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

by Sharon Lathan

  “Lord, have mercy!” she said with mock pleading heavenward. “Not another one! I do not require a trailing hound dog, my dear uncle.”

  Darcy smiled. George arched a brow at his niece. “Very well, madam. I will refrain from dogging your heels, but will be in residence, likely the library, if ever you whistle loudly.”

  “And you shall come running with tongue lolling and tail wagging?”

  “Precisely,” he answered while the other three burst into laughter.

  They passed the evening in quiet family communion. Georgiana, George, and Richard were fully cognizant of the anguish shared by Darcy and Lizzy, even if they did not quite understand it. All through the evening as they laughed and listened to Georgiana play, the three single persons were well aware of the frequent touches and glances meted out between the newlyweds in ever increasing allotments. The air surrounding the two where they sat squeezed into the very end of the sofa was electrically charged. Nothing improper occurred, both restrained in their tender caresses, but the clarity of mutual need and despondency was salient.

  Lizzy was quieter than usual and Darcy was monosyllabic. Eventually even the energy of George Darcy could not penetrate the gathering gloom, so he rose with exaggerated yawning and stretching, proclaiming fatigue. If anyone thought it odd for exhaustion to suddenly strike them all at eight o'clock, it was not pointed out.

  Lizzy refused to shed further tears and managed to retain command of her emotions. In actuality, once they were alone, comfortably dressed in robes and entangled before the fire, their spirits lifted. Both knew without the minutest doubt that they would be miserable beyond description for the next two weeks, yet they both vowed to handle the situation with maturity and strength.

  The weather had gradually slid into the chill of autumn. The days were generally fair and the rains had yet to attack, but the winds were mounting and the nights were bitter enough to warrant a fire. The lovers reclined on the hearth rug and piled pillows, snuggled and warm, with passion at bay for the present as they discussed estate affairs.

  “Mr. Keith will manage the day-to-day issues that may arise as he always has in my absence.” Darcy spoke softly, but with the familiar undertone of authority notable whenever he addressed Pemberley business. “However, it is different now as you are Mistress. You have exceeded both our expectations, my intelligent love, and therefore, if you feel able, can attend to diverse matters that normally would await my return.”

  “Such as?”

  He sighed, bestowing a kiss to her forehead before continuing, “Naturally all household issues are already handled by you, and if anything needs to be attained above the usual, you have the authority to procure it. I trust your judgment, Elizabeth, if there are any unforeseen problems amongst the staff or even the tenants. The senior staff knows you speak for me and will not question your decisions.”

  She gazed into his eyes, pleasure and uncertainty warring. “Are you sure this vote of confidence is wise, William? I appreciate your faith but would not wish to make any mistakes.”

  He smiled and ran his hand through her trailing tresses. “This is exactly why I have no worries. Not only are you intelligent and well versed in Pemberley's necessities, but you are prudent and will not hastily conclude a matter if you deem it beyond your scope.”

  She nodded, smiling brightly. “Thank you. I will assure all is organized and properly transacted so when you return you shall have nothing to do but love me! Oh, and celebrate your birthday. Ha! You thought to evade, yes?” Darcy was flushed and squirming, Lizzy tickling his ribs and giggling. “How silly you are, foolish man. Although please do not be expecting thirty gifts as I am not nearly clever enough to conjure so many brilliant ideas. I would exhaust myself at the endeavor!”

  Darcy laughed, but her jest brought something to mind and he halted her probing fingertips. “Desist! I cannot breathe! Unfair that you are not ticklish.” He gasped, clasping her hands tightly to his chest. “Seriously, listen to me, love. I order you, yes, I order,” he glared and arched a brow, lips twitching, “that you not overtax. Your rest is essential. Promise me you will take care?”

  “If you promise the same. I know you will be pressuring yourself to conclude your business so you can hurry home. I want you with me, Fitzwilliam, but not to the extent that you grow ill. Take your time but make sure you are home before the tenth.”

  “I am never ill, dearest, but I accept your chastisement. Let us both promise to behave, and I assure you I will be home well before the tenth. And while we are on the subject, please do not plan an extravaganza for my birthday. I would be perfectly happy to forget it altogether. I simply want to be home and the only present I desire is you, preferably naked on our bed.”

  “And tied with a big red bow?” She fluttered her eyelashes and pursed her lips, face offered and accepted handily. They made love by the fire, slowly and tenderly rousing the other. The subtle current of sadness was there, but the love they felt was profound and so intensely intrinsic, overruling the presence of dismay.

  They fell asleep on the rug, limbs twined, with Lizzy engulfed by his larger body. It was the cold creeping over his back that woke Darcy, Lizzy deeply asleep and toasty in his arms. The room lamps were yet burning, casting a glow over her skin that was impossible for him to resist. He studied her, lightly running fingers, and inhaling of her fragrance: a mixture of lavender and sexual gratification and him. Their child slept, the bulge beautifully round and still. At times he missed her flat stomach, especially when making love and overcome with raging passion yet unable to release the concern for her altered shape and flexibility. But those moments were fleeting and rare. The miracle that was the product of their love lying inside of her body was astoundingly moving to his soul and strangely erotic.

  “God, my Lizzy, I so love you,” he whispered, bestowing a tiny kiss to her shoulder, additionally surprised at the sensation of her petite hand warmly stroking over his bare thigh. “I am sorry. I did not wish to wake you, but it is cold. We need to move to the bed.”

  She turned in his arms, sleepy eyes meeting his. “Yes. Our bed, my lover. Kiss me, William.” There was no denying the yearning. All through the night they reached for each other, caressing on the edge of sleep, loving with every inch of flesh and every muscle. The last was as the sun crested the treetops, glow spreading across the fields and through the gaps in the curtain covered wide windows.

  Darcy moved within his precious wife, fingers rousing and mouth stirring shivers along her spine. Every curve of her exciting, her heat and softness electrifying, moist depths surrounding and squeezing him thrilling, and articulations of delight enlivening. Wave upon wave of glorious rapture swept through, hearts and spirits soaring as their bodies succumbed to the elation of pure pleasure with shouts of loving joy.

  Lizzy was soundly asleep seconds afterwards, a blissful smile on her gorgeous face. Darcy experienced a rush of fierce love and breathless peace. Leaving her was painful, but he knew all would be well as she promised. How could it not be with their souls intermingled? He kissed her several times, the drowsy smile widening, before carefully untangling his body from hers to prepare for departure.

  The carriage ride to London was long, tiring, and uneventful. One thing it was not was boring. Richard ingratiated himself to accompany his cousin as he planned to leave in two days anyway. Darcy did not mind in the slightest, adoring Richard and knowing that his cousin's ofttimes irritating boisterousness would lighten the mood, provide entertainment, and stave off the gloominess sure to come. In this assumption Darcy was spot on.

  The first hour or so was passed in silence. Richard surreptitiously observed Darcy's dreamy face, noted how he fiddled and caressed the ring on his finger, and heard the unconscious faint sighs. In honest curiosity he finally broke the quiet.

  “What is it like, Darcy, to love as you do?” The impromptu question pierced the calm, Darcy's brows shooting up as he glanced to his cousin, and Richard coloring as he realized his private musings
were vocalized.

  There followed an awkward pause, Richard flushed and Darcy amused. “Why do you ask?”

  “Forgive me, my friend, I meant no offense. It was impertinent of me to ask such a thing, so let us just forget the question.”

  “I am not offended and have every intention of answering your query, cousin. I am merely curious why you ask it. Do you have a particular lady in mind? Or are you seeking enlightenment for the furthering of your education in human interpersonal relationships?” Darcy was grinning broadly.

  Richard grunted. “More the latter, I suppose, although you know I am not as ragingly consumptive of all matters educational as you are.”

  “Well that surely is the truth! How you managed to graduate University yet remains a mystery to me.”

  “Ha, ha.” Richard intoned dryly. “Most amusing today, Mr. Darcy.”

  “Watching your discomfiture always increases my humor. You have yet to adequately answer. Why do you ask about love?”

  Richard shrugged, gazing out the window. “Primarily idle curiosity. You have been so different since Elizabeth entered your life. I noted a change in your demeanor as far back as Rosings last, although I did not comprehend the cause. The oddity is that I thought you perfectly content before, yet now I observe the two of you together, and even how you fondle your new ring, and the happiness is transparent. Nauseatingly so.” He grinned and shrugged again. “So I was curious what it felt like.”

  Darcy was gazing into his lap with a soft smile upon his mouth, selfconsciously removing fingertips from the gold band. He did not answer hastily, finally speaking lowly, “I do not know if I can sufficiently place it into words. Perhaps that is why the poets wax eloquent with platitudes and analogies as mere common phrases do not suffice. All I know for certain is that almost from the moment I saw her she has filled my senses and my heart. There is joy with Elizabeth in every way and every moment, whether present or no. I feel light and buoyant, yet also grounded and secure. Giddy and frivolous, yet strong and steady. Childish and masculine simultaneously.” He chuckled softly, closing his eyes and leaning back against the carriage wall. “Yet you know what the most miraculous part is, Richard? Greater than how she makes me feel is the miracle that she loves me.”

  He opened his eyes abruptly, staring at his cousin with full Darcy intensity. “Richard, there is no replacement for that. It is a priceless treasure, and I only wish all in the world could experience it.”

  “And this 'feeling' is worth the misery I note at times such as this, when you are separated?”

  Darcy shook his head. “It is not misery in the way you imagine. Yes, I miss her terribly already and my loneliness will be profound, but our love sustains me and I have the constant joy of knowing she waits for me.”

  They were solitary with their thoughts for a spell, Darcy resuming the heedless caressing of his ring while Richard dwelled inwardly. Slowly Darcy began to chuckle. “Tell me, cousin, does any of this questioning have to do with Admiral Ulster's daughter?”

  Richard's laugh was rich, an uncharacteristic ruddiness spreading over his cheeks. He glanced away, eyes downcast. “I admit nothing, especially to you who would tease me mercilessly. All I shall say is that the concept is not as repugnant as it once was, although God help me if I am ever as gushy and nonsensical as you, or completely lose sight of all propriety. Is that sufficient for now, Mr. Romance?”

  Darcy laughed loudly. “It is a start!”

  Once in Town, Darcy wasted no time in beginning the arduous process of concluding his business affairs. With the Darcy House staff under strict orders to remain mum regarding his residency, he entered the offices of Mr. Daniels bright and early the day after his arrival. For two days all went according to plan, Darcy quite pleased with the progress made. It was while sitting in the library the second evening after finishing a long devotion-imbued letter to his wife, brandy in hand and papers spread before him, that he began coughing. It was only a light tickle felt in the back of his throat, but it persisted no matter how often he attempted to drink or cough the itch away. More irritated than anything, he finally gave up working and went to bed.

  Thus far the days and nights had passed rapidly with well-controlled sadness. He missed Elizabeth with an ache that was unrelenting, but the constant activity kept the pain at bay. Tonight he sat in the bed that was for many years comfortable and familiar as only for him, but was now glaringly empty and cold. He tried to read, but the prickle in his throat distracted, and he constantly glanced up toward her dressing room, positive he saw a shadow. Finally he gave in, dousing the lights and lying down in hopes that sleep would claim him quickly so he could dream of her.

  Surprisingly, since he was not actually tired, sleep was attained rapidly, but his dreams were troubled. Elizabeth was nowhere to be found. Instead he floated dazedly through heavy clouds that occluded his respirations, thick cottony tendrils that invaded his nostrils, the air cool and damp. Then he was swimming in a hot spring, deep with the surface sparkling visibly above him yet he could not propel his weighted body to the promise of oxygen. He woke well before dawn, his sinuses obstructed and throat afire.

  “Perfect,” he mumbled scratchily. “Never ill, right, Darcy.”

  He forced himself to rise and bathe, feeling slightly improved once dressed and outside in the brisk air. However, after an hour closeted in the roomy office with Mr. Andrew Daniels and his eldest son Benjamin, his head felt to explode and the basic exercise of breathing was torturous. He ignored the unpleasant sensations as best he could until mid afternoon when the quill began to waver in his tremulous fist and a fit of coughing gripped him with alarming potency.

  Mr. Daniels took charge, boldly facing the potential anger of his client by insisting on calling for Mr. Darcy's carriage and rescheduling the appointment for when his health was restored. Darcy considered arguing, but quite simply did not have the energy to do so.

  It had been some five years since Darcy last suffered from the ravages of a common cold. At that time he had been residing at Pemberley, with Georgiana and Mrs. Reynolds fussing over him. It had annoyed him greatly, but he had to admit the constant female companionship and nursing was pleasant, not to mention beneficial in speeding his recovery.

  Mrs. Smyth was not the least bit maternal and, aside from providing hot tea and edibles, had no idea how to care for the infirm. Therefore, Darcy was left to his own devices with only Samuel to make sure he did not wallow in his own sweat and disgusting bodily secretions.

  Samuel, proficient with the vast array of masculine essentials, was utterly inept when dealing with an ill Master. The fact that Mr. Darcy had been unwell only twice since Samuel assumed the post as his valet did not furnish him much in the way of medical expertise. Nonetheless, even he could diagnose a frightening increase in infirmity by the third morning after falling sick. Darcy was difficult to rouse, blazing to the touch, coughing in wracking fits, and intermittently shivering and sweating.

  The physician was sent for, rapidly assessed the situation, and assumed command. There was no question that the suspected cold was upgraded to influenza status. The prescribed medicines were obtained from the apothecary and detailed instructions were given to Samuel and Mrs. Smyth. Darcy was liberally dosed with a tea mixture of yarrow, peppermint, ginger, willow, and elder bark for general aches and fever. Further distillations of licorice root, elecampane, mullein, and honey were forced down his throat for the cough and chest congestion. Oil of lavender was burned to cleanse the air and promote sleep.

  For five days total Darcy drifted in a hazy place of vague memory. His waking moments were brief and filled with stertorous, productive coughs that left him weak, gasping, and in pain. Muscles that he did not know existed in his body ached unrelentingly. The pervading odor of lavender reminded him excruciatingly of Elizabeth, and he knew on some level that time was passing without writing to her or completing the reams of paperwork that would bring him back to her, but then the thought would fade away as uncontrol
lable trembling assumed command.

  The energy necessary to rise enough to utilize the bedside chamber pot upon those occasions his body required that type of relief was tremendous, leaving him utterly spent as he fell backwards onto the pillows in a heap. The room would undulate and whirl, his head throbbing, and more than once the endeavor ended with his stomach in wild upheavals.

  He managed to drink some liquids beyond the curative concoctions offered, the cool streams of water soothing to his parched throat. Food was impossible, nothing able to stay settled in his stomach for longer than minutes before being regurgitated violently.

  His dreams were randomly dark and disturbed or fantastical. Visions of people long since dead or not seen in years commingled with recent additions to his life, such as the Bennets. There was no coherency. His rational mind struggled to understand the purpose but was continually relegated to some far corner while the whimsical madness took control.

  One afternoon he woke abruptly from a vivid but chaotic dream of Elizabeth crying for him. For several moments his heart pounded with the memory, but as the dream faded he recognized the current clarity of his thoughts. He was weary as never experienced before, but lucid. The bright sun streaming through the window pierced his sore eyes and his body felt as if he had been pummeled in a boxing ring, but he was cool and the bed was stationary.

  “Well, finally back to the land of the living, are we?” It was Richard, grinning happily, but pale with an undertone of worry in his voice. Darcy opened his mouth to flash a sharp retort of some kind, nothing escaping but a faint squeak. “Eloquent, Mr. Darcy, as always. Here, cousin, drink this.”

  Darcy cringed, fully expecting another foul-tasting tea, but it was plain water. Cool and the most delicious-tasting beverage ever to pass his lips. Darcy was certain he could have consumed an ocean of the succulent fluid, but Richard forced him to sip gradually.

  “God, I am tired!”

  “Lazy old man. Lying about for nearly a week and you want to sleep?” Darcy smiled faintly, eyes closing as Richard reclined him onto the pillows.