The Trouble with Mr. Darcy

Chapter Two In the Shadow of the Alps

Crossing the Alps into Italy was never an easy endeavor, although it was undertaken with enough regularity to organize properly. Five of the Oeggl grandchildren, young adults all, as well as the eldest son and heir to the barony, Herr Jens Oeggl, and his wife, Anita, had decided to join the caravan as soon as they learned of Lord and Lady Matlock’s plan to take Miss Darcy on a grand tour. All the arrangements were made, including connecting with several other friends who wished to travel and, as expected, the locals in Switzerland were stocked with every supply needed. A larger company moving together was the safest plan, Darcy immeasurably relieved and thankful to learn of the family’s inclusion.

“Tours across Europe are popular for the Darcy kinsmen this year.” It was twilight on May twenty and the main parlor, stretching across the rear of the house with a panoramic view of Lake Genève, was packed with adults lounging about in that hazy place of contentment after a day replete with activity and a sumptuous dinner. Baroness Oeggl’s murmured statement was easily audible to all since most were reading, silently playing games, or staring at the scenery.

“Yes,” Darcy responded first, laying his book aside and attending to his aunt, “we are a platoon-sized force blazing across the continent. Somewhat ostentatious at times.”

The corners of her mouth lifted slightly at his joke. “Oh yes, I recall the feelings of pretension when traveling in the past. Our recent journey from Vienna was a formidable host, more of a battalion with all of us.” She swept her eyes over the loungers, most of who were listening to the exchange with smiles on their faces. “However, I was not only referring to those currently residing here. Your cousin Maria and her husband are in Russia, of all the outlandish places to visit.”

“I think Russia would be a fascinating place to tour. It is an ancient culture with architecture found nowhere else.”

Lizzy’s zealous interruption was met with a faint frown, the Baroness continuing as if she had not spoken, “Freiherr Oeggl’s youngest brother and family are already in Italy, since last fall, and currently the Marchioness of Warrow is dwelling at our house in Vienna.”

“Aunt Beryl is in Vienna?” George blurted.

“Lady Warrow,” Mary corrected primly, “is accompanying her grandson, Mr. Butler, while he studies music in Vienna.”

Darcy looked toward his wife. “I believe he mentioned his plans to tour abroad when we met him last year, did he not Elizabeth?”

“He did. I was not sure of details in his plans, however. Did he speak of it to you, Georgiana?”

“We conversed for a few minutes only and then about the pieces he wrote. I know nothing of his private matters, but I am not surprised. If the compositions played for us are an indication of his talent, then it is sensible to further his study. He plans to tour Italy, I assume?”

“Not as yet. My understanding is that he hopes to be a student at the Paris Conservatoire de Musique…”

“Oh!” Georgiana blushed at her interruption but could not hide her animation. “How extraordinary! For a foreigner to be admitted is an incredible honor. Mr. Butler surely possesses a talent vastly exceeding my impression if he has such expectations. How extraordinary,” she repeated, face dreamy as she lapsed into silence.

“He does play beautifully,” Mary resumed, “and with my knowledge of music I can assert he is prodigiously skilled. I am sure in time he will comprehend the importance of visiting Italy to study opera where it originated and reigns supreme.”

“If he is as precious to the musical world as it appears then hopefully he will sail to Italy rather than risk his magical fingers or genius brain to the rigors of crossing the mountains!”

Laughter rang out at Herr Oeggl’s exaggeration, only his mother pursing her lips and remaining silent.

“Jens teases at Mr. Butler’s expense not out of maliciousness, Miss Darcy, but because the two instantly bonded in friendship. Mr. Butler is as humorous as my husband, if one defines sarcasm as humor.” Anita Oeggl winked at her spouse, Herr Oeggl bowing in mock salute.

“Only desiring to avoid a tragedy that would wound us all, my love.”

“Is the crossing into Italy as formidable as they say?” Georgiana asked. Her voice and expression showed exhilaration at the concept and not a shred of fright, music and Mr. Butler forgotten.

“Oh, indeed it is,” her cousin answered in an ominous tone, winking sidelong at Darcy, who frowned. “The pass of Saint Bernard through the Valais Alps to Aosta is roughly fifty miles of narrow winding pathways overlooking plunging gorges and rising to elevations over eight-thousand feet. All around you are towering snow-clad mountains touching the heavens. It is breathtaking to behold! God at His greatest display of artistry. One must be hardy to cross and incredibly brave.”

“You have crossed it yourself, Herr Oeggl?”

“I have, twice I am proud to say.”

“An adventurous soul is my son,” Baron Oeggl declared.

“I am Austrian. And Austrians climb mountains fearlessly, yes, Mutter, sein?”

“So I am continually informed,” Mary agreed dryly.

Herr Oeggl grinned. “You shall see, lieblich cousin, that the Great St. Bernard is a marvelous adventure. We shall tread the road bloody Napoleon crossed with his army of 60,000, descending into an unaware Saint-Rhemy with war chariots and gun carriages. He was branded a fool to attempt crossing in May while the heavy snows blocked the pass, but fool or tactical genius his ploy succeeded. History is plentiful along the pass.”

Lizzy shivered. “One hears such tales of woe related to that pass. Are you sure it is wise to take that way?”

“It is the closest and well traversed, Cousin. Thousands of people travel that way each year. One must be diligent and prepared, naturally. That is why we will not depart until well into June, for one thing, and we will move slowly with guides.”

“And you will shelter at the hospice for a day or more of rest,” Darcy ordered.

“Goodness knows I will need the hiatus.” Lord Matlock stretched his legs as if already imagining the ache from an arduous ride.

“The monks who honor Bernard of Menthon by maintaining the hospice will treat you well, my lord. The food is hot and satisfying, the fires raging, and the travelers constant through the pass. The monks and their dogs also patrol the trails for unsavory folk bent on thievery. That is no longer the concern it once was.”

“I hear the dogs of St. Bernard are as big as mastiffs. Is this true?”

“It is, Cousin,” Jurgen, youngest son of Herr Oeggl replied, leaning forward in his chair and holding his hand shoulder level. “Like small horses they are, but gentle. They gaze at you with their enormous brown eyes and compassion touches your heart. You can see why they love rescuing stranded people, risking their own lives selflessly to aid humans. It is beautiful.”

“My son is a lover of animals.” Herr Oeggl smiled fondly. “He wishes to join the monastery I believe and devote himself to breeding the St. Bernards. Hence his interest in this journey, unlike my lovely nieces who want to shop in Milano.”

“Milano designers and fabrics are unlike anywhere else, except perhaps Florence.” Romy sniffed. “It is worth any hardship for fashion.”

“Well,” countered her sister, Viveka, “Milano excites me as well, but I am also intrigued by the reputed brilliance of spring wildflowers that cover the meadows, the lakes and waterfalls, and any other vistas along the pass. I will be bringing my paints and pad, praying for flat terrain.”

“Painting while riding? You are talented to attempt it. You must show me how.”

“My pleasure, Miss Darcy, if you teach me how to play the harp as brilliantly as you.” She squeezed the blushing Georgiana’s hand.

“Not to put a damper on the youthful enthusiasm, but I am happy not to be making the trip; enormous dogs and stunning landscape are not enough to tempt me.”

“Why, Dr. Darcy”—Lady Matlock laughed—“after your adventures a steep mountain pass gives you pause? I am shocked and disappointed.”

“One word, madam: snow. No offense, Baron and Baroness, but I think my blood is now frozen solid and fear removing the three layers of stockings I wear, as I am positive I have frostbite!”

Everyone laughed. Georgiana leaned into her uncle, hugged his arm, and spoke to the crowd, “My dear uncle is delicate it seems. I, on the other hand, am determined to be brave and enjoy every moment!”

“That is the spirit, Cousin.” Herr Oeggl slapped his hand onto the chair’s arm. “Remember that only half of the journey is uphill. The rest is a descent, and how hard can that be?”

Lizzy filled two journals with notes and etchings of their time in Switzerland. Many of her entries were stories recounted by Darcy’s female cousins, those same ladies who taught him to dance the waltz so many years ago. Their remembrances were highly amusing, at least to Lizzy. Darcy flushed and attempted to correct their embellished reminiscences to no avail. He did prove, however, that their lessons in the Viennese waltz were intact, Lizzy reaping the benefits several times at the balls held in their honor.

Yet for all the entertainments and family memories, years later, Darcy would maintain that the best part of their stay in Switzerland was when he felt their baby move for the first time.

A week after arriving, on a night in May, Darcy reclined on a chair in their guest bedchamber with his feet crossed on the ottoman and mind engrossed in a book, while Lizzy sat at the desk writing in her journal. Silence ruled other than the crackle of the fire, muted tick of a clock, and scribble of her pen.

Sudden Lizzy released a sharp gasp and jumped up from her chair. It was so precipitous that Darcy had no chance to react before she plopped onto his lap. He grunted with the unexpected pressure, the book toppling to the floor when she grabbed his wrist with a jerk. Without a word she pressed his palm firmly against the small mound of her belly, smiling at his bewildered expression.

“Wait,” she whispered, “he will kick again, I am sure of it.”

He stared into her eyes, waiting as she said with his hand tight over the warm flesh encasing their baby. Lizzy held his gaze, lifted her legs until stretched over his, and leaned back onto his chest with her head resting on his inner shoulder.

“He is usually quiet in the evenings. When I feel him you are never around or we are in public. It has been frustrating.”

“I agree with the frustration,” Darcy breathed softly. “He, or she, is uncooperative. Hopefully not a sign of what is to come. Behave, little one, let your father know you are there.”

Lizzy shifted, moving his fingertips to the left side. “I think his legs are over here more. Wait.”

But the word barely left her mouth when their unborn child jabbed back at the seeking fingers invading his space, Darcy sucking in his breath at the sensation. He swiveled instantly misty eyes to her abdomen, as if possible to outwardly see the feeble movements.

“See, he is a cooperative boy.”

“He is amazing! Ah, how I have missed this miraculous feeling.” He buried his face in her hair and closed his eyes. He relaxed his taut muscles, inhaled deeply, and settled in to enjoy the profound emotions sweeping through him as their child lazily stirred under his broad hand.

It was only two or three minutes, the baby yet too small to exert energy for long. Darcy could sense his stretches spacing, and then a palpable rolling motion as he presumably flipped inside his watery home and ended the interlude. Still Darcy cradled the soft bulge, silent and at peace with his wife in his arms and the newfound connection charging through his veins. He could almost hear his heart expanding, each beat sending life-giving blood to the cells created to love this addition to his family, his head dizzy with the glorious feelings flooding over him.

“I love you, Elizabeth. You are a marvelous gift to me, and now you are blessing my life further with our children. I will be content with whatever God allots us, but I must say I selfishly wish for many.”

“Be careful what you ask for,” Lizzy chuckled. “Many is rather vague and as we are constantly being reminded, most children are not as complacent as Alexander!”

“It makes no never mind. I absolutely adore being a father and will gladly accept them all.”

“I shall note that remark in my journal in case I need to jog your memory of such a bold promise. The next one may well possess my personality, or worse yet, your father and George’s!”

He smiled benignly, cupping her face and rubbing a thumb over her cheek. “I will take my chances.” The kiss that followed was lengthy but soothing and soft. His fingertips brushed over her jaw for a momentary caress before returning to cradle the mound where his second child lay. With his other arm he drew her closer to his body, Lizzy instinctively curling and melting into the contours of his form.

A low hum of pleasure purred from the back of her throat when he finally released her lips, the sound wafting as a breath over the curve of his neck when she buried her face there. He held her, contentment a tangible blanket surrounding their bodies, and continued to fondle the pillowy swell for a long while. The baby moved occasionally, faint and fluttery but discernible now that he knew what to expect, but remained quiet for the most part. Eventually Darcy’s eyes grew heavy and he carried his sleeping wife to their bed to nestle with his hand tight over her belly and unconscious mind registering every prod.

Toward morning but while the sun yet hid below the surface of their area of the world, Darcy was roused by movement on Lizzy’s side of the bed and a brief but cold blast of air across his shoulders. He was on his back and rolled toward the space she typically occupied, only then sleepily assimilating that what roused him was her returning to bed.

“Why were you up?” he grated.

“Nature’s duties. I apologize for waking you.” He garbled something that sounded like never mind and reached for her body, Lizzy keeping a distance and whispering, “My gown is chilled and toes like ice. I will make you cold.”

He grabbed her anyway, strong arms slipping her over the sheets as if a feather, the heat radiating off his skin pouring through her. “Do not be ridiculous,” he rumbled, sending fresh shivers through her flesh, although not from the cold as Darcy thought. “I will have you warm in seconds.”

It was true. She cuddled against his hard chest and leeched the heat generated in droves by his internal furnace. She cinched her icy feet between his naked shins and while they thawed, the remainder of her body flared quickly to hot, especially with his hands drowsily rubbing over her back.

“It may warm up during the day, but at night it is as freezing as December,” she murmured, pressing an icicle nose onto his breastbone.

He chuckled, the hoarse sound reverberating under her face. “Trust me, it is much colder here in December. I will stir up the fire.” He started to draw away, but Lizzy clutched onto his thigh and held fast.

“No need. I am quite warm now. I have my own personal fire and he rapidly incites my internal flames.” And just in case he missed the innuendo she kissed his chest and caressed pointedly up his thigh and around to his rear.

Darcy, of course, was not an imbecile even if half asleep. The lazy caressing continued for several minutes while Lizzy planted kisses across his chest and Darcy smiled into her lavender scented hair. He snaked a hand under the thick nightgown she wore during the winter, pushing the cloth upward as his hand skimmed over her leg. He sighed contentedly, allowing the excitement to build in languid increments, savoring the tactile delight of her skin under his palm without a conscious agenda.

“He is quite active at this moment.”

Her whispered words broke into the silence, momentarily halting the fingers trailing over her hipbone. Eagerly they altered their random path, purposefully brushing along her inner thigh until reaching the swell above. As she said, the baby was moving with gentle nudges against his palm.

“Hmm… Wonderful. You continually say ‘he’ as if sure of the sex. Another vivid dream as with Alexander?”

“No. Not this time. More of a feeling.”

“Ah, a feeling. So scientific.” He accented his tease with a tiny pinch.

“As scientific as my dream, but that proved true.”

“Very well then. I suppose that means we do not have to assign a female name, and since Alexander was instantly agreed upon, we have a task on our hands. Any choices? Do you wish to name him after your father?”

“Thomas? Perhaps, although we could reserve it as a secondary name after your father’s. James should be chosen before Thomas.”

“I do want to pay homage to my father if possible, yes. However, I do want to add Charles as a secondary name as well, if you do not mind? He is a dear friend and instrumental in my meeting you.” He gently drew her away from his chest, attempting to see her eyes in the dark, but to no avail so he kissed her instead, his fingertips flittering over her most sensitive zones while maintaining contact with their unborn child.

“How sweet,” she said once her mouth was released. “Charles is mutually agreed upon. So, we have numerous secondary name choices but nothing for the Christian name. Do you have a favorite?”

“I have always liked Nathaniel. And Adam. Not common, I know, but nice names.”

“Possible. What do you think of Gabriel? Lisle’s son is Gabriel and it struck me as pleasant.”

Suddenly Darcy chuckled. “Gabriel, Thomas, Nathaniel, Adam. I think we are cornering Biblical names!”

“Indeed,” she joined his laughter. “Of course, if we have this many babies you alluded to last night, we may work our way through the entire Bible. Just do not ask for Methuselah. I draw the line there.”

“Does that mean Shadrach and Meshach are eliminated? And no on Potiphar or Boaz?”

She shook with laughter and a fair dose of arousal now that his fingers had crept to the apex between her legs and were confounding her senses with their antics. “Absolutely not! I have no urge to torture our son with a hideous name. What say we remain in the realm of non-ridiculing names like Matthew or Daniel or Michael…”

“Michael,” Darcy interrupted, although Lizzy’s voice had paused on the name. Even his fingers had ceased moving, a fact Lizzy did not initially register as she too was dwelling on the name. “That has a nice ring. Michael. Michael Darcy. Michael Charles Darcy. What do you think?” He tried vainly to see her eyes, but the room was still too dark. He felt her gaze upon his face, the gap of inches separating allowing him to feel her exhaled breaths. Somehow he knew she was smiling.

“I love it. Yes, very much. It does not have to be definitively settled as yet, but… It fits for some inexplicable reason. Michael Darcy.”

“Michael Darcy. Yes. At least the choice for the present and much better than Methuselah. Shall we seal it with a kiss, Mrs. Darcy?”

“More than a kiss please,” spoken huskily and with a demanding press to the immobile hand resting on her pubis.

“As you wish, my love.” His fingers resumed their teasing, Lizzy moaning and arching into the magic that was his touch.

Baby names were forgotten in the wake of escalating incitement. Lizzy’s amorousness that was dampened while discussing the baby flared into a raging inferno of desire. This was becoming a pattern and Darcy teased that her fervency was due to pregnancy wrecking havoc on her insides. It was true that she typically possessed more restraint in comparison to his voracious sexual appetite, but her craving for him at odd times was not unheard of, pregnant or not. Whatever the truth, his skillful manipulations rapidly achieved the desired results. Then his lips left her mouth to travel down her neck to the breast freed from the gown’s bodice with a flick of his little finger and he drew the sensitized, puckered nipple in for a sharp suck instantly turning her pants to gasping shouts as spasms buffeted through every muscle.

Darcy groaned, growled really, but held on and rode the cresting wave of her release, encouraging the pleasure to arc ever higher with practiced strokes. He waited, knowing the precise moment when the sensations began to wane. It was then that he lifted his body, rolled smoothly between her legs, and plunged in as deeply as possible. Raspy moans vibrated against her lips as he parted them with a greedy tongue bent on plundering deeply. Yet instead of initiating a furious rhythm of lovemaking he held still. Buried completely, he absorbed the final tremors, kissing ravenously as the feel of her wildly increased his desire to the point where not moving was necessary or their interlude would be over in a second.

And that would never do. What had begun as an unplanned assignation in the darkest, coldest hours of the night need not be swift. Darcy was wide awake now, his body thrumming with urgency and passion. Every sense was alive, except for sight since the darkness prevented even a glimmer of the beloved person pressed so deliciously under his solid frame. But he knew her face intimately, could picture each feature vividly, and the deprivation of light only enhanced every other sensation. This fact was proven true when she squeezed with her lissome legs, lifting her hips in a clear indication that she wanted more. The rivers of flame rushed from his toes to the crown of his head, animalistic lust and rapturous love demanding he respond.

And he did, hard and fast. Heaving breaths accenting the furious strokes and his hands held her hips in place for each fierce push.

“Yeeeesssss…” Her sibilant utterance spurred Darcy on, the pace of his thrusts varying as they undulated together in no rush to end the pleasure.

After nearly three years of wedded bliss Darcy could not claim to recall each time they made love in specific detail. Always their unions were amazing and satisfying, but there were those times that created lasting memories. Their wedding night, of course, and not merely because it was their first time together as well as the first time either had shared such intimacy with another person, but also because it was perfect in every way. His soul had truly come alive that night; his heart irrevocably changed when his wife entered inside and took up residence.

There was the time they made love in her bath on Christmas Eve, discovering the unique joy and delight in mixing water, soap, and desire. After her brush with death as a result of Lord Orman’s wicked attack, their passion was augmented by their thankfulness to be alive. On her birthday when she undressed for him in an erotic dance. In the seawater of Caister-on-Sea. When she staged a romantic tableau in their bedchamber for their rejoining after Alexander’s birth. Her surprise intrusion into his dressing room mere weeks after their marriage. That one night when passion consumed and they made love in the billiard room, on the billiard table. Under the willows in Hertfordshire.

He knew even before this session of lovemaking began that it would join the mental montage. Just as when they loved after he felt Alexander for the first time, profound emotions raced through his being, adding to the transcendent physical bliss of satisfying sex. It was a celebration of new life and the love that created this life.

Gone was the caution in expressing their passion too vocally due to thin walls of the chateau. Did their neighbors sleep through their shouts? They would never know. Nor would they care.