The Trouble with Mr. Darcy

Chapter Thirteen A Wedding in Meryton

Darcy was jolted to semi-wakefulness late the next morning by a pair of soft but surprisingly heavy elbows landing square on his chest.

“Papa, wake up! We need to see my toad!”

Darcy opened bleary eyes, befuddled brain registering the anxious expression of Alexander, whose face was close enough to see two of him. Darcy blinked and groaned as remembrance seeped into fogged wits.

“Papa!” Alexander gripped his father’s chin between pudgy fingers, shaking for attention. “Hurry! What if he is hungry?”

Darcy nodded, reaching to encircle his son’s body for a squeeze while rubbing gritty eyes with the other hand. He looked to the right, but the bed was empty. “Where are your mother and Michael?”

“Gone,” the boy answered unhelpfully, unconcerned over absent mother and brother or apparently confounded by waking in a bed other than his own. The issue of toad safety was far more pressing a worry!

“Your toad is fine, I promise you. Come, let’s find your mother and attend to our own hunger. I am in need of coffee.”

“But…”

“Trust me, Son. He is just fine. Now give me a kiss.”

Lizzy and Michael were in the sitting room, both consuming a morning meal, when the elder Darcy men joined them. Thus the morning began. Darcy had lain awake theorizing until the darkest hours of the night, finally falling into a deep but nightmare-filled sleep that was far from sufficient for his needs. Being continually prodded by a flipping toddler all night long did not help either. Nonetheless, his superior perspicacity prevailed and he wasted little time before executing the necessary requirements.

He was dead serious when stating that he would not permit his three loved ones out of his sight, but of course in the light of day the realities of such a blanket statement were not as easy to arrange. Lizzy departed to bathe and prepare for her sister’s wedding, but only after being sternly reminded to keep Marguerite within shouting distance and to send for him before leaving her chambers. The nursery door was kept bolted, Mrs. Hanford instructed to open for no one other than Mr. or Mrs. Darcy. It was an odd request that baffled the nanny but was executed without question.

Darcy performed his own toilette hastily, returning to the freshly scrubbed faces of his sons with relief. He did not think that Wickham or Orman would boldly storm Netherfield to abduct or harm his family, but he was not going to slacken his defense.

With the boys clean and dressed, and Mrs. Hanford finally apprised of cursory details regarding her Master’s strange behavior, the four of them set out to check on the toad, who was fine as promised. With a contented Michael clasped to Darcy’s chest, they knelt beside the barrel and supplied the indifferent amphibian with three more fat worms. The baby was mildly intrigued by the animal, but was equally fascinated by the buttons on his father’s jacket. Darcy would not relinquish Michael from his arms to the nanny until they were safely sequestered in the library. And then it was only so he could speak to Colonel Fitzwilliam and Dr. Darcy in private, and the three were mere feet away within easy reach, if out of earshot.

“Why the long face, Cousin? Wedding days are ones of rejoicing.”

“For some perhaps.” George countered as he took the chair across from his somber nephew and smiling friend, addressing the latter with an exaggerated grimace, “I am yet mourning every bachelor I know dropping like flies in winter. Thank the Maker marriage is not a contagion.”

“Hogwash! You smiled and danced at my wedding. If you found a lady as perfect as my Simone you would embrace the infection, I assure you.”

“I would continue this argument and eloquently prove your misconceptions, however I sense that William is about to throttle us for misplaced jocularity. I deduce you have not summoned us here for a casual chat?”

“Indeed you do appear more serious than usual. Did Wickham finally cross a line? I sure hope so. With all the military men floating about it would be a spectacular brawl!”

“I fear it is worse than that.” Darcy recounted the whole tale sans any embellishments. Richard and George listened, faces growing graver by the moment.

“It does seem rather coincidental,” George said when Darcy finished. “But as you said yourself, coincidence alone is inconclusive. Devon is a large county. I have been there several times visiting Estella and have heard nothing of this Lord Orman. The odds seem slim that Wickham would stumble across him.”

“True, but he may have sought him out. That would not surprise me in the least as Wickham has ever conspired and schemed.”

“Exactly my point, Richard.”

“But, Darcy, remember that Lizzy was unsure. We must consider that.”

“Yes,” George interjected, “but Elizabeth is not a woman prone to flights of fancy. She saw something that triggered the Marquis’s name, even if her subconscious has submerged the stimulus to that impression. I trust her instinct enough to claim caution, no matter how extreme the likelihood of these two men collaborating.”

“That is all I am asking at this point.” Darcy nodded, his face relaxing ever so slightly.

“We shall assist in watching over them, Son. Georgiana as well, so have no fear in that quarter. As the colonel pointed out, a veritable sea of soldiers roam the premises. It would be sheer insanity to attempt even the slightest mischief.”

“I can offer more than that. I have connections despite my retirement. Certain men I know who are highly qualified to undertake a spy mission and would leap at the opportunity for adventure and intrigue. I will send a message immediately and with luck you will have profitable information within a fortnight.”

“Thank you, Cousin.”

Richard inclined his head. “Pleased to be of service. Fortunate for you I have not completely lost my edge or forgotten my expertise. My ego is boosted to be indispensable again. You owe me,” he concluded with a smug grin.

Darcy grunted. “I am sure the tally is in my favor, Colonel. But I will concede one point as you have given me an idea. I will write to Mr. Daniels. He can quietly investigate Orman and Wickham, through legitimate channels, unlike how your ‘spies’ will undoubtedly go about it.”

George laughed. Richard merely shrugged noncommittally.

Those tasks accomplished, there was nothing further for the three to do but maintain a cautious vigilance. No alarms were raised and no hints of unrest were allowed to disturb the joyous celebration. Not for the world would any of them wish to distress Miss Kitty’s special event.

Shortly before noon, the crowd of witnesses converged upon the Meryton church where the eldest Bennet daughters had been married. The nondescript church was beautified with early spring blooms exuding a pleasant scent into the cool air, green vines and ribbons twined together were hung for additional color, and tall spermaceti wax candles lent a soft glow. The groom stood tall and majestic in formal military attire, the mass of ribbons and medals adorning his chest unable to vie with the proud expression on his face. The bride wore a gown of palest rose with accents all in shades of grassy green, softly woven muslin and lawn drapes that emphasized her curvy figure while maintaining proper modesty. She was a vision, and Randall nearly fainted from lack of oxygen before remembering to breathe!

Alexander walked in front of his aunt scattering rose petals with a studied precision humorous to observe. Laughter rippled, finally eliciting a shy smile from the serious boy, who dashed to the comfort of his father’s lap the instant the last petal hit the carpeted floor.

The sacred vows were exchanged, ring placed on the bride’s finger, and chaste kiss bestowed in a short, traditional ceremony that was nonetheless lovely and moving. The matrimonial binding of a beaming and lovely Katherine Bennet to a smiling and handsome Major General Randall Artois concluded without incident

The undisputed happiness and love surging forth from the bride and groom was adequate to allay most of Darcy’s fears. As when sitting in the audience during Mary’s wedding, Darcy held on to his wife’s hand, absently fondling the diamond and sapphire ring on her third finger while he mentally replayed their wedding, one of the happiest days of his life. Alexander sat protectively on his lap, and Michael was secure at Netherfield with the other children too young to attend the ceremony. Georgiana sat sandwiched between Lizzy and Richard. Taken altogether, Darcy relaxed tremendously.

Plus, it was amusing to note George Wickham’s discomfort.

The number of soldiers of varying ranks perpetually rose higher as the morning progressed until there was practically a whole military company inhabiting Netherfield! Lydia brazenly flirted with the red-coated men, her coquettish nature and penchant for military gentlemen obviously not diminished despite her marriage. Or perhaps she missed Wickham wearing a uniform. Whatever the case, it was appalling to witness but also amusing to observe the increasing glower upon Wickham’s face.

Darcy’s expression never changed from his usual serious politeness, but his muscles eased in the satisfaction of Wickham’s irritation. Eventually the latter collected himself, his native charm and ease overcoming his vexation. He remained unobtrusive for the most part and did not approach Darcy or his immediate family, but did a fair amount of his own flirting.

The wedding breakfast exceeded all expectations. Netherfield’s kitchen staff performed brilliantly with an array of delicious dishes leaving none wanting. As expected for such an occasion, happiness and laughter abounded. None, of course, felt as joyous as Randall and Kitty.

“Where did you say you were spending your wedding night?”

“I never said and would not divulge that information even if you applied a hot poker to my skin!” Randall answered his brother Roland’s seemingly innocent query with a laugh. “I shudder to imagine what you jokers would spring on me as a special wedding gift.”

All five of the Artois men wore wounded expressions, Reginald speaking for all of them. “We are deeply grieved that you would accuse us so, Brother. We are universal in our delight at your happiness and only wish to bestow our blessings upon your union in the most overwhelming terms. Any special gifts delivered shall be designed to enhance your wedded bliss and augment your first night as a married couple.”

Randall snorted and rolled his eyes. “How Major Henderson tolerates your long-winded pontificating is beyond my comprehension. Your secretarial skills must be consummate.”

“I am the best,” Reginald affirmed without a hint of equivocation, “but that is beside the point.”

“I was guessing you planned to lodge at Uncle’s house in Oxfordshire as that is on the way to Bath,” Royce speculated, eyeing Randall and Kitty closely for a telltale response.

He was disappointed. Kitty knew the brothers fairly well between her own interactions with the Artois family and Randall’s conversations so merely smiled benignly. Randall’s face was blank and he said nothing.

“Quit fishing, Royce.” The eldest, Roderick, spoke finally. He gazed at his brothers with feigned reproach. “Randall never said they were going to Bath. Could just as easily be Brighton or the Lake District or…”

“Or maybe we are sailing to France or taking the ferry to Ireland,” Randall interrupted with a laugh. “We may spend our wedding night at the inn down in Meryton, Aunt Phillip’s townhouse in London, or my house near the barracks. And, since I have mentioned all those places you can therefore conclude it will be none of them!”

“Unless it is one of them and you mentioned it to throw us off the scent,” Royce inserted with a grin.

Randall shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not. Face it, I have outwitted you so leave it be. My bride and I will have a perfect honeymoon without any interference, or ‘blessings upon our union’ from any of you.”

“Very well then. We admit defeat to your superior intellect and skills at stealth. Clever you are, Brother, but remember that no matter where you honeymoon, after a month you will be returning to your house in London and we all know where that is!”

Roland’s smug mien was mirrored by the others, until Randall replied, “Indeed. Bear in mind, however, that I know where all of you dwell. Retaliation would only add to the joy of my homecoming.”

And at this point Kitty burst into gales of laughter.

Expressing their thanks and accepting the numerous well wishes was time consuming, but the newlyweds managed to depart Netherfield by mid-afternoon. Georgiana embraced Kitty the longest, whispering her assurance that her wedding would definitely not take place until Kitty returned.

As predicted, the newlywed Artoises were relieved not to be traveling far, although the handful of miles proved enough to wildly escalate their fervency. Randall did not unhitch the horses, instead opting to carry his wife into the house and straight to the bed. The lovely surroundings and exceeding joy in officially being husband and wife added a dimension to their lovemaking that neither had expected. Despite Randall’s assertion that he would keep his wife in bed for the whole week, they took a few long walks in the wood and enjoyed the rustic scenery before moving on to Bath. In every way imaginable it was the perfect honeymoon and an auspicious beginning to their life together. But that is for another story.

In the meantime, the festivities at Netherfield continued until late afternoon with the guests occasionally turning their thoughts to the newlyweds but primarily enjoying the food and entertainment. Darcy and Elizabeth performed their duties as host and hostess, but did breathe a sigh of relief when the final guest departed that evening. Darcy was able to slip away with Alexander to return the toad to his riverbank home before darkness made that chore impossible. Just as dusk began to creep over the horizon, Darcy closed the wide front door, threw the latch, and fell against the thick wood to momentarily close his eyes in exhaustion.

George laughed, encircled the weary younger man’s shoulders, and steered wordlessly to the game room where Richard, Charles, and Joshua Daniels were already chalking their cues. Several rounds of billiards and a couple of glasses of brandy were just what Darcy needed to unwind. No one brought up the subject of Wickham or Orman, instead chatting amiably about the wedding, politics, horse racing, medicine, or anything else that arose naturally. By the time Darcy rejoined his wife and sons in their chambers he was nearly restored to his old self. He kept the boys close, constructing a pallet of thick quilts by the fire that ended up being a place for extended play and story time.

“Papa, do you think my toad happy?”

Darcy looked into the anxious face of his firstborn, smiling and not admonishing him for interrupting the story he was reading aloud. “I am sure he is content, Son. He is with his family, just as you are, maybe reading a story to his children.”

Alexander frowned, meditating on that information for a minute before shaking his head. “No, Papa, frogs not really read. Only in pretend.”

Darcy laughed, pulling him closer to his side and kissing the top of his head. “Indeed you are correct. I was only teasing.”

“Fuss no more over the toad, Alexander. Let your father finish the story. I want to hear what happens to Gulliver on Lilliput, do you?”

Alexander nodded. Michael squealed and babbled, his hand tapping on the open page of the book Darcy held as if he concurred with his mother’s question. He was perched on his father’s left thigh, fat body bouncing and wiggling, and the silver rattle gripped in his hand waving about dangerously. He looked upward into Darcy’s face and released a stream of bilabial monosyllables that apparently translated into his wish for Darcy to recommence the reading.

After a kiss to his second son’s head, he did, resonant voice rising and falling in a storyteller’s cadence. Michael calmed, the rattle brought to his mouth for serious gnawing as he listened to the adventures of Gulliver.

The final restoration to Darcy’s equilibrium came once the children were asleep and Lizzy was lying snugly against his side with head resting on his shoulder. They wore nightwear and had no plans to be intimate with the children in the same room, but that did not prevent tender caressing under the concealing covers. In light of the exhausting day and extreme emotion, it was soothing to hold each other.

“Miss Kitty, or Mrs. Artois I should say, was a vision of loveliness. Pale colors become her.” He drew the long lock of his wife’s hair that he had been negligently toying with to his nose. “Of course, she was no match for how stunning you were on the day we married.”

“Naturally not! It is requisite for you to make such a declaration. As I must say that your abundant handsomeness on our wedding day was no match for a man in military garb.”

“Is it not the truth, Mrs. Darcy?”

She pursed her lips, eyes twinkling, and answered with feigned uncertainty. “Well, the leather, jeweled baldric and gold saber did add a certain panache and éclat missing at our nuptials. Makes a definitive judgment difficult to render.”

“I knew I should have worn my grandfather’s Italian rapier that day!” he declared dramatically. “I feared being ostentatious.”

“Never any fear of you being ostentatious, my love. You so easily blend into the background.” She laughed, closing the gap for a kiss.

“You must stop that, Elizabeth,” he murmured huskily against her mouth, “or I shall not be able to restrain myself and will wildly make love to you unconcerned with giving Alexander an education he does not yet need.”

Lizzy halted the activity of her fingers, not aware that she had reached to feather light caresses over her husband’s left ear and the hair that curled there. Early in their marriage Lizzy learned how erotically sensitive Darcy was in the region of his ears. The lightest touch elicited faint moans and shivers, and a kiss or subtle breath drove him insane. She found it humorous since her own ears were only ticklish. She also found it useful. A last moment brushing kiss or stroke to his aural area was a gift she delighted in bestowing from time to time as he departed the house. The muted pule caught in his throat and flicker of fire in his sapphire eyes was satisfying. When they made love it was one of a handful of tactics she knew to employ that plummeted his ardor over the edge of control into blissful, wanton abandon.

Now, however, she obeyed the plea, moving her hand to his linen-covered chest and docilely laying it over his accelerated heartbeat. Squelching the instantaneous surge of gratification in knowing how easily her touch provoked his desire, she changed the subject.

“The newlyweds are enjoying the clear air of an exotic locale and tomorrow we will be breathing the clogged air of London, yet I hold no jealousy. Even the busyness of Town will be a welcome respite from recent drama.”

“You and Georgiana can shop to your heart’s content. Actually, we will all need to acquire new clothes to a greater degree than normal. The endless stream of fêtes to honor our new King will require the latest fashions.”

“Interesting that you would mention fashion. Georgiana brought several magazines from France. Styles are changing with Paris designers setting what is vogue, as always. Did you notice the subtle differences in Georgie’s gown?”

“I noticed that she was beautiful and wearing a pink dress.”

Lizzy laughed. “It was mauve, my darling. Thank goodness your tailor is cognizant of advancing men’s fashion or you would be a laughingstock.”

“That is precisely why I chose him and gladly pay his exorbitant prices. Like any excellent modiste, he keeps abreast of the whimsies of style trends. Take note of all the magazines you can obtain on the subject as you will need to be brilliantly garmented for the coronation next year.”

“Plenty of time to worry about that momentous event,” she said, attempting to be casual, but the tremor in her voice divulged her excitement. Darcy smiled in understanding.

It was not every day, or once in a person’s lifetime, that a new monarch was crowned. George III had ruled for some sixty years, few remembering his traditional coronation. All of England breathlessly anticipated the procession and ceremonies scheduled to take place next year when King George IV publicly received his crown and scepter from the Archbishop of Canterbury in Westminster Abbey. The rumors of how grand the planned coronation was to be were rife. The latest news circulating was that the King had purchased the famous forty-five carat French Blue diamond once owned by Louis XIV and later given to Queen Marie Antoinette, only to be stolen from the Garde-Meuble and then lost during the Revolution. Speculation as to how the King would use the renowned, two-hundred-year-old gem was only one of numerous coronation-related topics open for discussion. The King vocally determined to have a coronation that outshone Napoleon Bonaparte’s in 1804, Parliament voting to provide a staggering fortune to make it so. Thus, though over a year away, the enthusiasm mounted. The benefit of having eighteen months from the time when the Prince Regent became King in January of 1820 until the official coronation was latched on to by Society with the slated parties lavish and frequent.

“I shall need to buy an additional carriage to haul the new gowns and jewels back to Pemberley by the time this Season ends,” Darcy said, only partly jesting. “I know you, my dear wife, and am certain we shall exhaust ourselves in revelry.”

“Only moderately,” she said with a laugh. “I still have a baby at home to care for, so cannot drag you all over London until the darkest hours of the night.” She leaned to bestow a slow kiss. “I always prefer to stay home with you and our children over dancing and socializing. Have no fear, love.”

He grunted. “We shall see how well that plan holds. I think I will be ready for our restful holiday hiatus in Kent after Easter.”

“It will be wonderful to see Anne and Raul again. And the baby.” Lizzy spoke softly, laying her head onto his chest and squeezing tightly.

“Indeed,” he answered. “I have worried over her so these past years. She has suffered too many health issues and traumas. Perhaps marriage was not the best choice for her, but then I know how she loves Dr. Penaflor and how devoted he is to her.”

“It is an unfortunate consequence, I suppose. But you know that even with the losses, Anne would not wish it otherwise. Now they have Margaret.”

“Lady Catherine says the infant is strong and that Anne is yet fragile, but largely healed from the ordeal. Still, I will not rest easy until I see for myself.”

Lizzy smiled and hugged him again, thoughts momentarily shifting to Kent and the inhabitants of Rosings as they snuggled together and drifted into sleep.

The former Anne de Bourgh, now Mrs. Raul Penaflor Aleman de Vigo, would unequivocally affirm that marrying Dr. Raul Penaflor was the happiest moment of her life. Not a one of the subsequent heartaches in the previous two years could supplant the overwhelming bliss they found in each other. In every way it was precisely as her cousin and lifelong friend had confided to her on the shores of Rowan Lake: “All I can assert with absolute confidence is the astounding joy to be found in a union with one whom you love and who loves you in return.”

Anne had found that joy with Raul and felt no regrets. The losses had taken their toll, and privately Anne had doubted a baby was ever to be, but strangely her fourth pregnancy proceeded with hardly a glitch. For the entire nine months Anne was chronically tired and pale, but otherwise proved to be one of those fortunate women who barely notice they are pregnant. She suffered not a single negative symptom, glowed with an inner happiness that superseded the pallor, and had a labor that lasted for four hours start to finish.

Margaret Catherine Victoria Penaflor Aleman de Vigo was tiny but perfectly healthy. Anne remained frail and wan for weeks and was unable to nurse her daughter as she had wished, but gradually the persistent care from her private physician, who loved her obsessively, prevailed.

The next day was their scheduled departure from Hertfordshire. Mrs. Bennet insisted on hosting her family for a last tea at Longbourn before they quit the area. Darcy grit his teeth and did not argue, but he prepared for a last-minute confrontation with Wickham.

The carriages with their luggage and servants were sent on to Darcy House while their coach diverted onto the narrow avenue leading to Longbourn. As soon as they crossed the threshold they heard Mrs. Bennet’s voice raised in lamentation. Mary greeted them at the door with an explanation.

“Mama is distressed over Lydia departing today. It has taken all of us by surprise as they planned to visit through Easter. Barely did we sit down for breakfast when Mr. Wickham announced they would be leaving.”

“Did he explain why?” Lizzy asked.

“Not with complete clarity, no. He smiled regretfully and pleaded, ‘pressing business affairs that pull us away from the delightful company of our family.’ He has been effusive in his apologies but firm. They are packing as we speak.”

“How odd and how sudden. Was a missive delivered today as the cause of his urgency?”

“Not that we are aware. Who can say, Lizzy? The entire affair is so strange. Why come so far for a week’s visit?” She shook her head, steering into the parlor and missing Darcy’s muttered Why indeed as she continued to speak. “I do apologize for the histrionics, Mr. Darcy. I fear the day may be unpleasant.”

The latter was an understatement. Mrs. Bennet refused to be consoled. Lydia cried and expressed deep remorse at leaving one moment only to then rhapsodize over “her darling Wickham’s” promise to holiday at Brighton once his business in Portsmouth concluded. What he had to do in Portsmouth remained a mystery. No one directly asked the question and Wickham was strangely quiet.

The minuscule amount of delight Mr. Bennet experienced at seeing his youngest daughter after so many years had rapidly dissipated upon noting she was as foolish and noisy as ever. Wickham, despite being respectful and pleasant, had never been forgiven by Mr. Bennet for his despicable conduct and the scandalous affair with Lydia that had nearly brought ruin upon the entire family.

Mr. Bennet silently endured his wife’s ranting for a time before speaking. “Mrs. Bennet, we are all greatly grieved at the imminent emptiness to our family, but surely you would not wish a man as important and influential as our daughter’s fine husband to shirk his responsibilities? Imagine the negative cast this would place upon our dearest Mrs. Wickham if her husband were to gain a reputation as feckless and unprincipled.”

Mr. Bennet directed his gaze toward Wickham, who startled at the softly spoken double entendre and then flushed with anger before composing himself.

To Darcy, Wickham said nothing, not even a farewell beyond a slight incline of his head and an indecipherable smirk. Darcy was unconvinced it was that simple, but nevertheless, watching the Wickhams’ carriage wheeling away on the southwestern road skirting London was encouraging. His greatest relief was when they arrived at the palatial townhouse on Grosvenor Square that evening.

At Darcy House he was in charge and the familiarity of the townhouse pacified his soul. Of course, he did march about much as a general before the deciding battle, reiterating his usual requirements for security and privacy, and extending fresh demands for limiting unknown visitors and increasing protection to his wife and children when he was away. Darcy never lifted his voice above its normal sonorant baritone, nor did he punctuate his orders with gestures or repetition, yet there was never a doubt to any of the staff as to the seriousness of his instructions or the implied consequence if they failed. They responded to his orders with brisk, almost military efficiency.

It was late when he entered their first floor bedchamber. He opened the door from his dressing room slowly, sure that Elizabeth would be fast asleep. But, to his immediate delight and swelling desire, she was not abed but out in the garden somewhere as the patio doors were widely gaping. He found her sitting on the smoothed stones topping the short wall that surrounded the private courtyard outside their bedchamber. She was gazing at the stars visible through the waving branches of the elm that shaded the terrace but turned at his silent entry. She smiled, nestling happily into the ready embrace he offered as he sat onto the ledge beside her.

“I never can sneak up on you,” he spoke into her hair, voice vibrant with love and humor, “no matter how stealthy I try to be.”

Lizzy laughed, squeezing his arms and lacing fingers between his where they rested on her abdomen. She rotated the gold band that resided on his left hand, the unblemished metal a constant reminder of his unwavering commitment and love. “It is not a negative commentary to your stalking skills, my love. Rather, a testament to our bonding as I am always aware when you are near. My heart feels your every heartbeat and my soul hears your every breath,” she said in a lilting cadence with latent laughter.

“Now who is the poet? Abounding in romantic emotion tonight, my lover? Anything I can do to assist you in your sentimental attitude?” He accented his whispered question with several well-placed kisses to her neck.

“It was a poor attempt, albeit the truth, and meant as a hint for you to recite poetry of your own.”

He chuckled that singular rich tone of pleasure released against the skin at the bend of her shoulder that sent shivers of excitement cascading down her spine, settling into a private zone deep within her belly that only he could reach. He held her firmly against his chest, heart powerfully beating a soothing rhythm, heat infusing her skin through the thin layers of fabric that separated their flesh, arms sturdy but muscles relaxed as they surrounded her lithe form. His hands were motionless where they clasped hers and lips gentle as they wandered leisurely.

Largely it was indefinable, but Lizzy sensed in every touch and breath from her beloved that he was restored to the man of power and confidence that she had married.

Fitzwilliam Darcy was a curious dichotomy. At once a man of superior intellect and sharp decisiveness who met and resolved the challenges that came his way with barely a blink, while also being a man who required constancy and formula in his life, abhorring any upset to the careful balance he craved. When the two collided, his internal poise was shaken even as he dealt with the crisis head-on. Only one extremely close to him, and that primarily was his wife, ever perceived the struggle waging inside. When the waters calmed and that yearned for composure was once again attained, she knew it.

Her voice was dulcet, barely audible when she spoke. “You have satisfied your worries? Do you feel peace in the situation?”

“I would likely be happier at Pemberley, but, yes, I am at peace. You know how I despise being out of my routine, Elizabeth. It has forever been a fault of my character. Father laughed at me constantly, wondering how I could so enjoy traveling when it annoyed me to be in unfamiliar environs with strangers.” He laughed, shaking his head at the ridiculousness of it. “I cannot explain it and am aware of the absurdity, but no matter how I delighted in journeys to foreign lands or learning new customs and ancient history, my muscles did not unwind until breathing the air of Derbyshire and laying eyes on Pemberley’s pinnacles.”

He turned her body gently, hands smoothing over the softness of her cheeks, and eyes soft in the moonlight as he gazed upon her face. “There are many questions to be answered and we will remain cautious. But right now I am in my second favorite abode on this earth, my children and sister are asleep in the rooms above us, and I am holding the woman I love more than my own life in my arms. The stars are sparkling, the moon is glowing, the pure fragrance of lilac and cut grass is deliciously invading my nostrils, and the lulling music of bubbling water falling over rocks fills the air. Furthermore, after kissing you, my lovely, precious Elizabeth, until you are pliant and breathless with desire I know I shall make love with you until we are utterly satiated. How could I not feel peace in such an atmosphere?”

“Now who is the poet, Fitzwilliam?”

“I shall recite the masters for you, darling, if that is your wish, but I prefer to express the poetry of love with my mouth and hands upon your skin.”

“My goodness, both a poet and a wit! How marvelously blessed I am.”

“Indeed,” he growled, pulling her onto his lap, hands searching relentlessly under her raised skirt. “As much as I would like to love you here in the moonlight, alas this place does not afford us the privacy of our balcony at home. Come, Mrs. Darcy, we can discuss poetry on our bed.”

And amid her tinkling laughter he rose with her clutched in his arms, striding purposefully into the candlelit chamber attached and proceeding to fulfill his vow until they were undeniably and utterly satiated.