Over the swell of their child, peacefully at rest, Darcy devotedly worshipped. He loved her belly, firm in its expansion yet remarkably soft; the outward shape changing as the baby shifted or as she moved. Each time they loved he asked if it was uncomfortable, especially with his large frame on top, but she insisted all was well as of yet. He gloried in this, fervidly excited by the sensation of their child pressed into his abdomen when they made love. If the growing bulk intruded somewhat, it mattered little to him, the emotional rapture in this tangible evidence of their love far superior. Now, he kissed over the perfectly stretched flesh, licking her navel and making her giggle, kneading gently before traveling lower.
Her legs were wholly unaltered. Strong, supple, toned; skin like finest alabaster or freshly fallen snow. Darcy could never name one part of his wife's body that he loved the most, all of her exquisite as far as he was concerned. Certainly there were specific areas that reacted to his touch with greater intensity, but as with her touch to his flesh, every inch was erotic and arousing.
Lizzy was lost in a hazy realm of purest passion. Remembering her name would be difficult, so crazily roused was she. Beautifully her husband transported her; hands, lips, tongue combined masterfully to provoke. Rhapsody grasped and waved through her head to toe as she screamed his name and arched in blissful surrender. Her muscles trembled, the sensations extending beyond what was humanly endurable as Darcy leisurely kissed, licked, and stroked his way back to her mouth, crushing her in a starved kiss.
His hands never ceased caressing, tenderly and lightly. He only allowed her to minimally calm, knowing that it would absolutely be only the beginning of the pleasure he could give her. “Beautiful wife, I so adore you. To love you is truly all I wish to do in life. If only all else could fade and I could endlessly rouse you. The satisfaction I derive from this alone is glorious.”
She smiled, smoothing his rumpled hair and fingering over his radiant face. “How fortunate for us both, my heart, that I feel precisely the same. Loving you, watching your face as you attain your ecstasy with me, because of your love for me, is my greatest joy. How tremendously I love you, Fitzwilliam!”
Languid stimulation rapidly gave way to frantic need. Voracious yearning led swiftly to scorching delirium. Conscious thought rarely interjected when their mutual thirst rose to such unquenchable levels. Instead, they acted with pure animal lust, blindly moving as emotions guided. They fused as one with whispered endearments and promises uttered between pants. Indescribable flames of glory raced between their melded bodies, each feeling their partner's passion as intently as their own.
Each and every time they made love, whether playfully or hungrily, the sensations both physical and spiritual eclipsed what seemed logically possible. The thought of another never entered either of their minds; not a glimmer of curiosity or shred of wondering. How could it when paradise was achieved in each other's embrace?
Darcy held Lizzy for long minutes as they gasped for air and gradually restored clarity to blissfully fogged minds. Rationality always seemed to reassert itself with tender kisses along shoulders or necks or chests or wherever they found skin nearby. Fingers danced over perspiring flesh, involuntary writhing continued with neither wishing to break the connection hastily. Voices speaking softly, the individual words not nearly as important as the intonation.
Finally they collapsed to the bed, entwined and sated. Darcy did not speak of Lady Underwood. As deplorable as secrets were to him, more heinous would be hurting Lizzy. He honestly did not know how she would react to the idea of women propositioning her husband. Trust was absolute between them, so he knew she would never doubt his fidelity, nor would he doubt hers. If the situation were reversed, he would promptly kill the man, or at least maim him for life, à la Orman. As repulsed as Darcy was by Lady Underwood's solicitation, he was capable of shrugging it aside as a flaw to her character and of no importance to him. However, due to the forced proximity as guests of the resort, he thought it best to keep Lizzy unaware of Lady Underwood's interest. He wished for nothing to spoil their holiday.
He was thankful that he had alternate plans for dinner.
Mr. Vernor had directed his attention to an exclusive café in Great Yarmouth. Apparently extremely posh and intimate with spectacular French cuisine served as ordered from a menu of choices, the unique style of dining was born in France and gradually spreading throughout Europe and even to America. Conceived as a way to please the masses of France yearning for what was previously only available to the aristocracy, as well as providing employment for the suddenly adrift chefs and servants from the great houses, these establishments offering fine cuisine flourished.
For Darcy, a man who appreciated exotic foods and revolutionary ideals, the experience of dining with his wife in such a place was highly appealing. Especially since she had never been to France and despite Mrs. Langton's skill, pure French cooking was an art form only perfected by an authentic chef. Reportedly the owner of Tregois' Taverne de Yarmouth was exceptional, having trained under the famed Beauvilliers of Paris.
They dressed in their finest, Lizzy wearing her Twelfth Night gown. Her fuller bosom was displayed lusciously to an appreciative Darcy and the baby's bulge perceptible, but not large enough yet to tarnish the stunning beauty of how the gown flowed.
Darcy grinned, approaching his bewitching spouse with breathless enchantment. “Elizabeth, I… well, I truly do not have the words. You are beautiful, captivating, magnifique, la femme plus belle dans l'univers, mon epouse, mon inspiration et survie…” Despite his claim, words fell in a French torrent until trailing away at the crevice between her breasts.
“William, do we not have dinner reservations? I am rather hungry after this afternoon's exertions, and I distinctly heard a few rumbles erupting from your perfect midsection over an hour ago. Surely you are starved by now.”
“I am famished, beloved, ravenous in fact, but not for food. God, Lizzy, how is it possible to want you so completely again?”
She laughed, pulling his face away from her décolletage and kissing him soundly. “Come, my dashing husband. I am currently famished for food, and I wish to be seen on the arm of the handsomest man to ever appear in Norfolk. Later, my lover, I will show you what it feels like to be wanted so completely.” She sucked gently on his lower lip, the tip of her tongue caressing, only then clasping his arm and propelling him toward the door, ignoring his groan and faltering step.
Dinner was stupendous. The cozy café afforded an amazing view of the River Yare, the atmosphere so unerringly French that Darcy was transported to Paris and tremendously impressed. Lizzy had grown accustomed to French cuisine as prepared by Mrs. Langton, but this was subtly different. Darcy ordered several unique dishes never served at Pemberley, the sequestered table laden with far more food than they could possibly consume, even with Darcy's appetite. He wanted her to taste a bit of everything, getting a wee bit carried away with enthusiasm at the inclusive menu. Additionally, the wine cellar sported wines nearly unattainable even with the improved trade to France. Darcy ordered a rare Bordeaux from Château Haut-Brion dated 1796, eyes sparkling in anticipation.
They departed the quaint establishment, Lizzy assuming they were to return to the inn and rather partial to the idea as she quite frankly felt bloated and nearly ill from so much rich food. Darcy, however, steered her along the sidewalk toward a destination unknown.
“Surprises, Mr. Darcy?” she said with a tilt of her head.
He smiled, glancing sidelong into her face. “You know how I adore surprising you, Elizabeth. Next to making love with you it is undoubtedly my favorite pastime.” Lizzy actually blushed, although no one was nearby to overhear.
They strolled slowly, Lizzy grateful she remembered to wear a shawl as the air was nippy. Darcy tucked her as close to his side as propriety allowed and attempted to increase the pace, but Lizzy held him to a stately speed. It was cool, but so crisp and fresh. Lizzy inhaled deeply of the salty breeze, the fragrance of the orchids
and heather that grew in abundance mingling to create an oddly pleasant odor.
“It is strange to feel the mild chill here and know that home is probably sweltering.” She paused to pick a sprig of heather, inserting it into his top buttonhole.
“It will begin cooling soon. Autumn is beautiful at Pemberley. Mr. Clark is a genius. He has the gardens planned so that they bloom in all seasons, but I do believe fall blooms are premiere. A final season to rediscover with you, my heart, then we will be entering our second year together and eagerly awaiting the birth of our first child.”
He halted next to an enormous oak on the edge of a town square, the shops all closed except for a café on the diagonal corner. A handful of people wandered about, but they were alone where they stood under the faint gaslight. He grasped both her dainty hands in his, gazing into her eyes with his typical piercing intensity.
“Elizabeth, there is something I have wanted to ask you. I have been searching for the perfect moment and this feels right.”
“Is everything all right, William?”
He smiled, stroking along her cheek. “Forgive me. I did not mean to alarm you. Everything is perfect. No, this is just a topic that has occurred to me from time to time, but especially since Marguerite and Samuel's wedding. I do not believe I ever told you, but every Darcy male, and many of the females, for generations unknown have been married in the Pemberley Chapel. It is one of those facts that simply are, without consciously holding much weight until the time comes to apply it. When we wed it was logical to marry in Hertfordshire with your sister and Bingley. I was mildly saddened to not say our vows at Pemberley, but it truthfully did not matter as I was so blissfully happy to have you.” He laughed in delight. “We could have wed in a barn and I would have been deliriously ecstatic! Nonetheless, I have realized how deeply I desire to stand before Reverend Bertram, in front of the altar where my parents exchanged their vows, where I have worshipped all my life, where our children will be dedicated and baptized, on my ancestral land, and repeat my undying pledge to you.”
He paused, squeezing her hands firmly, countenance serious but awash with devotion and love. “Elizabeth Darcy, will you marry me, again?”
Lizzy was speechless, her lips trembling and eyesight blurry with tears. She nodded and managed to croak a “yes.” Darcy smiled brilliantly, bringing her hands to his lips for a hard kiss.
“Excellent! We can discuss the details later. I do so incredibly love you, Elizabeth.” He bent and brushed her forehead. “Perhaps it can be a yearly event. Renewing our vows if for no other reason than to see you in your wedding dress again.”
Lizzy chuckled, taking the proffered handkerchief to wipe her tears. “I doubt sincerely if it would fit me this year.”
He extended his elbow, Lizzy snuggling close as they resumed their walk. “You can wear anything you wish, my love, as long as you promise to love me forever.”
She looked up into his face, shaking her head. “Have no fear, William. That is a promise easy for me to make.”
Darcy shepherded her toward the diagonal corner of the square, the café lively with numerous people sitting and standing, laughing and singing along with the minstrel band playing jauntily on the terrace. Darcy glanced at his pocketwatch, releasing a low whistle. “We need to step fast. I am afraid I miscalculated the time.”
Past the café, down a busy avenue, and two blocks to the right brought them before a brightly lit theater. The building was clearly very old, probably built in the Elizabethan Era or shortly thereafter as it greatly resembled drawings Lizzy had seen of the famous Shakespearean playhouse, the Rose, in London. The original lath and plaster structure had been reinforced over the centuries with attempts to stylize and flourish the plain building obvious, giving it an amalgamated appearance of divergent architecture. Still, despite the mélange design, the theater was lovely, aided greatly by the modern gaslights, scrolling marquee, and gaudily painted posters blanketing the walls. The posters advertised the theater's entertainments, mostly of a musical or comedic variety rather than dramatic plays. Tonight's show was boldly declared on the marquee and on an enormous folded sign located by the door:
Professor Sciarratta's Magic Lantern Revue Presents
“Phantasmagoria”!
“Ooh! How fantastic, William! I adore magic lantern shows!”
“So you have seen them,” he said. “I was not sure if any had traveled to Hertfordshire.”
“Twice, at the assembly hall, as Meryton does not have a proper theater. The first was a repertoire of fairy tale stories, Aesop's Fables and Biblical tales primarily. The second was last summer, not too long after I returned from Kent. It was a re-creation of military battles from the Napoleonic Wars, complete with ships bursting into flames and cannon fire. Quite dramatic with accompanying sound effects and piano music; most patriotic and emotive. I have heard of Phantasmagoria though. Is it truly as frightening as written of?”
Darcy shrugged, handing over the coins to the ticket seller. “I do not know from firsthand experience. I have only seen three magic lantern performances, similar to your experiences. When I was eleven my family, including Lord and Lady Matlock with Richard, Annabella, and Jonathan, traveled to Paris. It was my first trip to the Continent. With the Revolution over and Bonaparte in control, it was deemed safe to travel.” He paused to shake his head at that folly. “Anyway, Father bought tickets to see the original Fantasmagorie by Etienne Gaspard Robert. The show was all the rage then, the French not having had enough fright in their lives apparently.” The last was spoken with dripping sarcasm, Lizzy also shaking her head.
“Of course, I was young and not fully aware of all the political intrigues, only wishing to see something reportedly so spectacular. Unfortunately, the day before the show Mother became very ill. It seems foolish now, but none of us considered the simple cause of pregnancy. My parents had given up on having more children so were caught unaware. Father insisted on staying with Mother until the physicians could diagnose and treat her illness; I would not leave although Father encouraged me to go, so the Fitzwilliams attended the show. Richard and Jonathan gushed on ad infinitum until I wanted to strangle them. Aunt Madeline found it too scary, Annabella had nightmares and refused to discuss it, poor thing, but Uncle liked it.” He shrugged again.
They were inside the small lobby. Lizzy glanced about, noting the majority of the attendees to be common folk with simple suits and gowns. A minority was of a higher class and dressed in finer attire, and only a handful of those dressed as well as Darcy and Lizzy. She felt terribly self-conscious in her elaborate ball gown, but Darcy glided through the press of people as if at the Royal Theatre in London, heading directly toward the balcony stairs and confidently expecting all to part before him. The strange thing is that they did! A hush preceded their steps, a gap instantly created for Darcy to escort his wife through, and muted whispers of awe rose in their wake. Lizzy wanted to shrink into her skin yet concurrently puffed with pride at her husband's natural nobility and grace. Darcy was innocently ignorant.
The theater balcony did not boast individual boxes but rather was designed with long rows of seats, larger and more comfortable than the seats on the main floor. The low balcony afforded an excellent view of the black-draped center stage and two smaller curtained areas to the sides. The room was dimly lit although whether this was normal or as a means of increasing the eerie atmosphere for the performance, Lizzy did not know. The Darcys were ushered to seats in the first row, near the right side. Most of the seats were already filled, and the fever of excitement with palpable shivers of fear raced through the assembly.
Lizzy leaned toward her husband and whispered, “Will you hold my hand, William, so I will not be afraid?” She looked up into his face with a smile, but her eyes were mildly anxious. She would sooner be horsewhipped than admit it, but she was a bit frightened.
Darcy chuckled and took her hand. “I will protect you, my dear. No ghosts or specters will be allowed to molest you so long a
s I am here.” He grinned and Lizzy laughed, slapping him with her folded fan.
Suddenly several of the dim lights were extinguished, throwing the already dusky room into deeper shadows. Numerous gasps were released, folks shuffling to their seats in earnest. A deep, sepulchral voice erupted into the hushed hall, startling everyone as the disembodied voice intoned without inflection:
“Ladies and gentlemen of the living, find thy seats hastily. The spirits are restless, desiring to arise in a dance macabre. None has the power to detain them. Do not be found wandering the empty aisles! This would be… unwise. Can thoust control the whimsy of the dead?”
The voice continued in the same vein as the final stragglers took their seats. The remaining lights were doused one by one until total darkness was achieved. As the final lights went out, slowly one by one, music gradually swelled. Music eerily brought forth by a glass armonica and accompanied by whining winds and clapping thunder. The gloomy voice grew fainter as it beseeched the dead to rise and begged for pity on the living until drowned completely by the wailing sounds emanating from the depths of the orchestra pit. Abruptly a deafening boom rent the air, succeeded by utter silence.
Lizzy was clutching Darcy's hand so tightly he winced, attempting to wiggle his fingers enough to restore circulation, but she would not let go. He bent to where he thought her ear was, whispering, “Elizabeth, I cannot feel my fingers.” She started violently and then giggled, planting a kiss in the dark, which landed on the side of his nose, and loosened her crushing grip. He immediately encircled her shoulders and drew her into his side. No fear of inappropriate public behavior being frowned on here as no one could see them and he strongly suspected everyone would be tightly clenching each other before the show concluded.
My Dearest Mr. Darcy: An Amazing Journey into Love Everlasting tds-3 Page 14
