My Dearest Mr. Darcy: An Amazing Journey into Love Everlasting

Chapter Fourteen A Time Apart

“Damnation!” Darcy muttered, throwing the letter onto his desk and rising to pace in agitation to the window. He stood for a time staring sightlessly as thoughts whirled. Finally with a heavy sigh he turned and exited the room. Seeking the nearest footman, he was informed that his wife, as suspected despite the dreary weather, was in the garden.

It was a week after their renewal ceremony, the guests all returned to their homes except for Dr. Darcy and Col. Fitzwilliam. The two bachelors were currently riding, Darcy assumed, since they had asked him to join their excursion. Unfortunately a recently delivered pile of letters from Mr. Daniels was consuming all his time. Furthermore, the news from London would require an additional sacrifice that threatened to send him into a serious irritation, hence why he sought his lovely bride. Always her presence soothed him, but primarily it was to discuss the business at hand.

He smiled instantly at the sight of her dressed in a thick coat and old boots, wide brimmed bonnet shading her delicate skin, and bulging belly not inhibiting her from kneeling in the dirt and digging vigorously. She wore gloves as she planted the row of bulbs, but the smudges of dirt on her cheeks and neck illustrated her lack of concern for delicacy at the cost of fun. Darcy adored her lack of pretension as one of the hundreds of attributes that set her apart from all other women.

She glanced up at the sound of gravel crunching, lighting up immediately, and sitting back on her heels. “William! What are you doing here?”

“I needed to see your lovely face.”

Lizzy laughed, brushing at the stray wisps of hair tickling her eyes before removing the filthy gloves. “I rather doubt it lovely at the moment, but thank you. Since you are here I shall request your assistance rising.”

He gladly clasped the hands offered, pulling her up and leaning for a kiss. She withdrew slightly, halting him with a chuckle. “Kiss me and you will likely get dirt on your face.”

“A little dirt never hurt anyone.”

Several minutes later she was laughing again as she wiped his soiled nose and brushed over the specks on his jacket. “I did warn you.”

“Sit, my dear. Aside from your delightful kisses, I do need to talk to you.” Lizzy noted the tone of seriousness, turning to him the moment they assumed seats on the marble bench. Darcy clasped her hands, meeting her eyes with a faint, forced smile. “You know I received missives from Mr. Daniels.” She nodded. “It is as I feared. I must travel to Town to attend to business matters. You know I hoped to avoid this, but never actually thought I would succeed. Perhaps in time I will manage to conclude all business issues from the distance of Pemberley, but not yet. For too many years I conducted a large quantity of my affairs from the city.” He paused, softly stroking her pale cheeks. “I am rambling to divert the moment when I must face your tears and control my own. Elizabeth, I am so very sorry!”

She swallowed. “Hush, William. We knew this was a distinct possibility. You cannot ignore your responsibilities. When…” her voice caught, “when will you leave?”

“Tomorrow, early. The sooner I depart, the sooner I will be home. I dare not wait any longer for fear our baby comes early. As it is I am taking a chance and it kills me to imagine that I…” He stopped, voice also catching. He closed his eyes, pulling her dusty forehead to rest on his. “Oh God, Elizabeth! Tell me all will be well, please.”

“All will be well, my love,” she whispered. “George is here, Georgiana and Richard too. I am healthy and your stubborn son shows no indication that he wishes to vacate his warm cocoon anytime soon. He appears to enjoy pummeling my internal organs. Besides, if his manners are anything remotely akin to his father's, he will diligently wait until you return.”

She too was rambling, avoiding the painful topic of her loneliness when he was away. She was not too fearful of their child's birth transpiring too soon, although anything was possible, her main heartache merely being the void created with his absence. “How long will you be gone?”

He sighed, standing to pace in agitation with fingers jerking at his sides. “No more than two weeks. Generally I spend a month or so in Town this time of year, but always that has included socializing, which I will happily forego. I have given this quite a bit of thought and am certain I can conclude my affairs in a couple weeks. I will likely drive Mr. Daniels's entire firm insane with my surly attitude and rude haste, but it cannot be helped. Additionally I will surely insult someone by rebuffing a dinner invitation. Nonetheless, I refuse to be parted from you for too long. Propriety be damned! I need to be here!” He whirled around, pebbles flying. “Elizabeth, tell me not to go and I will not. Say the word and I will find a way around this.”

She bit her lip, staring into his troubled face. “I do not need to ask if you have considered all other options as I know you to be methodical in the extreme. If there was another way, you would have discovered it.” She rose and crossed to where he stood panting and rigid, placing her palms lightly on his chest. “Later I shall tell you how much I will miss you, but for now I insist you go make the arrangements you need to depart tomorrow. Prepare your thoughts and papers so you can finish the tasks and return to us quickly.”

“Elizabeth, I love you so very much.” He kissed her deeply, withdrawing with effort and breathing slowly to calm. “Very well, I shall make the arrangements. Meet me in our chamber in one hour. I need to be alone with you.” She nodded and he kissed her again, turning and walking briskly away without a backward glance.

It was only when he was assuredly beyond view that she collapsed onto the bench. They had spoken several times of the potential for a trip to London. It was absolutely out of the question for Elizabeth to accompany him. In some respects the separation would be easier to handle, having already survived their first and recognizing the necessity for such partings as a fact of life. However, the timing with their firstborn so near to arriving added a drama to the severance that was horribly painful, especially to Darcy. Lizzy would be home, safe with family and friends. Darcy, conversely, would be alone with guilt wracking him and, heaven forbid, if anything tragic occurred, he would assuredly never forgive himself.

Lizzy had wisely known that only through action would he prevent succumbing to his distress. A whirlwind of frantic activity ensued, Darcy barking orders immediately upon entering the house. If the servants were momentarily stunned by the discourteous commands and stormy visage of their generally polite and buoyant Master, they quickly ascertained the cause. Nodding sagely and with compassion, they carried out the instructions hastily. Of course the staff was abundantly familiar with their Master coming and going, more than capable to handle all arrangements for a rushed departure.

Nonetheless, it was closer to two hours before he reached their chamber. Lizzy had conquered her sadness finally, washing and changing into Darcy's silk shirt to await his arrival. Sitting on the sofa before the fire as she attempted to allay her melancholy unsuccessfully, her unhappiness led to a bout of tears and then exhaustion until she fell asleep.

Darcy entered shortly thereafter, Lizzy's cheeks dry, but red-rimmed eyes indicative of her grief. The instant lurch of desire at seeing her in his shirt was quickly cooled by the evidence of her tears. Kneeling beside and smoothing the hair off her forehead, he leaned for a soft kiss.

“Beloved?”

She turned sleepily into his ready embrace, murmuring his name as her arms snaked over his shoulders. “Hold me, William.”

“Forever.” Lifting her to their bed, he stretched beside, enveloping completely and tenderly caressing with only deepest love ruling. For a long while they held each other. Darcy was content to snuggle close, feeling her warmth and softness. He delighted in the occasional nudges of their healthy child. Burying his face and hand into her luxuriant hair, and smelling the heady aroma of her perfume was more than enough to pacify his heart. It was Lizzy who moved first, lifting her head from its comfortable rest on his inner shoulder to gaze upon and stroke his beloved face.

Everything slowed down. Time appeared to halt, or at least drag along gradually. Very few words were spoken as Lizzy incrementally undressed her husband. The familiar joy and passion was there with an undercurrent of sorrow tempering the usual rage of heat. As they kissed and caressed with the rising fervor muted, they realized that their prolonged adoration was as much about the yearning to express their mutual devotion and further burn the image of the other onto all five senses, as it was about the desire to make love in some unforgettable manner.

They moved about the bed in all directions, needing to touch each other and view each other from all angles. Darcy removed his shirt, desiring to bare his wife to feasting hands and eyes more than experiencing any heightened ardency elicited by his garment. In truth, nothing augmented his passion more than her natural state. He reached for the ointment, massaging reverently over her expanded belly while she sat astride his thighs and played with the downy hair on his chest.

“Will you do this while I am gone?” he asked softly.

“Yes, although it may remind me of every time you perform the task and the natural outcome.”

She was attempting levity, but her voice broke at the end as the truth of her jest brought her sadness crashing down. Darcy frowned slightly, gazing into her eyes with disquiet.

“Elizabeth,” he began.

“Shhhh…” She pressed her lips to his and shook her head slightly. “Say nothing, dearest, just love me.”

“With all my heart and soul.” His kiss was hard and intense, hands working diligently over her abdomen and dipping underneath the swell to brush over sensitive regions. Lizzy moaned, rocking into his seeking fingers, rapidly losing herself to rising sensations of pleasure. Both were surprisingly interrupted by a particularly strong kick from baby Darcy into his father's palm.

Lizzy giggled. “I think he wants a little attention from his papa.”

“Can he not deduce I am otherwise occupied?”

Lizzy laughed louder. “He is a Darcy, thus demanding and persistent. You may as well give him what he seeks and trust me when I say he will likely not take no for an answer if he is like you.”

Darcy grinned, gently pushing Lizzy onto the bed as he positioned his body between her legs, face and hands on the beautiful swell. Currently the ripples of an insistent and active son were playing over the soft skin, Darcy amazed afresh at how evident the baby was from so deeply inside. Lately he had noticed particularly strong pushes of what could only be a tiny foot pressing so firmly that Darcy fleetingly believed he could grasp the extremity between his fingers. He tried, nearly succeeding only to have the limb disappear and moments later reemerge elsewhere on his wife's belly.

“How does he do that? Is he not too compacted to travel about so rapidly?”

“One would think,” Lizzy answered with a chuckle, fingers massaging over his scalp. “Yet I can assure you he manages to flip around easily, as I can feel him jabbing me everywhere.”

Darcy was silent, mouth pressed against the soft flesh around her navel while his hands kneaded the slick oil tenderly into her supple skin, all thoughts of sexual stimulation forgotten for the time being as he diligently applied to the task at hand. He could feel every movement of his unborn child under his palms with fresh amazement. Suddenly he wondered if perhaps in the very slightest way the awe and transcendent bliss regarding all aspects of this pregnancy had diminished with even the joyous job of rubbing the cream becoming a routine step leading to greater pleasures.

And now he would be leaving, unable to daily talk to his child and perform the duty of caring for her stretching abdomen. Pangs of dismay and guilt for allowing his approach to become anything less than the greatest delight swept through him. He frowned, kissing softly over the rising skin.

“What is it, my love?” she asked softly.

He shook his head, laying his cheek on her flattened navel. “Stay inside, my son,” he murmured. “Promise you will wait for me and be good to your mother. I love you, little one.”

“Do not fret, William. All will be well.”

As she spoke he transferred to lie beside her with body partially draped over and one hand yet rubbing the rippling bulge. He stared deeply into her eyes, propped on an elbow and toying with the loose strands of hair about her face. He was so serious, intently studying her face.

“What is it, my love?” she repeated. “Talk to me.”

His answer was slow in coming, mind clearly contemplating his words carefully while Lizzy waited and tenderly caressed over all available skin. Darcy shivered at the sensations educed, finally speaking huskily, “I am afraid, Elizabeth. Afraid to not be here for you, afraid of my loneliness without you, and afraid of causing the same negative emotions in you. But primarily I am afraid that I have disappointed you by taking it all for granted. You and our child and the miracle of it all. I am sorry if I have been in any way less attentive than I should be.”

Lizzy was staring at him with undisguised, wide-eyed shock, truly speechless for several minutes. “Fitzwilliam, surely you are jesting! Merciful heavens, no human on earth could possibly be more attentive than you! I doubt if there is a man alive more involved with his wife's pregnancy and unborn baby.” She ceased her purposeful caresses to clasp his face firmly. “Dearest, erase those thoughts. They are not reality but merely your anguish clouding your judgment. I am in all ways satisfied and treasured and content in you. And our son shall be irretrievably spoiled within days of his birth. That is what I fear!”

She pulled his face to hers, seizing his mouth zealously and taking charge, showing him precisely what she wanted. Lizzy grasped him, face flushed and breathing labored with rapidly rising passion, drawing him harshly onto her with legs roughly encircling and body arching with clear intent.

Darcy groaned, fighting against her surprising strength to hold his heavy frame aloft. “Elizabeth, I will crush you!”

“Not today. I need to feel all of you, Fitzwilliam, please!”

It was pointless. He had no ability to resist. With a hoarse growl emanating from his chest, he embraced her tightly, falling onto her as they merged. Oh the bliss! She clutched him as if life depended, every plane of flesh adhered with the highly erotic sensation of belly and breast pressed under his torso. Increasingly over the past weeks the weight of his body was becoming uncomfortable for her, necessitating a departure from their preferred position of lovemaking. Naturally this distressed him not in the least, the joy of their union always blissful and intense in any position. Nonetheless, as they each agreed, nothing quite compared to the feel of her husband's virile figure pressed onto her and his wife's lithe frame wrapped around him.

It is perhaps fortunate that their mutual ardency was rampant as Lizzy had no chance to experience the slightest discomfort. The fiery passion rushing through them was powerful, racing swiftly to a crescendo that rocked head to toe.

Inexplicably, Lizzy burst into tears the minute she was able to catch her breath, Darcy cuddling her close to his heaving chest with trembling arms. He soothed her until she quieted, not needing to ask as his eyes were teary as well.

As with their separation in June, they chose to refrain from speaking of it directly. George took the news with a solemn vow to guard Lizzy with his life and never leave her unattended. He was deadly serious and therefore mildly taken aback when Lizzy grunted and rolled her eyes.

“Lord, have mercy!” she said with mock pleading heavenward. “Not another one! I do not require a trailing hound dog, my dear uncle.”

Darcy smiled. George arched a brow at his niece. “Very well, madam. I will refrain from dogging your heels, but will be in residence, likely the library, if ever you whistle loudly.”

“And you shall come running with tongue lolling and tail wagging?”

“Precisely,” he answered while the other three burst into laughter.

They passed the evening in quiet family communion. Georgiana, George, and Richard were fully cognizant of the anguish shared by Darcy and Lizzy, even if they did not quite understand it. All through the evening as they laughed and listened to Georgiana play, the three single persons were well aware of the frequent touches and glances meted out between the newlyweds in ever increasing allotments. The air surrounding the two where they sat squeezed into the very end of the sofa was electrically charged. Nothing improper occurred, both restrained in their tender caresses, but the clarity of mutual need and despondency was salient.

Lizzy was quieter than usual and Darcy was monosyllabic. Eventually even the energy of George Darcy could not penetrate the gathering gloom, so he rose with exaggerated yawning and stretching, proclaiming fatigue. If anyone thought it odd for exhaustion to suddenly strike them all at eight o'clock, it was not pointed out.

Lizzy refused to shed further tears and managed to retain command of her emotions. In actuality, once they were alone, comfortably dressed in robes and entangled before the fire, their spirits lifted. Both knew without the minutest doubt that they would be miserable beyond description for the next two weeks, yet they both vowed to handle the situation with maturity and strength.

The weather had gradually slid into the chill of autumn. The days were generally fair and the rains had yet to attack, but the winds were mounting and the nights were bitter enough to warrant a fire. The lovers reclined on the hearth rug and piled pillows, snuggled and warm, with passion at bay for the present as they discussed estate affairs.

“Mr. Keith will manage the day-to-day issues that may arise as he always has in my absence.” Darcy spoke softly, but with the familiar undertone of authority notable whenever he addressed Pemberley business. “However, it is different now as you are Mistress. You have exceeded both our expectations, my intelligent love, and therefore, if you feel able, can attend to diverse matters that normally would await my return.”

“Such as?”

He sighed, bestowing a kiss to her forehead before continuing, “Naturally all household issues are already handled by you, and if anything needs to be attained above the usual, you have the authority to procure it. I trust your judgment, Elizabeth, if there are any unforeseen problems amongst the staff or even the tenants. The senior staff knows you speak for me and will not question your decisions.”

She gazed into his eyes, pleasure and uncertainty warring. “Are you sure this vote of confidence is wise, William? I appreciate your faith but would not wish to make any mistakes.”

He smiled and ran his hand through her trailing tresses. “This is exactly why I have no worries. Not only are you intelligent and well versed in Pemberley's necessities, but you are prudent and will not hastily conclude a matter if you deem it beyond your scope.”

She nodded, smiling brightly. “Thank you. I will assure all is organized and properly transacted so when you return you shall have nothing to do but love me! Oh, and celebrate your birthday. Ha! You thought to evade, yes?” Darcy was flushed and squirming, Lizzy tickling his ribs and giggling. “How silly you are, foolish man. Although please do not be expecting thirty gifts as I am not nearly clever enough to conjure so many brilliant ideas. I would exhaust myself at the endeavor!”

Darcy laughed, but her jest brought something to mind and he halted her probing fingertips. “Desist! I cannot breathe! Unfair that you are not ticklish.” He gasped, clasping her hands tightly to his chest. “Seriously, listen to me, love. I order you, yes, I order,” he glared and arched a brow, lips twitching, “that you not overtax. Your rest is essential. Promise me you will take care?”

“If you promise the same. I know you will be pressuring yourself to conclude your business so you can hurry home. I want you with me, Fitzwilliam, but not to the extent that you grow ill. Take your time but make sure you are home before the tenth.”

“I am never ill, dearest, but I accept your chastisement. Let us both promise to behave, and I assure you I will be home well before the tenth. And while we are on the subject, please do not plan an extravaganza for my birthday. I would be perfectly happy to forget it altogether. I simply want to be home and the only present I desire is you, preferably naked on our bed.”

“And tied with a big red bow?” She fluttered her eyelashes and pursed her lips, face offered and accepted handily. They made love by the fire, slowly and tenderly rousing the other. The subtle current of sadness was there, but the love they felt was profound and so intensely intrinsic, overruling the presence of dismay.

They fell asleep on the rug, limbs twined, with Lizzy engulfed by his larger body. It was the cold creeping over his back that woke Darcy, Lizzy deeply asleep and toasty in his arms. The room lamps were yet burning, casting a glow over her skin that was impossible for him to resist. He studied her, lightly running fingers, and inhaling of her fragrance: a mixture of lavender and sexual gratification and him. Their child slept, the bulge beautifully round and still. At times he missed her flat stomach, especially when making love and overcome with raging passion yet unable to release the concern for her altered shape and flexibility. But those moments were fleeting and rare. The miracle that was the product of their love lying inside of her body was astoundingly moving to his soul and strangely erotic.

“God, my Lizzy, I so love you,” he whispered, bestowing a tiny kiss to her shoulder, additionally surprised at the sensation of her petite hand warmly stroking over his bare thigh. “I am sorry. I did not wish to wake you, but it is cold. We need to move to the bed.”

She turned in his arms, sleepy eyes meeting his. “Yes. Our bed, my lover. Kiss me, William.” There was no denying the yearning. All through the night they reached for each other, caressing on the edge of sleep, loving with every inch of flesh and every muscle. The last was as the sun crested the treetops, glow spreading across the fields and through the gaps in the curtain covered wide windows.

Darcy moved within his precious wife, fingers rousing and mouth stirring shivers along her spine. Every curve of her exciting, her heat and softness electrifying, moist depths surrounding and squeezing him thrilling, and articulations of delight enlivening. Wave upon wave of glorious rapture swept through, hearts and spirits soaring as their bodies succumbed to the elation of pure pleasure with shouts of loving joy.

Lizzy was soundly asleep seconds afterwards, a blissful smile on her gorgeous face. Darcy experienced a rush of fierce love and breathless peace. Leaving her was painful, but he knew all would be well as she promised. How could it not be with their souls intermingled? He kissed her several times, the drowsy smile widening, before carefully untangling his body from hers to prepare for departure.

The carriage ride to London was long, tiring, and uneventful. One thing it was not was boring. Richard ingratiated himself to accompany his cousin as he planned to leave in two days anyway. Darcy did not mind in the slightest, adoring Richard and knowing that his cousin's ofttimes irritating boisterousness would lighten the mood, provide entertainment, and stave off the gloominess sure to come. In this assumption Darcy was spot on.

The first hour or so was passed in silence. Richard surreptitiously observed Darcy's dreamy face, noted how he fiddled and caressed the ring on his finger, and heard the unconscious faint sighs. In honest curiosity he finally broke the quiet.

“What is it like, Darcy, to love as you do?” The impromptu question pierced the calm, Darcy's brows shooting up as he glanced to his cousin, and Richard coloring as he realized his private musings were vocalized.

There followed an awkward pause, Richard flushed and Darcy amused. “Why do you ask?”

“Forgive me, my friend, I meant no offense. It was impertinent of me to ask such a thing, so let us just forget the question.”

“I am not offended and have every intention of answering your query, cousin. I am merely curious why you ask it. Do you have a particular lady in mind? Or are you seeking enlightenment for the furthering of your education in human interpersonal relationships?” Darcy was grinning broadly.

Richard grunted. “More the latter, I suppose, although you know I am not as ragingly consumptive of all matters educational as you are.”

“Well that surely is the truth! How you managed to graduate University yet remains a mystery to me.”

“Ha, ha.” Richard intoned dryly. “Most amusing today, Mr. Darcy.”

“Watching your discomfiture always increases my humor. You have yet to adequately answer. Why do you ask about love?”

Richard shrugged, gazing out the window. “Primarily idle curiosity. You have been so different since Elizabeth entered your life. I noted a change in your demeanor as far back as Rosings last, although I did not comprehend the cause. The oddity is that I thought you perfectly content before, yet now I observe the two of you together, and even how you fondle your new ring, and the happiness is transparent. Nauseatingly so.” He grinned and shrugged again. “So I was curious what it felt like.”

Darcy was gazing into his lap with a soft smile upon his mouth, selfconsciously removing fingertips from the gold band. He did not answer hastily, finally speaking lowly, “I do not know if I can sufficiently place it into words. Perhaps that is why the poets wax eloquent with platitudes and analogies as mere common phrases do not suffice. All I know for certain is that almost from the moment I saw her she has filled my senses and my heart. There is joy with Elizabeth in every way and every moment, whether present or no. I feel light and buoyant, yet also grounded and secure. Giddy and frivolous, yet strong and steady. Childish and masculine simultaneously.” He chuckled softly, closing his eyes and leaning back against the carriage wall. “Yet you know what the most miraculous part is, Richard? Greater than how she makes me feel is the miracle that she loves me.”

He opened his eyes abruptly, staring at his cousin with full Darcy intensity. “Richard, there is no replacement for that. It is a priceless treasure, and I only wish all in the world could experience it.”

“And this 'feeling' is worth the misery I note at times such as this, when you are separated?”

Darcy shook his head. “It is not misery in the way you imagine. Yes, I miss her terribly already and my loneliness will be profound, but our love sustains me and I have the constant joy of knowing she waits for me.”

They were solitary with their thoughts for a spell, Darcy resuming the heedless caressing of his ring while Richard dwelled inwardly. Slowly Darcy began to chuckle. “Tell me, cousin, does any of this questioning have to do with Admiral Ulster's daughter?”

Richard's laugh was rich, an uncharacteristic ruddiness spreading over his cheeks. He glanced away, eyes downcast. “I admit nothing, especially to you who would tease me mercilessly. All I shall say is that the concept is not as repugnant as it once was, although God help me if I am ever as gushy and nonsensical as you, or completely lose sight of all propriety. Is that sufficient for now, Mr. Romance?”

Darcy laughed loudly. “It is a start!”

Once in Town, Darcy wasted no time in beginning the arduous process of concluding his business affairs. With the Darcy House staff under strict orders to remain mum regarding his residency, he entered the offices of Mr. Daniels bright and early the day after his arrival. For two days all went according to plan, Darcy quite pleased with the progress made. It was while sitting in the library the second evening after finishing a long devotion-imbued letter to his wife, brandy in hand and papers spread before him, that he began coughing. It was only a light tickle felt in the back of his throat, but it persisted no matter how often he attempted to drink or cough the itch away. More irritated than anything, he finally gave up working and went to bed.

Thus far the days and nights had passed rapidly with well-controlled sadness. He missed Elizabeth with an ache that was unrelenting, but the constant activity kept the pain at bay. Tonight he sat in the bed that was for many years comfortable and familiar as only for him, but was now glaringly empty and cold. He tried to read, but the prickle in his throat distracted, and he constantly glanced up toward her dressing room, positive he saw a shadow. Finally he gave in, dousing the lights and lying down in hopes that sleep would claim him quickly so he could dream of her.

Surprisingly, since he was not actually tired, sleep was attained rapidly, but his dreams were troubled. Elizabeth was nowhere to be found. Instead he floated dazedly through heavy clouds that occluded his respirations, thick cottony tendrils that invaded his nostrils, the air cool and damp. Then he was swimming in a hot spring, deep with the surface sparkling visibly above him yet he could not propel his weighted body to the promise of oxygen. He woke well before dawn, his sinuses obstructed and throat afire.

“Perfect,” he mumbled scratchily. “Never ill, right, Darcy.”

He forced himself to rise and bathe, feeling slightly improved once dressed and outside in the brisk air. However, after an hour closeted in the roomy office with Mr. Andrew Daniels and his eldest son Benjamin, his head felt to explode and the basic exercise of breathing was torturous. He ignored the unpleasant sensations as best he could until mid afternoon when the quill began to waver in his tremulous fist and a fit of coughing gripped him with alarming potency.

Mr. Daniels took charge, boldly facing the potential anger of his client by insisting on calling for Mr. Darcy's carriage and rescheduling the appointment for when his health was restored. Darcy considered arguing, but quite simply did not have the energy to do so.

It had been some five years since Darcy last suffered from the ravages of a common cold. At that time he had been residing at Pemberley, with Georgiana and Mrs. Reynolds fussing over him. It had annoyed him greatly, but he had to admit the constant female companionship and nursing was pleasant, not to mention beneficial in speeding his recovery.

Mrs. Smyth was not the least bit maternal and, aside from providing hot tea and edibles, had no idea how to care for the infirm. Therefore, Darcy was left to his own devices with only Samuel to make sure he did not wallow in his own sweat and disgusting bodily secretions.

Samuel, proficient with the vast array of masculine essentials, was utterly inept when dealing with an ill Master. The fact that Mr. Darcy had been unwell only twice since Samuel assumed the post as his valet did not furnish him much in the way of medical expertise. Nonetheless, even he could diagnose a frightening increase in infirmity by the third morning after falling sick. Darcy was difficult to rouse, blazing to the touch, coughing in wracking fits, and intermittently shivering and sweating.

The physician was sent for, rapidly assessed the situation, and assumed command. There was no question that the suspected cold was upgraded to influenza status. The prescribed medicines were obtained from the apothecary and detailed instructions were given to Samuel and Mrs. Smyth. Darcy was liberally dosed with a tea mixture of yarrow, peppermint, ginger, willow, and elder bark for general aches and fever. Further distillations of licorice root, elecampane, mullein, and honey were forced down his throat for the cough and chest congestion. Oil of lavender was burned to cleanse the air and promote sleep.

For five days total Darcy drifted in a hazy place of vague memory. His waking moments were brief and filled with stertorous, productive coughs that left him weak, gasping, and in pain. Muscles that he did not know existed in his body ached unrelentingly. The pervading odor of lavender reminded him excruciatingly of Elizabeth, and he knew on some level that time was passing without writing to her or completing the reams of paperwork that would bring him back to her, but then the thought would fade away as uncontrollable trembling assumed command.

The energy necessary to rise enough to utilize the bedside chamber pot upon those occasions his body required that type of relief was tremendous, leaving him utterly spent as he fell backwards onto the pillows in a heap. The room would undulate and whirl, his head throbbing, and more than once the endeavor ended with his stomach in wild upheavals.

He managed to drink some liquids beyond the curative concoctions offered, the cool streams of water soothing to his parched throat. Food was impossible, nothing able to stay settled in his stomach for longer than minutes before being regurgitated violently.

His dreams were randomly dark and disturbed or fantastical. Visions of people long since dead or not seen in years commingled with recent additions to his life, such as the Bennets. There was no coherency. His rational mind struggled to understand the purpose but was continually relegated to some far corner while the whimsical madness took control.

One afternoon he woke abruptly from a vivid but chaotic dream of Elizabeth crying for him. For several moments his heart pounded with the memory, but as the dream faded he recognized the current clarity of his thoughts. He was weary as never experienced before, but lucid. The bright sun streaming through the window pierced his sore eyes and his body felt as if he had been pummeled in a boxing ring, but he was cool and the bed was stationary.

“Well, finally back to the land of the living, are we?” It was Richard, grinning happily, but pale with an undertone of worry in his voice. Darcy opened his mouth to flash a sharp retort of some kind, nothing escaping but a faint squeak. “Eloquent, Mr. Darcy, as always. Here, cousin, drink this.”

Darcy cringed, fully expecting another foul-tasting tea, but it was plain water. Cool and the most delicious-tasting beverage ever to pass his lips. Darcy was certain he could have consumed an ocean of the succulent fluid, but Richard forced him to sip gradually.

“God, I am tired!”

“Lazy old man. Lying about for nearly a week and you want to sleep?” Darcy smiled faintly, eyes closing as Richard reclined him onto the pillows.

“What day is it?”

“Tuesday. You have been ill for five days, not counting the time before Samuel called me. You gave us a bit of a fright. I knew you were too blasted stubborn to succumb to a mere fever, but Samuel has been as hysterical as an old woman.”

Darcy's eyes had flown open and he was attempting to rise, quite unsuccessfully. “A week? I have work to do and must get home. Oh Lord, Elizabeth must be frantic. Richard…?” He fell back into the pillows, panting and coughing.

“Calm yourself, man, or you will have a relapse! Listen to me, William. Do not be stupid and exert yourself unduly. Elizabeth does need you home but that will not occur in a timely manner if you deteriorate again. I have taken the liberty to write in your stead and inform your beloved wife that you have a minor cold and requested I write for you. I know you hate dissembling, but I judged it proper in this case.”

Darcy was breathing heavily, heart racing painfully, and the room was spinning again. Whether he liked it or not, he could not deny the logic of Richard's advice. “A letter… I should send… a letter… telling her…”

“Yes, yes, all in good time. Sleep again, William. You can dictate a missive to her later. She has written to you several times, which will surely boost your spirits.” He stopped, realizing that Darcy was soundly asleep and snoring.

Lizzy stood on the Pemberley portico for ten minutes, allowing George Darcy's warm hands to rest on her shoulders and resonant voice to soothe, all far too reminiscent of her husband, before she wiped the tears away. Darcy's carriage was barely out of sight before Lizzy launched into a whirlwind of activity. She had decided with full conscious intent that if she must be alone she would keep busy so she could not dwell on it overly. Her first order of business was to begin planning for Christmas. The fact that it was over two months away meant nothing, as she wanted to have everything prepared before the baby came. With this at the forefront of her mind, she met with Mrs. Reynolds within an hour of Darcy's departure.

Thus began her days. As far as Christmas celebrations went, the plans were both easier and more complicated. It was easier in that she knew the tenants quite well now so deciding what to place in their gift basket was obvious. It was also easier because the guest list would be far smaller with focus on intimate family and the baby. Obtaining gifts was a bit more problematic, as Lizzy could not tramp through the shops of Lambton in her condition, so she needed to decide on what to present to her friends and family. Georgiana and Harriet Vernor assisted in this task, handling the shopping for her.

There was also the tenant Christmas feast to plan. Last December as Darcy toured her through the manor and first spoke of the holiday tradition for the Pemberley workers, Lizzy had briefly envisioned something grand. In the same way as the Summer Festival, she had wanted to reinstate the old customs with flair. Of course, those early plans had not taken into consideration the arrival of their first child. Not knowing how the birth might proceed, what her physical condition would be afterwards, nor when it would even occur, Lizzy decided it would be best to keep the event understated. Actually it was her husband who firmly declared that the dinner be a humble affair, allowing no room for argument, so Lizzy had no real choice.

Nevertheless, minimal or majestic, she wanted all to be perfect. Plus, it gave her something else to fret about besides missing her husband. Before the week was out the menu was determined, the necessary cleaning of the ballroom and formal dining room was begun, the date was set for a week before Christmas, a group of minstrels from Matlock was reserved, and the list of invitees was written with invitations ordered. A detailed timetable was itemized for the following three months so all issues would be handled with or without the Mistress's input.

In between Christmas scheming Lizzy attended to household duties with a vengeance. Mr. Keith consulted her on everything although Lizzy knew he did not have to. She spent large quantities of time at Darcy's desk usually for no real purpose other than for the comfort afforded. The massive desk chair was imprinted with the shape of his derriere and thighs, the desktop strewn with the odd trinkets that he fiddled with while he worked, and littered with random notes written in his strong flowing calligraphy. Darcy was highly organized, each document ever signed filed in a logical manner and the ledgers meticulous, yet strangely the surface of his desk was cluttered. It was all a ready reminder of her husband, and for the days he was absent she ignored her own desk in the corner or the one in their sitting room, preferring to sit in his chairs.

Her need to be close to him in even this elemental way ended up being educational. Initially she gave it no real consideration, but as she sat in his office she began idly reading through the carefully filed papers. At first when she came across something that made no sense to her or was written in a puzzling code she passed it by. But more and more she began to see a pattern, and curiosity overcame her. Mr. Keith seemed unperturbed by her nosiness, answering her questions and offering explanations. The files covering her husband's years as Master of Pemberley were separate from those of his father and grandfather. Mr. Keith informed her that past documents and ledgers were stored in a basement chamber, dating back well over a hundred years. Lizzy immediately noted the similarities and differences in the documenting techniques used by Darcy compared to his predecessors, not to mention the larger array of ventures delved into. Some of his recording methods were amazingly simplistic while others were wildly complex. And the number of business transactions, investments, and estate matters was vaster than she had suspected. All of it lent additional insight into the mind of the man she was married to while also increasing her grasp of Pemberley affairs.

Luckily no serious quandaries arose during Darcy's absence. The day-today required purchases of food, household items, provisions for the animals, and such were routinely procured and paid for. Staff wages were disbursed at the end of each week, all earnings tabulated and allocated by Mr. Keith to each person while in Mrs. Darcy's presence. Decisions above and beyond the usual were minimal. An overly abundant and earlier than expected harvest of barley provided an opportunity for Lizzy to receive a crash course in crop management and bartering. With Mr. Keith's patient assistance and the finely detailed notations in Darcy's files, Lizzy transacted a market exchange with a hefty profit and surplus barley storage for Pemberley.

She was quite proud of herself, but primarily she knew that it was the small things such as intact ledgers that would free up an inordinate amount of Darcy's time when he returned. Extending further, Lizzy completed a number of the tasks Darcy had left unfinished due to his hasty departure. She worked very hard to keep it all in the order that Darcy preferred and thrilled in imagining how pleased he would be to discover how well his wife had taken care of matters.

By the end of the first week, Lizzy had a new-found respect for all the business her husband handled. After eleven months she grasped most of the vast estate management of Pemberley but had remained ignorant of the day-to-day tiny things and those business dealings beyond agriculture and livestock. She recognized on a certain level that her obsession was as much to stave off her loneliness as it was to please her already adoring spouse, but she also tremendously enjoyed the challenges.

George Darcy took his role as protector and companion very seriously. He was never far from her side, forever interrupting her to check how she was or bring a snack, and pouring on the charm as he whisked her off for walks about the grounds. His presence in the manor was simultaneously comforting and disconcerting. Lizzy had grown accustomed to the uncanny similarities George shared with her husband, no longer consciously noting them. Until now. The timbre of his laugh, resonance of voice, piercing blue of tender eyes, and general height and posture, even in his extreme boniness, was nearly indistinguishable from his nephew. It unnerved her and intermittently escalated her desperation and soothed it.

Georgiana was nearly as persistent, ensuring that Lizzy was never bored. Her sweetly steady friendship and deep love for her new sister was genuine. They spent numerous evenings together in the Darcys' sitting room, giggling and sharing girlish stories while reclining in robes and nibbling cakes and sipping tea. It greatly facilitated the transition from busy day to solitary night.

Darcy's hasty exodus had allotted no time for her to prepare little notes or intimate reminders to tuck into his valise, so she wrote lengthy lovelorn letters each night to be posted every two days. Pouring her heart did ease the ache somewhat, as did his reply. Sheer exhaustion and the pressing demands of the baby allowed her to sleep deeply with delightful dreams of him, at least for the first week. His first letter arrived on their fourth day apart. Like her, he had composed it in the evenings over two days and it was far more sentimental and erotic then hers. Lizzy experienced slight trepidation over placing boldly intimate ramblings in indelible ink to then be carried across England by strangers. Darcy suffered no such inhibition, surprisingly, as the need to express his desires for her transcended the unlikely possibility of the letter falling into unknown hands.

By the end of the week she was beginning to sense some disquiet at a lack of additional correspondence, having written twice more to him, but assumed it was because he was busy. Then the scribbled note penned by Richard arrived saying only that Darcy was ill with a minor cold, offering a patently lame excuse of sneezing too much to hold a quill as to why he was dictating to Richard. Lizzy did not believe a word of it and was instantly catapulted into panic.

“George!” she yelled, her uncle appearing within seconds and nearly colliding with Lizzy as he bounded over the threshold.

“What is it?”

“Read this and tell me what you think.”

He did, frowning. “Hmmm. Something does not seem right…”

“Not at all. William is ill, Uncle, I can feel it. I need to go to London. Can you help me with the arrangements?” She was already pulling the servants bell.

“Elizabeth, think. I absolutely will not allow you to travel to London so you can erase that thought from your head right now.”

“But…”

“No, and that is final. William may be sicker than Col. Fitzwilliam claims, but that does not necessarily mean he needs you there…”

“But I am his wife!”

“Precisely… Thank you, Watson, but we no longer require your services.” The footman bowed and retreated, George crossing to where Elizabeth stood fighting tears. He placed his hands on her shoulders, speaking in soft tones so akin to Darcy that the tears spilled instantly. “Listen, dear. William is very strong and hideously stubborn. I am quite sure he can fight off any malady. We know he is being well cared for between Richard and Samuel. If it were life threatening, Richard would be forthcoming, I am certain. William will heal faster knowing you are safe from harm. The journey is too risky and you cannot permit yourself to fall ill.”

She was crying in earnest now, and George gathered her into his arms, patting with a whispered there, there. For two days she could barely think. Somehow she managed to attend to business as it arose, exercise regularly with extended, memory-packed walks about the gardens, and host a tea party with Harriet Vernor, Alison Fitzherbert, Marilyn Hughes, Georgiana, and Jane, who ended up visiting for three days to comfort her anxious sister. She wrote two more letters, begging for an update and for once not at all embarrassed at blatantly communicating her sorrow and yearning, sending by express messenger.

Finally on the third day after Richard's note, a longer letter arrived, also penned in Richard's feathery script, but clearly the words of her husband. Lizzy began sobbing before the salutation was read.

My dearest, precious Elizabeth,

My beloved, I do pray this overdue correspondence is read by a healthy wife, robust as always and yet encumbered with the blessing that is our child. I, as you have been informed by our dear cousin, have been ill. I fear he misled you on the full extent of my infirmity. He begs me, my dearest, at this juncture to apologize for his deception as done with only your well-being in mind. This I can assure you is the truth. I do believe I must take full responsibility for the calamity that has befallen me as I so arrogantly jested that I am never ill. Do you recall this boasting? It appears that fate has a sense of humor, or perhaps karma is true as the mystics proclaim. However, fret no further as I am speedily mending from the influenza that afflicted me. It was not a pretty sight, my beautiful wife, and I am abundantly thankful you were not here to witness my indignity. Rest assured that I am healing rapidly with, as Richard says, my obstinacy intact. I have no idea to what he refers.

Naturally my illness has set me back on concluding my business. Mr. Daniels has persevered with preparing all matters for me and we are resuming our meetings. Unfortunately they must transpire in my bedchamber sitting room for now and remain stunted as my strength is not yet fully restored. I do still hope to complete affairs and be home for my birthday.

Beloved, I cannot relate the whole contents of my heart as my secretary would likely refuse to write the sentiments. I trust that you understand the depths of my love for you and anguish I feel in being separated. Please, Elizabeth, I beg you with all my soul, do not worry! I am recovering, and there is no lasting damage. I love you forever,

William

Underneath were supplementary lines in a shaky script that was nonetheless clearly Darcy's:

My Heart, Forgive the poor penmanship, but I fear my hands are yet weak. I must be brief. I ache for you, my precious Lizzy! God how I want to see your face. Know that you are alive in every beat of my heart and the knowledge that you are safe gives me the greatest strength. Soon, very soon, my lover, I will hold you and kiss you and we will make love with all the passion stored. Dream of me as I dream of you. I love you, my Elizabeth. I love you for all eternity.

Your Fitzwilliam

The letter was dictated, shakily written, sealed, and posted the morning following Darcy's fever breaking. By the time Lizzy received it Darcy had proven his powers of regeneration and colossal strength of will by resuming nearly the same hectic agenda as prior to his illness. Richard returned to his regiment with a warning to moderate that he knew Darcy would ignore. In truth he was still weak, the cough abiding, and the need for afternoon rest periods undeniable. At least it gave him a legitimate excuse to decline the few invitations that arrived despite his attempt to maintain secrecy.