On their last afternoon in the village, while Darcy went to a tobacconist to buy new tobacco for his pipe, on impulse she went to a gift shop and purchased a good-sized silk flag of Greece. She envisioned at first it could be fashioned into a scarf for her, then chuckled, deciding it would be put to a much better use.
Their final night alone together on the beach at Limnioniza, she said to her husband, “Last night I dreamt I was back at Pemberley.”
“Have you not been happy on your honeymoon?” “More than merely happy. But perhaps part of me looks forward to returning to our home.” There was, after all, no place like home. “I sometimes have trouble living in the present and not in the past or future.”
“I find it always more agreeable to live in the present.” To reassure her of this, he began making ardent love to her as dark clouds began to pass over the moon. She had become sunstruck in Athens, and now on the beach at Hydra became moonstruck.
Mr. Darcy seemed to be vigilant about something, watching as each couple left the beach. When they were alone, he took her hand and walked her to the water’s edge, then led her into the turquoise sea. When they were in water up to their shoulders, he removed her bathing costume, then his, and they swam together au natural.
After a while, he led her back to the water just below their shoulders and made love to her again. The rains came on Hydra. At first, a soft, gentle, warm drizzle. Mr. Darcy did not seem to care, and neither did Elizabeth. They remained in the sea at Limnioniza as the rain turned into a downpour. Still they were in each other’s arms, their hair drenched. She loved it and believed he did, too. She was so happy, she could stand with her beloved forever.
Elizabeth might remember being in her husband’s arms in the rain that night as the most cherished memory of her honeymoon. As his lips lingered on hers, no matter what might befall them when they returned from paradise, after all a war was going on, they would always have Hydra.
As she sat in the carriage beside Mr. Darcy as they rode on to Netherfield three months after their honeymoon on Hydra, Elizabeth imagined she was back there with him in the rain as she rested her head on his shoulder.
Chapter Seven
While Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley played billiards in the game room at Netherfield on Thursday evening, Elizabeth and her sister sat conversing in the parlor, eager to engage in girl talk that could not be overheard.
“I have a great deal to tell,” said Elizabeth.
“You wrote me about your honeymoon. It must have been idyllic.” “It was, and remains with me daily. Almost hourly. Now tell me about yours. You and Mr. Bingley spent your honeymoon in London because of the war on the Continent. I have yet to learn if it was successful.”
Jane almost laughed. “It was, despite Mr. Bingley being in hospital for nearly all of the two weeks of our honeymoon.”
“Oh, my. I had heard of that disaster, but never knew its cause.”
“He was taken to a Catholic hospital, for some reason unknown to either of us. But he got good treatment there.” Elizabeth was impatient to learn the cause of Mr. Bingley’s malady. She loved her sister dearly but agonized at times when Jane came to tell the main point of a discourse after telling endless preamble events of no consequence. Like the coachman had taken a long time in finding a parking place for their carriage. Or that it had been raining that day and she had gotten the hem of her dress soiled. Finally, if Elizabeth had been inquiring about whether an aunt who had been ill was now alive or deceased, she would learn that from Jane.
“What, pray tell, ailed Mr. Bingley, and when did the malady begin?” “It began the morning of our wedding. You recall that the day was overcast and might rain at any moment. And that the flowers were late in arriving at the church, but finally got there in time. I had stubbed a toe but managed to get into my bridal slippers.”
“Yes, yes. I recall. But what happened to Mr. Bingley?” “You are so impatient, Lizzy. But that aside, Mr. Bingley had been well until the wedding ceremony began. Then he seemed to develop an uncontrollable itch. It was most distracting as he scratched himself all over, even his package, and he nearly dropped my ring while putting it on my finger. When we kissed, his lips went astray and he kissed me not on the lips but my nose.”
“Oh, dear. I didn’t notice. I was occupied crying from happiness.”
“Then the itching grew worse in London on our wedding night, far beyond the urge to scratch an itch between one’s toes.”
Elizabeth was near to groaning. Dear merciful heaven, get on with it! “What malady had befallen Mr. Bingley?”
“I called a doctor who examined Mr. Bingley. He diagnosed that Mr. Bingley had come down with a very debilitating case of hives.” Finally, she got to it, Elizabeth lamented with a deep sigh of relief. She knew little about the malady beyond that it was many, many more times more distressing than contracting poison ivy. The urge to itch could be constant and almost drive one mad.
“He developed red welts all over his body and they itched unmercifully. It was embarrassing to him, so he asked me to keep it a secret. But you asked and I beseech you not to tell anyone.”
“He shows no sign of the malady remaining.” “I was vigilant but have not noticed any residual blemishes. I did notice some as the malady first struck him, but once he was in hospital, did not care to see more. His nurse said some of the welts were tiny, while others were large as dinner plates.” Elizabeth shuddered.
“And his doctor cautioned me that in rare cases, hives could be fatal, if the throat or airways swell.”
“Oh, dear.” “By-the-by did I mention that his doctor was uncommonly handsome? If anyone could tempt me to stray… But I digress.. His doctor said it would be fortunate if Mr. Bingley became mainly cured in two weeks. Severe cases were known to have lasted six weeks or even longer.”
“What could have brought on his unfortunate condition?” “His doctor, holding my hand to console me, said hives is generally brought on by an allergy or emotional stress. Since tests were taken and Mr. Bingley was not found to be allergic to anything but cat dander, and we had not been exposed to cats, his doctor presumed it was emotional stress.”
Elizabeth now understood, and Jane then confirmed her supposition. “You know that Mr. Bingley’s main occupation in life is striving to please, everyone about everything. He is the consummate ‘goodist.’ We did not discuss the possibility, but I thought and still do think that he was anxious about performing to my satisfaction on our wedding night.”
Elizabeth smothered an urge to laugh outright, but could not conceal a smile and a chuckle.
“The dear boy.” “He really is, and proved he need not have been anxious about the matter because after he recovered, a week after we were back at Netherfield, he more than satisfied me. He came on to me the night of his recovery like a charging bull. I had to restrain him from being
over attentive, and he dampened the flames of his passion enough so that he was more gentle. He is, by-the-by, quite the lover.”
Elizabeth was glad to reply, “As is Mr. Darcy. And I doubt very much that he will ever suffer a case of hives.”
“It is good to see you looking well again,” said Mr. Darcy to Mr. Bingley as they played billiards.
“I feel fine, now that my confidence has been restored.”
Mr. Darcy wondered what he meant. “Were you in need of financial assistance? Please do always confide in me if you are.”
“I shall, and appreciate your generosity. But it was of another matter and, forgive me, but it was of a personal nature and I should not want to reveal it.” Mr. Darcy did not pry. He presumed Mrs. Darcy would tell him about it later, or learn of it from Mrs. Bingley. Mrs. Darcy might be asked to keep it secret, but his experience was that she was s eldom if ever able to keep a confidence, if it was interesting or scandalous enough. He surmised that the intelligence that Mr. Bingley was keeping from him was more than merely interesting. It could be titillating, and that made Mr. Darcy even more curious and eager to know
the closely-guarded secret.
Mrs. Bingley grew anxious to learn from her sister her honeymoon experience after her husband’s recovery from hives in more detail, When it was not forthcoming, she came right out and asked.
“My honeymoon at home, after Mr. Bingley and I returned to Netherfield, was as close to idyllic as I could ever imagine. Now I’ve shared my honeymoon with you, will you share intimacies of yours with me?”
“Often, in telling some things of a personal nature to others, they lose their magic.” It was all on the subject that Mrs. Bingley expected she would hear. She was disappointed. She did not think there would be anything she and her beloved sister could not or would not share. Of course, she reproached herself, she had not gone into detail about how Mr. Bingley performed a week after his return from hospital, or had since then.
“You wrote me briefly when you returned from Greece that you had fallen ill in Athens. You did not tell me what caused your malady.” “I became sunstruck, it was so hot one day while touring the historic sights. Mr. Darcy was so concerned when I felt faint that he took me by cab to a hospital. It, too, was Catholic, but I received good treatment and was out the following day. A doctor and nurse gave me very exceptional care. Mr. Darcy was especially attentive to the nurse, so as to assure that I would receive the best care.”
Mrs. Bingley became especially interested to hear more, particularly about the doctor. “Was the doctor a young and handsome Greek? I’ve heard Greek men are very good-looking. They also can be, like most Greek men, rather, shall we say, attractive in a personal way.”
“My doctor was Greek and lived up to the reputation you speak of. But I became closer to my nurse. She was a young British woman of society who had chosen to become a nurse. She said she had been conflicted about becoming a nun or a nurse. I thought she was quite attractive and could have many gentlemen suitors, including our doctor, but he was married. That did not seem to interfere with his attention to me, and I dare say that did not trouble me. I felt somewhat of an attraction toward him, but would not be tempted to stray. I was certain Mr. Darcy would not stray, even though he seemed to appreciate my nurse’s beauty and gentle disposition.”
“Trouble in paradise?”
“Not really. Perhaps.” “The nurse told me only her first name, which was Frances, although she asked to be called Fanny. She and I became fast friends. Although Mr. Darcy remained at my bedside most of the time I was in hospital, I encouraged him to ask Fanny to have tea with him in the hospital café. They went there more than once, but I often dozed off, so I have no recollection of how often they took short vacations from me. He always returned to my bedside refreshed, so I was certain the times away from me were good for him.”
“A young and beautiful nurse,” Mrs. Bingley mused aloud. “And a handsome young doctor, even if he was married…”
“Nonsense!” Elizabeth said, echoing Mrs. Bennet in her mother’s frequent word to whisk away a mental or verbal fly. Mrs. Bingley hoped her sister would have had a more personal relationship with the doctor, but did not inquire further on the subject as Elizabeth continued with the report of her stay at the hospital.
“The night after my release from hospital, while we were at the inn where we were staying and I was about to take a refreshing bath, the night was so warm, Mr. Bingley asked if he could leave me for a few minutes. He wanted to take Fanny some trifle gift from us both to thank her for her special care of me. I gladly encouraged him to do so and suggested he take her a nosegay of flowers. He said he thought that an appropriate gift and that he would.”
Aha, thought Mrs. Bingley.
“And perhaps a cigar for my doctor, I further suggested.”
The least he could have been given, Mrs. Bingley said to herself. “Mr. Darcy did not reply, but left my room. He was gone more than a few minutes because I waited for him for over an hour after I took my bath. He said he gave Fanny the nosegay, thanked her again, and left the hospital to take a slow walk back to our inn.”
“A handsome husband and a beautiful nurse…”
“Don’t be silly, you goose!” Elizabeth said, dismissing her sister’s innuendo.
“Mr. Darcy said he saw my doctor before leaving the hospital after giving Fanny the flowers. He said he gave him a cigar in thanks for his care of me.” In truth, Mr. Darcy told Mr. Bingley as they played billiards and he spoke of Mrs. Darcy’s sunstroke in Athens, he only gave the doctor a polite handshake. Not a very firm one at that.
At bedtime Thursday night at the Bingley’s, Elizabeth watched expectantly as her husband removed his clothes. More than pleased with his handsome face, her husband was a fine figure of a man. His midsection was firm and his hips slim. His hairless chest was strong and manly, his pectorals were admirably pronounced, and he was uncircumcised and small. It did not matter once he was aroused, and he aroused easily when they were intimate, or even when he was clothed and anticipated it.
Elizabeth believed Darcy was at least satisfied, perhaps even more, with her physical attributes. She enjoyed that he was particularly fond of dallying on her breasts which on their wedding night he had silently explored and admired.
When he stood before her au natural, Mr. Darcy then smiled at Elizabeth as he stepped into the silk Union Jack shorts. She was delighted as he then slid into bed beside her, kissed her several times on the lips, and began making passionate love to her. Said he with a sigh, “I love you so very much, Eliza.” With his lips on hers, she could not reply but gave herself to him as evidence that she loved him at least as much.
Before they fell off to sleep the night of their first meeting with the young people from Ireland, Mr. Darcy interrupted his lovemaking to tell Elizabeth more of what he had learned about them from Mr. Collins.
“I wondered about their finances, so I asked if they had inherited any money from their late father. Mr. Collins said the Reverend Bishop O’Reilly died without money or property and in fact was deep in debt.”
“Those circumstances may have brought on his heart attack.”
“In any case, Mr. Collins said the Irish brother and sister are poor as church mice. They may have to pay that debt off, somehow, but neither of them has steady work. They said both were supporting actors in plays in Dublin. “Their employment could not have paid much. How could they have paid for their father’s funeral?” “That brings up something very interesting. In fact, intriguing. They didn’t have any money to pay for the funeral, so Mr. Collins, generous it would seem at first, made them a proposition. He would forego their paying the funeral expenses if they would both agree to help him with some research for a new sermon he is planning. They weren’t keen on it, when he told them what the subject is, but were desperate, so they agreed.”
“Did you learn the subject of the sermon?”
“Mr. Collins would not reveal it to me. And he made the Irish swear on the Bible they would not reveal it to anyone.” “The Church of England Bible or the Roman Catholic? I assume our Irish friends are Catholics, since most Irish are, although Mr. O’Reilly told us he was planning to study in the Protestant faith.”
“I doubt Mr. Collins has a Catholic Bible in his home or parsonage. But our Irish friends may already be Protestants. Or it may not matter to them to swear on any Bible. They may not be religious.”
Elizabeth said, “I cannot guess what Mr. Collins’s sermon is to be about. It must be quite a subject. Are Mr. O’Reilly and Pippa to be paid for their research help, besides the funeral expenses being covered?”
“As you might expect from frugal Mr. Collins, they are not to be paid a farthing. But he assured them that in doing the research they would be rewarded with comfortable lodgings and meals. Just in case, however, Mr. O’Reilly said he managed to squeeze out of him enough so that Mr. Collins is paying for their lodgings at the inn in Meryton.”
“That is a minor miracle,” Elizabeth chuckled. “Moths must have flown out of his purse when he agreed to that.” “Not entirely a miracle,” Mr. Darcy amended.
Mr. Collins confided in me that he asked my aunt for a contribution to pay for some of his sermon research. Lady Catherine insisted he tell her what is the subject, and very reluctantly he agreed, in order to get enough money to pay for Mr. O’Reilly’s and Pippa’s stay at the inn, whether it be days or weeks. She then offered some suggestions on the research, and he took them as commands, so he agreed, but did not reveal to me what those suggestions or commands were.”
“So only Mr. Collins and Lady Catherine know the topic of the sermon research, besides our Irish friends. And none of them are expected to reveal it.”
“Precisely. It must be quite a good subject, for my aunt to invest in it. I admit, I’m intrigued.” “Perhaps Lady Catherine just wants to make sure she stays awake while Mr. Collins delivers his sermon. I have the same problem with them and might be tempted to contribute to his new one’s research.”
Mr. Darcy laughed and kissed Elizabeth again, then said, “By-the-by, I’m enjoying your ‘naughty’ birthday gift.”
“As am I,” she replied, then they both enjoyed it more before falling off to sleep. At about the same time that night, the Irish were still lovemaking in their bed chamber at the inn in Meryton. The night was chilly, and the flames had gone out in the room’s small fireplace, so they snuggled in their nakedness under a goose-down quilt.
Thinking aloud, Sean said, “Our research for Reverend Collins is going to keep us busy.”
Pippa agreed. “We’ll have to learn juggling, to manage four invitations to four houses this weekend.” Sean said, “Perhaps we can spend a few days midweek with one or more of them. Weekends mean nothing to the idle rich. To us working people, weekends are miniature holidays, while every day is like a weekend to them.”
Pippa said, “Mr. Collins had been helpful. He has told us the names of those he wants us to research and their daily routines and locations.”
“Two of the Bennet sisters are not yet married.”
“But single women are known to be tempted.”
Clouds Over Pemberley Page 6
