The Trouble with Mr. Darcy (40 page)

“What did you say about being amorous?”

“That I approve most highly. And if you insist I am positive we can repeat the performance later tonight.”

He kissed her cheek, but she pulled him away to look into his face. Her mien was one of blended surprise and elation. Darcy frowned.

“You may be right, William,” she whispered, and then shakily laughed. “I cannot believe it has not occurred to me!” She rose from his lap, pacing away a few feet while he watched her in perplexity. “Probably because I have not restarted my cycles so I had no gauge. But I have been sleepier than usual, my breasts have been aching”—she absently cupped her heavy breasts—“and for the past couple of weeks I have been mildly queasy, although I attributed that to traveling and not eating my usual diet. And I have been desiring you more than usual, not that I do not welcome the feeling, but still!”

“Stop!” He was on his feet, hands fisted at his sides. His face was as white as a sheet and his lips pressed so tightly together that small pressure wrinkles appeared. “Are you saying you think you may be… pregnant?” His voice was a bare whisper, cracking on the final word.

“I am not certain, of course, but it fits, and certainly is plausible considering us.” And she waved her hand between their two bodies. Her face was glowing with joy, eyes radiant and unfocused, and thus not noting his pained expression or tone of voice.

Darcy stared for another few moments and then released a coarse whine, pivoting and lurching to the window. His mumbling, angry words reached her ears, “Irresponsible idiot! You should have done something to prevent this happening so soon.”

“What are you saying, William? Prevent another child?” Her face was aghast, her eyes wide with astonishment. “Even if that were possible, why would you wish such a thing?”

“Is it not obvious, Elizabeth? After Michael, your illness, I…” He sighed in exasperation. “You have barely returned to a normal state, emotionally. It has only been a month since you quit drinking uncle’s teas! How could this happen so quickly?”

“Surely you do not need me to answer
that
question?” She snapped, her eyes afire with irritation.

“No, of course not. I did not mean…”

“Conception occurs when it occurs, Mr. Darcy. Look at Mary. Two babies in short succession. I doubt if Mr. Daniels expressed unhappiness!”

“It is hardly the same. You were so ill, Elizabeth. And we… our relationship suffered so dramatically. I could not bear to have that transpire again!”

His voice broke, the stricken cast to his mien penetrating Lizzy’s awareness. Her heart melted, although she remained somewhat annoyed. She crossed to where he stood ramrod tense by the window. She looked into his agonized eyes, reaching her hands to gently straighten his disarrayed clothing, injecting placating modulations as she spoke.

“Uncle George has assured us both, several times, that the likelihood of another such incident is slim now that we know what to watch for. He will be with me to assure I am well, and I shall not make the mistake of avoiding assistance. We have all learned to be cautious and diligent, my love. Furthermore, and most importantly, I have no intention of looking upon carrying our babies, as often as the Almighty chooses to gift us, as anything but the most miraculous of blessings. I do not believe that you feel any different.”

He stilled her hands, clasping them between his own and lifting to kiss her fingers. “I love you, Elizabeth, beyond words. And I love our children. And, yes, I do want more. In time. But I cannot pretend that the idea of you being pregnant, now, so soon, does not terrify me. I simply cannot embrace the joy of the idea at this juncture. Please forgive me, dearest, but I…” He swallowed, closing his eyes for a moment, and resumed in a husky whisper. “I cannot…”

A knock at the door arrested his words and any further discussion. Darcy reluctantly pulled away, tucking his shirt and fastening the buttons on his jacket. He cleared his throat, face assuming a neutral expression with only faint lines of stress marring the calm semblance.

“Yes?”

“Sir”—it was Mr. Travers, opening the door mere inches—“your horse is waiting.”

“Thank you. I shall be there momentarily.”

The door closed, leaving the lovers alone. Lizzy was staring at her husband, emotions in turmoil but understanding his angst. He pleaded silently, eyes melancholy, even as she forced a smile.

He opened his mouth to speak, but Lizzy interrupted. “Have a wonderful afternoon, dearest. We shall talk of this later.” She lifted on tiptoes to kiss his cheek and caress fingertips over his jaw. “All will be well, you shall see. I love you.”

Then she turned and left the room without a backward glance.

C
HAPTER
S
EVENTEEN

Unleashed Revenge

He left the house moments after she exited the parlor. Lizzy worried over his frame of mind disturbing his focus during the planned activities for his afternoon, but otherwise refused to dwell on the unknowns any further. If she was with child they would know soon enough, and she had no doubt that Darcy, once assured of her health, would be overjoyed. His all-consuming love and devotion to his family frequently stated desire for a bevy of children, and general good sense allayed any fears she had over his present trepidations.

Tea was taken on the Darcy House rear garden. The air was crisp with a slight chill but pleasant enough for an outside dining experience. The four women conversed and ate at the round table under the shaded patio while the four boys nibbled picnic-style on the open grass beside the fountain.

It was a quiet affair, despite Mrs. Smyth’s predictions. Ethan Bingley and Hugh Pomeroy were not as placid as Alexander, but they were well-behaved children able to pass a few hours in backyard play. Nine-year-old Harry spent part of the time chasing the younger boys around the grass and playing with the new bunny, and the other portion with his nose pressed into a book.

The ladies were content to gossip and laugh. Georgiana accidentally mentioned Mr. Butler at one point, Jane then being let in on the secret. After the expected congratulations and teasing, mostly from Lizzy, a goodly amount of time was spent on marital advice, leading to more laughter and blushes from the shy Georgiana.

While Alexander napped, Lizzy retreated to Darcy’s office to write a few letters. Georgiana was busy with her music, amid frequent glances out the window just in case a courier arrived—or better yet, a handsome man with curly blond hair. Servants moved about performing their duties with some noise attached, and Michael’s cries for nourishment did pierce the calm twice that day. But otherwise, it was a tranquil Monday boding nothing sinister.

Therefore, it was with a spring in her step and smile that she laid Michael down after his late afternoon meal, gathered Alexander and their gardening equipment, and headed to the northeast corner of the yard. As Lizzy had surmised, the sun was located so that the harshest of its rays were blocked by the surrounding walls and tall trees. There was no breeze to cool the air, but this corner of the yard was partially in shadow at this time of the day. She would not need to fret over their son’s fair skin or wear a bothersome hat to shield her face.

In one arm Alexander clutched the glass jar given with a disgusted cringe by Mrs. Smyth, and in the other he held tightly to the basket of sunflower seedlings transported all the way from Pemberley. Lizzy hummed throughout the transplanting, babbling to her son as he attended to packing the rich earth carefully around the root-ball of each tiny plant, his focus lost only when the gray rabbit hopped over to investigate from time to time.

She wore gloves to protect her hands, and a thick apron over the lightweight muslin gown of dark green specifically created for such gritty tasks. Alexander wore a child’s dress of dark blue, a color that accented the tiny flecks of ultramarine lining the edges of his otherwise azure eyes. His hands and feet were bare, the dirt grains settling into the creases and between tiny toes. Side-by-side they worked, kneeling in the springy clover bordering the flowerbed, Lizzy’s instructions of a practical nature and in sharp contrast to Darcy’s scientific expositions.

“Feel how rich the soil is here, love. Filled with wonderful nutrients to help the plants grow. This spot receives sun almost all day long, and that is why the sunflowers will grow so well here.”

“Papa say sunflowers look at the sun.”

“Yes, they do tend to turn whichever way the sun moves. Very interesting to watch.” She glanced to her son’s round face, marveling at the intent wrinkles between his thick brown brows as he set each sprout into the holes she created. It was always, “Papa say…” about everything. She did not think he stated, “Mama say…” nearly as frequently or with the same assured authority, but she did not mind in the slightest. His father was where he turned for education, steadfastness, and rough play; but to her he sought succor when hurt, babyish cosseting, and the fulfillment of daily essentials. It was a balance between his parents: Darcy the all-knowing, masculine, stalwart protector; and Lizzy the ever-present, mothering, empathetic attendant.

The planting and dirt play continued, both oblivious to the pair of eyes that observed their every move.

The stalker hugged the deep shadows cast by the four tall Mediterranean cypress trees lining the open glade near the rear wall of the mews. This corner of the moderate-sized enclosure that contained the Darcy House gardens, lawn, and patio was away from any open windows and hidden from easy view by sculpted hedges, bushes, and thick-trunked trees. The fountain that sat in the precise middle of the yard was not large, but the water bubbled, splashed, and trickled loudly. It was designed to mask the noises from without the walled sanctuary, but the interloper depended on its dampening properties to aid his scheme.

A final cap was the rarely used, small, recessed door that gave access to the endmost stall within the stables. As if by divine intercession, a plain wooden cart was kept parked there for the occasional hauling of rough materials. That his prey would choose this place to be alone and unguarded, trusting in the safety of their abode, was unquestionably providence.

It was almost
too
perfect, but Wickham was convinced his time for vindication and success was destined. The pieces of the puzzle had fallen from heaven into his lap, snapping together into a beautiful picture that was foolproof. He had duped the mighty Darcy, beguiled his way into the arrogant man’s house, and would now prove his superiority by absconding with those his nemesis held most dear. Right from under his haughty nose.

Wickham allowed a thrill of victory to rush through his body before squelching the emotion. He must maintain cold control. All day he had lain in wait for them to garden as Prudence sneeringly revealed at one point last night. Now, all he needed was for the two to separate so he could deal with them individually before the other noticed, but patience was a virtue he had mastered.

It happened a few minutes later.

Alexander rose, walking with a sure gait for one so young, to the decoratively piled rocks amid the flowers. His father had taught him that the dark, moist areas under the rocks were the best places to find wiggling worms and pill bugs. He placed his jar onto the ground, making sure it was upright and near at hand, added a handful of dirt and some leaves, only then kneeling to upend the rocks and begin his quest. Lizzy, after assuring his occupation, turned to the wheelbarrow encumbered with the potted plants gifted by Mr. Clark to be added to the Darcy House gardens. She set to her task, humming and blissfully unaware of the horror that was about to be unleashed.

Wickham checked the thick, woolen scarf that covered his nose, leather-gloved fingers pulling the fabric tighter. With a practiced tug he loosened the cork plugging the narrow neck of an amber bottle and saturated the folded cloth held in the palm of his hands, careful to avoid inhaling the fumes wafting. With eyes shifting between Lizzy and the boy, he crouched low and crept away from the wall. It was easy to remain in the shadows or hide behind the thick copse. The trick was to avoid stepping on dry leaves or twigs, and not to scrape against the brush.

He skulked warily, crossing the four feet to where Alexander huddled in rapt attention. He paused, gauging the scene and preparing. A quick glance assured that Lizzy was occupied on the other side of the roughly five foot grassy plot, her back to him as she dug holes. Alexander was close, his tiny face the mirror of Darcy’s and filled with childish delight as he observed the pill bugs crawling over his small palm. He was ignorant to the lurking menace and therefore had no warning, or later memory, of the hand that suddenly emerged between a gap in the branches and clamped over his nose and mouth. A startled indrawn breath of the sickening sweet fluid and he was on his way to unconsciousness without uttering a sound.

Even Wickham, who had seen the effects of inhaled ether used by Lord Orman to dull his pain and induce oblivion, was stunned at how rapidly it worked on the toddler. In the midst of his planning he had wondered if the liberal amount needed to sedate a fully-grown woman may be too much for the tiny body of the boy, but he had no choice in the matter and could only hope the youngster did not succumb before Darcy could watch.

Wickham’s lack of precise knowledge meant that when Alexander so quickly reacted to the drug, his abrupt slump took Wickham off guard. The hand that held the cloth to the boy’s face slipped, and Alexander landed facedown onto the arranged stack of rocks. The stones slid, falling in a clattering shower that was not noisy, but enough to cause Lizzy to turn her head to investigate.