Loving Mr. Darcy: Journeys Beyond Pemberley tds-2

by Sharon Lathan

  Without a further word, he snaked one arm about her waist while tangling the other through her hair, pulling her into his body for a pervading kiss. Lizzy clutched his upper arms, moaning hoarsely and wilting weakly into his embrace. He swept her into his arms, kissing ardently without cessation, and carried her to the unlit fireplace. Laying her onto the bearskin rug, carefully ensuring her comfort without leaving her lips, he positioned his body fully over hers. Legs parting naturally, Lizzy encircled his waist and squeezed.

  Darcy groaned with desperate need, kissing vigorously as he rapidly joined with his wife. Darcy rumbled in his chest but spoke no words, mad with desire and passionate fire. Lizzy gripped his head with steely fingers twined in his hair, returning his bruising kiss with equal fervor. On they loved with raging heat, gasping and growling, hearts racing frantically, and sweat soaking both of them.

  Darcy's moans turned to whimpers as the torrents focused with a knot of indescribably pleasure before exploding outward to all points of his sizable body, releasing with an unleashed cry of rapture. Lizzy grazed her nails over his shoulders, so overcome with passion that she bit his lower lip hard enough to draw a drop of blood.

  As the mutual tremors waned, their eyes opened sluggishly and met. Far too breathless to vocalize, they merely stared in profound rhapsody. Lizzy gently suckled his slightly swollen lip then tenderly kissed over his face. “My precious love,” she whispered as he finally dropped his head to her chest, inhaling with a shudder and not yet attempting to move off her.

  Lizzy blissfully held him, stroking over his back as they recovered. Darcy rose enough to kiss each breast, only then rolling to her side. Propping on an elbow, he caressed her chest lazily for a time before traveling leisurely down her abdomen. Palming the firm rise above her pubis, Darcy pressed gently.

  “Apparently, he is growing accustomed to being jostled about,” he smiled, and Lizzy laughed.

  She feathered fingertips over his face while he resumed caressing. “How was your ride?”

  “Invigorating, stupendous, refreshing, intoxicating, and heavenly.” He kissed her softly. “The horse ride was nice, too,” he finished, burying his face into her neck and nibbling while Lizzy giggled.

  “Silly man!” she said as she sighed contentedly, absently running the back of her hand over his abdomen. “I was about to call for a tray when you so pleasantly startled me. Are you hungry, beloved?”

  “Starved,” he mumbled into her ear, lips and tongue exploring along her neck, journeying from shoulder to bosom, one hand stroking her inner thigh. Unhurriedly, he roused her with the magic of his hands and mouth, worshipping all of her body as he drove her insane.

  Lizzy's need for food was forgotten as her husband artfully restimulated her ardor. Skillfully, he brought her to the pinnacle of perfect desire, her release sending ripples of frenzy washing head to toe. Rapidly he was there, enfolding her trembling body against his sturdy chest with arms and legs wrapped about her. Murmuring endearments incessantly, he kissed her forehead and smoothed her hair until she was breathing easier. He cupped one cheek, loitering over her mouth with his, sighing happily. “Mine, sweet wife only mine, forever. I love you so tremendously, Elizabeth, my soul.”

  Lizzy smiled. “Fitzwilliam Darcy, you are truly amazing. I think I should order you out of bed every morning for a long ride!” She kissed him, nestling tightly into his embrace with a contented sigh.

  Later that day, after a boisterous luncheon with the entire Pemberley household, Darcy retreated to the solitude of his study to catch up on a stack of neglected papers. All were fairly straightforward, more along the lines of reports and inventories with an occasional document requiring his signature. Midway through the pile, a gentle knock at the door revealed his lovely wife. She smiled sweetly at his beaming face, crossing the room with a flowing grace until near enough to bestow a tender kiss to his brow.

  “What do you need of me, dearest?”

  “I need you, only you, my love,” he answered, reaching to clasp her head and pull in for a kiss.

  Lizzy caressed his face, love clearly evident in their eyes. “You are silly, William, but I do so love you. You called me in here merely for a kiss?”

  Darcy raised a brow in surprise. “I did not call for you, love. Not that I am complaining mind you.”

  Lizzy frowned. “Mrs. Reynolds said you asked for me.”

  At that moment, there was a knock at the door. Leaving the mystery aside for the present, Darcy granted entrance. To the shock of both Darcys, it was Samuel and Marguerite. Samuel approached hesitantly, clearly nervous, with Marguerite a pace behind.

  Samuel was the quintessential valet: utterly proper and seriously devoted to his Master. He had been Darcy's manservant since Darcy was twenty, Samuel now in his early forties. Yet, despite the long association and obvious intimacy with Darcy's personal preferences and requirements, Darcy had revealed to Lizzy that Samuel was intensely private. Any attempts on Darcy's part to converse or familiarize himself with Samuel as an individual was met with stony silence and disapproval. Therefore, Darcy had given up years ago. That Samuel was incredibly shy was evident. Lizzy had probably heard him speak a handful of times and he rarely addressed her.

  Marguerite was nearly as decorous. She took her job very seriously and had endeavored to learn all personal information with a steadfast vigor. However, she did laugh upon occasion with her Mistress and shared the sporadic story or anecdote, albeit with reserve and caution. Lizzy knew little about her private life or intimate thoughts, but there was warmth between the two women and her dry humor frequently shone forth, even with Mr. Darcy.

  Both Master and Mistress had not the least doubt they could trust their personal servant implicitly and although not friendly, they cared deeply for them and would grant nearly any wish requested. Seeing them enter the study together was astonishing. That Samuel and Marguerite spoke was manifest by how Lizzy and Darcy's clothing inevitably matched whenever dressing for a formal event, the frequent messages passed, and the perfection in timing between the two dressing rooms. However, neither had ever actually witnessed them speaking or in the same room, for that matter.

  Samuel bowed toward his Master and then toward Lizzy, Marguerite dropping flawless curtseys. “Mr. Darcy. Mrs. Darcy. Pardon the deception. Miss Charbonneau and I implored Mrs. Reynolds's assistance, as we wished to speak with you together in a formal setting.” He paused, glancing to Marguerite, who smiled faintly and nodded. Samuel cleared his throat, cheeks pink as he met Darcy's confused eyes. Lizzy was looking from one to the other with a dawning suspicion.

  Samuel continued, “Sir, Miss Charbonneau and I have, naturally, increased our acquaintance since she joined the staff. Our friendship has grown to an affection and,” he paused and took a deep breath, Marguerite stepping closer until beside him, arms brushing lightly. “Sir, Madame, we humbly request your permission for us to be wed.” He finished in a rush, visage scarlet. Marguerite was smiling lovingly, delicate face radiant as she possessively laid her hand on his arm.

  Darcy was stunned speechless. Lizzy was equally as surprised but collected her wits before her husband, rounding the desk to clasp Marguerite's hands. “Oh! This is marvelous! We are so delighted for you both. Surprised, certainly, but extremely thrilled.” She leaned in to kiss Marguerite's flushed cheek, squeezing Samuel's hand briefly.

  Darcy stood, senses slowly restored, as he too rounded the desk. Clasping Samuel's hand, to the valet's intense embarrassment, Darcy congratulated him as well, adding, “You do not need my permission, Samuel, but you do have my complete blessing. This is remarkable news. Mrs. Darcy and I are delighted and will grant whatever you wish for your nuptials.”

  Samuel's face was a shade of red truly magnificent to behold. Lizzy wanted to laugh but maintained her composure. “Thank you, sir,” he stammered, “Miss Charbonneau and I do not want a fuss nor to disrupt the household or abandon our duties. We can marry quietly in the village without causing any disturbance or lack of
service to you or Mrs. Darcy.”

  Darcy waved his hand airily. “Nonsense, Samuel! Weddings are special events and a marriage should not begin in haste or with anyone besides the couple unduly considered. It is your day and we, Mrs. Darcy and I, intend to make it as unforgettable as possible. Many staff members have been married in the Pemberley Chapel and, naturally, you two would need time alone afterwards. We can arrange this for whatever date you wish.”

  “Definitely!” Lizzy chimed in with enthusiasm, “There are available rooms in the couple's apartments both downstairs and at the Staff Domicile. In fact, one of the cottages is vacant since Morrison's wife passed. Mrs. Reynolds will happily show you the options, and you can choose whichever one suits your taste.”

  Lizzy and Darcy continued to verbalize plans and offerings, Samuel and Marguerite nearly forgotten in their excitement. Their personal servants were overwhelmed by the outpouring, rarely interjecting into the conversation. In the end, it was decided that the two would be wed in the Pemberley Chapel one month hence. Marguerite was to be dressed in a new gown purchased as a gift from Mrs. Darcy, and then the newlyweds would embark on a two-week honeymoon to the Lake District arranged and paid for by Mr. Darcy.

  Samuel's mien had rapidly transmuted from its impressive shade of maroon to bloodless ivory at the concept of his Master without Samuel's service for two whole weeks, stuttering and stammering in embarrassed shock. Darcy, however, waved his concerns aside, clapped him on the back, and assured the devoted valet that his absence was in fact fortuitous.

  “I will be vacationing with Mrs. Darcy at the seacoast during that time and was not planning on taking you with me anyway, so now you will have a far more pleasant diversion to occupy your time than fretting about me.”

  “But, sir,” Samuel spluttered, the redness creeping over his cheeks once again, “Who will shave you or assist you dressing or draw your bath or—”

  “Have no fear, Samuel. I can take care of myself in a pinch, and there will be staff available. None as efficient as you, but I will survive.” Darcy smiled at his servant, touched at his devotion, and terribly amused, wisely choosing not to remind the man that he had managed capably before Samuel's procurement and on several occasions over the years. Marguerite was smiling serenely but with a hint of adoring humor, noticeably not offering the same arguments regarding her Mistress.

  Eventually it was settled; Samuel's bashfulness was so acute at moments that Lizzy honestly feared the man would faint. She offered to learn how to shave her husband, thinking the idea would ease his disquiet, but he had looked at her with such horror at the concept that she hastily demurred. Marguerite's dulcet tones of French accented English calmed him while she skillfully and lovingly steered the wedding discussions along their proper course, all matters eventually established as Lizzy strongly suspected she had intended it all along.

  When the betrothed couple finally exited, the Darcys collapsed onto the sofa in hysterical laughter. “After an hour of discussion, I am yet flabbergasted at what has been revealed here! Have you ever seen the two of them together?” Darcy asked his wife.

  “Rarely, and never speaking to each other,” she answered, wiping at wet eyes and still laughing.

  Darcy shook his head. “She must be the most tenacious woman on the planet to crack Samuel's shell. I have noted maids gazing speculatively at my valet in the past, but I am quite certain he has remained oblivious.” He laughed afresh. “Heavens! The man's shyness is unparalleled. I am convivial compared to him! I never thought I would see the day. Must be the rumored allurement of the French. The sensual mystique they purportedly have,” he mused with a small smile.

  Lizzy glanced at him. “You have been to France. Did you observe this French mystique and allurement? Did any French maidens attempt their magic on you, Mr. Darcy?”

  He looked at her sharply and noted the teasing lift to her beautiful mouth. He snorted, “You know me, dearest, blessedly inconscient to the machinations of the opposite sex. I was far too busy exploring museums, ruins, and old chalets to notice the ladies. Bingley was nigh on ready to strangle me for dragging him to such places. I think that is why he tricked me into dancing the waltz. As payback for avoiding the numerous fêtes and cotillions we were invited to. What magic ventured was nullified by my ignorance or imbecilic behavior.”

  Lizzy laughed at the vision educed, hugging her husband's arm. “Oh, William! You are a priceless treasure! I love you so.”

  He grinned, kissing the tip of her nose. “Excellent news that is! Now, I must talk to Mrs. Reynolds. My curiosity is raging.” He rose and rang for the housekeeper, who arrived moments later with eyes downcast and a mild flush to her dear cheeks.

  “Sir,” she began, “please forgive the deception with Mrs. Darcy…”

  “Do not be ridiculous, Mrs. Reynolds, it is of no moment. Tell me what you know of this romance. How long has it been in the works?”

  Lizzy sat on the sofa, listening to the tale and observing Darcy's avid face with a rising humor. What an old gossip monger he is! she realized, though, that it was not so much a desire for juicy gossip as it was an honest affection for his servant and interest in his well-being. Quite touching, actually.

  According to Mrs. Reynolds, Marguerite had set her sights on a fortunate but utterly unsuspecting Samuel immediately upon entering the house. With careful and circumspect deliberation, she stalked her prey and snared her prize. None of the staff had any notion of the budding romance, the two cautious in the extreme and intensely private. Samuel's only true friends amongst the staff are the footmen Phillips and Watson. Marguerite's only confidante has been Miss Jameson, the still-maid, the two having developed a close bond. Mrs. Reynolds herself was completely unaware of the two personal servants being more than casual acquaintances until four days ago! Now the entire staff knew, the engagement having officially been proposed and accepted a week ago, and all were delighted if tremendously shocked.

  Darcy had vacationed at the Lake District of County Cumbria twice in his life, so he was acquainted with the area somewhat. He and Mr. Keith sat down that afternoon and set the plans in motion for both the honeymoon of Samuel and Marguerite and the vacation of the Darcys. Lizzy left the men to their plotting, rejoining the ladies in her parlor for tea. Some three hours later the group of chattering females, accompanied by Colonel Fitzwilliam and Dr. Penaflor, returned to the manor having taken a leisurely and entertaining stroll about the grounds. They were greeted on the southern terrace by a reclining Dr. Darcy, attired today in an Indian kurta of deepest blue with swirls of fuchsia, book in hand. Lizzy had readily discovered that Darcy's uncle boasted an identical love of books as his nephew, happily ensconced in the Darcy House and Pemberley libraries for hours unending as he thoroughly examined the shelves for anything new.

  “New books can be very difficult to attain while rambling through the far reaches of the Indian countryside,” he had told Lizzy, “I think I visit home as much to obtain fresh reading material as to see family and friends!”

  “How was the walk?” he inquired now, peering at Miss de Bourgh with a smile. “Why Miss Anne, you have rosy cheeks and are perspiring so delightfully! How wonderful.”

  Anne blushed further, but met his direct gaze. “Dr. Darcy, we walked all the way to the stone arch and around the lily pond. It was invigorating and I feel marvelous, thanks to you and Dr. Penaflor.” She glanced to the beaming Spaniard with an easy smile. “However, I must say I am vaguely fatigued and thirsty.”

  Lizzy started to speak but George jumped up from his chair with a lurch, bony frame towering over all of them, and offered his arm to Miss Anne. “This can be arranged! Lemonade all around,” he declared, ushering them into the hall by sheer force of presence.

  There they encounter further evidence of the power emanating naturally from the Darcy men by the appearance of the Master of Pemberley. Walking sedately, yet with a coiled energy and dominating deportment, Darcy approached with a wide smile and barely contained vibrancy,
eyes sweeping the crowd but alighting on Elizabeth.

  “Ladies, gentlemen,” he said as he bowed, “How was your walk?” He spoke calmly, but Lizzy could detect the scantily regulated ebullience to his tone. Praise burst forth on the plethora of virtues to be found on the landscape of Pemberley, Darcy nodding and offering his thanks as expected. Nevertheless, his impatient gaze repeatedly returned to his wife, Lizzy clearly deducing he wished to share some news of import but having no clue as to the direction. Finally, the proper pleasantries completed, Darcy extended his hand to Lizzy. “If I may be so bold as to claim my wife for a brief interval, thus divesting her enchanting company from the assemblage. I promise to return her forthwith to further charm you all with her witty conversation.”

  Once out of earshot and ascending the stairs, Lizzy said, “Quite the charming speech, beloved. Where are we going? Or is that a redundant question?” She grinned impishly and Darcy laughed.

  “Later, my lover, later. You quite exhausted and satisfied me this morning. I shall likely not be up to the task for several days.”

  “Ha! Unlikely that! You, Mr. Darcy, are insatiable.”

  “Not insatiable, my Elizabeth, merely in passionate love with the most beautiful creature in the entire world.” He paused on the stairs to kiss her chastely, resuming their climb. “Actually, at this particular moment my thoughts are on the end product of our love. I am escorting you to the nursery.”

  Crossing into the chamber that Lizzy still persisted in thinking of as Darcy's mother's, they entered the nursery. Darcy was grinning with undisguised excitement. Several boxes marked “baby items” were scattered about the room among large sheet draped pieces of furniture. In the middle of the floor, resting on a canvas tarp spotted with drips of paint and varnish, sat a cradle of hard English oak. The cradle was big, elaborately scrolled with etchings of trailing ivy along the side railing and an incredible carving of a horse, naturally, gracing the head panel and the Darcy family crest on the footboard. The entire cradle had been freshly stained, varnished, and polished to a high gloss. It was exquisite, the workmanship unparalleled.