Lizzy immediately noted the similarity between Calke Abbey and Pemberley. Both country manors were of the baroque style with extensive, cultivated grounds surrounding. Where Pemberley boasted fountains, a river, and ponds as a focal point, Calke Abbey centered on exotic vegetation and garden buildings. The notoriety of the sculptured and varied landscaping was not unfounded. Lizzy and Darcy could have easily passed all day strolling about the grounds so incredible were they. Apparently, other tourists agreed, as the area was busy with gaping pedestrians.
They toured the small church, the psychic garden, one of the greenhouses, and the recently constructed domed orangery. Darcy gazed with longing at the fantastic stables, but they were near the house proper and restricted to visitors. The expression on his face was so pathetic that Lizzy squeezed his arm tightly to her side and kissed his cheek.
“In two days we shall be home, beloved, and you can salve your aching heart in your own stables.” He smiled and returned her kiss, causing two elderly ladies to gasp in shock, and causing Lizzy to giggle as they ducked quickly around a corner.
After two hours and a snack necessary for the woman feeding two, Darcy and Lizzy recommenced the trek, heading due west through Bretby to Burton-upon-Trent just over the border in Staffordshire. They halted here, as Darcy worded it, “Out of necessity, as Burton-upon-Trent produces the finest ales in all of England.” This particular claim to fame held little weight to Lizzy, as she detested ale, but Darcy was of a differing opinion altogether. The village itself was quite small, the fame of Burton's breweries having not spread too far beyond the immediately surrounding shires, although Darcy was of the mindset that this would change in time. For the present, they located a pub that seemed decent for luncheon and, therefore, Darcy's requisite pint or two.
With sudden inspiration, Darcy settled his wife in the carriage and commanded her to stay put, walking briskly back into the pub. Lizzy obeyed, watching the front door with bafflement. Hence her extreme surprise when Darcy appeared on the other side with two pub workers in tow, each of them carrying a heavy cask of ale.
He was grinning, obviously quite proud of himself. “What brilliant maneuver have you dreamed up now, my heart? You are positively glowing with self-satisfaction.”
“It occurred to me that the rear driver's bench is empty, saddened by fulfilling no purpose in life. Therefore, in an effort to appease its grief, I am loading it with a burden.”
Lizzy laughed, Darcy swinging up beside her, embracing her quickly and bestowing a tender kiss. A mile north, Darcy veered off the main road onto a nearly invisible trail between trees that made it barely wide enough for the carriage. “Where are we headed now?” Lizzy asked, Darcy demurring, only telling her it was a surprise.
The trail twisted amongst the thick trees, the main road long since vanished, as the carriage bumped along the rugged trail. Lizzy held on securely, clutching Darcy's arm and the side rail. Just about the time she was prepared to beg him to halt—the jerking sending vague twinges through the stretched muscles and ligaments of her lower abdomen—the path opened into a narrow glade, grassy with a minute pond to the left. Not dissimilar to Darcy's grotto, although far smaller and less lush, it nonetheless presented a serene atmosphere.
Lizzy turned to her husband's smiling face. “It is lovely, William, but how did you know this was here?”
He shrugged. “A friend of mine from Cambridge, Mr. Harold Kensington, resides near here. In fact, we are on his lands, but I do not think he will mind, especially since he is abroad right now.” Darcy reached up and cupped Lizzy's face, bending until brushing her lips. “I experienced an overwhelming urge to be alone with you, to kiss you without old-fashioned biddies gasping in shock.” Lizzy giggled, but he interrupted her with a consuming kiss, leaving her breathless. “Also, I want you to rest. You overexerted yesterday—do not deny it, my love—and were falling asleep in the carriage.” He trailed one finger along the tops of her breasts. “Additionally, my selfishness is unmasked in that I desire my wife alert tonight so I can ravish her body, bringing her joy unlimited as well as my own profound satisfaction.”
They spread a blanket along the shady tree edge, reclining contentedly. Darcy removed his jacket, stretching long legs and laying back with one arm folded under his head and the other around his wife's waist, stroking her arm gently. “Are you enjoying yourself, dearest?”
Lizzy gazed at her husband with undisguised love. “I am having a marvelous time.” She stretched beside him, chin resting on his chest, fingering his cravat. “The scenery is sublime. The history and buildings fascinating. The tour guide is handsome and extraordinarily intelligent. I honestly cannot fathom how the outing could be improved upon.”
Darcy was smiling happily, playing with loosened strands of her hair and her ear. Lizzy nibbled the corner of her lip, dexterously untying a knot of his cravat. “Hmmm… Perhaps, I can fathom an improvement after all.” After she had another knot unraveled, she continued, “Such a gorgeous and talented tour guide should be rewarded. Let me think… What could a man of such dazzling capabilities want from a simple girl like me? A kiss? Would that please my handsome guide?” The cravat was completely undone, Lizzy working her way down the buttons of his waistcoat when she bestowed her kiss.
The kiss was thorough, encompassing, teasing with tongues and lips altering between soft and demanding. Darcy loosened more strands of her hair, otherwise allowing Lizzy to lead the kiss in whichever direction she chose and becoming rapidly intoxicated by the taste of her. Lizzy completed the task of unbuttoning the vest, next removing his shirt from breeches waistband and running a hand over his abdomen. She lifted her face then, Darcy's eyes hazy with desire.
Fingering over his lips to chin, then along solid jaw line, she whispered, “William, my husband. I love you immensely. I do not wish to wait until tonight to love you. I intend to ravish your body right now. I trust this meets with your approval?” She smiled impishly, allowing no opportunity for more than a slight nod before capturing his mouth with hungry urgency. Darcy reciprocated equally, moaning deep in his chest and clutching her shoulders. With a final rough suck to his lower lip and sharp nip, she withdrew, delivering wet kisses over his jaw to exposed neck. Darcy arched with a delighted sigh, shifting to relieve the sudden tightness in his groin.
“Elizabeth,” he murmured, “you are astounding and amazing. How did I live without you?”
Lizzy rose from the vicinity of his sternum with a grin, hands peeling the shirt hem upwards. “I do not know, William, but you have me now and I assure your absolute gratification.” With a hike of skirts, she straddled his thighs and lustily attacked the flesh of his abdomen with her mouth.
Darcy closed his eyes with a heady sigh, relaxing into the waves of pleasure washing through every cell. Never, he mused, will I not be rendered a helpless puddle of arousal when she touches me. He remembered every moment they had touched, from that day so long ago at Netherfield until today, and always, each and every time, he received an electric shock of profound magnitude. Love, that elusive emotion, was now the cornerstone of his existence. As thrilling as her touch was in a purely sexual aspect, the ruling stimulus was their infinite love and devotion. She reached the soul encased within his flesh, arousing the very fiber of his being to a level that eclipsed the physical.
Passion, faithfulness, and veneration raged through both of them, the giving and taking of kisses and caresses a potent impulse. Lizzy continued to ravage his torso, her hands roamed under him to squeeze his derriere, continued on down clenched thighs, and traveled, with brushing glances, over to his groin. Darcy was moaning, uttering unintelligible words, hands flattened on the ground as he rocked into her body.
“Elizabeth! Please… I beg you… I need you!” He lurched to a sitting position, grasping Lizzy about the waist desperately. She responded with alacrity, clutching his shoulders and rising while he frantically swept her skirts aside. In a swift second they were joined.
Darcy released a reverber
ant growl, gripping her body to his chest intently and kissing greedily. Lizzy wrapped arms tightly over his shoulders and neck. They raged on, eager and consumed, precipitously attaining their peak. As if by telepathy, they slowed at the same time, mutually sensing the demand to prolong the loving.
Retreating an inch, breath mixing as they panted opened mouth with gazes locking. Lizzy fingered airily over his face while Darcy caressed her back.
“Fitzwilliam,” she whispered, “my love. So perfect… all mine… always.” She kissed his nose and then returned to his mouth, nibbling. “Oh, my lover, the feel of you! Oh God, William! I love you so! How can I describe the joy of your body buried in me?” Uncontainable passion whirled and radiated, bonding them together in unity. Lizzy cupped his face and rested her forehead against his, submitting to the power of his love.
“Elizabeth,” he moaned, “my love… let go… come with me… now!” Pressing his mouth blissfully against hers they allowed the rush of acute pleasure to overtake them.
They held each other tightly, kissing and fondling, neither desiring to leave the other, relishing the intimacy of where their naked flesh connected. Inexplicably, an upsurge of emotion brought tears to Lizzy's eyes and she released a shuddering sob. Darcy withdrew to see her face, frowning as he brushed her tears with his thumbs. “Elizabeth, what is wrong?”
She was shaking her head, squeezing him tight. “Nothing, forgive me, William, I just… love you so much… sometimes it… overwhelms me.” He kissed her tenderly, shushing and soothing. Laying back onto the blanket with her firm in his embrace and pressed over his body, he murmured adoration until she quieted. Finally, with a tremulous laugh and while lodging one arm possessively against the hot skin of his chest, she spoke, “Pregnancy emotions running amok, I suppose.” She nestled closer, more than half her body lying on his.
Silently they enveloped each other, feeling each respiration and heartbeat. Lizzy delighted in the sensation of her husband's warmth. Darcy reveled in the softness of her form under his hands, even clothed, and the occasional movement of their baby against his lower right abdomen. Darcy, cognizant of the change in her breathing signaling that she was moments away from sleep, drew her closer to his body and held her thus for over an hour, ignoring the cramping muscles and sharp rock under his left shoulder blade.
Their final destination for the day was the village of Repton. Darcy thoroughly detailed the history of the pivotal town as they drove, Lizzy in a fever of excitement by the time they crested the small rise and viewed the town spread before them on the sloping hillside.
“Essentially, in the present,” Darcy explained, “Repton is no more than the typical farming and fishing village. Except for the school. Repton School is the oldest independent school for boys in all of England, functioning unbroken since 1557 if you can imagine. My grandfather attended here for three years and my father considered sending me, but the headmasters following my grandfather's day had allowed the school to decline. I honestly do not know the reputation currently. I remember I was disappointed, as the idea of formal education appealed to me. I begged for Eton or Winchester or Harrow instead, but mother was ill, and I think father could not bear wounding her heart by sending me away.” He paused in memory, Lizzy squeezing his knee.
With a smile, he resumed his narrative, “We will tour the school, as it sits on the same campus as Saint Wystan's Church, which is the real draw of the area. Repton, my love, unassuming as it is, was the capital of Mercia in the sixth century. All the kings and princes resided here and were buried in the church. The crypt and mausoleum are mostly intact and the remains of several kings can be viewed. It is very exciting! In fact, these artifacts are some of the oldest and best-preserved Saxon relics in England. Additionally, Repton is the first village where Christianity was preached in the Midlands. Priests were sent from Northumbria, as northern England then was, to convert the pagan Mercian kings. Amazingly, they were successful. The church was built over the mausoleum in the eighth century and has remained relatively unchanged to this day. A priory was founded here as well, but no longer remains, except as the foundation stones for the school.”
“Who was Saint Wystan?”
Darcy pursed his lips in thought. “A prince, if I recall correctly, the son of one of the Kings of Mercia. He was murdered, and miracles apparently ensued as an aftermath. The history is vague, as it often is with legends and superstitions. Eventually, he was sanctified and the church was named for him as its patron saint.”
Lizzy was very impressed, thrilled to touch the ancient stones and imagine medieval men carving and building. Of all the marvels seen on their short jaunt into the past, these ruins were the most ancient. The press of age and history, life lived to the fullest if utterly divergent from the modern familiar, was palpable as they descended the archaic, worn stone steps to the crypt. It was easy to sense trapped emotions and memories, the ethereal whisper of forgotten voices echoing. It was eerie yet oddly comforting to know that time marched on but the indelible stamp of the past endured.
They roved about the grounds, sat in serene contemplation inside the church itself, and then strolled through the town. Like all country hamlets, the buildings were primarily stone and thatch, most old with the random, newer construction interposed. Children dashed about the streets, dogs yapping at their feet as they laughed and skipped and teased. It was very relaxing, and neither Darcy nor Lizzy were in any hurry to return to Derby. The numerous evidences of the past at each turn delighted them and further astounded. It was the perfect end to a perfect day.
The final day of the Darcy journey through the lower Midlands of Derbyshire dawned cloudy with rain threatening. Darcy was tempted to cancel the outing, but Lizzy refused. “You will not melt, William.” She declared firmly. “This is England, after all. If rain halted us, we would never accomplish anything.”
He assumed a disapproving frown, lips twitching. “Very well, Elizabeth, but if you catch a cold do not expect me to nurse you!”
The day's excursion would be interrupted somewhat by intermittent showers, but as luck would have it, they were light and occurred primarily while driving. Elizabeth inhaled deeply of the clean air, lifting her face to the sprinkles, and despite Darcy's dire prediction, did not become ill.
The first stop was Tutbury, a village technically in Staffordshire although it hugged the border so closely that many Tutbury residents lived on the Derbyshire side of the River Dove. The reason Darcy wished his wife to visit the sleepy village was for the thirteenth-century castle. The ruins of the once vast fortress strategically located on a promontory above Tutbury was notable for its aesthetic value and crowning Norman architectural significance; however, it was the history that interested Darcy.
“The fortress city was initially built by the Kings of Mercia long ago,” he told Lizzy, who actually already knew the history, but she loved to hear his voice so did not interrupt. “The natural butte was a perfect location for tactical reasons, and there is archeological evidence that the Romans built a settlement here. The main road we traveled on is a Roman road constructed before the turn of the millennium, a trade route between the south and north. Unfortunately, other than a few coins and similar artifacts, little is known of what the structure here might have been. It may have been no more than a campsite as soldiers moved from one battlefield to the next.”
He paused as they reached the northern edge of the cliff, both captivated by the panoramic view of the Dove valley far below, odiferous bog clearly visible.
Darcy resumed his tale in a hushed voice, “You can imagine why this place was ideal. A fortress was built and some of the kings resided here. Along with Repton, Tutbury was the prime seat of power. However, from the eighth to the eleventh century, between Saxons, Vikings, and the Normans, war raged. Tutbury changed hands numerous times, was ravaged and rebuilt, abandoned and reoccupied. I venture it is nearly impossible to ascertain now which stones were laid when or what the fortress may have actually looked like. In fact
, the early Mercian castle was undoubtedly more wood than stone.” They strolled about the fallen piles of rock and half erect walls, catching vague glimpses of rooms and symmetry, only to have the emerging shape lost abruptly in open grassy spaces.
“Over the centuries, various inhabitants renovated the castle, but never to full potency. The constant civil wars of our Norman ancestors, and later the English rulers, prevailed well into the 1300s, love, as you know. As a fortress and city of authority, Tutbury was inhabited and besieged over and over again. One would barely manage to bolster the defenses when another would come along and break holes.” He shook his head at the stupidity of it all. Taking Lizzy's hand, they descended the slick steps leading into the dungeon and remains of the castle, heading toward the south tower. They paused inside the dungeon, not nearly as ominous as it probably once was now that the roof and one wall were collapsed.
“The following three hundred years were peaceful and attempts were made to rebuild with fair success. It was never entirely completed, long years of disuse and delayed restoration preventing full restitution. Nonetheless, the South Tower was considered impenetrable and served as one of the many prisons for Mary, Queen of Scots in the late 1500s. Of all the places she was confined in during those eighteen years, she wrote that she hated Tutbury the most. The castle was largely falling down and poorly constructed, the area surrounding extraordinarily damp and marshy with foul odors frequently arising, and the distance from London detained the delivery of necessary goods. The legends say she became very ill here from the harsh winters.”
One look at the moldy damp stones of the ruined keep and Lizzy felt a surge of sympathy for the long dead Mary, despite her English prejudice toward the treasonous Queen. Lizzy shivered the entire time they rambled about the place, actually thankful to depart.
Loving Mr. Darcy: Journeys Beyond Pemberley tds-2 Page 45
