My Dearest Mr. Darcy: An Amazing Journey into Love Everlasting tds-3

by Sharon Lathan

  Darcy had vacationed at numerous shoreline locales and spa towns both in England and in France over the years. He tremendously enjoyed the freedom and exhilaration of swimming in the cold water, the experience reminiscent of his youth when stripping naked with his boyhood friends and diving in Rowan Lake and secluded coves along the River Derwent was a regular summer pastime. He remained somewhat dubious regarding the rather lofty claims of miraculous healing from saltwater, but could not deny the sensations of vigor and health when merely standing on the sandy beaches, let alone the vitality engendered after a brisk swim.

  A great part of Darcy's infatuation with the experience was the lure of the sea. He was not overly fond of ships and sailing. Sea voyages were a necessary part of getting from England to anywhere else, but not an undertaking particularly sought after by the landlubbing Darcy. However, the power and majesty of the ocean was entirely different. Nothing quite compared to the untamed wildness of the tides and waves and brisk winds and roars of the sea. Thus it was that when Sir Lucas and Mr. Houghton began talking about the mania sweeping through the country, Darcy began to contemplate taking Elizabeth. He was further convinced of the brilliance of the idea when a casual fact-finding remark to his wife revealed that she had never seen the ocean.

  He seriously debated the matter, as is typical of the ever guarded and comprehensive Mr. Darcy. The coastal areas of southern England are warmer and provide the best shorelines in all the country. This was without dispute; however, the distance to Cornwall or Sussex was too great for Elizabeth to travel in her condition, in his opinion. Nor did he wish to visit a primary tourist destination. His desire to be alone with his wife for this perchance last occasion for years to come, now that their family was beginning, was too great a draw. Ramsgate was out of the question, Darcy probably never setting foot in that town for the rest of his life. From Pemberley to either the east or west coasts were roughly the same, travel wise. He considered Liverpool or Blackpool on the west coast, but, again, he wished to avoid highly trafficked areas, plus he did not personally care for the ocean to the west. Somehow the nearness of Ireland, although not actually seen, prevented it feeling like open waters. By process of elimination, this left the eastern coastline. Here is where the meditation and questioning truly began.

  Darcy had visited none of the North Sea bordered towns except for Newcastle nearly ten years ago when Richard was stationed there during his training as a cadet. Yarmouth, or more precisely the hamlet of Caister-on-Sea three miles north, was his ultimate decision thanks to Mr. and Mrs. Henry Vernor. The elder Vernors had vacationed there the summer past and therefore knew the area well. Darcy conferred with Mr. Vernor, trusting in his recommendations, and listened penetratingly to Mrs. Vernor's gushing narrative, even jotting down her rambling comments. The accommodations described were perfect for the solitude and lavish holiday he desired.

  The roughly one hundred seventy miles to Great Yarmouth on the eastern coast of Norfolk was a full two-day journey. Darcy refused to rush the pace, not only due to consideration for Lizzy's condition but also for the enjoyment of leisurely sightseeing. They departed Pemberley early on the morning following the anniversary of their reunion. As with the previous two times Lizzy waved adieu to her new home, the emotions were bittersweet. She leaned forward and stared until the Manor was complete out of sight, reclining onto her husband's waiting chest with a deep sigh of sadness. Darcy enveloped her, resting one hand over their child and caressing her cheek with the other, kissing her head, and saying nothing.

  They rode in the coach, completely revamped and repaired from the Chesterfield bandit fiasco. The enormous carriage was plush enough normally, but Darcy had added several cushions just to be sure. Aside from gratefully accepting a small pillow to ease the mild strain to her lower back, Lizzy suffered no adverse effects.

  At Derby they veered east on the same road traveled three weeks prior to Wollaton Hall. From there the route was new to Lizzy as they traveled through the southern edges of Nottingham to Grantham and then south to Peterborough, where they halted for the night. They paused frequently along the way, Darcy obsessively diligent to Lizzy's needs. She laughed at him, assuring that she did not require stretching her legs every twenty miles, but he ignored her and ordered stops anyway.

  Darcy kept a running commentary as they rode, being moderately familiar with Nottinghamshire and Cambridgeshire from his University years, and did stop for a few sights along the way. They tarried for nearly two hours in Grantham, the town so teeming with historical significance and astounding architecture that they could not pass the opportunity by. They ate lunch there at the Angel and Royal Inn, a hotel over four hundred years old. The landscape, like most of the Midlands, was boundless rolling plains of green with innumerable rivers crossing the fields. Lizzy lost count of the bridges traversed and small villages passed.

  They halted for the night at Peterborough. After dining they visited the Cathedral, a structure from the twelfth century that was truly beyond stupendous. The magnificent church of combined Norman and Gothic styles, although yet in a state of partial ruin from the 1643 English Civil War, was nonetheless an incredible sight, and the Darcys were tremendously moved. They attended a quiet service, Darcy especially never able to bypass a chance to worship and pray, and then viewed the burial place of Katherine of Aragon, Henry VIII's lamented first wife.

  The second day dawned bright, Lizzy now fully reveling in the anticipation of journey's end. Darcy had ruminated over the route to take. Not knowing the region of Norfolk, he had asked the Vernors as well as several others of his friends for advice on the roads and coastal views. In the end, as long as Lizzy was physically managing the extended carriage ride, he decided to swerve to the north from Swaffham through Fakenham onto Cromer, where Lizzy would catch her first glimpse of the sea.

  The carriage windows were open as they rode; the air noticeably cooler the closer they drew to the water. Darcy smiled indulgently at his wife's childlike enthusiasm, quite acclimated with the way she sat on the edge of the seat with her face almost out the window. It was endearing, this excitement she displayed, and he could not imagine even their children being more juvenile. He altered between reading while massaging her back and answering her numerous questions.

  “Is it true that you can smell the salty air long before you see the ocean?”

  Darcy laid his book aside, again, looking up at his wife's inquiring visage. “Yes, it is true. How far away depends on the breezes of the moment and obstructing landscapes. Also some areas have a stronger scent dependent on fishing activities or the roughness of the surf. Yarmouth is a major herring port, so the odor is reportedly strong. That is one reason the Vernors recommended Caister.”

  A while later, “Have you ever found a shell with the sound of the ocean waves inside?”

  Darcy smiled. “Georgiana did. When she was four we traveled to Devon to visit my aunt and uncle. We spent a week at Sidmouth. My father thought the air and sea water might help my mother.” He paused in mournful remembrance, Lizzy grasping his hand and caressing. He smiled and continued, “Georgie loved the ocean. It was her first time on the sand, and I remember she threw an absolutely horrid tantrum each time Father carried her away. It was she who discovered a perfectly intact conch, a huge thing with swirls of pink and turquoise. I am certain she yet has it in her possession. Anyway, you can hear the waves very well. We shall stay on the alert, beloved, eyes keenly searching, and perhaps you shall be so fortunate.”

  Another time, “Will we see seals and sea lions, do you think?” Darcy jumped slightly, thinking Lizzy asleep.

  He glanced to her face where she lay on his lap, noting her eyes still closed. Chuckling and brushing strands of hair from her eyes, he answered, “I am positive we will. Hopefully we shall be so fortunate as to glimpse whales or dolphins upon the waves. There will be a vast array of wildlife unfamiliar, dearest. I confess that zoology and marine biology were not subjects I studied, so my working knowledge is minimal. I
brought two books I found in the library as well as another on coastal plants. I thought we could learn together.”

  Lizzy had turned and was looking up at her husband with a smile. “Never pass up an opportunity to educate, William? Even on holiday?”

  “Life is about growing wiser, Elizabeth. A true student should never bypass a ready chance to learn.” He spoke with a tone of pomposity, Lizzy laughing aloud. Darcy ignored her, returning to his book with pursed lips.

  Lizzy continued to giggle, fingering the gold etched title on the book binding. “De l'esprit des lois by Montesquieu,” she read in butchered French. “Educational, Mr. Darcy? Or a French romance disguised as didactic? Of course, you could tell me anything and I would know no difference.”

  “You know very well who Montesquieu is, Mrs. Darcy. However, the concept of enlightenment engendered via a French romance should not be unwelcomed by you.” He maintained his pose of haughtiness, but with shining eyes staring raptly at the pages.

  Lizzy reached up to play along the edges of Darcy's cravat and lowered her voice. “Read to me in French, Fitzwilliam. That will be highly welcomed by me.”

  Darcy glanced at his wife, color rising to his cheeks. Clearing his throat, he began to audibly recite the text. Lizzy bit her lip, tugging on the dangling fabric of his neckcloth, truly affected by his resonant articulation. Darcy's reverberant voice thrilled Lizzy in any language, but there was a particular inflection he adopted when quoting literature that was especially lush and mesmerizing. She loved to tease him about his flair for drama, but the truth was that Darcy could have easily been successful as an actor, if he managed to overcome the whole being the center of attention facet! She had attended numerous plays in her life, especially most recently while in London, and knew that voice modulation and command coupled with theatrics was far more important than one's physical appearance onstage—not that her husband did not fulfill that feature adequately as well.

  She listened, pulse racing, and wished fervently that they were not currently in a traveling carriage with open windows. Spellbound, she did not realize his cravat was undone until he faltered briefly when her fingers brushed over the hollow in his throat. He resumed, eyes riveted to the page with deliberate intensity, even when she rose and replaced her fingertips with her lips. Lizzy felt the vibrations created as he spoke, kissing tenderly over his neck and upper chest as buttons came undone.

  Darcy's one hand held the book in a white-knuckled grip, the other about her waist, voice growing fainter with each word uttered until failing completely. “Continue, sir,” she whispered into his ear, Darcy attempting to comply with limited success.

  A smattering of French phrases later, one short paragraph finished haltingly and with poor enunciation, and Darcy renounced the endeavor. Instead, he tossed the book randomly, clasping her hair firmly to pull her away from his neck and leaning with a groan to assail her mouth. Once, while returning from London to Pemberley, they had made love in the carriage, initiated by Lizzy, but wholly welcomed by her adoring spouse. It was a strange experience with the carriage swaying and the awareness of persons hovering above them, but denying their desire for each other when it arose was never a feat either could adequately achieve. The bliss attained was well worth the slight discomfort in the location, and since making love outside their bedchamber happened rather frequently, both Darcys had learned ways to curtail their vocalizations of pleasure and muffle their culminating screams of happiness. Luckily the Darcy carriages were all constructed stoutly and well insulated, noises from both the outside and vice versa not transmitting unduly.

  This solitary event flashed with alacrity through Darcy's mind, and fully intending on a repeat engagement, he bodily lifted his wife onto the opposite seat, turning rapidly to close the windows and lower the shades. This accomplished with due haste, he returned to his grinning wife.

  “Do not utter a word, Elizabeth,” he ordered in a terse whisper, Lizzy shaking her head with a smile. Darcy took the time to lavish kisses over his wife's beautiful neck and bosom, Lizzy's head thrown back in delight, while carefully and speedily removing all encumbering fabrics. Within minutes they were one, joined so perfectly, the rhythm of the rocking carriage aiding. They clung together, kissing and caressing, absorbing the joy and rampant electricity flowing through their bodies and felt in the other with even clothing not a barrier.

  “Beloved, talk to me in French. I love your voice in French,” Lizzy murmured breathlessly.

  Darcy obeyed, hoarsely and sporadically interjecting an endearment in whispered flawless French. Lizzy shivered, mouth pressed tightly into his shoulder and hands through his hair. The sensations rose, heights gradually spiraling to astounding levels, both attuned to the reality that a peak of blinding rapture was nearing. Darcy released a sustained groan into Lizzy's neck when suddenly a sharp series of raps blasted through the carriage from above.

  They both instantly froze. Darcy's face was twisted in an agony of interrupted desire, ragged breaths suddenly astonishingly loud in their ears.

  “Yes, Mr. Anders,” Darcy's voice boomed, startlingly normal and steady, given the circumstances.

  “Sir, we are a mile or so from the seaboard,” Mr. Anders informed, voice faintly heard from above.

  “Thank you, Mr. Anders.” Darcy responded in a clipped tone, a weak moan escaping. Lizzy was stifling a giggle, body shaking in mirth. “You are naughty, Mrs. Darcy! Pure evil, I daresay,” he whispered tightly.

  She met his glazed eyes with an impish smile, rapidly lost in a crushing kiss. Darcy shoved massively and in seconds they were replete, gasping and panting in each other's arms. With only minutes to tidy themselves, they laughingly and joyously assisted each other, lastly Lizzy retying Darcy's cravat, a skill she was now very proficient at.

  “There,” she declared, “as perfect as Samuel would do.”

  Darcy was beaming, smile broad as he leaned to kiss her ruddy lips. “Thank you, my heart, for everything. I love you.”

  She smoothed his rumpled hair, her own face radiant with love and satisfaction. “My pleasure, dearest. Anytime.”

  He laughed, reaching around her body to open the windows. The gust of fresh sea air was notable and their timing ideal. The carriage completed a wide arc over the sloping dune, stopping moments later onto a flat expanse beside the road. Lizzy gasped, hand rising to her mouth in sheer awe. Darcy glowed with pleasure at his wife's expression, opening the door and hopping out before Tillson, the footman accompanying them on this journey, had alit from his perch.

  “Come, Elizabeth,” he said, offering a hand to his wife, who took it rather absently, her gaze engrossed with the scenery.

  They stood on a forty-foot cliff of combined sand and rock with clumps of gorse, lichen, kidney vetch, and heather about their feet. The varied colors and textures displayed by the array of vegetation were dazzling enough, but Lizzy would note this later. Her eyes were captured by the sea.

  It was a clear afternoon, the evening fog yet at bay, with a sky of vivid cloudless blue. The dark blue-grey water sparkled and reflected the brilliant sunlight as a million flashing candles, endless to the horizon as the water rippled and roiled. Foam-crested waves of all sizes crashed, the sound loud upon their ears. Some waves reached the shore, tides pushing and pulling steadily over the white sands. The beach stretched for miles, dotted with clusters of dried seaweed and debris. To their left beyond the gently ascending and descending dunes, the cliff rose steeply with a sheer escarpment of chalk sandstone, massive boulders fallen amongst the naturally rock floor. Waves fed the stone, mosses growing in a thick blanket and the scurry of tiny crabs and clutching shellfish visible from their roost above.

  Seagulls flew in screeching flocks over the water and beach, darting with incredible speed and accuracy to catch the unwary fish. Groups of nightjar and kittiwake rambled over the sands, bobbing and conversing as they too pecked into the rock clefts and sand for dinner. No humans were present although the faintly visible cluster of buil
dings off to the right indicated the nearness of Cromer and civilization in the lower valley.

  “William, it is everything I imagined multiplied a hundredfold! No painting does the reality justice. I never accounted for the noise! It is like thunder.” She trailed off, unable to articulate.

  Darcy watched her with delight. As with sharing the beauty of Pemberley or any of the other sights they had seen together, his joy was boundless in experiencing it with her. She was aglow with happiness and awe, struck as Darcy always was by the impressive majesty of the roaring surf and vast expanse of ocean. Turning her incandescent countenance to him, his knees instantly weakening at her breathless beauty, she leaned toward him and clasped his forearms enthusiastically.

  “Can we walk on the sand, William, please? I want to feel the water.”

  Darcy smiled indulgently. Glancing around, he noted that the road they parked beside veered left through the heath and sparse trees, beginning a gradual decline toward Cromer. The cliff elevation decreased until eventually disappearing into the sand at sea level some two miles before the town. Approximately twenty feet away from where they stood, he could see a rough trail twisting between the reeds and rocks down to the beach. It appeared safe enough, so he directed Lizzy to the trailhead, pausing to examine further. Lizzy, in her excitement, hesitated not a second, treading onto the sand path with surefootedness. Darcy grasped her elbow, pulling her back with a stern glare.