Loving Mr. Darcy: Journeys Beyond Pemberley tds-2

by Sharon Lathan

  Darcy's own excitement was nearly unbearable in its intensity, but he held himself in check, preferring to further heighten his arousal by observing the fervor and gratification of his wife. Darcy enfolded her in his arms with overwhelming joy. She was trembling and inhaling raggedly yet ceaselessly planting kisses over his shoulders and neck. Darcy smoothed her tousled hair from a perfect, dewy brow as he kissed her, murmuring soft words of adulation. She rose, eyes glazed with satisfaction as she looked at him and tenderly touched his face.

  “William,” she whispered, “I could not wait. You excite me so! What you do to me is indescribable.” She closed her eyes, shuddering still. Releasing a prolonged gush of air as she nuzzled her lips over his. “My love, my own. Ask anything of me and it is yours. How can I please you, best beloved?”

  Darcy smiled and laughed lowly. “Lizzy, my Lizzy, do you not yet understand that my greatest pleasure is in bringing you joy? The fact that you love me so awesomely as to attain such dynamic rapture is a joy transcending my own. Merely holding you and feeling your trembling is heaven.”

  His words were truth; nonetheless, the ache of his need could not be denied. He sat up with her encased in his arms, hands all over her body. He devoted a period of time to her constantly changing breasts, far fuller and heavier than when they married as they prepared for their baby. All the changes of her maturing body—some related to pregnancy, but others a result of a natural blossoming from their intimacy—incited him. It was not at all an exaggeration or opinion based on blind adoration to note that Elizabeth Darcy was luminous and gorgeous beyond what she had been seven months ago.

  Darcy loved his wife with growing enthusiasm. If the maids did discuss the Master's prowess, Lizzy thought with a smile, they would undoubtedly be astonishingly inaccurate. Lizzy rather doubted anyone could match her husband's stamina or mastery. Of course, she had no frame of reference, but anything beyond Darcy's virility would likely incapacitate a woman! In fact, there was many a time when she believed she would faint from the experience and was often left sore and raw, not that it mattered one iota or inhibited her ardor.

  Together they rose, passion growing to incomprehensible levels. Finally falling over a cliff of mindless, spiritual jubilance, they merged and were transported to a place of replete fulfillment. Darcy buckled in exhausted satiation, crushing her into the mattress, but Lizzy did not mind. Their son, however, was not as forgiving and began a series of furious punches, causing Lizzy to giggle. “Dearest, your son does not appreciate all this activity,” she declared with a nudge to his inert side.

  Darcy grunted, rolling lazily off his wife but drawing her close and placing a hand over the swell. “Get used to it, my son, as I do not intend to halt loving your mother.” He kissed Lizzy's ear, nestling into the bend of her neck with a sigh. “I love you, Elizabeth, with all my soul.” He kissed her yet again. “Are you still certain this is a male child? I would hate to damage her fragile mind by referring to her as ‘my son’ or ‘he’ all the time.”

  Lizzy laughed. “My heart says it is a boy.” She turned and cupped his face, blue eyes piercing hers. “Our son, Fitzwilliam. I only pray he has your eyes.” She kissed each brilliant orb, then chuckled. “Of course, if he is very fortunate he will possess all your marvelous attributes and, therefore, make some woman as deliriously happy as you have made me.” Darcy blushed but smiled with mild egocentric satisfaction. “Anyway, we cannot call the baby ‘it,’ so a sex designation of some sort is apropos.” She paused, tracing each feature on his face lightly, lingering on his lips, and then resting a fingertip into the cleft on his chin, speaking dazedly. “You are majestic, Fitzwilliam Darcy. I could stare at you all day and never tire of the simple perfection and beauty of your face. I am fortunate on more levels than countable. I love you so, William!”

  They embraced fiercely, silent in their mutual adoration. Contentment bathed them as sleep drifted in. Darcy released her briefly to retrieve the crumpled covers, and then gathered her near, sleeping with her body tightly woven over his all through their first night home.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Hasberry Hall

  The English country house named Hasberry Hall rested in a narrow valley approximately seven miles southwest from Lambton near Winster. The property, as most of Derbyshire besides the Peaks, was pastoral with gently rolling hills and a narrow brook. A small portion of the acreage was set aside as a walnut orchard, but primarily Hasberry was known for the raising of prime sheep. The parcel was a fifth the size of Pemberley, but more than sufficient for the sheep to roam as they grazed and for the manor itself to be surrounded by lovely gardens and private lawns. The mansion was two stories constructed of grey brick, generous and comfortable. Several outbuildings and stables were clustered nearby; the sheds for the shearing, housing, and breeding of the sheep were a distance away.

  Bingley and Darcy met with Mr. Greystone, receiving a thorough tour of the entire grounds as well as a detailed summation as to the business aspect of the estate. Darcy, as the one far wiser in both the financial and livestock realms, led the discussion, asking pointed questions. A prepared sheath of papers was given to Mr. Bingley for later study. On the way back to Pemberley, taking a circuitous route so they could talk, Bingley was childlike in his zeal. He had fallen in love with the spacious but humble country house, never one who was entirely at ease with the grandeur and opulence of Netherfield, or Pemberley for that matter. Additionally, he was ecstatic at the idea of actually managing a working farm.

  Bingley had inherited his fortune. His great-grandfather was the Bingley who first amassed the greatest portion of the family's wealth as a spice and fur trader. By the time of his death, a huge percentage of the accumulated funds had been invested. So substantial were the various investment revenues that Bingley's grandfather sold the trading company, at an enormous profit, and devoted his efforts to advancing their capital via further diversification. Bingley's father, therefore, had not worked an honest day in his life, more than content to live comfortably on the earnings that poured in. He had been perfectly willing to dwell in Town, enjoying all the entertainments offered to a gentleman of means. Charles Bingley had been raised to follow his father's example and was quite agreeable to do so.

  Until he met Fitzwilliam Darcy.

  Bingley was a mere nineteen, fresh-faced and naïve, a student at Oxford where his studies consisted primarily of men's pursuits, with the occasional business or literature or science class thrown in for good measure. Darcy was three and twenty, and it was his debut season as Master of Pemberley. Why the two had cultivated a friendship when so divergent in character and maturity will forever be one of life's unsolvable mysteries. Essentially, each young man offered the other something he desperately needed.

  Darcy was a man grief ridden and overwhelmed with the sudden weight of tremendous responsibilities, all of which compounded his natural severity and reticence. Bingley was a man without a focus or purpose to his existence. Effervescent and extroverted by nature, he began to recognize an emptiness to the life his father led and yearned for more. Bingley brought laughter and simplicity to the somber and complicated Darcy. Conversely, Darcy brought ambition and stability to the wayward and capricious Bingley. By the time Bingley graduated from Oxford, he had learned more of finance and commerce from Darcy than in any class. During those years, he slowly grew more enamored with the country from his stays at Pemberley, and the deep conversations with Darcy over the management of his vast estate birthed a gnawing desire in Bingley to own his own estate. The respect Bingley witnessed directed toward a man of Darcy's stature and intelligence strikingly contrasted to the disdain engendered by his father. Bingley loved his father and was heartbroken when he died nearly three years ago, yet the opportunity to boldly accept his inheritance and use it for something real was a joyous challenge that he grasped with both hands. First, he took control of the family enterprises, to the lament of the solicitors and agents who were earning a hefty wage and, with Darcy'
s advice and gentle persuasion, was performing admirably.

  Emboldened by his success, he was ready for phase two. Hence his wish to obtain a piece of property that he could not only call his home, and now with his dear Jane begin a family, but to also prove to himself that he was capable. For the past two years he had searched for a country manor. To his dismay, Bingley discovered that uncovering a functional farm with a decent house within his price range was extremely difficult. Families tend to dwell perpetually over the generations on their ancestral estates. In addition, Bingley's wealth, although considerable, was insufficient for the grander land holdings or to establish an estate from the beginning. He had searched far afield to no avail. His hope for Netherfield was waning, as the family refused to sell and there were no other acceptable options in Hertfordshire.

  His despondency notwithstanding, Bingley honestly was pleased with the Hasberry ranch. The price was reasonable, the house wonderful, and sheep and walnuts were as good as anything else. Darcy raised sheep and grew a number of crops on his estate, so Bingley knew he could count on his friend for guidance.

  Bingley's only concern at this point was with Jane. That she would adore the house and grounds he did not doubt; however, he knew that leaving her parents, hometown, and the shire she had known all her life would be distressing. Living close to Lizzy would certainly soften the heartache.

  “What troubles me,” Bingley said to Darcy as he drove toward Pemberley, “is whether my Jane will honestly reveal her thoughts and feelings to me.” He noted Darcy's frown and continued quickly, “I do not mean to imply that she would purposely mislead or lie! It's just that… Jane does not easily share her feelings, even to me. She will consent to whatever course I choose and deem it her duty to submit.” He sighed. “I love her placid nature, Darcy. We compliment each other so well, yet at times I do wish she would speak her mind more forcefully. Do you know what I mean?”

  Darcy shrugged and smiled wryly. “Not completely, Bingley, to be truthful. Elizabeth has no problem whatsoever in clearly expressing her mind to me. She never has,” he finished quietly in memory.

  “Jane knows how deeply I want our own home; she does as well of course, but probably not to the same degree as I. For me, moving to Derbyshire is coming home, yet for Jane it is leaving her home. I shall be frank, Darcy,” he glanced over at his friend with a blush on his cheeks as he finished, “I need distance from Mrs. Bennet.”

  He clamped his lips in shame, but Darcy laughed aloud and clapped him on the shoulder. “You need explain no further, my friend! You are a far braver man than I and have the patience of a saint.”

  “I believe Jane experiences some of the same irritation, although she would never dream of verbalizing dishonor toward a parent. This, I judge, is partially the problem. She too wishes for independence and solitude, but the price is guilt. Furthermore, I fear she will express enthusiasm for the Hasberry Estate to please me even if she is not delighted with it.” He shook his head in confusion and melancholy. “I cannot proceed unless Jane is fully committed and content.”

  “Listen, Charles. Elizabeth, let us be factual here, undoubtedly understands Jane superior to even you. Women, especially sisters, share intuitively. She will divine the truth if you do not. I will speak with her on the subject. It may seem a roundabout, rather juvenile way to go about it, but Elizabeth can discover the honest feelings of Jane.”

  Much later that evening, as Darcy and Lizzy walked along the moonlit path to their isolated rendezvous, Darcy relayed his conversation with Charles. Jane had remained quiet during the dinner discussions regarding Hasberry Hall, interjecting rarely with a question or ambiguous comment. Darcy had learned long ago that he was utterly incompetent in reading his sister-in-law's composed visage, so he did not try.

  Lizzy seemed unperturbed by Bingley's disquiet. “Charles frets where he should not,” she declared firmly to her husband. “Jane is not attached to Netherfield and wants a home of their own. Any remorse she may experience at departing Hertfordshire will be overwhelmed by her joy. How about here for the blanket?” She looked at him expectantly.

  “Are you certain?”

  “Well, it is flat here and the grass is soft…”

  “No, I mean about Jane,” he said in exasperation.

  Lizzy laughed, taking the blanket out of his arms and kissing him tenderly. “Yes, I am certain. You are sweet to worry so, beloved, but trust me. Charles is anxious for naught.” She smiled slyly. “Want to know a secret?” He nodded. “Jane would deny it if you asked, but she is as annoyed at Mama's interference as Charles. She told me that every time Charles broaches buying Netherfield, she cringes internally and prays the family refuses. Then she blushed and bit her lip, swearing me to not repeat her ‘uncharitableness and wickedness’ to another living soul. You do not count, of course, as you are my soul. However, I will tickle you mercilessly if you tell her I told you. Now, assist me with this blanket and kiss me as you promised.”

  The following day the four of them drove to the estate, Mr. Greystone once again conducting a thorough tour. The housekeeper escorted Jane and Lizzy through the kitchen areas, discussing household management minutia while the men departed to further discuss business. In this instance, it was Lizzy's experience that aided. She asked pointed questions about the staff and various duties, budget, merchandise and foodstuff ordering procedures, and much more. Jane was amazed.

  The house itself was easily three times the size of Longbourn, but architecturally constructed in the same simplistic country style. Vaguely Tudor in design, the two-hundred-year-old structure of grey stone included all the rooms essential for a true country manor, but with an understated elegance that lacked the opulence of a grandly prodigious mansion such as Pemberley. Gardens and pathways were naturalistic, flowing gracefully amid the babbling creek and small lake. Trees, shrubs, and flowers grew wild with minimal cultivation; the extensive main patio with granite sculptures and one fountain was the only area of formality.

  The manifestation of Jane Bingley's endorsement of the Hasberry Estate was eloquently reflected by the radiant smile gracing her features. None of them, even Darcy, were unsure of her positive impression. The relief washing over Bingley's face was laughable in its intensity. Mr. Greystone was unequivocal in his delight and liberation. The readiness of Bingley to seal the purchase as soon as feasible, combined with his anxiousness to retire and pleasure at bestowing his beloved ancestral home to a young couple with a bright future, encouraged Mr. Greystone to accept Bingley over the other two hesitant parties. Before the week ended, the initial documents were signed and a down payment conferred.

  Jane's only request was to forestall alerting anyone outside the immediate persons at Pemberley until they had the opportunity to speak with Mr. and Mrs. Bennet. Bingley agreed. The tentative plan was to stay until after the Summer Festival with occupation of Hasberry Hall roughly three months hence. The Darcys were jubilant. Kitty assured Jane that Papa and Mama would understand. Georgiana, who had grown fond of Jane and adored Mr. Bingley, was delighted. Even Caroline displayed a charming smile at the news and asked for a tour of the Hall, kindly offering Jane dozens of decorating tips, a few of which were actually heeded.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Lazy Days of Summer

  For the following several days, the company at Pemberley basically did absolutely nothing.

  Darcy spent approximately an hour with Mr. Keith discussing estate affairs, hastily and randomly shuffled through the stack of papers on his desk, sighed and ran a hand over his face, and then walked out of the room without a backward glance. He would not even enter his study for another week. Mr. Keith had smoothly handled all pressing concerns, of which there had been few; the crops were on their own as they grew and ripened, and the various livestock were not a pressing issue as they fattened up, so not much human interference was called for. What work was mandated was efficiently managed by the tenant farmers and livestock handlers.

  Therefore, Darcy was freed t
o attend to the onerous task of relaxing! This he embraced with a ready heart… for a time. Day after day he lounged about reading, playing billiards or chess with Bingley while they discussed sheep, entertaining the women, taking strolls with his wife, and avoiding the stables. Therein lay the down side. Darcy had not been on a horse since his brief stay at Pemberley with the Duke, and he missed the activity profoundly. It was more than the desire to ride itself that disturbed him and wore on his nerves. It was the raging need for strenuous physical activity. Darcy was a man who required a balance in his life: tranquil pursuits entailing minimal energy or concentration, enterprises offering a challenge to his intellect or that advanced his education, and labor of a concrete variety where his muscles were exercised and a healthy sweat attained. The first he was surrounded by in limitless quantities, and the second he was happy to eschew, his mind quite overdue for a caesura. To the frustration of all, the latter was impossible due to his uncle's proscription.

  Lizzy, on the other hand, experienced a sort of exhaustive collapse. She slept late each day and was yawning by early evening. It was not exactly the same as the crushing fatigue encountered during the first months of her pregnancy, but reminiscent. She simply could not muster the emotional or physical energy to do anything beyond strolling about the gardens and visiting with her sisters. She did visit the stables once, the women in tow, to bring gifts to Wolfram. He capered in jubilant happiness, pausing between leaps to munch the treats she brought him. Parsifal studied Lizzy with great intensity, Lizzy actually discovering herself blushing guiltily at a horse! She did not leave Pemberley at all, the closest excursion abroad being to visit the children at the orphanage. They capered about their patroness as happily as Wolfram had, delighted with the toys and sweets she brought.