Ann Herendeen

by Pride / Prejudice (v5)

  Sometimes they tried it with her on top. He could reach up to her large, soft breasts, quivering and shaking like jellies, the small pink nipples standing out like ripe cherries. He would try to encompass all the flesh, one in each hand, and never quite succeed. But what fun it was to try—for both of them. Everything he did seemed to delight her. It was a miracle. The way Fitz had scoffed and sneered, you’d think…

  That was the only thing missing from his complete happiness. His friend. He wished he could tell Fitz how fortunate he was, let him know that all his work of separating him from Jane had been senseless, like King Canute commanding the tide to turn. To boast of his growing proficiency, his power to make this gorgeous, languid woman moan with happiness or whimper with need. And, truth be told, it would be comforting to be bullied—just a little—in their old genial manner. It was wearing, always being the man. Not so much for the body, but the mind. Charles would welcome the chance to lie back, so to speak, and let Fitz make the decisions for a while.

  He wondered how Fitz was getting along with his clever little bride. Who was the man in that marriage? It was, in many obvious ways, hard to imagine, yet it had a sense of rightness to it, the appropriateness of the unexpected. Somehow, he felt, Fitz was happy. Oh, he’d give a great deal to see that, Fitz content in his marriage, the counterpart to the one he had so despised for his friend. Charles forgot he was supposed to be asleep and laughed out loud.

  “I thought you might be awake by now,” Jane said, moving from the window to sit on the side of the bed. “I have had another letter from my sister Elizabeth.”

  Charles blinked and sat up. “Mrs. Darcy?”

  “She invites us to Pemberley.”

  “And what will you answer?” Charles asked.

  “That depends on you,” Jane said. She leaned over to kiss her husband’s sweet, sulky mouth. “I know you would like to see your friend again, and I desire your happiness above all things, but I would prefer not to have to stay in Mr. Darcy’s house. Yet I can’t bear to be separated from you ever again—” The rest was muffled and hard to distinguish because her mouth was covered. For a long time there were only muffled squeals and yelps. “Oh, Charles,” Jane said at last. “You are the best husband. I would rather go to Pemberley than to have to do without you for even a day.”

  “We don’t have to go at all,” Charles said, turning his head away so she wouldn’t see how much the lie cost him.

  “But you want to, don’t you?” Jane said, her voice coaxing, as with a child.

  “I miss him,” he whispered.

  Twenty-Eight

  THE REUNION OF the two sisters was loud, and entailed much embracing, kissing, and the clasping of hands. The meeting of the two men was quieter. As Jane and Elizabeth wept, laughed, shouted, and whispered all at once, Fitz smiled and held out his hands. Charles, after a quick glance at his wife and receiving a small nod of approval, simply walked into the welcoming circle and kissed Fitz on the mouth. He allowed himself to be enfolded in the strong arms and to luxuriate in the heat radiating from the muscular chest.

  “Oh, Fitz,” Charles said. “I am pleased to see you.”

  Fitz lowered his eyes to the significant bulge pressing against him. “So I see,” he said, returning the kiss with force. “It’s good to have my old shooting partner again.”

  “Seems to me we’re both loaded and primed,” Charles said as he snuggled closer.

  Fitz acknowledged the fact with a bark of laughter, and held his friend at arm’s length. Charles seemed to stand straighter, carrying his slender form with new confidence, yet still with his old grace. “You have grown into marriage, Charles,” Fitz said. “From a youth to a man. I admit to liking it very well.” He wrapped Charles in his arms again, and kissed the top of his head where it rested against his shoulder.

  Once Mrs. Darcy and Mrs. Bingley’s first effusions were spent, they drew aside to admire the expressive attitude of their husbands.

  “That would make an excellent picture for the gallery,” Elizabeth said.

  “They do look happy,” Jane said.

  Fitz gently disengaged from Charles’s clinging hands, stepped toward the two ladies, and bowed. “Mrs. Bingley,” he said. “It is generous of you to accept our invitation, considering the great wrong I did you a year ago. While I can begin with but words of apology, I hope, during the weeks of your stay, to prove by my conduct how deeply I regret the injustice and impropriety of my misdeeds and the distress they caused.”

  “Oh!” Jane was unable to give a polite or coherent reply. Only now did she understand the great charm of her sister’s formidable husband. It explained everything—Charles’s love and Elizabeth’s, who had married her dearest sister’s enemy. Jane blushed and stammered, looking for guidance to Elizabeth, who merely smiled agreement with her husband’s sentiment. She found the strength from her month of marriage, the knowledge of Charles’s devotion allowing her to stand up even to him, her nemesis. “Mr. Darcy, I—that is—I know you love Charles and that…what you did—that is—of course I forgive you.”

  Fitz took his sister-in-law’s hand and kissed it. “You are too kind. I would prefer that you suspend your judgment of me until you determine whether I am worthy of forgiveness. And if you decide that I am, please call me brother, or best of all, Fitz.”

  “There, Jane,” Charles said, his voice sounding overloud in the hushed atmosphere. “Didn’t I tell you Fitz was the best of good fellows? Go on, kiss him back and let’s all be friends.”

  Jane rose on tiptoe to her brother-in-law, who slouched to meet her halfway, and deposited the lightest of fluttering kisses on his cheek. “You must call me Jane,” she said in her soft voice.

  “Only when you are ready,” Fitz said. “For now, it will give me the greatest pleasure to address you as Mrs. Bingley, so that I will be reminded of the truth, articulated so well in the words of the wedding ceremony: ‘what God hath joined let no man put asunder.’”

  The ladies walked slowly upstairs, arm in arm. Jane, still in awe of Fitz’s performance, let Elizabeth chatter away uninterrupted. “It was silly of me to worry, but I was a little afraid, when I suggested this visit, that your Charles might put on a show of resistance on your behalf. Yet I of all people should know how my Fitz’s splendor carries everything before him.”

  “Actually,” Jane found her voice again in defense of her husband, “Charles was quite determined to stand firm this time, for my sake. All the way in the coach, he swore he would not just melt into Mr. Darcy’s arms. And surely you saw, Lizzy, for nothing escapes your notice, how he looked to me before greeting his friend.”

  “I did,” Elizabeth said, recalling the way he had looked in the same way to his friend, only a couple of months ago, for permission to sit with Jane at dinner. “You can be proud of him. He has done more than most can manage in the face of such magnificence, certainly more than I am capable of. Indeed, it is one of the reasons I longed for your visit—some badly needed reinforcements against overwhelming odds.”

  “Goodness, Lizzy!” Jane exclaimed. “You make it sound like a war!”

  “It is,” Elizabeth said. “Fitz and I are, both of us, in a state of constant conflict: good sense and responsibility, allied but outnumbered, opposing the hordes of animal nature.”

  Jane looked startled and unhappy. “I had not thought things to be in such a way between you two, since you assured us all of your genuine love for him. But you know it is your duty as a wife to comply with your husband’s wishes. You mustn’t reproach him if he is importunate, but accept his demands in a submissive spirit.” Her voice had sunk to a whisper, so tremulous Elizabeth could barely make out the words.

  Elizabeth’s ringing laugh almost brought the men out of their embrace. “Oh, Jane!” She lowered her voice with effort. “It is not Fitz’s demands that trouble me, but my own.”

  Jane went bright crimson from her hairline down to her chest. She could not look at her sister. “If that is a fault, then I too am g
uilty.”

  Elizabeth slipped an arm around her sister’s waist. “That was ill done of me. I had not meant to alarm you with my silliness. And anything you do cannot be so very wrong.” She made a rounded motion over her middle with her free arm. “I was wondering if you had any notion of—”

  “You mean, might I be with child?” Jane’s face glowed at the welcome change of subject, and in such a way as left little doubt. “I am not sure, but I rather think I am.” She blushed again—hard to see against the previous color, still fading. “And you, Lizzy?”

  Elizabeth shook her head. “Thank goodness, not yet.”

  “Oh, that is not like you! Surely if you love Mr. Darcy you want to give him a child?”

  “Of course. It’s just that—I admit I prefer to devote yet more time and effort to the process before having to face the consequences.”

  The two ladies succumbed to mirth again, pausing on the landing to see how the men were doing.

  “There’s still a week or two left in the season,” Fitz was saying, “and the game should be plentiful, as I’ve been out of doors very little this past month.” He looked sideways at Charles to see how he took this.

  “Me too,” Charles said, apparently unaware of any hidden meaning. “We can go first thing tomorrow, assuming the weather holds. I can’t wait to tell you—” He broke off, knowing the ladies were listening.

  “Lord!” Elizabeth exclaimed. “It will be a treat to have the house to ourselves. I shall be glad of the opportunity to tell you certain things, too.”

  “You mustn’t make me laugh so,” Jane said between giggles. “I’ll be as silly as our younger sisters all through dinner, just thinking of it.”

  THE SHOOTING PARTY was in the old-fashioned style: no beaters or loaders, just the two men, their guns and their dogs, stalking the ground-nesting partridges through the brush. Fitz and Charles set off in the direction of the scrubland above the far end of the park, away from the farms and the tenants’ dwellings. There was game here, but widely dispersed. The men walked in an odd arrhythmic manner: a few steps, stop, stand still, then more steps, another halt. It looked hesitant and ungainly, but it flushed the birds more efficiently than regular, continuous pacing, which led them to believe themselves unseen and safe. The dogs, at first cavorting wildly in delight at their freedom, soon settled into their work, scenting and pointing. Before long, the booming sound of the birds’ rocket-like launch into startled flight brought the men’s guns up. Fitz took the first shot, Charles the second, in their accustomed system. In just a couple of hours they bagged nearly a dozen apiece.

  “A good day’s work,” Fitz said. “Ought to leave some for the rest of the week, and more to breed for next year.”

  “Pity to go in so soon, though,” Charles said.

  As if by prior discussion, but with no more words spoken, the men walked out of the scrub, toward the wooded area at the edge of the park. Under the trees there was smoother ground, free of brambles. At the first dry patch of grass they hung the bags of game from a branch to keep them safe from the dogs, spread their greatcoats like a blanket, and lay down side by side. The dogs settled in with a contented sigh, glad of the rest and grateful not to be scolded off. Although the woods sheltered them from the worst of the wind, it was chilly without their coats. The men snuggled for warmth, which led by logical steps to kissing and then to fondling. It was Charles who acted first, surprising Fitz with his eagerness and newfound skill.

  Afterward, lying at peace in each other’s arms, watching the gray clouds scudding overhead through the naked braches, Charles broke the silence. “Do you know, Fitz, I thought married life was going to be pleasant, but I never guessed it could be this good.”

  “It is as I said,” Fitz said, making a joke of it. “You have grown into marriage—two inches at least, maybe three.”

  “Can’t say the same for you, thank goodness,” Charles answered in the same vein. “Any more would be indecent. You could choke a fish hawk as it is.”

  “And yet,” Fitz said, “you have developed a remarkable facility.”

  “It was marriage taught me that too,” Charles said.

  “Mmm?” Fitz could tell Charles was in the throes of philosophy, and would talk with or without encouragement.

  “Do you remember how you teased me about my inexperience with women? Well, it was all so easy and natural, despite both of us being completely innocent. It occurred to me that I had become a man, not by wishing, or by any particular act of the body, but simply by loving.”

  “That is almost profound,” Fitz said. He was not yet ready to admit having undergone much the same transformation himself. “But I never thought to cede my place as master there.”

  Charles lifted himself on one elbow to see his friend’s face. “Must it always be master and pupil between us, man and boy? Can we not love as equals, both of us men?”

  Fitz laughed to cover his discomfort. “The ancients would not have it so. Still, I imagine, then as now, the actuality did not always reflect the ideal.”

  “Perhaps we can create a new ideal,” Charles said.

  “Perhaps,” Fitz said.

  But Charles understood more than he showed. For when Fitz rolled over on him and asked would he mind very much if they made love as they were used to, Charles lifted his hips and raised his knees. “I shall always want that,” he said.

  Twenty-Nine

  Not Quite a Year Later

  ELIZABETH AND JANE sat in the nursery at Pemberley. The large room, with its enviable southern exposure, had a crowded feel today, containing as it did two cradles set side by side, the occupants’ mothers, and the nursemaids, temporarily banished to the corner where they conversed softly. “It was kind of you to travel in your condition,” Elizabeth said. “I ought not to have asked, but I don’t think I could have borne it another day without you.”

  Jane shook her head. “I was glad to come. And I am perfectly well. It has been almost three months, after all.”

  Elizabeth nodded in the direction of little Charlie Bingley. “Wouldn’t Charles allow you to leave him at Netherfield? You must have had a miserable journey—a crying infant, a nursemaid, yards of dirty swaddling clothes. I wonder you didn’t hire a third coach.”

  “Charles?” Jane sounded scandalized. “I wouldn’t dream of going so far as Longbourn without my precious child, much less all the way to Derbyshire. Surely you wouldn’t want to be separated from Anne.”

  “Oh, you’re as bad as Fitz,” Elizabeth said. “Do you know, I had never considered even the possibility of there being disadvantages to marrying into such a great estate until now. Instead of a nursemaid in the village, as you and I and our sisters had, there are so many rooms we must have a nursery right here in the house.”

  “We do the same at Netherfield,” Jane said. “It’s so much easier, not having to worry how Charlie’s faring.” She sneaked a glance over her shoulder at the nursemaids. “Not that our dear Molly gives us any cause for concern.”

  “Nor our Bridget,” Elizabeth said, “although I can’t see how it makes any difference, other than to rouse us at all hours, fretting over every little belch and fart. Babies will thrive or not, depending on their constitution. At least the old way, the sounds and smells were kept at a decent remove, and only when the infant was weaned and grown into a child, capable of learning proper conduct, was it allowed to return to the family.”

  “You won’t remember,” Jane said, “but when you came home, you were so cross at missing your ‘Nana’ you cried for an entire fortnight. I believe that’s when poor Mama began complaining of nerves.”

  “And when you and I became such good friends,” Elizabeth said. “You must have looked after me then, in place of my nanny. But I never thought to see some merit in Mama’s notions. It’s a wonder I don’t develop nerves myself.”

  Jane put a comforting hand on her sister’s shoulder. “You are tired, Lizzy, that is all. I imagine this is the first time in your life you’ve ever
known such a feeling, or felt ill. How long has it been? A little over a week? You ought not even to be out of bed. I promise you, in a month you’ll be yourself again, and then you’ll see how lovely it is, having your little girl to hold and fondle whenever you wish.” She leaned over Charlie and placed several wet kisses on his face.

  “I would never dare do that with Anne,” Elizabeth said, somewhat wistfully. “The few times she falls asleep without first creating the most impressive commotion, it’s more than our peace is worth to disturb her.”

  “Girls are supposed to be easier,” Jane said.

  “Perhaps ordinary girls,” Elizabeth said. “But this one is clearly a Darcy, and is determined to make her least discomfort known in the clearest possible terms.” The object of her words, obviously intent on making a mockery of her mother, was at the moment lying peacefully on her back, cooing softly to herself.

  Fitz entered the nursery on tiptoe and moved to stand over the cradle. “How is my darling girl?” he inquired. “How clever you are to ignore these censorious ladies and remain blissfully above the fray.”

  “Gggaaa,” Anne said, wriggling in delight and smacking her lips. “Ggguuughghgh gugh.”

  Fitz reached down to stroke his daughter’s cheek. “That’s right,” he murmured. “Glug glug glug. Lizzy, my dear, has Bridget seen to her?”

  “Of course, Fitz,” Elizabeth said, rolling her eyes. “Do you honestly think she’d be so docile if she were hungry?”

  “Oh, Anne loves her papa,” Fitz crooned. “She never cries for Papa, does she? Hmmm?”