The Trouble with Mr. Darcy (9 page)

“Oh! I see. That is, I can imagine the birth was difficult so, yes, it would make sense…”

“I do not fear birth or being with child, Lizzy.”

Her voice was so low and raising from the middle of Charlotte’s chest due to her hung head that Lizzy had difficulty hearing the muttered words. But she did hear them and sad comprehension dawned instantly.

“I do not wish to do what is required to conceive.
That
holds no interest to me. I prefer the humiliation of not providing a son over the humiliation of… performing the
act
needed to create one.”

Lizzy wanted to cry. They salvaged their afternoon’s outing but Lizzy’s heart was heavy. She rushed into Darcy’s arms the second he walked into their chamber, practically knocking him off his booted feet. He managed to squeak out a few words of concern and question, but not many before she latched on to his lips with a desperate urgency that was thrilling—as his body instantly reacted to it—but rather frightening.

“Elizabeth,” he croaked, regaining his equilibrium enough to draw her away and meet her eyes. “I hate to sound as if I am complaining, but what is the meaning of this barrage? What has happened?”

“A conversation with Charlotte that has unsettled me greatly but also rekindled my appreciation for you and what we have together. Have I told you lately how much I love you?”

“Just this morning as a matter of fact. Several times. Of course you also cried my name mixed with that of a deity, but I am certain you meant the part about loving me.”

Lizzy shook her head at his attempt to tease, clasping his face firmly within her palms. “That is precisely what I mean.”

“I am afraid I do not follow.”

“William, we are blessed in so many ways I can no longer count them, but our richest blessing is in how we love each other. How we desire each other and the pleasure it brings into our life and relationship is a true miracle.”

“I will not argue that declaration, dearest.” He kissed her softly, and then clasped her hand to lead toward the sofa. “Now tell me what this has to do with Mrs. Collins.”

“On the bed,” she tugged his hand, turning the opposite direction. “I will tell you but I must love you, Fitzwilliam.” He did not resist, but felt it obligatory to point out that dinner was served in less than an hour and they still needed to dress. “Some matters supersede dinner hour, even in your aunt’s house.”

She pushed him backward on the bed, immediately bending to kiss him deeply while stimulating with well-placed strokes. Darcy kissed back, totally forgetting about dinner engagements or the Collins question in seconds. Lizzy did relate the conversation with Charlotte in between kisses and peeling away restricting clothing. Darcy sympathized with her sadness over the plight of Charlotte but was unable to generate much of his own, especially under the present onslaught. All he could think was how grateful he was that she was his wife and not, God forbid, married to Mr. Collins. Imagining any woman engaged in marital relations with that sniveling pathetic excuse for a man was a vision he simply could not conjure. Nor would he ever try.

C
HAPTER
F
OUR

Addition to the Loving Family

The Rosings visit was brief. Darcy was anxious to return to Pemberley and finalize preparations for their baby, and it was also the time for harvest and settling estate matters for the winter ahead. The latter could be handled by his steward and other staff, but Darcy thrived on being a part of the management.

The two weeks passed pleasantly for the most part. Lizzy divided her time between Anne, who she had grown fond of over the years, and Charlotte. The latter made no further mention of marital issues, a fact Lizzy was thankful for since there was nothing she could offer on the subject under the circumstances. By the final afternoon, sitting with Charlotte while the children played on the lawn, their conversations were light and almost as easy as in the years of their youth. Lizzy was pleased, even though she knew that the months apart would add strain to a relationship that was altering.

Lady Catherine was polite, or as polite as she ever was, but the combined annoyances of Lizzy and George Darcy had clearly worn on her nerves! Lizzy avoided Darcy’s aunt as much as possible and her teasing was subtle and checked, out of respect for her husband. George did not possess the same restraints, so his egging of her was more blatant, leading to verbal sparring bordering on arguments. There was no doubt that Lady Catherine was happy to usher them into the waiting carriage, her farewells brief.

Parting from Anne was bittersweet, both Darcy and Lizzy caring for her greatly and knowing it would be many months before they saw her again. Witnessing her pregnancy advance with health and happiness intact eased their minds. Still, even with the current evidence pointing to a positive outcome and the obvious devotion from her husband—Dr. Penaflor’s skills as a physician supreme and given an added boost via consultations with Dr. Darcy—they would breathe freer once the birth was over and the babe reported healthy.

They veered northwest to London, tarrying at Darcy House for a little over a week so Darcy could handle the numerous business affairs that had arisen while he was out of the country. Lizzy occupied her time with purchasing both necessary and frivolous items for the baby. Social activities were nonexistent, partly due to the time of year, since few of the ton stayed in London for the summer, but also because of the haste Darcy employed in completing his business so they could get home.

Finally the adventure came to a close. By mid-August, after nearly six months away, the family was comfortably resettled at Pemberley.

The first order of business was to move Alexander from the nursery into the spacious chamber that had been prepared for him while they were gone. Freshly painted and redecorated with varying shades of blue, the chamber was bright and cheery with a large bed that was perfect for parent-son playtime and story reading.

The room faced south with a panoramic view of the River Derwent and pastureland beyond. Sheep roamed freely over the grass, Alexander mesmerized by their sedate activities as observed from the tall windows while he played. It would be a few years before Darcy was told that whenever he and Parsifal went for a run across the meadow Alexander would sit on the window seat, transfixed for as long as he could see them. Mrs. Hanford positioned the rocking horse near the window and Alexander would “ride” the toy horse while watching his father and faithful mount streaking over the tree dotted glade, sheep hastening to move out of the way.

Transitioning from small nursery to larger room was not without problems, however.

He was happy to have wide areas of empty floor to set up his tiny armies and the miniature castle built by Uncle Goj and his papa. The collection of wooden blocks was assigned the northeast corner where they stayed within the allotted area but were never neatly put away. The fanciful replica of Noah’s Ark with ever-increasing pairs of animals was given a table with painted land and water for the appropriate creatures to dwell while waiting for the flood. The chest constructed by his father sat under one window and housed his favorite books, colored drawing chalks and crayons, and stacks of paper. Additional toy chests and shelves lined one wall. For a busy, nearly two-year-old, it was paradise on earth.

Then the nighttime came. Transferring to the big bed, even with his stuffed animal companions to keep him company, proved to be a traumatic event. He refused to fall asleep in the bed, so for two weeks straight he stayed with his parents until asleep, before being moved to his room. Unfortunately he would wake later, something that was extremely unusual for him. Mrs. Hanford tried to sleep with him but the bed, although large for a toddler, was not large enough for a grown woman, some dozen animals, and a child who flipped about constantly. Often he cried out when waking suddenly from a disquieting dream, bringing his nanny quickly to console. Other times he simply woke, grabbed Dog, and padded down the short hall seeking solace from his parents. This came with risks, such as the first time he did so when Darcy and Lizzy were taken utterly by surprise and learned a valuable lesson in privacy and security.

On the night in question, they deposited a deeply sleeping Alexander in his own bed and then retired to their chamber for adult entertainment of a most intimate nature. It was nearing midnight and not five minutes after a mutually dizzying culmination with their bodies yet joined and Darcy crushing his wife into the soft mattress. He lifted his head with a groan to bestow an intense post-loving kiss. Pulling away and bending to kiss her glistening shoulder, Darcy noted movement in his peripheral vision. He turned, freezing instantly and barely halting the reflexive expletive that rose to his lips, eyes locking with the wide-eyed gaze of Alexander.

The toddler stood not a foot away in the gap between the bed curtains, serious face unperturbed as he said, “Papa, I scared. Bad dream.”

Lizzy jerked and squelched a scream, turning toward her son, both of them paralyzed where they lay for what seemed like hours. The foremost thought was one of intense embarrassment, although both were sending silent prayers that they had chosen to keep the covers over their bodies as they loved and that the curtains were drawn. However, they had no idea how long he had been standing there, neither noting anything other than their own zeal for the past half hour at least.

Darcy carefully disengaged from his wife, blankets held securely, although there was really nothing either could do about their nakedness. “I am sorry, sweet. Come here, Papa will make it all better.” He opened his arms and Alexander climbed onto the bed, nestling snuggly in the warm circle of his father’s embrace, clutching Dog tightly.

Lizzy had regained her composure, barely, rising to look over Darcy’s body and reaching to comfort her son. “Are you better now, darling?” She smoothed the crazy curls on his brow, his eyes meeting hers in the dimly lit darkness.

“Better,” he replied. “You better, Mama? Bad dream gone bye?”

“I am fine, sweetie. What do you mean?”

“You scream. Ogre get you too?”

Darcy howled, Lizzy slapping his back and hiding her instantly scarlet face in his shoulder. “It is well, Alexander,” he affirmed with a gasping laugh. “Papa was here to make Mama feel good… very, very good.”

“Fitzwilliam!”

Darcy had enormous fun with that one, but from that day forward, he did remember to lock the door securely no matter how caught up in their passion they were. Of course, they also remembered to unlock it later just in case a frightened youngster tiptoed in, as was the case from time to time.

Alexander’s transition was aided remarkably by the admission of Mrs. Hanford’s daughter Lisa as assistant nanny. Alexander knew the nineteen-year-old well, loved her even, so was delighted to have her close by at all times. Lisa was smaller than her matronly mother and accustomed to sleeping in a bed crammed with nieces and nephews, so slumbering with just Alexander was a luxury! By the time Michael made his appearance, the upheaval was adjusted to and Alexander would dwell in this room until his marriage many, many years hence.

Aside from that drama, the weeks after returning to Pemberley were tranquil. Their excitement was high, of course, but they were also calm and well prepared, having been through it once before.

Shortly after returning to Pemberley, father and son stood gazing at the massive tapestries tracing the Darcy ancestry that hung in the grand foyer. Darcy traced the lines, reciting the names to the raptly listening baby who said nothing until his father read the name Anton Darcy.

His chubby thumb exited his mouth with an audible pop, followed by a moistly declared, “Anton.”

“Yes. That is correct, Alexander. Anton Darcy was our ancestor, over two centuries ago. His son was Herbert Darcy, then John…”

“Anton.”

Darcy looked at the face so close and resembling his own, the baby’s eyes riveted to the fine threads scrolled to form the name Anton. Darcy smiled. “Indeed. Anton. Probably from the Roman influence. A shortened form of Anthony, or perhaps for Mark Antony, the Roman general who ruled for a time as Emperor. Do you like that name?”

“Anton.”

And that is how it began. Everything and everyone was “Anton” from there on. Even Dog was dubbed Anton for a time. When they told him that if the baby was a boy he would be named Michael, Alexander nodded calmly then pointed to Lizzy’s belly and said, “Anton.” They laughed and tried in vain to correct him, but what happened instead is that they grew to love the name and realized it flowed nicely. Thus it was decided that their second child, if a boy, would be christened Michael James Anton Darcy. They did toss around a few girl names, but Lizzy was convinced she was having a boy, so serious deliberation was ignored.

The waning days of summer led into a mild fall. Darcy was busy nearly every day, but always allotted time to play with Alexander. Now that he was older, Lizzy relinquished her hovering concern to a degree and Darcy was able to take his son into the stables or town, to visit with Mr. Vernor or Mr. Hughes, and once to Rowan Lake for naked bathing. Darcy chose a docile mare to ride around the corral with Alexander on his lap, the toddler unrestrained in his joy over the activity, much to Darcy’s delight and Lizzy’s resignation.

In every way life was picture perfection. Nothing marred the tranquility permeating the atmosphere of Pemberley as they enjoyed the sunlit days and nights of family felicity. Neither Lizzy nor Darcy took it for granted, but it was natural to relax into the contentment and almost assume that it could be thus forever. Very shortly they would discover that life is never perfect and that even the best marriages can suffer.