My Dearest Mr. Darcy Page 14

  Darcy stiffened even further, meeting her eyes with studied indifference. “Nearly a year.”

  “I must say I was surprised to see a woman so advanced in her pregnancy traveling. Few men would wish to squire their wives about in such a state. It is impressive and… touching.”

  Darcy remained silent, countenance impassive as he returned his gaze to the waves. Lady Underwood continued, “The two of you seem to have an unusual relationship. At least unusual compared to most I have observed. It intrigues me.”

  “Lady Underwood, forgive my rudeness, but I do not wish to discuss my personal relationship.”

  To his surprise, she laughed. “As you wish, Mr. Darcy. I meant no offense.”

  Silence fell. Lady Underwood eventually filled the quiet with casual chatter, Darcy responding in mostly monosyllables. Another fifteen minutes passed, Darcy wound tighter than a coil. Just as he prepared to excuse himself, Lady Underwood rose, lowering her voice seductively and leaning toward him. “Your wife is an adorable creature and I can certainly understand the attraction. Nonetheless, I know how difficult it can be for some men when their wives are in the advanced stages of pregnancy. Traveling unescorted does have its advantages, Mr. Darcy, but it gets lonely. Very lonely. Perhaps we can help each other.”

  The expression of disgust with flinty blue eyes leveled at her face caused Lady Underwood to retreat a step. Darcy said nothing, but his answer was clear. Still, she smiled, shrugging slightly. “Merely an offer, Mr. Darcy. Think about it. Have a lovely evening.”

  Darcy shuddered, rising quickly once she was gone, heart pounding with the need to touch his wife. He was not overly stunned by Lady Underwood's proposition, having been the recipient of similar sexual solicitations more times than he could recall, all of which revolted him and were never accepted. As disdainful as he considered the practice, he knew it was common. Nonetheless, he always felt dirty when accosted, but never more than now that he was married.

  Elizabeth slept, face relaxed and gloriously beautiful. Darcy removed his jacket, waistcoat, and boots, cautiously nestling against her back. Lizzy sighed, murmured his name, and melted into his embrace without waking. He did not sleep, but held her close and tranquil for the next hour, renewed and cleansed in her presence. Only when she began to stir slightly with the familiar shifting cadence to her respirations indicative of pending wakefulness did he release the top buttons of her gown and slide a hand in to cup one ripe, warm breast. Squeezing tenderly and playing with a pert nipple, he feathered kisses along the nape of her neck. He was not yet aroused, instead merely delighting in the joy of holding her and knowing that eternally she would be his to love and talk with and share his soul.

  Lizzy rolled in his arms with a heady sigh, sleepy eyes meeting his. His hand resumed its pleasure at her breast, the other stroking a now exposed shoulder. “I did not anticipate you being here when I awoke. It is a most pleasant surprise.”

  He smiled brilliantly in response, the dazzling smile only given to Lizzy with all his pearly teeth flashing and faint dimples appearing; the smile that extended into his eyes, blue orbs so crystalline as to nearly be transparent, sparkling, and shining so brightly that she could see a tiny image of her face in the mirror-like surface. Her breath caught at the boundless adoration and cavernous love reflected therein.

  “I love you, William, with all my soul!”

  “I love you, my Elizabeth. You are my soul, my blood and bone, my very life.” He continued to stare at her, fondling her breasts but making no other moves, content to gaze at her for the present. Lizzy stared in return, hands slowly stroking over his body, as content as he to allow passion to gradually rise on the wings of idolization.

  It could have been ten minutes, perhaps an hour, but eventually his shirt was discarded and her buttons were released with lips following the line of exposed flesh. Darcy tasted her, relishing the mildly salty flavor and musky odor of her skin. Mostly he thrilled at the soft mews of pleasure passing her lips and the rushing heat flushing her skin wherever he touched. Her breasts swelled and hardened under his hands and mouth. She tensed and shivered continually, the passage of time only heightening her response to his ministrations. Endlessly she murmured his name, driving him insane with desire and happiness.

  Over the swell of their child, peacefully at rest, Darcy devotedly worshipped. He loved her belly, firm in its expansion yet remarkably soft; the outward shape changing as the baby shifted or as she moved. Each time they loved he asked if it was uncomfortable, especially with his large frame on top, but she insisted all was well as of yet. He gloried in this, fervidly excited by the sensation of their child pressed into his abdomen when they made love. If the growing bulk intruded somewhat, it mattered little to him, the emotional rapture in this tangible evidence of their love far superior. Now, he kissed over the perfectly stretched flesh, licking her navel and making her giggle, kneading gently before traveling lower.

  Her legs were wholly unaltered. Strong, supple, toned; skin like finest alabaster or freshly fallen snow. Darcy could never name one part of his wife's body that he loved the most, all of her exquisite as far as he was concerned. Certainly there were specific areas that reacted to his touch with greater intensity, but as with her touch to his flesh, every inch was erotic and arousing.

  Lizzy was lost in a hazy realm of purest passion. Remembering her name would be difficult, so crazily roused was she. Beautifully her husband transported her; hands, lips, tongue combined masterfully to provoke. Rhapsody grasped and waved through her head to toe as she screamed his name and arched in blissful surrender. Her muscles trembled, the sensations extending beyond what was humanly endurable as Darcy leisurely kissed, licked, and stroked his way back to her mouth, crushing her in a starved kiss.

  His hands never ceased caressing, tenderly and lightly. He only allowed her to minimally calm, knowing that it would absolutely be only the beginning of the pleasure he could give her. “Beautiful wife, I so adore you. To love you is truly all I wish to do in life. If only all else could fade and I could endlessly rouse you. The satisfaction I derive from this alone is glorious.”

  She smiled, smoothing his rumpled hair and fingering over his radiant face. “How fortunate for us both, my heart, that I feel precisely the same. Loving you, watching your face as you attain your ecstasy with me, because of your love for me, is my greatest joy. How tremendously I love you, Fitzwilliam!”

  Languid stimulation rapidly gave way to frantic need. Voracious yearning led swiftly to scorching delirium. Conscious thought rarely interjected when their mutual thirst rose to such unquenchable levels. Instead, they acted with pure animal lust, blindly moving as emotions guided. They fused as one with whispered endearments and promises uttered between pants. Indescribable flames of glory raced between their melded bodies, each feeling their partner's passion as intently as their own.

  Each and every time they made love, whether playfully or hungrily, the sensations both physical and spiritual eclipsed what seemed logically possible. The thought of another never entered either of their minds; not a glimmer of curiosity or shred of wondering. How could it when paradise was achieved in each other's embrace?

  Darcy held Lizzy for long minutes as they gasped for air and gradually restored clarity to blissfully fogged minds. Rationality always seemed to reassert itself with tender kisses along shoulders or necks or chests or wherever they found skin nearby. Fingers danced over perspiring flesh, involuntary writhing continued with neither wishing to break the connection hastily. Voices speaking softly, the individual words not nearly as important as the intonation.

  Finally they collapsed to the bed, entwined and sated. Darcy did not speak of Lady Underwood. As deplorable as secrets were to him, more heinous would be hurting Lizzy. He honestly did not know how she would react to the idea of women propositioning her husband. Trust was absolute between them, so he knew she would never doubt his fidelity, nor would he doubt hers. If the situation were reversed, he would promptly kill the man, or
at least maim him for life, à la Orman. As repulsed as Darcy was by Lady Underwood's solicitation, he was capable of shrugging it aside as a flaw to her character and of no importance to him. However, due to the forced proximity as guests of the resort, he thought it best to keep Lizzy unaware of Lady Underwood's interest. He wished for nothing to spoil their holiday.

  He was thankful that he had alternate plans for dinner.

  Mr. Vernor had directed his attention to an exclusive café in Great Yarmouth. Apparently extremely posh and intimate with spectacular French cuisine served as ordered from a menu of choices, the unique style of dining was born in France and gradually spreading throughout Europe and even to America. Conceived as a way to please the masses of France yearning for what was previously only available to the aristocracy, as well as providing employment for the suddenly adrift chefs and servants from the great houses, these establishments offering fine cuisine flourished.

  For Darcy, a man who appreciated exotic foods and revolutionary ideals, the experience of dining with his wife in such a place was highly appealing. Especially since she had never been to France and despite Mrs. Langton's skill, pure French cooking was an art form only perfected by an authentic chef. Reportedly the owner of Tregois' Taverne de Yarmouth was exceptional, having trained under the famed Beauvilliers of Paris.

  They dressed in their finest, Lizzy wearing her Twelfth Night gown. Her fuller bosom was displayed lusciously to an appreciative Darcy and the baby's bulge perceptible, but not large enough yet to tarnish the stunning beauty of how the gown flowed.

  Darcy grinned, approaching his bewitching spouse with breathless enchantment. “Elizabeth, I… well, I truly do not have the words. You are beautiful, captivating, magnifique, la femme plus belle dans l'univers, mon epouse, mon inspiration et survie…” Despite his claim, words fell in a French torrent until trailing away at the crevice between her breasts.

  “William, do we not have dinner reservations? I am rather hungry after this afternoon's exertions, and I distinctly heard a few rumbles erupting from your perfect midsection over an hour ago. Surely you are starved by now.”

  “I am famished, beloved, ravenous in fact, but not for food. God, Lizzy, how is it possible to want you so completely again?”

  She laughed, pulling his face away from her décolletage and kissing him soundly. “Come, my dashing husband. I am currently famished for food, and I wish to be seen on the arm of the handsomest man to ever appear in Norfolk. Later, my lover, I will show you what it feels like to be wanted so completely.” She sucked gently on his lower lip, the tip of her tongue caressing, only then clasping his arm and propelling him toward the door, ignoring his groan and faltering step.

  Dinner was stupendous. The cozy café afforded an amazing view of the River Yare, the atmosphere so unerringly French that Darcy was transported to Paris and tremendously impressed. Lizzy had grown accustomed to French cuisine as prepared by Mrs. Langton, but this was subtly different. Darcy ordered several unique dishes never served at Pemberley, the sequestered table laden with far more food than they could possibly consume, even with Darcy's appetite. He wanted her to taste a bit of everything, getting a wee bit carried away with enthusiasm at the inclusive menu. Additionally, the wine cellar sported wines nearly unattainable even with the improved trade to France. Darcy ordered a rare Bordeaux from Château Haut-Brion dated 1796, eyes sparkling in anticipation.

  They departed the quaint establishment, Lizzy assuming they were to return to the inn and rather partial to the idea as she quite frankly felt bloated and nearly ill from so much rich food. Darcy, however, steered her along the sidewalk toward a destination unknown.

  “Surprises, Mr. Darcy?” she said with a tilt of her head.

  He smiled, glancing sidelong into her face. “You know how I adore surprising you, Elizabeth. Next to making love with you it is undoubtedly my favorite pastime.” Lizzy actually blushed, although no one was nearby to overhear.

  They strolled slowly, Lizzy grateful she remembered to wear a shawl as the air was nippy. Darcy tucked her as close to his side as propriety allowed and attempted to increase the pace, but Lizzy held him to a stately speed. It was cool, but so crisp and fresh. Lizzy inhaled deeply of the salty breeze, the fragrance of the orchids and heather that grew in abundance mingling to create an oddly pleasant odor.

  “It is strange to feel the mild chill here and know that home is probably sweltering.” She paused to pick a sprig of heather, inserting it into his top buttonhole.

  “It will begin cooling soon. Autumn is beautiful at Pemberley. Mr. Clark is a genius. He has the gardens planned so that they bloom in all seasons, but I do believe fall blooms are premiere. A final season to rediscover with you, my heart, then we will be entering our second year together and eagerly awaiting the birth of our first child.”

  He halted next to an enormous oak on the edge of a town square, the shops all closed except for a café on the diagonal corner. A handful of people wandered about, but they were alone where they stood under the faint gaslight. He grasped both her dainty hands in his, gazing into her eyes with his typical piercing intensity.

  “Elizabeth, there is something I have wanted to ask you. I have been searching for the perfect moment and this feels right.”

  “Is everything all right, William?”

  He smiled, stroking along her cheek. “Forgive me. I did not mean to alarm you. Everything is perfect. No, this is just a topic that has occurred to me from time to time, but especially since Marguerite and Samuel's wedding. I do not believe I ever told you, but every Darcy male, and many of the females, for generations unknown have been married in the Pemberley Chapel. It is one of those facts that simply are, without consciously holding much weight until the time comes to apply it. When we wed it was logical to marry in Hertfordshire with your sister and Bingley. I was mildly saddened to not say our vows at Pemberley, but it truthfully did not matter as I was so blissfully happy to have you.” He laughed in delight. “We could have wed in a barn and I would have been deliriously ecstatic! Nonetheless, I have realized how deeply I desire to stand before Reverend Bertram, in front of the altar where my parents exchanged their vows, where I have worshipped all my life, where our children will be dedicated and baptized, on my ancestral land, and repeat my undying pledge to you.”

  He paused, squeezing her hands firmly, countenance serious but awash with devotion and love. “Elizabeth Darcy, will you marry me, again?”

  Lizzy was speechless, her lips trembling and eyesight blurry with tears. She nodded and managed to croak a “yes.” Darcy smiled brilliantly, bringing her hands to his lips for a hard kiss.

  “Excellent! We can discuss the details later. I do so incredibly love you, Elizabeth.” He bent and brushed her forehead. “Perhaps it can be a yearly event. Renewing our vows if for no other reason than to see you in your wedding dress again.”

  Lizzy chuckled, taking the proffered handkerchief to wipe her tears. “I doubt sincerely if it would fit me this year.”

  He extended his elbow, Lizzy snuggling close as they resumed their walk. “You can wear anything you wish, my love, as long as you promise to love me forever.”

  She looked up into his face, shaking her head. “Have no fear, William. That is a promise easy for me to make.”

  Darcy shepherded her toward the diagonal corner of the square, the café lively with numerous people sitting and standing, laughing and singing along with the minstrel band playing jauntily on the terrace. Darcy glanced at his pocketwatch, releasing a low whistle. “We need to step fast. I am afraid I miscalculated the time.”

  Past the café, down a busy avenue, and two blocks to the right brought them before a brightly lit theater. The building was clearly very old, probably built in the Elizabethan Era or shortly thereafter as it greatly resembled drawings Lizzy had seen of the famous Shakespearean playhouse, the Rose, in London. The original lath and plaster structure had been reinforced over the centuries with attempts to stylize and flourish the plain
building obvious, giving it an amalgamated appearance of divergent architecture. Still, despite the mélange design, the theater was lovely, aided greatly by the modern gaslights, scrolling marquee, and gaudily painted posters blanketing the walls. The posters advertised the theater's entertainments, mostly of a musical or comedic variety rather than dramatic plays. Tonight's show was boldly declared on the marquee and on an enormous folded sign located by the door:

  Professor Sciarratta's Magic Lantern Revue Presents

  “Phantasmagoria”!

  “Ooh! How fantastic, William! I adore magic lantern shows!”

  “So you have seen them,” he said. “I was not sure if any had traveled to Hertfordshire.”

  “Twice, at the assembly hall, as Meryton does not have a proper theater. The first was a repertoire of fairy tale stories, Aesop's Fables and Biblical tales primarily. The second was last summer, not too long after I returned from Kent. It was a re-creation of military battles from the Napoleonic Wars, complete with ships bursting into flames and cannon fire. Quite dramatic with accompanying sound effects and piano music; most patriotic and emotive. I have heard of Phantasmagoria though. Is it truly as frightening as written of?”

  Darcy shrugged, handing over the coins to the ticket seller. “I do not know from firsthand experience. I have only seen three magic lantern performances, similar to your experiences. When I was eleven my family, including Lord and Lady Matlock with Richard, Annabella, and Jonathan, traveled to Paris. It was my first trip to the Continent. With the Revolution over and Bonaparte in control, it was deemed safe to travel.” He paused to shake his head at that folly. “Anyway, Father bought tickets to see the original Fantasmagorie by Etienne Gaspard Robert. The show was all the rage then, the French not having had enough fright in their lives apparently.” The last was spoken with dripping sarcasm, Lizzy also shaking her head.

  “Of course, I was young and not fully aware of all the political intrigues, only wishing to see something reportedly so spectacular. Unfortunately, the day before the show Mother became very ill. It seems foolish now, but none of us considered the simple cause of pregnancy. My parents had given up on having more children so were caught unaware. Father insisted on staying with Mother until the physicians could diagnose and treat her illness; I would not leave although Father encouraged me to go, so the Fitzwilliams attended the show. Richard and Jonathan gushed on ad infinitum until I wanted to strangle them. Aunt Madeline found it too scary, Annabella had nightmares and refused to discuss it, poor thing, but Uncle liked it.” He shrugged again.