The Trouble with Mr. Darcy

Chapter Ten Brash Intrusion

After Kitty left his room Randall agonized for hours. Had she been seen? When Mr. Darcy did not come pounding on his door with pistol in hand he assumed she had safely reached her chambers. Then, despite her assurances, he worried that she would regret what they had shared, that once alone the guilt might overwhelm. He chastised himself for weakness, for being a rogue and taking advantage of a fragile female who trusted him to be a gentleman and leader. He started to doubt how passionate and receptive and willing she had been, twisting specific actions or words to emphasize his loutishness. When he finally walked into the breakfast room his nerves were seriously on edge.

She was there and turned instantly as if sensing his presence before he crossed the threshold. She smiled radiantly. In fact, her whole countenance was radiant, glowing, and breathtakingly beautiful. All of his doubts evaporated, leaving behind a rush of pure love and excruciating desire. So much for the idea that tasting of her delights would curb his hunger since it was tenfold what he had ever felt in her presence. He staggered from the assault, literally, Mr. Darcy instinctively grabbing his arm to steady.

“Hold up there, Major General. I did not think you drank all that much last night. The rest of us should be the unsteady ones. Personally, I wish someone would take pity and darken the sun.”

Randall noted Darcy’s pained grimace, collecting himself with a shake that Darcy again concluded was the by-product of excessive carousing.

The day passed in sedate activities. Most of the men were recuperating from varying degrees of indisposition as a result of their public house revelry so did not leave the drapery drawn rooms. The ladies embarked upon one long walk with the children scampering alongside, but also spent a fair portion of the afternoon chatting as they lounged in the spacious parlor. Disappearances in the latter hours of the afternoon were mostly for rejuvenating naps, Kitty especially needing to regain her strength for what she hoped was a second long night of passion.

She and Randall finagled a few minutes of alone time, both of them suffering acutely with the need to touch and kiss. By that evening, when the wedding party gathered in the Netherfield parlor awaiting the announcement for dinner, he could barely stand straight due to the churning sea of ardor wrecking havoc on his insides. But having his fiancée clutching his left arm and agreeably plastered against his side was wonderful in its own way. Plus, he was momentarily content to be surrounded by her family.

He was familiar with enormous family gatherings and delighted in the pleasing atmosphere of community and love prevailing even in this mixed group. This assembly, although reminiscent of the boisterous Artois collectives with all seventeen of his nieces and nephews loudly playing and dashing underfoot while the adults engaged in vibrant conversation, was far more refined.

There were children, but only five of them. Ethan Bingley, Alexander Darcy, and Hugh Pomeroy sat in the corner rolling a ball back and forth. They were under the watchful eye of Mrs. Geer, who held fourteen-month-old Deborah Daniels on her lap while the toddler avidly observed the boys at play. Harry Pomeroy, the eldest son of Lady Simone Fitzwilliam, was content as retriever for the frequent wayward ball, smiling and only slightly bossy in his instructions for proper ball aiming. The babies, Michael Darcy and Claudia Daniels, remained in the nursery with Mrs. Hanford.

The adults were scattered about the room, standing and sitting, but in a rough circle that focused on the centrally located sofas and chairs. Talk was animated and filled with laughter, but with an air of restraint and formality that was lacking with the Artois crowd. The event which brought them all to this place at this time may be the upcoming wedding of Major General Randall Artois and Miss Kitty Bennet, but for the present, the prime topic of conversation was the adventures of the Continental travelers.

“I know I could not definitively appoint a particular event or place as number one on a list of favorites,” Georgiana spoke in her cultured tones. “The list of museums, fabulous gardens, beautiful castles and chateaus, picturesque rivers and lakes would be unending, I am certain, with a dozen fighting to inhabit the top five and none prevailing!”

“It becomes rather muddled after a time, does it not, Georgiana?” Lady Simone asked with a laugh.

“Indeed it does,” Lady Matlock agreed, “and I have toured the various towns of Europe several times in my life. Perhaps that is why I now delight in visiting relatives and friends while on holiday abroad, as another garden or opera house is likely to overwhelm the cluttered section of my brain that stores such information.”

“Personally I was content to stay in France, especially Paris,” Colonel Fitzwilliam interjected. “It was wondrous to walk the streets so radically altered since I last walked them in the immediate aftermath of the war. There is yet a great deal of unrest and disquiet, but Louis XVIII and his Bourbon restorationists are establishing order and a functional constitution. Decazes is managing capably with a moderate approach that appears to please the populace, for the most part.”

“Frankly I grew tired of the discussions. French politics are messy and boring since none can agree, and most revel in the argument with no true desire to conclude,” Lord Matlock rumbled from his chair. “But then, that is the definition of all politics, post-Revolution France or England.”

Laughter and nodding met that statement, Lady Matlock patting her spouse’s hand as she spoke. “Precisely why we should let the topic drop for the present. I can debate politics when in the mood as ably as you, my lord husband, but would rather not do so now.”

“As you wisely wish, Mother.” Richard inclined his head in respect to his parents before turning a mischievous eye back toward Georgiana. “So, fair cousin, claiming a favorite may be impossible, but surely Paris itself stole your heart more than the other great cities?”

“Indeed it did,” she replied levelly, only a hint of rosiness touching her cheeks. “The Conservatoire alone was adequate to cement love of Paris within my heart. However, Rome, Milan, and Florence equally intrigued. And not only for their beauty in landscape and music, as I discovered a surprising interest in the history.” She smiled toward her brother, teasing as she continued. “You may be shocked, dear brother, that your lengthy discourses on ruins did penetrate my stubborn skull. Imagine my own amazement when the commentaries of the tour guides resonated and piqued my attention! There I was climbing over crumbled medieval remains searching for clues to the past.”

Darcy laughed, bowing in mock approbation. Bingley visibly shuddered and groaned, speaking with exaggerated relief. “Thank goodness for miracles! Now you can haul your wife and sister on your excursions over dusty, moldy ruins and never pester me.”

“It is a promise, Bingley. You are safe from here on.”

“Well, I cannot claim that to be my favorite part, but it was not as painful as imagined, unless you count poor Uncle’s sore feet.”

“Not to worry, Georgiana dear. It was nothing days of languishing by the fire with a brandy in hand did not cure,” Lord Matlock assured. “Personally, I would rather traverse over cultured lawns and well-tended pathways, such as the Borghese gardens. Hours in the serene atmosphere of the vivarium healed every ache.”

“William, the Galleria Borghese was everything you declared it to be. I spent countless hours wandering the rooms, gazing in awe. We visited often, and it is not that large a museum compared to the Louvre especially, yet I failed in assimilating the full wealth of art and beauty. It touched me so.” Georgiana shook her head, clasping Lizzy’s hand. “Oh, Lizzy! You would have loved it! I thought of you so often. The gardens would have overwhelmed you.”

“Indeed,” Darcy offered, “the gardens are astounding and I daresay put Mr. Clark to shame. However, it is the marbles that I would most adore sharing with my wife. Bernini’s works alone are worth the trip. My grandfather acquired one of his pieces, but I was not so fortunate when I traveled to Rome.”

“I refuse to lament what I was unable to view,” Lizzy said with a laugh. “I struggled with absorbing all the wonders I was gifted to canvass, much of the journey yet dreamlike, so am relieved to stage it gradually over my life.”

“If you two can manage to space out the task of creating inhabitants for every empty bedchamber in Pemberley, you may be able to arrange another trip before the sculptures erode into dust, or whatever happens to marble.”

“I believe, my dearest, that marble is nearly indestructible,” Simone chastised her husband, Colonel Fitzwilliam winking at a blushing Lizzy before smirking at his expressionless cousin.

Lady Matlock smoothly intervened. “I delighted most in the gardens, I must confess. It was a popular locale for artists. The landscape and architecture offered an endless opportunity for sketching.”

“Quite true. An additional trunk was required to haul the creations home.”

“As if you were not delighted by Aunt’s drawings, Uncle. Raved on and on, rightfully so.”

“You do have an astounding talent, Lady Matlock, and I have not forgotten that you promised the Rotunda to me.”

“Nor have I, Simone. As soon as it is framed, it is yours.”

“The little ponds, rivers, and impressive lakes were arguably everywhere. I always thought of you, dear sister.” Georgiana again squeezed Lizzy’s hand. “I know how you adore the water.”

“Adore?” Mrs. Bennet interjected with a nervous flutter. “One would think you half fish the way you immersed yourself in the pond every chance you got. Clumsy, Mr. Bennet would insist to help you avoid the thrashing you deserved, but I never believed that!”

“Indeed I was awkward and clumsy, Mama, as Papa declared. Never as graceful as other Bennet sisters I could name.” Lizzy glanced to Jane, who blushed. “However, when it came to the pond it was simple rationality. It was hot and the water cools. Plus, it is fun to float and swim.”

“We have a large pond near our family home in Berkshire,” Major General Artois offered. “Two of my sisters were ‘fish’ same as you, Mrs. Darcy. They are both married with children now, but I am certain if possible would yet be daily swimming.”

“And why should they not?” George Darcy asked. “Ridiculous notion. Sea bathing is acceptable, why not jumping naked into a lake as men do?”

“Gracious!” Mrs. Bennet murmured with a vigorous wave of her fan.

But Lizzy laughed aloud. “Oh, do not fear, Uncle! Not all ladies are as prim as you imagine. Let us merely say that Rowan Lake has been utilized from time to time, although I shall not elaborate on the bathing attire.” Laughter rang out all around, even Darcy smiling at his wife’s jest.

“Aunt Giana?” Alexander appeared at Georgiana’s knees, arms extended. She gathered him into her embrace, nestling him onto her lap with a soft kiss on his crown.

Darcy’s smile widened, voice tender as he spoke. “Did you practice your painting as well, Georgiana?”

“Sporadically. You know I am not so proficient or enamored with painting. Aunt taught me some and I did improve, but music was what drew me most.” Her eyes grew dreamy. “The wealth of styles and compositions, arrays of instruments and grand orchestras, all unlike anything I have ever heard.” She sighed, “It was wonderful.”

“Georgiana paints beautifully,” Lady Simone said. “But I believe her greatest advancement was in playing and in composing. You will be impressed, Mr. Darcy, at the music she has written.”

“Indeed I know I shall. You must share your new compositions with us, Georgiana.”

Georgiana hid her rosy cheeks in Alexander’s curls. “I wrote nothing spectacular. Where some are inspired by nature to draw or paint, I was inspired to compose. But my skill is infantile compared to most.”

“Georgiana is modest. Mr. Butler found your compositions impressive, and that is high praise indeed,” Lady Matlock noted, turning the conversation smoothly away at that point, no one but Lizzy noting the increased color to her new sister’s cheeks at the mention of the young grandson of Lady Warrow.

The effect of Georgiana’s eight months abroad with culture and Society at its finest surrounding her at every turn was evident, even to Major General Artois who previously had limited exposure to Miss Darcy. He glanced about the room, studying the occupants with a keen eye. He found the differing characters and stations intriguing, familiar, and amusing.

His immediate family was much like the Bennets. Comprised of gentleman stock with a long history of prestige through military achievements with a historical host of field marshals and generals heading the ancestral corps of lesser ranks, they possessed modest familial estates scattered throughout the southern regions of England and were all blessed with incomes and inheritances above sufficient if not grand. The casual upbringing, middling finances, and gritty occupation made for a family that was broad-minded and somewhat boisterous.

Nevertheless, he also belonged to an extended family of extreme wealth and high social class. A number of titled gentry graced the secondary and tertiary branches of the Artois tree, capping it all with a great-uncle who was a duke. This, coupled with the strict discipline of the Royal British Army, meant that even the humble members could blend into any social situation capably.

Mr. and Mrs. Bennet were precisely akin to a couple of his retired military uncles and their wives. Now dwelling at and managing the family estates, they were simple folk who loved the land they had given so much to protect. Mr. and Mrs. Daniels were like a few cousins, and also his youngest brother, Reginald, who were content to be clerks or serve in other noncommissioned capacities.

Mr. Darcy, although far younger, reminded him greatly of his father. General Artois was tall, brawny, and unbending. Unlike all but one of his sons, Randall’s eldest brother, Roderick, General Artois seemed physically unable to relax his ingrained military demeanor. Yet he was wry and witty, his humor and empathy emerging through the regulated discipline so that even his numerous grandchildren knew he was lovable.

The other six Artois offspring were universally ebullient with emotions worn on their sleeves. This fact was primarily why his brother Roland had gravitated toward Richard Fitzwilliam during Academy, the two developing a tight friendship that more often than not lead to rabble-rousing and activities best left omitted from polite conversation! It was also why Randall meshed with the natural gaiety that ruled his fiancée’s relatives. Lord and Lady Matlock, and the widowed wife of the famous Lord Fotherby, were warm in their formality, teasing and laughing frequently. It was an altogether pleasing assembly, and he accepted the situation with his inborn peaceful assurance that it was meant to be. He looked down at Kitty, meeting her eyes and squeezing the hands resting so lovingly on his arm, contentment wrapping his soul.

Later, he would wonder if it was a divine warning of events to come, but at the time Randall merely thought it odd that in the midst of his happiness he reacted so strongly to the interruption. Yet, the instant he heard the raised voice in the outer corridor, before the words consciously registered, his instincts prevailed.

“I tell you we are expected! We are family and do not need to be announced!”

The indignant exclamation rang through the open door, the Major General stiffening before the first words were released. Impulsively, he nudged Kitty away from his side, turning his body toward the door and in front of her while his left arm shot out as a barrier before her to shield. Simultaneously, his right hand swung about in a flash to grasp the hilt of the sword that normally would be hanging on his hip. He squelched the curse that threatened to pass his lips at the realization that, in this setting of familial felicity, he was not armed. He had no time to experience embarrassment at his reflexive response due to the palpable tension that invaded the room when the visitors revealed themselves.

The owner of the brash voice was a young woman dressed in a revealing gown of a fashionable style. She wore a feathered hat cocked to one side, with her brown hair curled becomingly and framing a pretty face. Rouged cheeks and painted lips lent an air of maturity to what was obviously a young face devoid of intelligence or wisdom. All of this the trained military man concluded in less than a second—observing, categorizing, deducing, and dismissing her as not the cause of his hackles being raised.

Rather, that came from the man who trailed behind her. He traveled in her wake but strode into the room as if he owned it. Of medium height, slender-framed with a small paunch, dark blonde hair stylishly cut and curled, and dressed in a fine suit of beige wool, he swaggered in and swept the room with dark blue eyes inundated with condescension. His face was handsome but arrogant, and with a lewd sensuality inherent in the set of his full lips and half-lidded eyes. His gaze rested on Randall, noting the mass of medals and ribbons on the officer’s chest and the rank insignia on his collar before lifting to meet the older man’s return inspection. Steely black eyes pierced the blue ones that momentarily lost their haughtiness to flickers of fear. Randall noted the unease and foolishness behind the bluster in the younger man’s gaze before the haughty survey moved on to inventory each occupant of the room.

“Mama! Papa! Oh! You are all here!” The woman clapped her hands, rushing toward Mrs. Bennet, who had already rose.

“My Lydia! My baby!!” Mrs. Bennet sobbed, embracing her youngest daughter. “We did not know when to expect you! Oh, Mr. Bennet! Is it not marvelous?”

“I could wait no longer, Mama. I told my Wickham we needed to make haste. We only tarried at Longbourn, briefly, so I could freshen up. I wanted you to see me looking my best! Is not this dress divine? And my hat? I told this servant here that we were expected and welcome. Such impertinence treating us so! Oh, Kitty! Look at you all grown up and getting married! An officer too. Well done, Sister, ranked higher than my dear Wickham, but I shall not be jealous! Papa! Have you missed me? I have missed you so. Devon is such a dreadfully long way away. Such a horrid journey it was, and you would not believe what we had to pay to have the coach take us out to Longbourn! As if it is so far away from the Meryton Station! Nonsense! And then we had to wait until Mr. Hill hitched the phaeton, I hope you do not mind, Papa, but I could not walk all this way! We were afraid we would miss dinner. But we clearly did not!”

Lydia Wickham’s voice pierced the abrupt quiet that had fallen. She appeared utterly unaware of the taut atmosphere as she chattered in an endless stream. Mr. Bennet joined his wife and daughter, embracing and attempting to insert normalcy into the situation. Richard’s sunny expression settled into the rarely seen commanding mien of a colonel. Darcy’s neutral face held except for a fleeting clench of his jaw and frigid iciness infusing his eyes. Dr. Darcy’s countenance assumed an identical pose as his nephew’s, Randall momentarily interrupting his appraisal of the overall scene to register how strange it was to see anything other than gay animation on the physician’s face.

Kitty patted Randall’s arm, drawing his engrossed attention back to her. “It is well, Randall. I have told you of my sister and her husband. I apologize again for their attendance at our wedding. Are you so distressed?”

He smiled, face softening as his body relaxed slightly. “No dear, I was merely startled. Anything that pleases you pleases me.”

“How gallant! You need not pretend completely, however. Nor express any great enthusiasm toward Mr. Wickham. I daresay he will receive little welcome, but you know some of that matter.” Her face shone with pride as she leaned closer. “You far outrank him, as Lydia said, and are physically superior in every way. So my guess is he will be frightened of you.”

“Excellent! A secret, Miss Bennet, for your ears only…” He leaned to whisper into her ear. “I delight in frightening my underlings. They all think me terrifying. It is a reputation I feed as often as possible.”

“I shall keep your secret, Major General. None but I shall know what a lamb you truly are.”

“Come, you two lovebirds!” Mrs. Bennet interrupted. “Do not be so rude. Welcome your sister, Kitty, and introduce your fiancé.”

Everyone but the oblivious Mrs. Bennet felt the undercurrents, but few knew the entire tale of Wickham. In fact, only Darcy, Richard, George, and Lizzy knew all of the history from childhood on to the present. Georgiana knew of her own travails with the scoundrel, but only hints of his past interactions with her brother. Lord and Lady Matlock knew of Georgiana’s narrow escape, of Wickham’s wild ways during University, his squandering James Darcy’s honest inheritance, and the attempt to swindle Darcy later, but nothing of his youthful mischief or the seduction and subsequent forced-marriage to Lydia Bennet.

Mr. Bennet knew the entire tale of Wickham’s seduction of Lydia and Darcy’s rescuing of her in London, but only vague fragments of Darcy’s past connection to him. Darcy had never shared his information regarding Lydia’s marriage and life in Newcastle with his father-in-law, seeing no profit in worrying him further. Kitty knew some of it, but from Georgiana’s point of view and via whispered conversations between her parents, the bulk of which she had passed on to Randall.

The remainder, no matter what tidbits they may have gleaned over the years, instantly sensed the tension as well as cringing at the abrasive manner of Lydia. Where Mrs. Bennet was tolerated by the more refined members of Darcy’s family, as long as contact was minimal, Lydia’s crass words chafed. Darcy had anticipated this, even if he was not prepared for the contact to occur when the entire wedding party was amassed in his temporary home with him as host. Nonetheless, his impeccable breeding and need to establish firm ground with Wickham overcame his chagrin. “Mrs. Wickham.” He bowed, stepping into the fray urbanely. “Welcome to Netherfield. Indeed you are in time for dinner. Setting for two additional diners is not in any way troublesome. Please, make yourself comfortable as you surely must be wearied from your journey.”

He gestured to the sofa, briefly meeting Lizzy’s eyes in silent communication. His wife nodded, grasping Lydia’s elbow and steering toward the middle of the room, the Bennet clan following.

Richard and Dr. Darcy sidled over as Darcy turned to face George Wickham. Randall remained behind, curiously observing the changing expressions while his own internal alarms yet rang.

“Wickham,” Darcy stated flatly, eyes flinty and piercing his old playmate. “You are welcome to Netherfield as well. Miss Bennet’s happiness is of the utmost concern. For her sake you are accepted, but you will be watched, have no fear of that.”

Wickham inclined his head, cocky smile fixed in place. “No need for threats, Darcy. I come in peace, and only at my wife’s urging, I assure you. Hertfordshire holds no happy memories for me, nor do you frankly. Colonel Fitzwilliam, I understand congratulations are in order?”

Richard nodded curtly, not replying.

Wickham nodded as well, feigned sadness touching his eyes. “I see. And you must be Major General Artois? I will assume you know of my unfortunate history with His Majesty’s Army, so I will not pretend that being surrounded by officers is all that appealing to me.”

“I suppose in that regard we are on equal footing, Mr. Wickham, as I do not find being in the company of insubordinates all that appealing either. But for the sake of my fiancée I will manage to overcome my repulsion.”

Wickham inclined his head politely, smile in place. “Understood. Congratulations to you as well, Major General. Miss Bennet has matured nicely, I daresay, from the girl I last saw. But it is oddly comforting to know not all has changed, such as her preference for military men. I am certain Mrs. Bennet is delighted at her daughter’s… resourcefulness and has welcomed you into the fold with lavish praise.”

His eyes turned from the stiffened Randall to Darcy. “More congratulations are in order, I see. Mrs. Darcy appears every inch a Mistress of Pemberley, to the point of speedily presenting you with not one, but two male children! Amazing development and how proud you must be. Your heir is a handsome lad, without any doubt your son. This must be a comfort to you.”

“Is this your idea of coming in peace, Wickham?” Darcy growled.

Wickham shrugged, spreading his hands. “Just getting the insults out of the way, Darcy. Then we can have it done with and move on to the happy event. Should I complete your expectations by remarking on how lovely a woman Georgiana has become?”

Richard took a step closer, his face ruddy with anger. “Be careful, Wickham. You are not among friends here.”

“Oh, how well I know, Colonel. But I do not think either of you want to start a brawl here in the parlor. Mustn’t upset the delicate females. That would be highly improper. Frankly, I am outnumbered, so am counting on the famous Darcy restraint to persevere. If Darcy truly wanted to harm me he has had plenty of opportunities to do so before this one.”

“Fitzwilliam.” Lizzy fortuitously interrupted the escalating scene, touching his sleeve. “Dinner has been announced.”

She sternly held his gaze, finally hearing a deep inhale as his face resumed its typical controlled seriousness. “Of course. Thank you, Elizabeth.” He offered his arm, Lizzy taking it with relief, both turning their backs on Wickham as Darcy’s elegant voice rang out in formal announcement. Richard and Randall left to claim their partners, none noting the smug expression that crossed Wickham’s face before it settled into its usual arrogant lift as he escorted a babbling Lydia into the dining room.

When Lizzy entered their bedchamber that evening, after nursing Michael and putting him to sleep, it was to a familiar sight. Her husband stood before the fireplace staring into the flames with one elbow resting on the mantel and the hand fisted against his mouth. The other arm hung at his side with fingers twitching. Jacket and cravat were discarded, negligently tossed over a chair, and shoes and stockings were piled on the floor. His hair was ruffled, sticking up in places, and his thick brows were furrowed with creases deep in between. She could not see his lips under the fisted hand, but she knew without a doubt that they were harshly pressed together. Even without additional evidence, such as the steady tic in his rigid jawline, she would have known the state of his emotions, as his entire posture was common when he was extremely agitated or angry.

Tonight she was not sure which it was. Agitation? Anger? Both? She entered quietly and curled up into the chair opposite his stiff body. She watched him for a few moments but could not bear it, so assumed her own contemplation of the fire.

Time passed. The only sounds were the crackles of the flames and Darcy’s heavy breathing. The only movements were the occasional shifting logs and his hand that continued to fidget and rifle through his hair.

“I am sorry, William,” she finally murmured into the silence. “Your anger is understandable and I wish I could alleviate it. Having to deal with Wickham… having him as… family is…”

“I refuse to listen to you apologizing for this again, Elizabeth,” he snapped, not moving or looking away from the fire. “This has nothing to do with you, or at least not in the way you persist in seeing it. You are my wife and he is my brother-in-law. That is the fact of it and I would not choose otherwise, so please desist in the self-recriminations! I cannot deal with your misplaced guilt at this juncture.” He inhaled vigorously to calm the anger and jerked away from the mantel, pivoting toward Lizzy. “I would prefer if you put aside your foolish guilt and use your intellect to help me figure out what his motives are!”

“And I would prefer, Mr. Darcy, if you lowered your voice, got control of your emotions, and quit glaring at me. You want me to tell you what I think Wickham’s motives are? It is this! He wants you raging and distressed, and flaring angrily at your wife. He desires discord among the family. You are allowing him to win, William, and you cannot do that!”

He stared at her for a few seconds and then began pacing, the other typical attitude when he was agitated or angry. She was angry as well, but his rudely spat words had done the trick of finally dissolving the residuals of her guilt. She would never again doubt his love for her—never—and knew beyond the tiniest shred that he counted any difficulty worth being her husband. Goodness, he tolerated her mother! What more proof could she possibly require?

Besides, she well knew that this was not a result of wishing, however remotely or unconsciously, that he did not have to deal with Wickham. The sad truth was that Darcy believed that Wickham would always have been a thorn in his flesh, Elizabeth or no Elizabeth. When would he have to again encounter his lifelong adversary and how would the threat arise? His bravery or mastery was not the question, but the stakes were increased due to his love for her and their children. His anger and agitation arose at the unknown possible harm to those he was sworn to protect.

Lizzy had been married to this complex man long enough to know it was best to allow him to expend his passionate irritation. It never lasted too long. Darcy was not a man, in general, who wallowed in his emotions. He was zealous in apportioned allotments and in appropriate situations, such as their bed, but was predominantly a man of superior restraint and vast intelligence. To him it was illogical and foolish to waste time and energy on fits of temper, thus he always rapidly gained control over his baser drives.

While she waited, her own vexation cooled and she found herself wanting to smile, although she held the impulse in check. As painful as it was to observe his distress and as potentially serious as this situation was, she never failed to obtain a physical rush in watching her handsome, virile, passionate spouse display his power and masculinity. He paced with feline grace and determination, tall body erect, long strides measured, and attractive face set as he worked through the problem. Then, just as she expected, after a dozen rushed passes before her, his rhythm slowed and the words came.

“Certainly, no matter what else he may have up his sleeve, sowing discord is one goal. That and annoying me. Damn! How could I allow him to witness my discomposure? Idiotic fool that I am! Very well then. You are correct, Elizabeth. He wants to vex me and he succeeded tonight. As humiliating as it is to admit, he won this round. I should not have allowed it, I who knows more than any other how capable at manipulation he is. I recognize that my anger is primarily at my own gullibility.” He waved his hand in the air before again reaching to vigorously comb through his hair.

“Stop that or you will yank every last hair out and I would rather not have a bald husband as of yet.”

He paused both his pacing and nervous gesture, looking to her smiling face. Releasing a sighing laugh, he closed his eyes and shook his head, dropping his arms with hands coming to rest on his hips. It was only a few seconds of silence before he straightened, inhaled deeply, and looked at her with his customary controlled expression in place.

“Very well then,” he repeated, “I concede that time clearly has not healed the past wounds as much as I thought, and that my vaunted forbearance is not as well established as I bragged, at least where Wickham is concerned.”

“Even you, my darling, are allowed to possess a few faults.” She smiled winsomely, Darcy again shaking his head and chuckling breathily. “The truth is, William, you boys cornered Wickham the second he walked in the door. Although I do not know what was said and certainly do not trust him any more than you, I can well imagine that having four men with heightened tempers surrounding would not bring out one’s best manners.”

“Perhaps, but he did not attempt the slightest civility or show a modicum of remorse for past deeds.” He proceeded to tell Lizzy about the parlor encounter, leaving nothing out.

“May I safely propose, dearest, that none of you attempted the slightest civility or extended a hint of grace for those past deeds?”

He did not reply, instead pressing his lips together and holding her gaze without any apparent shame.

Lizzy continued, “Dinner was no more uncomfortable than it ever is with such a mixed group of people. The tension level was a bit higher than normal with all the glowering menfolk. But Wickham was fairly polite and aside from a few borderline slurs was amiable.”

Darcy grunted, finally sitting on the sofa opposite Lizzy. “Yes, indeed. He is quite charming.”

“That is not what I meant. I merely want to cautiously advance the possibility that he intends no harm or has some nefarious plans. We only need to get through these few days and then we will be in London and have no reason to see him or Lydia again. As long as he is pleasant and causes no trouble, I think we can survive.”

He was staring at her, eyes dark and penetrating. “I noted that he brought a smile to your face once or twice, and a laugh at one point. His amiability and magnetism overcame your skepticism, I deduced.”

“Oh my God, William! Are you jealous of George Wickham?”

Lizzy laughed aloud while Darcy’s frown deepened into a surly pout. “I see nothing humorous in the situation, Elizabeth. By your own confession you once succumbed to his charm, however briefly, as well as his lies.”

Lizzy rose, still chuckling, and sat onto his lap entwining her arms over his shoulders. “Fitzwilliam Darcy, you are ridiculous and pathetic. And somewhat insulting. But, I shall forgive your offense against my character and momentary questioning of my love and devotion to you as I understand your fragile sensibilities and vulnerability.”

“Do not tease me, Elizabeth. I am not in the mood for lightheartedness.”

“I shall tease you nonetheless. And make you suffer for accusing me of any unfaithfulness, no matter how slight. Furthermore, you should be punished most severely for not recognizing when your loyal, adoring wife is fulfilling her role as Mistress of Pemberley and Mrs. Darcy, paramount hostess of Hertfordshire. However, since it is Mr. Wickham, and I know how distressed you are, I shall be merciful.”

She leaned to kiss him, but he halted her with firm hands grasping her face and fingers embedded into the curls pinned at the nape of her neck. His eyes bore into hers, no amusement evident within the dark blue depths despite her teasing, his voice a rough growl. “Elizabeth, sharing your smiles with other men is forever a torture for me. It is occasionally a struggle to avoid strangling my cousin or uncles. I am possessive, selfish, and covetous when it comes to you. George Wickham flashing his dazzling smile and dimples toward my wife brings all those unattractive characteristics to the forefront.”

He pulled her in then, kissing voraciously while his fingers searched for the pins holding her hair up. Lizzy melted into his body, a low moan escaping, but he abruptly drew her head away. “Add to my jealousy the fact that I do not trust Wickham as far as I could toss him, and I judge my temper forgivable.”

“I always forgive your tempers even when you do not deserve it.” She kissed him softly and released the top buttons on his shirt. “Just as you do mine. As for any jealousy, if I thought for one second you truly imagined that Mr. Wickham could spark the tiniest iota of interest within me, I would begin to doubt your ability to reason rationally. I would likely be forced to call Bethlam to take you away for insanity.”

“You do delight in teasing me, Mrs. Darcy.”

“Indeed I do, Mr. Darcy. It is your own fault, of course, as you make it entirely too easy an employment. Anyway, you should know by now that charm and amiability are not what intrigue me. As absurd as it seems, I apparently prefer serious and reserved. Dimples still pique my interest, but only those found on strong chins or faintly appearing in cheeks with brilliant, devoted smiles directed only at me in the privacy of my chambers.”

“Is this an exhaustive list of what enthralls you?”

“I like big men, tall and masculine, with firm muscles over every inch. Dark hair is beneficial. A rugged, clean-shaven jaw… well, perhaps a mustache. I am not sure, but definitely not a beard.”

“No?”

“No. I am certain of that. I am partial to soft, plump lips easy to kiss without interference.”

“Anything else of major importance to induce affection?”

She laughed breathily, maintaining her perch on his lap and relaxing into the armrest as he peeled her gown’s sleeve off her shoulder, initiating a methodical and sensual disrobing. “A resonant, authoritative voice is essential. Nothing weak or wavering. I love eyes as blue as the sky with intelligence and passionate fervor readily evident. Broad shoulders and a sculptured chest blanketed with downy black hairs. Hmm… Yes, indeed. Hands that are proficient, strong yet tender with elegant, gifted fingers…”

Her whispered words trailed away into a soft moan resulting from the blissful sensation of her husband’s lips upon the exposed flesh of her neck. Eyes closing at the added exhilaration of his roving fingertips that now brushed over her collarbone and downward over her breast, she mutely enjoyed the tactile stimulation.

“Continue, Mrs. Darcy. I must know what attributes intrigue you so I can be on alert for any potential competition,” he huskily demanded just before his warm tongue teased her bared bosom.

She gasped, resuming with a stuttering inflection. “A strong, prominent nose…”

“Forget the nose,” came a muffled voice.

“Indeed I shall not as the nose is highly important. Must be defined and forceful, making a statement of boldness and distinction. Plus, a perfect nose draws attention to the kissable lips beneath.”

Her words were cut off by abrupt movement. Darcy grasped her by the waist, lifting and pivoting in one powerful, smooth motion until a now naked Lizzy, except for stockings and slippers, was seated on the sofa with him kneeling between her thighs. He swiftly removed his clothing, drew her legs around his waist, and leaned his muscled frame over her smaller one.

“Any other necessary features to complete the package and drive your ardor to unnameable heights?”

She pointedly looked down to where their bodies met. One hand leisurely played over his exposed flesh, while the other entwined into his hair and drew his head closer. She pressed her lips against his earlobe, hot breath tickling deliciously as she whispered words for his hearing only.

Lizzy was correct in that Darcy was not seriously all that jealous of Wickham. His faith in their mutual accord was too tremendous. Nonetheless, he was a possessive man and the sudden entry of his enemy, a one-time rival for his wife’s affections, had upset him in a way he had not anticipated in his fretfulness over other concerns. Lizzy understood this and no matter how ludicrous she found it, and despite her gentle teasing, she wanted to assure him in the most elemental but glorious way that she was his. Only his.

There were no further words uttered. The only sounds were harsh grunts, rasping respirations, and sighing moans as they enjoyed the pleasure derived from each other. Love surged in an electric arc between their flesh and blinding bliss was attained simultaneously.

Later, after heartbeats slowed and lungs refilled with oxygen, the words flowed. But they were only declarations of eternal love and devotion. The topic of Wickham was left alone, neither giving it another second’s contemplation.