fear I must warn you that the terrain between here and Castleton is rather dull. No rugged roads, as you requested, but, alas, the countryside is tame and relatively devoid of interesting peculiarities.”

Lizzy shook her head. “I shall be with you. That is all that truly matters. Besides, I adore pastoral countryside and do not deem it dull in the least. You shall make it exciting, William. My own wonderful, personal tour guide.”

He stroked her cheek with a smile. “A challenge, then, for me to dazzle you. Ah,” he glanced out the window as the carriage slowed, “our first destination. The village of Horsley.” They stood before another church, this one stunning and remarkably different in style then all the ones visited thus far. The entire structure of beautiful grey stone, ornate with a strongly buttressed, spire-topped tower nestled on a grassy, flower laden rise. An ancient cemetery graced the immediate surrounds, dating back to the thirteenth century. A fifteenth century addition of a high clerestory with a dramatic array of windows under a handsome parapet of battlements and pinnacles gave the church a castle-like appearance. The multitude of windows lit the wide interior to nearly full daylight intensity. It was wholly spectacular.

Lizzy and Darcy wandered about, once again filled with the peace which inevitably saturated such places. The moderate hill yielded a stupendous view of the immediate environs to the north. Despite Darcy's dismal prediction of monotony, Lizzy found the landscape breathtaking. The endless rolling hills stretched to the horizon, hazy grey mist merging the sky with the land. Glittering little streams and patchwork-quilt fields of crops and orchards with simple country homes were all that was readily seen, but it was serene and earthy. The air was teeming with freshly tilled soil, sweet flowers, cut grass, the songs of birds and bleats of sheep, and a host of other natural sensations.

Lizzy inhaled deeply, squeezing her husband's arm in contentment. “It reminds me of our home. Growing things, organic and wild, and the workaday life of unpretentious folk. I have always adored simplicity and raw nature. I am thankful that, for all the opulence of Pemberley even with its cultured gardens, at its heart, it is a farm and a home.” She glanced up at Darcy, who was looking at her in astonishment. “You see, my love, we never were that different, you and I. I may have more easily dressed the part of a country girl, but your soul is of the land.”

It was with tremendous effort that Darcy resisted embracing his wife where they stood in public. He cleared his throat gruffly, blinked several times, and silently squeezed her hand in return.

The eight miles to Alfreton were entirely rural, the villages passed tiny in the extreme. Twice they were forced to halt for herding sheep crossing the road and once to lend a ride to an elderly man whose wagon wheel had broken. They entered Alfreton, a community predominately reliant on coal mining, nestled in the Amber River Valley, on their Friday market day. Farmers from miles around converged to sell their wares every Friday since 1251. Neither Darcy nor Lizzy were aware of this fact, it being a local event, but were thrilled nonetheless. The narrow streets were jammed, forcing the Darcys to disembark on the edge of town, Darcy commanding Mr. Anders to circle around to the north where they would meet him later. The Darcys set out to explore, a blushing Samuel escorting his betrothed in the opposite direction through the press of people and stalls.

The festive atmosphere was enchanting. Stall upon ceaseless stall of fresh vegetables and fruits, cured meats and sausages, homemade ales and wines, arts and crafts, and so forth. Vendors sold delicious smelling meat pies and tarts, whole roasted turkey legs, corn on the cob, stews, freshly baked breads and pastries, and so much more. Deciding on which culinary delight to devour was agony! Lizzy ate until she almost felt ill, and Darcy was apparently a bottomless pit.

A stall selling lovely bracelets of polished stones intrigued Lizzy and she purchased one for each girl child and caretaker at the orphanage. For the boys, she purchased small, hand-whittled whistles, sure to delight the boys and irritate the adults. For Georgiana, who incessantly complained of the cold, she found slippers fashioned of sheepskin. They were unadorned but sturdy, with thick soles and excellent stitching.

They wandered leisurely through the crowded streets, listened to the varied minstrels playing, watched a puppet show and a crude enactment of Henry V on the grassy village square, and were charmed at the overheard conversations of the locals, which universally centered on romance and agriculture. The press of people thinned as they reached the northern boundary of the village, meeting up with the carriage and Samuel and Marguerite. They resumed their journey, after providing Mr. Anders and Phillips with fresh food and small mugs of ale.

Pausing briefly in Tibshelf, mainly for Darcy to show Lizzy one of the shallow coal mines the area has been famous for since the 1500s, when Bess of Hardwick had opened the first one. Darcy stood with his wife on a low rise near the edge of the village; across a narrow gorge sat a hulking monstrosity in grey and black with smoke billowing from tall stacks. It was one of the new deep mines recently opened to delve hundreds of feet into the ground for hidden caches of coal. With expressions of disgust, they watched the blackened workers attending to their duties while Darcy explained the fundamentals as best as he knew them.

“Do you invest in coal mining?” Lizzy asked nervously, fearing a positive response.

Darcy shook his head. “No. I have looked into the prospect and it is tempting, as the industry is profitable and I fear the wave of the energy future. However, I could not bring myself to be a part of such a filthy and dangerous production. Cotton milling and the various occupations necessary to keep Pemberley solvent are hazardous enough. Besides, I have a sufficient number of ventures to keep me busy.”

He smiled at the relief written on her face, taking her elbow and steering her along the pathway until the ugly mine had disappeared from view. In stark contrast to the dismal vision of scarred landscape to the south was the majestic mansion Hardwick Hall. Standing again on the edge of a shallow vale, Lizzy and Darcy could clearly see the stupendous house and magnificent grounds. In fact, Hardwick Hall, the breathtaking mansion home of the wealthy Elizabeth Hardwick, could readily be seen from nearly all points of the little hamlet.

“As you know, my love, versed in English history as thoroughly as you are, the Countess of Shrewsbury was a powerful and rich woman, second only to Queen Elizabeth herself. I must confess that if any Derbyshire mansion rivals Pemberley, it would be Hardwick.”

“I will concur that it is impressive, dearest. I do not think I have ever encountered a house with such enormous windows. Perhaps I too am merely prejudiced, but I think I prefer the baroque style of Pemberley to the Tudor. In the end, I suppose it depends on one's taste without there being a definitive winner. Pemberley seems homier and not so ostentatious. I could never imagine a Darcy wanting their initials boldly emblazoned from each pinnacle!”

Darcy laughed, glancing at her impishly. “Are you certain? I was just envisaging how it would look to have E. D. in scrolling steel or marble on all four corners of the manor.”

Lizzy seriously shook her head, but her lips were twitching with humor. “Too bold, William. Perchance a niche in the parlor for a carved idol and candles? Or possibly a blooming hedge shaped like my face?”

Darcy shook his head, lips pursed. “No to the idol. I prefer to offer my worship upon your physical body. As for the hedge,” he said, nodding, “I shall give it some thought.”

“Ha!” Lizzy pinched his side. “Good luck on that one. I am positive Mr. Clark would flatly refuse if you requested such an atrocity on his grounds.”

“His grounds?” Darcy said with lifted brow.

Lizzy laughed. “Make no mistake, William. You own the estate and pay the bills, but when it comes to the landscaping, Mr. Clark is king.”

Chesterfield, although the second largest town in Derbyshire, was a third the size and population of Derby. Initially this disparity was not evident, the bustling activity along the streets fairly intense. Chesterfield's central location on the northeastern region of the county, coupled with lying on the northern road to Sheffield, ensured a steady traffic.

“Why do you never travel here, William? Chesterfield is closer to Pemberley than Derby.”

Darcy shrugged. “I have no business ventures here, and Derby has more to offer in both commerce and entertainment. Frankly, I tend not to travel there all that much. In the past, prior to marrying you”—he bent for a kiss to her brow—“I passed so much time in London that I had little need to venture afield once at Pemberley. You are correct that Chesterfield is nearer to us. One can be here in an hour by carriage, far less on a fast horse. We should keep this in mind as we wander about. It may be a more reasonable alternative, my love, if you need wares not attainable in Lambton or Matlock.”

The carriage pulled into a long drive before a substantial sized inn entirely constructed of multihued river stones. Numerous singular stone cottages and moderate two-story buildings were scattered about the extensive, park-like property. The whole campus bordered the River Hipper.

Lizzy was gazing out the carriage window in awe. “This is a lovely inn for such a modest town. Are they expecting us?” She turned to her husband with questioning eyes.

“No, but that is immaterial. We are the Darcys. They will have a room for us.” He said it bluntly and absently, Lizzy taken aback momentarily; then she remembered with a start the truth of his words, especially as the carriage halted and five livery garbed servants leapt forward to assist with their luggage while Phillips hopped down and opened the door. They were greeted formally by the hotel's superintendent, the man fawning as if welcoming the Prince Regent himself. Darcy assumed his full Master of Pemberley pose, the semblance natural and anticipated in these sorts of situations.

Lizzy, after months in London, was quite familiar with this presentation of her privately boyish, casual spouse. Therefore, it no longer shocked her and, in fact, sent little shivers of excitement up her spine. She adored both aspects of Darcy's personality: the charming, teasing, passionate man that he was when relaxed as well as the commanding, forceful, aristocratic man of means who was every inch a Darcy.

Within minutes, they were escorted to a secluded cottage on the edge of the river. Samuel and Marguerite instantly set about unpacking Lizzy's and Darcy's personal effects; a maid arrived with freshly cut flowers and to open the windows; a servant with a tray of wine, cheeses, and bread appeared; and a last materialized to provide an orientation to the cottage's facilities. It was a whirlwind, and Lizzy was exhausted by the time they all departed.

As soon as the door closed behind the last maid, Lizzy slumped onto the sofa with a heavy sigh. “My, my! What an ordeal. The rooms are delightful though. Have you stayed here before?”

Darcy was at the sidebar pouring a whiskey. He shook his head, taking a large swallow. “No. I asked the manager at the Georgian in Derby for the best lodging Chesterfield had to offer, and he recommended this: the Royal Cottages. I shall have to send a note of thanks. The grounds alone are worth the expense.” He gazed out the window as he sipped his drink.

“Well, I like the privacy of a separate dwelling with our own patio and river view.” Lizzy rose, approaching her daydreaming husband, slipping both arms about his waist, and nestling her head between his shoulder blades. “Lost in thought, my love?”

“Forgive me, dearest. I was merely trying to decide what to do next. Stroll about the grounds? Walk into town and see the sights? Or remove all your clothes and make love?”

“What a dilemma, Mr. Darcy. What shall you do?”

He laughed, pulling her around and clasping her face. “First, I shall kiss you, my wife, as I have yearned to do all day.” He did, Lizzy rapidly growing weak in the knees from the power of his allure and love as poured was evident from his kiss. Such a simple thing a kiss is, yet potent to a degree unmatched by any other force on earth. Darcy encircled her waist, pressing her tightly to his body. Both allowed the magic of the kiss to course through their beings, the indescribable intimacy of this fundamental act of devotion bonding them.

Darcy broke away with a contented sigh, resting his forehead on hers. “My Elizabeth, how tremendously I love you. So much so that I do not wish to rush loving you.” He brushed her lips tenderly with a feathering tickle of his tongue. “Let us walk a bit, my heart, explore, and enjoy each other's company. Tonight I shall make love to you slowly, no haste whatsoever, followed by endless hours of bliss in your arms.” He withdrew, meeting her eyes with a smile; Lizzy's expression suffused with passion and clearly undecided regarding waiting. Darcy chuckled softly, bestowed a brief buss to her nose. “Anticipation is sweet, lover. Now, write a note to the Sitwells, and then we shall survey the land.”

They stopped at the lobby to obtain a general map of the town and information from the manager as to the main attractions. Darcy called for the coachman to deliver the missive to Reniswahl Hall, and then he and Lizzy set out. They walked through the immediate surrounds, highly impressed by the finely landscaped gardens so perfectly merged with the natural vegetation by the river. Enormous trees grew haphazardly, offering shade and providing the beginning carpet of autumn leaves of red and gold that padded the cobblestone pathways. An arched stone bridge spanned the narrow, placid river, Chesterfield proper looming on the far side. Ducks and swans paddled serenely across the still water.

Like all English towns of ancient ancestry, there are always the occasional stories to tell. Chesterfield was no exception, although the vast majority of the town was fairly modern and the region relatively devoid of any truly exciting history. A narrow street known as The Shambles held the claim as the oldest part of town, dating from the twelfth century. It was an area of tea houses, small exclusive shops, and a pub called the Royal Oak, which was reputedly once a resting place for the medieval Knights Templar.

The shopping district was inclusive, even boasting a small toy store that Lizzy forbid Darcy to enter. They did a bit of shopping, purchasing four baby outfits which were simply too adorable to resist. Darcy noticed the rare bookstore on the far side of the street prior to Lizzy, grasping her arm and propelling her onto the road, narrowly avoiding a pile of horse droppings in his enthusiasm. No doubt the highlight of that leg of their trip was finding a Chaucer, Thomas Paine's Rights of Man, and Molière's Le Misanthrope in the original French that he promised to read to Lizzy, who had read the English translation but nonetheless delighted in hearing his melodious voice speaking French.

Late afternoon found them before another church. Here was the one true oddity and tourist attraction of Chesterfield. The thirteenth century church, dedicated to Saint Mary and all Saints, was beautifully constructed of grey and gold bricks in the typical cruciform formation, with tall arched windows gracing the sides and above the main entrance. Both the interior and exterior was a marvel of ornate craftsmanship at its finest. However, it was the spire atop the clock tower which lent the church its uniqueness and countrywide fame. Apparently, the architects erred in their engineering and erection. The two-hundred-foot spire of wood was built perfectly and then covered with over thirty tons of stunning lead tiles in a herringbone style, a massive cross at the pinnacle. It was brilliant and surely struck awe in all who beheld it. Unfortunately, the error was in utilizing unseasoned wood, which, as it gradually dried over the centuries, had been twisted by the sheer weight of the tiles. Now, the once reportedly spectacular but standard spire, was yearly changing as it continued to spiral incrementally, creating a wonder both strange and extraordinary.

They returned to the inn as dusk was descending. Deciding to dine early so they could spend the remainder of the evening in quiet, casual solitude was Darcy's idea and was met with his wife's smiling approval. Therefore, by eight, they were reclining in their sitting room in robes, Molière imparted in flawless resonant French to a rapt Lizzy. She sat propped against the sofa arm, her feet on her husband's lap being softly massaged while she knit a blue baby blanket. Lizzy did not understand a word, but this was inconsequential as far as she was concerned. The joy was in hearing Darcy's voice and the placid companionship engendered in these relaxed enterprises.

“I finished!” she announced with pride and relief. “How does it look?”

She held the small blanket up, Darcy reaching over to touch the edge. “It is so soft. Is this special yarn for infants?”

She nodded. “Yes. It is woven to be pliable and tender to their delicate skin. Harsh wool would be scratchy and leave a rash.”

“Oh. I did not remember that their skin was so sensitive. It makes sense, I suppose. Foals have fine hair and delicate hides initially.”

Lizzy laughed. “Well, I do not expect our child will be covered with hair nor have a hide necessarily, but his skin will be fair and very soft, like velvet.” She cocked her head. “Have you truly not seen or touched a baby, William?”

He shrugged. “I remember Georgie when she was small. Her skin was nearly translucent it was so fair. Minute veins visible and she had little hair. I recall mother bemoaning in jest how bald she was.” He smiled in memory. “Mother said I was born with a mass of dark hair, so perhaps our son will be as well.” He paused, still stroking the blanket with faraway eyes. “The blanket is beautiful, my love. You knit masterfully despite your disdain for the activity. As for the answer to your question, I have seen infants in perambulators about the park, held by parents as they stroll, that sort of thing. However, I have not, since Georgiana, actually touched nor really examined one. I confess this with trepidation as you will likely decide I am unfit to hold our child, and you would be wise to do so.” He smiled, laying one hand on her belly.

Lizzy shook her head. “You are mistaken, love. I have no fears whatsoever as to your competence as a father.” Darcy beamed, leaning forward to initiate his ritualistic conversation with his child, but was interrupted by a knock at the door.

He rose with a frown, tightening his robe as he walked to the door. Lizzy observed him, always delighting in his fine figure so perfectly displayed when robed. It was a servant delivering an envelope. “It is from the Sitwells,” he declared, handing the letter to Lizzy and promptly resuming his interrupted task.

Darcy spoke French endearments, Lizzy reading Julia Sitwell's letter with a giggle. “Julia insists we visit tomorrow afternoon and stay for dinner. She even enclosed a sketch map with noted interesting sights between here and there. She says Mr. Sitwell is already chalking his cue, determined to triumph over you.”

Darcy snorted. “Highly unlikely that. Rory has never been proficient at billiards. I taught him when we were at Cambridge, but he never readily grasped the game. His hand to eye coordination is horrendous. Now, give the man a deck of cards or dice and a genius emerges. His tactic is to mellow me by gracefully losing several billiard sets then roping me into faro and emptying my money clip.” He kissed above her navel, resting his cheek on her mound. “I shall ensure I have adequate funds on hand so our host will feel vindicated. Ah, there you are my son! He was being very sedate tonight.”

“Perhaps he did not recognize your voice in French. You confused his fragile mind.” Lizzy ran her fingers through Darcy's hair, smiling at the sweet vision of her husband's head lying on her abdomen, one hand gently stroking her belly.

“Pardonnez-moi, mon petit fils, mon enfant précieux. English hereafter, until you are older. Then, alas, you must learn French, and more.” He lifted slightly, peeling Lizzy's gown upward until bare flesh was revealed. He kissed her belly again, stroking and talking quietly. “How big do you think he is? Do you recall what the book said for the sixth month?” He glanced up at Lizzy, who shook her head.

“I believe it said a little over a pound. Still so small to cause me to swell so,” she finished with a frown.

Darcy raised a brow. “Are you concerned, beloved? You should not be, as you are beautiful. This”—he kissed her belly once more—“is beautiful. It is only for a short span of time, my heart, and then you shall be thin again.”

“How can you be so certain of that, William? Women's bodies do alter dramatically after childbirth, or so I am told.”

He rose, threading his way up her body until fully over her and caressing her face. “Not always, Elizabeth. My mother birthed three children and was as tiny as when a maiden. You have seen the portraits. Aunt Madeline is comely and she has birthed four. I imagine there are alterations. Subtle changes a husband would notice such as those stretches Uncle George spoke of. In the end, these marks are a part of aging and a God-given reminder of human travails and, in the case of childbirth, the miracles of motherhood and life.” He smiled into his wife's eyes and kissed her softly.

“All that being said,” he continued, “my love and desire for you is not based on the appearance of your body. That is not to say I do not adore your shape, your perfect breasts and lush bottom, and all points head to toe. However, it is your heart I love, my wife. Whatever the flesh encasing the soul, it is you I yearn for and need to survive. This will never diminish.”

He kissed her deeply, hand stroking down her side and pulling one leg over his waist. Breathlessly, lips near her ear, he resumed, “When I become aroused by you, my precious love, I am not thinking of your flesh, but of you. Who you are, how you love me and touch my soul. How your gorgeous eyes caress me and gaze with love upon me. How I am fulfilled by your presence in my life. How you have gifted me with your devotion and promises and commitment.”

He withdrew, fingering over her parted lips. “Elizabeth, my eternal love. Your body is rapturous to me not because it is perfection, but because it is yours. I fell in love with you ere I began imagining what figure hid under your clothing. Your luscious shape has exceeded my imaginings, but I know my love and passion for you would be as strong if you had eleven toes or a big birthmark or hairs on your chest or…”

Lizzy chuckled softly, halting him with a kiss. “Fitzwilliam,” she purred, delving deeply into his blue eyes that shone with pure love, “I love you.”

He smiled. “There is to what I refer. No one on this earth says my name so that I melt as heated wax while becoming hard as iron simultaneously. Only you, my Lizzy, now and forever.” He claimed her mouth with fervid passion yet caressed gently, robe opened as he joined with his wife in blissful harmony.

Lizzy sighed in happiness, his adoring professions coupled with the feel of him loving her bathing her in joy and reassurance. He moved slowly, caressing—always caressing—as he kissed her. Lizzy pulled the robe off his shoulder, gliding a hand over his back and hugging him closer. Traveling lips along his jaw to ear and shifting to encompass his body with all her limbs, Darcy moaned faintly as Lizzy whispered, “Fitzwilliam, how do you know precisely what to say to fill my heart and restore my confidence?”

He lifted his upper body so he could see her face, halting all movement momentarily, fingers fondling each feature and kissing tenderly. “I only speak the truth in my heart, Elizabeth. You have no reason to suffer negative emotions regarding my love for you and undying devotion, but I shall offer comfort and assurance every waking second if necessary.” He resumed his steady rhythm with a breathy growl. “Additionally, I shall make love to you endlessly and adoringly. My wife, my own love. So beautiful you are to me. Elizabeth,” he finished in a reverent whisper.

Grasping his face with a sudden burst of passionate enthusiasm, Lizzy pressed into his mouth, Darcy responding immediately. Never relenting in her kiss, Lizzy next attacked his robe, struggling to free his arms to her touch. Darcy attempted to assist yet refused to cease kissing or moving, the conjoint endeavor on the narrow sofa humorously spiraling.

They both began to giggle, the robe catching on his elbows so that when he tried to rise he began to sway off the couch. Desperately seeking a grip on something to correct his precarious perch and imbalance, he clutched the only thing at hand: her thigh. As a result, they both tumbled onto the floor in a heap, laughing hysterically.

His laughter, combined with the breath being knocked from his lungs as a result of hitting the hardwood floor and Lizzy's legs squashing his chest, had Darcy gasping. Laughing, Lizzy strived to right herself, silken robe and gown tangled about her legs.

At length she knelt beside her teary-eyed, wheezing spouse. “William? Are you all right? Oh my goodness, you look so ridiculous!” She dissolved in further giggles, bending to kiss his cheeks and reaching to disencumber him. His arms were trapped at odd angles under his body, robe askew and bunched bizarrely about his nakedness. She sat him up; his robe finally slipped from arms that he instantly threw about her waist with hands flattened on her back, pressing in for a thorough kiss. Still snickering, she captured his lower lip between her teeth and fondled his groin.

Darcy groaned, hands sliding to her bottom but Lizzy jumped up and stepped back. The puzzled pout crossing his features escalated her humor. “Elizabeth?” She shushed him, flouncing as she removed her robe with a twirl, trailing the ends over his face before releasing the silk to fall as a cloud onto his head.

“Come, lover. Catch me if you can.” The gown followed the robe in a pile on his head, Darcy sweeping blindly for her legs but she was gone. Moments later, entering the modest bedchamber Darcy found his lovely bride stretched languidly and deliciously in the middle of the bed. “What took you so long?” she teased, opening her arms with hands reaching.

Smiling broadly with indescribable happiness, he joined her, body pressing beautifully over hers with mutual heat seeping through every pore. Not uttering a word, he kissed her consumingly as his hands stroked through her tousled hair. Lizzy clutched him tight, legs over legs and arms about chest, rubbing and fondling flaming skin in ecstasy.

Darcy kissed softly over her face, ending on her nose. Meeting her blazing eyes with a smile, still smoothing through her hair and brushing thumbs over her cheeks, he said, “I love you, Mrs. Darcy. I love how you make me feel like a giddy child and a virile man at the same time.” He nibbled her ruddy lips. “I love how you tease me and cherish me. You are my breath and life, Elizabeth, best beloved.” Another deep kiss was followed by a trailing firestorm of sweet kisses and suckles down her neck to shoulders.

Winding his way downward, Darcy aroused his wife to insane heights. Lizzy still, after nearly nine months of marriage, could not understand how his hands and lips were everywhere at once. Every inch of her skin was scorched and begging for more of his masterful, provocative touch. Each nerve throbbed, every cell ached in yearning, and all her muscles trembled. Blood rushed with the pounding of her passion infused heart. Lungs cried for air. It was divine agony and she beseeched him to persist, her very existence dependant on his touch.

Ardor raged. Lizzy was incoherent with desire. Darcy loved his wife, kissing and caressing, the giving of pleasure transcendent until she arched and shouted his name in glory. Tremors wracked her as he bestowed brushing kisses over her thighs and abdomen. Ceaseless delicate kisses imparted as he worked his way back up to her bosom, eventually rolling to his side with Lizzy in his firm embrace. “William,” she murmured faintly, “I love you.”

He lifted himself, gazing with bottomless depths of love, smiling as he pulled her shivering body against his chest. “Elizabeth, you have no idea how I enjoy pleasuring you.”

They embraced in silence for a time, Lizzy's wits gradually returning to normal. Well aware that he remained aroused and unfulfilled, Lizzy commenced the succulent exploration of his body. She kissed the hollow of his throat, pulse warm and strong. Hands traveled over his chest and belly to all other masculine parts, Darcy groaning from the sensation. As lazily and competently as he had rocketed her passion, she did the same.

It was a magical night of interminable lovemaking. They had found on occasion that their mutual desire was insatiable, both seemingly inexhaustible in their need for each other. Tonight was such a night. Not two hours of deep sleep later, it was Lizzy who first roused her husband with caresses and kisses.

Darcy's response was instant, even if he remained more asleep than awake when she loved him. Several hours of limb-entangled slumber passed before they sleepily reached for each other, Darcy moving onto his welcoming wife.

“Lizzy, my beautiful Lizzy.” He murmured gravelly, holding tightly while nuzzling her neck. Lizzy wrapped about him, relaxing pliantly under his crushing weight as he moved so beautifully. It was a prolonged flowing interlude, lapping and waving bliss warming and intensely satisfying. Darcy collapsed with a throaty groan, pulling her to his chest as he rolled to the side. Promptly, they returned to refreshing slumber.

Many hours later, sunlight streaming through the parted curtains, Lizzy roused to discover her husband lying beside her and staring. She smiled groggily, reaching to caress his neck. “I still deem it horribly unfair,” she whispered.

“What is unfair?”

“How you can actually be more handsome with mussed hair and unshaven face. Even your grating voice is sexy and irresistible. Horribly unfair as I, thanks to you my lover, look a fright.”

Darcy smiled, elegant fingers tracing circles on her breasts. “Thank you for the compliment. However, you are grossly mistaken regarding looking a fright. You are ravishing. Never more lovely than in the morning sun with hair loose and the flush of our lovemaking yet apparent on your skin.” He leaned in for a kiss, staying near her mouth. “I have watched you for the past twenty minutes, love abounding and desire rising. I need you my wife, always.”

He finished with a sigh, tenderly encompassing her mouth as he merged with her, two bodies now one. They made love again, the end to a perfect night and beginning of an eventful day.

“Will you please see this reaches Reniswahl Hall as soon as feasible?” Darcy asked the desk clerk, handing a folded parchment with the Darcy seal melted securely over the edge.

“Certainly, Mr. Darcy.” He motioned toward a page who rushed over.

Darcy waited patiently while instructions were given and then continued, “Mrs. Darcy and I will be away all day. Please ensure a tray of fresh fruit and drinking water is available in our room.”

“Of course, sir. If I may inquire, are you planning to enter the Sherwood Forest region? I only intrude as a warning. There have lately been reports of bandits in Nottinghamshire. That ilk always seems to believe the foolishness of the Robin Hood legends lend a credence to their nefarious activities.”

Darcy scowled. “Romantic ideals of thievery, although I doubt they share their spoils with the average citizens. Thank you for the warning; however, we will not be traveling that far east. Nonetheless, we shall be cautious. Good day.”

He joined his wife by the carriage, setting off for another excursion abroad. Samuel and Marguerite were freed for the day to ramble through the town and seek their own adventures. The weather was lovely, the sun shining brightly with the promise of sweltering heat in the late afternoon. Currently, though, there was a brisk, cooling breeze. The terrain due east of Chesterfield was identical to the landscape passed all the previous day. Endless rolling hills of green, generally crop covered with the scattered copse of trees and small stone farmhouses. Dotting the beauty were the increasingly frequent black-scarred rubbles of stone indicative of a coal mine.

“How far under the ground do the rails extend?” Lizzy asked curiously.

“Miles in some cases, I suppose. I confess to not being well educated on the inner workings of coal mining. The east Midlands is replete with coal. A wonderful blessing for England's economy but depressing for the locals. I envision this area gradually diverting from farms to mines as the years unfold.” He shook his head sadly. “The waves of industry and progress march on, Elizabeth.”

The eight miles to Bolsover displayed this odd mixture of lush scenery with interspersed mutilated holes. However, the closer they drew to the modest town on the hill, all else faded except the looming vision of Bolsover Castle. The massive keep, a true remnant of a long gone day of medieval knights and chivalry, sat on a prominent bluff as expected, and dominated the entire horizon. They drove up the curving incline to the castle, Darcy launching into his usual narrative.

“Another claim of the Cavendish family, love. The original medieval castle built during the Norman Conquest is essentially gone, but Lord Cavendish, who acquired the property in the seventeenth century, built his fanciful keep with the original in mind. Therefore, the walls have never withstood a siege, but it certainly looks as if it could!”

“Do any of the Cavendish family members dwell here?”

“Not any longer. All the furniture has been removed to Welbeck Abbey and a token staff inhabits to maintain, although the lack of constant upkeep is beginning to show. Lord Cavendish and the bulk of the family remain in Devonshire. The castle is more of a tourist attraction than a home, which is fortunate for us.” He smiled at his wife, leaning for a kiss before they disembarked on the wide lawn before the main entrance to the vast house.

Thereafter followed a three-hour, leisurely stroll about the estate grounds and tour of the castle public rooms. The recognition by the staff of the Darcy crest afforded them greater access than the general visiting public. They walked along the battlement walls, the views, across ostensibly the entire width and length of Derbyshire, absolutely breathtaking. It may not have been a functional castle as in the ancient stories, but the atmosphere was authentic. Lizzy honestly expected to see a shining steel encased knight gallop into the courtyard with lance and broadsword at the ready.

The interior was as all fine English manors: lavish and well apportioned. Richly painted murals famous for their depiction of romanticism and English Renaissance chivalry graced nearly every wall and ceiling. It was stupendous, if slightly overwhelming. The cavernous feel of the ostentatious rooms was especially noticeable without furnishings.

Lizzy and Darcy picnicked in solitude in one of the immense courtyards with a bubbling fountain of Venus centrally located. Resuming their journey, Darcy explained the next planned adventure. “I know how you love trees, so thought you would appreciate visiting Whitwell Wood. It is far and away the finest and most sweeping woodland in England, with some four hundred acres of ash, oak, beech, sycamore, and hazel trees predominantly. We can easily swing through the fringes as we veer west toward Eckington and Reniswahl Hall.”

The roughly six-mile drive was delightful. Leaving the coal mines mostly behind, they passed through areas rich in vegetation mingled with limestone buttes. The cool breeze of earlier in the day had long since dissipated, leaving a rising heat. Darcy opened the windows, aiding his wife with fanning as they left the tiny hamlet of Elmton and casually meandered through the barren countryside.

The carriage halted unexpectedly, a sharp rap on the roof indicating the driver's wish to converse with the occupant. Darcy frowned, leaning forward to the open window.

“Yes, Mr. Anders?”

“Sir, pardon the intrusion, but there appears to be an overturned wagon ahead. Should we stop to check it out?”

“Are there any people about?”

“Not that I can see from here, sir.”

Darcy thought for a moment, peering out the window at the empty landscape. “Approach slowly and be cautious. Halt if anyone is visibly hurt. Phillips, be alert and prepared.”

“Yes sir,” they echoed, the carriage moving forward slowly.

“Elizabeth, pull the shades on your side and stay back,” he commanded tensely, reaching to assure the doors were securely latched and to shut the window.

“Do you suspect something amiss, William?” she asked, voice strained.

He glanced over his shoulder with a quick smile. “I am sure it is nothing, love, but wisdom begs for caution.” He resumed his watchfulness to the outside, running a hand under the seat briefly. Eventually he glimpsed the aforementioned wagon lying upside down and partially in the road. Immediate bells rang in his head as there were neither horses nearby nor the expected cargo strewn about the ground. The region surrounding was rocky, with numerous trees thinly spaced on either side of the road, but relatively flat with narrow depressions and hollows. Nonetheless, the road was a well maintained one without ruts or ditches, no loose boulders on tall cliffs or other ready causes to overturn a wagon.

He sensed Lizzy closely behind him before she spoke. “Sit back!” he snapped, Lizzy obeying reflexively to his terse demand. Darcy patted her knee to ease his rudeness precisely as all hell broke loose outside.