In the Arms of Mr. Darcy tds-4 Page 7

  “Very good, sir.” Mr. Keith replied.

  “Mr. Taylor, alert Samuel to pack a small travel bag for me, then inform the stables to prepare Parsifal. I will depart within the hour.”

  “Depart! Where?” Darcy glanced up in surprise, not aware Lizzy had entered the room.

  “Derby,” he answered shortly, eyes returning to the parchment.

  “William, it is already dark outside…”

  “I am well aware of the time, Mrs. Darcy!” He snapped, eyes troubled and blazing as he glanced at her briefly. “Thank you, Mr. Taylor, Mr. Keith. Follow my orders. You are dismissed.”

  “Yes, sir.” And with a bow both men left.

  Lizzy stood in silence, embarrassed, angry, and worried. Darcy seemed to be ignoring her. She bit her lip, slowly stepping toward the desk. “William, what has happened?”

  He sighed and melted at her tender tone, falling into his chair and running one hand through his hair. He closed his eyes and gesticulated to the left hand paper. “There was a fire today at my mill in Derby. Much has been destroyed, two men badly wounded, and three dead. Thankfully, as it was Christmas, most were home with their families,” he finished flatly.

  Lizzy’s breath caught, eyes glazing with tears. “Oh, love! I am so sorry!” She crossed quickly, placing a hand onto his shoulder. The gesture woke Darcy from his stasis, and he stood up briskly and stepped past Lizzy impatiently.

  “Thank you. I am afraid I must attend to the aftermath personally. I am sorry, Elizabeth, but there is no choice.”

  “I understand, dearest, I truly do and would think less of you if you did not go. However, must you leave tonight? Traveling in the dark is not safe and I would worry so. Nothing can be accomplished until tomorrow in any case.”

  “I have traveled in the dark many times before. I can be there in a few hours, attain information, and be on site at first light. Time is precious in situations such as these, Elizabeth.”

  “William, please be reasonable…”

  “There is nothing to discuss! It is my decision and I am in no mood to argue the matter.”

  “At best you would arrive by eleven, far too late to do anything of consequence. I am merely asking you to stay safe with us tonight and leave at first light tomorrow. What difference can a few hours make? The damage has already been done, dearest.”

  “I cannot stay here, laughing and amusing myself when people in my employ are suffering. It is unconscionable!”

  “What is unconscionable is the possibility of injury while galloping full bore, as you would, on a dark and muddy road for two hours! What is unconscionable is that you would not rationally consider your safekeeping and the anxiety of your family!”

  “I am an excellent rider, madam, as you know. Nothing will happen to me.”

  “You can assure this, sir? You have the gift of foresight? How delightful it is to know this! Or is it that you are immortal and I was unaware? Whatever the case, thank you for explaining. By all means then, ride on! I shall return to our guests with a cheery heart knowing that I have no fear of surviving without you and raising our son fatherless!”

  And with that ringing impeachment, she stormed from the room, slamming the door behind. Darcy stood rooted to the floor, furious, but also stricken by her horrifying allegation. Lizzy, meanwhile, was pulled up short five steps past the still reverberating door when she realized she did not know where to go. Lost in confusion with rage and terror warring, she did not readily note her father lurking in the hall several paces away.

  “Lizzy?”

  She started, glancing upward and instantly losing control at the sight of her concerned father and sleeping baby. With a choking sob, she spun about and dashed down the corridor to her parlor. Naturally, Mr. Bennet followed, laying Alexander down onto a settee and walking to where Lizzy leaned against the windowsill weeping. He stood silently, concerned, but he was not one who easily dealt with women’s hysterics despite, or probably because of, long years in a household with six women. Reverting to the simple comfort of patting her shoulder and uttering a sympathetic there, there, he waited.

  Eventually, Lizzy calmed enough to relate the dilemma. Mr. Bennet offered no answers or advice, being of the mind that marital difficulties were of an intimate nature beyond parental purview. He had only one statement, convincingly presented.

  “As painful as Mr. Darcy’s decision, Lizzy, it will be compounded if you do not talk to him prior to his departure. The affection you two have for each other is too great to easily endure days apart under misspoken words and emotional estrangement.”

  In time, they left the parlor, Alexander beginning to stir in Lizzy’s arms, just as Darcy neared the music room. The lovers’ eyes met in the dim expanse between, Lizzy’s swollen, red, and filled with pain and Darcy’s dull and inscrutable. He bowed slightly, turning without a word into the music room. Lizzy and Mr. Bennet trailed, Darcy already addressing the assembly when they entered and halted by the doorway.

  “Forgive my abrupt exodus a while ago. I regret I have received ill news from Derby necessitating an early retirement, as I must depart at first light tomorrow. Please, enjoy yourselves fully. All that Pemberley has to offer is at your immediate disposal. Your most excellent hostess will ensure your comfort. Good night.” Another bow, this one formally proffered, was followed by a stiff pivot and swift exit, not glancing at Lizzy or her father.

  Alexander, to Lizzy’s relief, chose that moment to release a loud yell, providing a logical excuse to leave. She nursed him alone, Darcy not joining her as he had nearly every night since Alexander’s birth. When she later entered their bedchamber, dressed in a gauzy gown of blue, he stood by the far window gazing outward at the visible stars and pale moonlight.

  Lizzy had had plenty of time to think. She knew he was likely still angry and riddled with grief and misplaced guilt over the mill disaster, yet she could not deny her own overwhelming relief at his decision to stay. Correct she may have been, but there was no sense of victory in the idea. Only one thing was certain: she loved him far too much to part on negative terms. Her father was accurate on that count.

  Darcy did not hear her steps on the thick carpet, lost in reverie and contemplation of the stars. She said nothing, merely standing behind his left shoulder and absorbing his beloved profile until the drifting scent of lavender reached his nostrils. He turned, countenance composed as he leaned into the wall and stared at her mutely.

  The moment stretched, Lizzy finally reaching one hand and laying it on his chest. “Thank you for staying.” She spoke in a bare whisper, breathing deeply before continuing in the face of his silence. “I know you are angry with me, perhaps rightfully so, but I am not sorry for anything I said if it induced you to stay. I too feel grief for the families afflicted, William, but I am not ashamed to confess my selfishness. I cannot bear the thought of anything happening to you. We need you; it is as simple as that,” she finished firmly.

  She lifted her chin bravely, holding his indecipherable gaze. It had been over a year since she had last been the recipient of the unreadable Darcy stare and she did not like it. The urgent desire to wrap her arms around him was unbearably painful to resist.

  When Darcy moved, it startled her. He cupped her face with sturdy hands, bending until he was inches away, voice hoarse as emotion abruptly surged over his features. “I absolutely hate it when you are right and I am wrong, Mrs. Darcy. Please try not to make a habit out of the tendency.” His mouth curled faintly in a soft smile, eyes tender as they engaged hers.

  And then he kissed her hard, absolving sobs caught in both throats as bodies melted together. It continued for a long time, spirits meshing as breath was shared. Lizzy was crushed against every plane of his body, but she did not care. When they pulled apart it was out of necessity for deep respirations, neither letting go. Darcy drew her head under his chin, holding her as physically close as possible. She rubbed her cheek against the mildly rough hairs on his chest, warmth flooding even in the midst of the c
ool window embrasure.

  “I love you so much, Fitzwilliam! I am so, so sorry!”

  He released an enormous sigh. “So am I.”

  Taking her by the hand, he led her to the bearskin rug, fur burnished amber in the firelight. Wordlessly, he removed his robe, bare skin reflecting the flames, and reached dexterous fingers to untie each ribbon of her robe and discard it unhurriedly. The sadness in his eyes tore at her soul. Always naked before her as he was to no one else, she had often seen the pain of grief both past and present in his eyes. It ripped her heart, but she understood now that it was who he was. Tomorrow, in Derby, he would be the man of strength and serene control; everyone looking to him for the answers that he would give without hesitation. Tonight, in the privacy of their bedchamber with his soul mate, he could relax.

  He ran heated palms down her arms, goose pimples rising in the wake of his touch, clasping each hand and pulling her onto the rug. He sat propped on the mass of cushions, Lizzy in his arms with back nestled to his chest. He said nothing, staring into the flickering flames with cheek pressed against her temple. He made no move other than to tenderly caress slightly calloused fingertips over her shoulders and arms. When he did speak, his tone was low and anguished.

  “Is it wrong to be so content when people I am responsible for are suffering?”

  “There are always people suffering, everywhere and at all times. Do not all individuals, even in the midst of travails, deserve happiness as it comes to them?”

  Silence. Then, “Do you think less of me if I confess there are times I want to run from it all, forget about being ‘Master of Pemberley’ and just live simply somewhere with you and Alexander? No responsibilities except to love you eternally and play with our children as a child myself?”

  She turned in his arms, pushing unruly locks away from his troubled eyes and feathering over each feature. “How could I think less of you for being human?”

  They made love then. Slowly, long into the night, comfort and peace attained in the rapturous expression of bonding and love.

  Lizzy woke as the first rays of dim sunlight peeked through the curtains. Darcy, fully clothed in traveling attire, entered their chambers with a squalling son in his arms. He smiled sunnily at his wife as she sat up in the bed, breasts full and ready.

  “He has no interest in silly faces or words of devotion. Your breasts take precedence each time, not that I cannot relate to the sentiment.”

  He sat beside her as Alexander ravenously attacked the nipple, Lizzy wincing slightly. Infant placated, she peered into her husband’s face, reaching her free hand to cup his jaw. He kissed her palm, smiling with only a hint of lingering pain evident.

  “I will miss you, Mrs. Darcy.”

  “I know. And I you. Be careful, my heart, and return to us quickly. I love you.”

  “I know,” he grinned. “Thank you, my Lizzy, for being my comfort. You are my life and I will return quickly.” He kissed her temple then bent to nibble Alexander’s toes and bestow tiny kisses to chubby feet and hands. Returning to Lizzy’s mouth, they kissed lingeringly. With a final brush over her lips with his thumb and repeated I love you, he rose.

  She watched him walk to the door, back straight with figure flawlessly masculine and controlled. He turned and, after a blown kiss and airy wave, was gone.

  Chapter Four

  The Master of Pemberley

  Darcy was four miles south of Pemberley, clopping along at a swift gallop when the echoing thud of horse’s hooves not belonging to his mount penetrated his awareness. Glancing over his shoulder, he grunted once and lightly pulled on the reins, Parsifal slowing to a sedate walk. He had given no details as to why he was departing so early in the morning, had not asked for company, and assuredly did not need a bodyguard, yet found he was not the slightest bit surprised. Annoyed, yes, but not surprised.

  The other horse pulled alongside, Darcy slowing to a halt and gracing its sunnily smiling rider with a decidedly unfriendly scowl. He leaned forward and growled, “Why are you here? I did not ask for company.”

  “Can a fellow not take a morning ride in the bracing air? Are you the boss of the road, Mr. Darcy?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact I am. This is my land and I did not give you permission to be here.”

  The intruder looked around at the endless plains of frosted pasture and smoke-emitting chimneys rising from the numerous brick cottages nestled in between the empty fields. All was silent in the misty dawn gloom, only the faint scattered barks of dogs and lowing of cows needing to be milked a subtle reminder of life beyond the two horsemen. He shrugged unperturbed. “Very well, I will give you that, but as a sworn defender of the Crown, I think I outrank you even here and can, therefore, travel wherever I see fit.”

  “Hogwash. And you are not even in uniform. Seriously, Richard, did Elizabeth send you to watch over me?”

  “Unruffle your proud tail feathers, Cousin. I came of my own volition. Your wife is under the impression you can tread water and calm raging seas; therefore, she is unlikely to request me to play protector.”

  “I can assure you that my wife is fully aware of every flaw I possess and reminds me of them frequently, but that’s beside the point. I have no humor today, am quite foul as a matter of fact, and in no mood for your acerbic wit and lame jokes.”

  Richard nodded, face suddenly devoid of any trace of jocularity. “I gathered as much. Ride on then and enlighten me as to the problem. I am at your disposal in any way you see fit.”

  Darcy stared at his serious cousin for a moment more, grunted again, but argued no further. Instead, he tightened his leather-clad grip on the reins, and with a short command to Parsifal, they set off at a brisk canter while Darcy imparted the facts as he knew them.

  The ride was uneventful and thankfully free of rain or snow, although the wind was biting. The roads were frozen solid, with scattered slick patches of ice and a fair amount of slushy mud ofttimes covering their mounts to the fetlocks. Few words were spoken after the brief discourse on the mill fire, the fast pace and stiff breeze not conducive to conversation even if Darcy had been in the mood. Despite the pleasant evening spent with his wife, the idyllic hours spent loving each other so deliriously, her ceaseless empathy which calmed his turbulent soul, and the brief interlude of family felicity that morning, Darcy was still deeply disturbed.

  His years as Master of an enormous estate had been relatively disaster free. Only nine deaths had occurred as a result of accidents and three men who were maimed to the point of requiring retirement from their duties. It was not a bad record compared to most men in his position. He knew this, was proud of the fact, and strove to find ways to ensure safety among his tenants and employees, but the simple reality was that many of the jobs necessary to keep the Pemberley estate functioning were of a dangerous nature. The number of injuries and near misses was substantially higher, and Darcy looked upon each incidence as a personal affront and failing.

  Darcy was a rational man by nature. Rationally, he knew the blaze at the mill, however it had occurred, was completely beyond his control. Rationally, he knew that it was in no way his blunder. Rationally, he knew that these events were called accidents for a reason. Rationally, he knew that no one would place blame on him. Rationally, he knew that he and his partners would financially survive the disaster and deal with the trauma, as they were each wise businessmen and astute managers.

  However, Darcy was also a man who cared deeply. Logic would triumph over emotion, but the emotion would not merely disappear. He would fight it every step of the way, with every breath, and not a single person he encountered would have the vaguest clue as to his struggle. Such was the disposition of the man who, after roughly two hours of hard riding with Richard keeping pace, drew into the wide gravelly area before the main entrance of the mill in Derby.

  It was not yet eight-thirty in the morning, the sun well risen in the eastern sky and casting a strong light if little warmth. The cotton mill co-owned by Darcy was located on
the western bank of the River Derwent, near the northern borders of the town proper. Several mills of various types had, for centuries, utilized the power of the briskly flowing river to process the wool and flax that was abundantly grown on the fertile fields of Derbyshire, as well as imported silk and cotton. Derby, like many other towns situated fortuitously on rapid rivers throughout England, had evolved in the past fifty years from a sleepy fishing and farming village to a center of industry. As inventions designed to speed up the laborious and costly processes of rendering textiles useful had emerged, an industrial revolution had waved across the county. Derby had benefited significantly and prospered as a result, as had forward-thinking men such as Darcy. Uncounted persons of modest means had grown rich through wise investments while men of wealth had grown even wealthier. Darcy invested financially in Derby’s Silk Mill, the oldest such factory in all of England, as well as one of the three wool mills located nearby. However, the cotton mill was the only one he was an actual owner of; therefore, he was actively involved in the management policies.

  From a distance, the four-storied red brick building’s jutting towers and visible eaves appeared undamaged. This did not particularly surprise Darcy, as he figured the bulk of the damage would be internal. The note had been written hastily by the surviving foreman, giving no specific details other than the loss of life and that the blaze was quenched. Nonetheless, it takes a massive amount of heat to mar brick.

  Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam were greeted by a group of several men knotted by the front entrance to the mill. Two of the gentlemen were his partners, Mr. Kinnison and Mr. Shultz, while the others were a mixture of workers, foremen, and, undoubtedly, city officials sent to investigate the incident.