The Trouble with Mr. Darcy

by Sharon Lathan

  “Poor Mr. Darcy!” Lizzy laughed up at him. “Now go and enjoy yourselves.”

  “We will.” He bent for a last kiss for himself and Alexander.

  “Bye, Mama! Love!”

  Lizzy waved as they exited the manor, Darcy bouncing and weaving side to side with Alexander laughing and holding on tightly to his father’s collar.

  Both parties passed pleasant afternoons their first full day in Hertfordshire—Darcy alone with his son, exploring the stables and countryside, and Lizzy with her mother and Kitty. Evening would bring them together again as they hosted the first of several planned dinners.

  Lizzy and Darcy stood in the parlor, the warm, spring-like evening air of mid-March flowing through the open windows.

  “There,” she said with a tug to her husband’s impeccably tied cravat, “you are perfect.”

  “Thank you, madam. I am sure Samuel will once again rest easier knowing my wife has given her approval.” He kissed her cheek and then turned to Alexander with a solemn nod toward Lizzy. “What have I taught you, Alexander?”

  “Mama, you beautiful. Pretty dress.”

  Lizzy curtsied, brown taffeta crunching. “Why thank you, kind sir.” Then she laughed gaily, kneeling for a tight embrace. “You are as handsome as your father, sweetheart. How do you like your suit?” She fingered the frilly, chambray collar framing his round face, brushing invisible lint from the blue flannel jacket tailored to mimic a gentleman’s coat only far looser and lighter. The roomy breeches were adorned with simple gold buttons, white-stockinged feet encased in basic house slippers of kid leather. It was the first time the toddler had ever worn anything other than the typical free flowing children’s dresses, or the airy Indian garments his godfather managed to provide no matter how Darcy frowned. He was a bit young for his garments, but he did look absolutely adorable.

  Nonetheless, it was clear by the expression on his face, coupled with the constant tugging on clinging fabric, that he was far from enthusiastic about the change in attire.

  “Itchy, Mama.”

  “It is flannel, love. It cannot be scratchy. You will grow used to these clothes in time, but I promise you can change into your nightgown soon. Try not to squirm. Look at your papa. He is not fidgeting, is he? And his jacket is wool, which is scratchy.”

  “Your mother is correct, Alexander. Try to be strong.”

  “Ah! The corruption begins already!” George strode through the door at that moment, breezy and regal in an Indian silk of navy blue and silver, his three years in England not affecting his clothing preferences appreciably. Alexander took one look at his unencumbered godfather and assumed a childish pout astonishingly similar to his father’s frown.

  “We were beginning to presume you had decided not to join us, Uncle. The Bennets should be here at any moment.”

  “I was assuring that the chess set was ready. Elizabeth’s father has now surmounted me by three games at last count. I must prove my superiority!” He dramatically lifted his chin, fist high in the air, and winked at Alexander, who erupted in giggles, itchy clothing forgotten.

  A footman entered, announcing the arrival of the Bennets. George scooped a still giggling Alexander into his arms as they moved into the foyer to greet their guests.

  Mr. and Mrs. Bennet had changed little in the past years. Mrs. Bennet continued to bemoan her husband’s imminent demise, but the older gentleman showed nary a sign of going anywhere. If anything he held himself with an unusual spunkiness. Apparently the joys of observing his eldest daughters find happiness while providing him with an ever-increasing clutch of grandchildren had restored a semblance of youth. Mrs. Bennet was as breathless and flighty as ever; the consolation of fulfilling her appointed task in marrying her daughters adequately not yet penetrating her consciousness.

  “Why, Mr. Darcy! How delightful it is to see you! How can we ever repay you for leasing Netherfield for the wedding? Your generosity is a testament to your excellent character!”

  “Thank you, madam, but once again I must assert your error. All praise must be extended to Mrs. Darcy.”

  “Nonsense! We know it is your doing, sir! Blessed we were the day you entered our lives, is it not so, Lizzy?”

  “Absolutely, Mama. However, in this instance I fear my husband is telling the truth. You see, he preferred the joy of dwelling at Longbourn until I prevailed upon him the need for additional guest quarters. Quite distressed he was at the sacrifice, but I insisted.”

  “Oh! What a dear, dear man you are!” She daubed at her teary eyes, missing Lizzy’s smirk and Darcy’s barely concealed frown of disgust.

  Greetings erupted in earnest. Alexander was engulfed with hugs and kisses while the men greeted each other with more restraint. Lizzy promised that Michael would be brought down later, only then able to steer her sister to the back of the small crowd for a private chat.

  “Have you heard from your fiancé?”

  “Not as yet. I know he is busy in his own way to prepare for our wedding, but I do wish he would hurry along.”

  “Have no fears, sister dear. I am sure he is as frantic to be with you as you are to be with him.” Lizzy smiled at Kitty’s pretty blush. “Surely you do not believe otherwise?”

  Kitty shook her head. “No. I no longer doubt his devotion and honesty. I merely persist in a ridiculous fear that an unnameable force will separate us for yet a few more months!”

  “I doubt that shall happen. When do you expect him to arrive?”

  “Tomorrow or the following day. He was unsure, but he is insistent on passing a few days with the entire family prior to our wedding. How about Georgiana? Have you heard from her?”

  “Not since they departed from Paris. William is fretful, not that there is anything remarkable in that.” She glanced fondly toward her spouse. “I assure him that all is well. She is in competent hands and would not miss your wedding.”

  Kitty halted her just outside the parlor doorway, lowering her voice seriously. “Lizzy, I must inform you. We received word today that Lydia and Mr. Wickham will be coming to the wedding. I did not expect them; after all, they did not stand at your and Jane’s wedding, or at Mary’s. I am very sorry!”

  “Do not be anxious. It was inevitable and we have been fortunate not to encounter Mr. Wickham in all these years. I appreciate you warning me so I can prepare William and Georgiana.” She looked at Darcy, who was currently in amused conversation with his father-in-law while Alexander tugged on his grandfather’s bushy muttonchops from his perch in the older man’s arms. “They do not anticipate residing at Netherfield, I pray.”

  “Oh no! Papa disabused Mama of that notion immediately! There is more than enough room at Longbourn.” She too glanced toward Darcy with warmth. “I would never allow such disregard for Mr. Darcy’s feelings, nor Georgiana’s. I am truly sorry, Lizzy!”

  Lizzy smiled warmly, kissing Kitty’s forehead. “Think on it no further, my dear. This is your time to celebrate. Nothing shall be allowed to mar that. Come, let us start the rejoicing now.”

  ***

  The evening’s festivities were over, the Bennets safely returned to Longbourn after a delicious meal. Mrs. Hanford hummed while she knitted and kept an eye on Alexander, who was finally rid of the encumbering garments and nestled in sleep wearing a loose, cotton nightgown and hugging Dog against his chest. Miss Lisa read a book by the fire, all comfortably ensconced in the chamber selected to serve as nursery for the duration of their stay. The remaining Darcys relaxed in the tiny sitting room attached to their favorite Netherfield sleeping chamber.

  Darcy sat at the small writing desk attending to a stack of papers that Mr. Andrew Daniels, his London solicitor, had sent to Netherfield. Mostly they were lists of various business matters to be handled upon his arrival in London, nothing urgent thankfully, as Darcy was distracted by the vision of his wife nursing their son.

  As always, Lizzy respected his preference for silence as he worked. Her gentle murmurs and crooning to Michael were dulcet. She
rocked slowly, eyes intent on the calm face of the babe, by all appearances ignoring her husband. If there was a bit more breast showing than was strictly necessary for the task it seemed to be guileless.

  Darcy smiled, turning his gaze toward the parchment before him. He was not really fooled by her ploy, reasonably familiar with his wife’s tactics. Nor was he in the slightest bit dismayed, except that he really did want to peruse these lists and pen a brief note for Georgiana to be posted on the morrow.

  He frowned. As Lizzy had intimated to Kitty, he was concerned that there was no letter from his sister. She may have been twenty years of age and well cared for, but some habits never die and one was the need to protect her. And, of course, he simply missed her horribly and was anxious to be reunited.

  Movement from the chair again diverted him, pleasantly so as Lizzy transferred Michael to the right breast and apparently forgot to cover the left. She glanced up at her husband, the expression of contented innocence belied by a twinkle in her eyes. Darcy smiled in return, certain that his eyes were glowing even though he avoided directly gazing at the abundant display.

  He pulled a blank parchment from the pile, dipped the pen as a prelude to writing while his thoughts veered not to wayward sister, but to his beautifully sensuous wife. A fresh wave of joy and relief washed over him, borne not from what he was certain would evolve into a delightful night of pleasure, but from the peace that now ruled after what had been several months of difficulty.

  He shook his head, willed the unpleasant memory aside, and concentrated on his letter, unaware when Lizzy exited to the next-door nursery to place Michael into his cradle.

  Lizzy brushed over the wispy hair on Michael’s head and tucked the blanket tightly around his plump body. She knew she would tell Darcy about Wickham, just not tonight. It was not cowardice—well, not completely—but rather because she wanted and needed this time to focus solely on her husband.

  Lizzy was indeed fully conscious of her actions while nursing Michael. Last night’s lovemaking was wonderful as always, but somewhat perfunctory after days of forced abstinence due to preparations for their departure from Pemberley and residing at an inn while traveling. Tonight’s seduction was designed to evoke a response!

  The memories surrounding Netherfield were numerous, as she had said upon their arrival earlier yesterday. They dated to the beginning of their relationship and involved dozens of strange and incredible moments. She paused in her caress over Michael’s skin, smiling as she recalled one particularly erotic encounter that sparked her plans for tonight. She crossed to their chambers, halting only for a last minute pinch to her cheeks, to fluff her flowing waist-length hair, and to loosen the ties to her gossamer robe.

  “Are you almost finished with your letter?”

  Darcy jumped, not hearing her sneak behind him, and grasped the hand running inside the opening in his shirt. “Nearly. Give me a few minutes, please.”

  “Hmmm… In a few minutes I may be asleep. Then what would you do, Mr. Darcy?”

  “Wake you.”

  “How ungentlemanly! I am appalled.” She escaped his grasp, resuming her exploration of his chest, and poked the tip of her tongue into his ear.

  Darcy groaned, grabbed the searching hand tighter, and bent his head away from her lips. “Patently unfair! Seriously, love, please give me a few minutes. I really want to send this at first light.”

  “You do worry too much, dearest. Georgie will be here. She has probably decided to surprise you.” She stood, running her fingers through his hair and massaging his temples. “Richard will play the wounded soldier for you having so little faith in his capacity as protector, and the rest of us will have to endure his dramatics. Have you no mercy?”

  He laughed, clasping one hand and kissing her palm. “I am certain Richard will have far too many delightful stories to tell for overt dramatics. Now, leave me be for a bit and I promise I shall make it up to you.”

  “Very well.” She kissed the top of his head. “I shall be in there, alone, trying to stay awake.” She glided toward the bedchamber doorway, diaphanous robe billowing, and paused halfway to glance seductively over her shoulder. Darcy watched her, pen poised over the parchment. She held his gaze and proceeded to peel the robe off her shoulders, revealing one of Madame du Loire’s skimpy concoctions.

  “Ah, Lizzy! You vixen!”

  She laughed and sauntered into the bedroom with a toss of her hair.

  Less than fifteen minutes later he was there, warm hands stroking over her arms and moist lips nuzzling the bend of her neck. She stood by the window, gazing at the familiar landscape bathed in faint moonlight.

  “You are still awake.”

  “Waiting for my obsessive husband.”

  He chuckled, arms clasping hers around her slender waist and drawing fast onto the solid surface of his body. “Yes, indeed I am obsessive. Obsessively in love with and desirous of you. I abhor traveling if for no other reason than it is difficult to relax with you in an inn with our sons upset.”

  “Oh, you seemed comfortable enough with Michael asleep on your chest and Alexander curled between us.”

  “As much as I adore our babies I concede I would rather you be on my chest.” He ran two fingers under her strap, knuckles grazing over a fragile collarbone and then down to a swelling breast.

  Lizzy melted further onto his body. “I do believe, husband mine, that it was on my agenda to seduce you tonight.”

  “Hmmm… Is that so?” His mouth was now at the nape of her neck, the other hand stroking over a thigh. “How did you intend to go about your seduction? It really does not take all that much, you know.”

  “This is true, but I have discovered that driving you a wee bit insane does heighten the experience.”

  “I cannot argue that fact. Merely picturing you in this slip of satin”—his fingertips smoothed over the fabric covering her belly—“has kept me pleasantly distracted while attempting to compose a brotherly correspondence.”

  She sighed, loudly and theatrically. “Unfortunately, I have had to wait for so long that I think I am no longer in the mood.” She twisted from his embrace and strolled with a sway of her hips to the middle of the room.

  Darcy grinned, leaning against the wall with arms and feet crossed in a picture of blasé attitude. “What a pity. Is there anything I can do to restore your interest?”

  She tapped a finger against her lower lip as she studied him contemplatively. Then she shrugged, arms waving as if bored by the question although she managed to sweep through her hair and push her chest out. “Oh bother! I suppose you could remove your shirt. That may spark my enthusiasm. If you do it properly.”

  He lifted a brow. “Are there varying methods to removing a shirt?”

  “Oh, indeed, yes! I daresay if one performs adequately it can be quite stimulating. Have you not discovered this to be true, lover?”

  She leered—there was no other way to put it—and Darcy flushed. The truth is that even after three years of marriage and numerous seductive stripping dances on her part, always observed with tremendous enthusiasm, he still did not grasp that she experienced the same titillation from observing him disrobing. He had lost track of the number of times she joined him in his dressing room with that singular expression indicating passionate arousal. Samuel still blanched and scurried from the room. And how often she had lingered over each button and tie, unveiling him as she kissed and caressed until she was wild with need.

  That she esteemed his figure was obvious, and highly appreciated, but his humble nature shied from taking it to the next level. As she grew bolder in her attire and the flirtatious exposing of her flesh to his eyes, he quailed at the idea of such exhibitionism. However, the brightness in her eyes and lascivious smirk were encouraging, so he decided to do his best to please her.

  He started with the buttons, the top two already undone, feeling utterly ridiculous as she avidly watched.

  “Now, slowly pull the ends from your waistband.”

&
nbsp; His eyes widened in surprise at her command, realizing that she intended to talk him through it! He blushed deeper, but also felt a scorching surge of lust, especially as her gaze was no longer on his face, but clearly inventorying his person with rising ardor.

  “Take it off, Fitzwilliam, unhastily, while turning in a circle.”

  His face was scarlet but only partially from embarrassment. Heat was flowing through him, her vibrant voice and covetous stare enlivening.

  “Hmmm… I love the way your muscles flex as you move,” she whispered with a reflexive moan.

  She kept up the train of admiration and instruction, the removal of breeches never taking so long in his life. It was awkward, and he felt a bit the fool, but it was obvious by her deepened voice, panting breaths, and visible shivers that she was profusely pleased by his performance. By the time every bit of clothing was removed, he too was intensely aroused, much to his surprise.

  Then she floated toward him, hands lifting to airily brush over the hairs on his chest, and he thought he would burst into flames. She touched him everywhere, murmuring appreciatively over each feature, finally leaning into his back. With lips pressed between his shoulder blades, the level most comfortable for her to reach, and hands stroking intimately, she asked, “Are you adequately seduced, my love?”

  He growled in response and stilled her stimulating hands. “Are you adequately in the mood, sweet love?”

  “Come to bed and we shall see.”

  Quite some time later, the bed tousled and their bodies entangled and lying diagonally, Lizzy rose on one elbow to gaze at her gasping spouse. She kissed his chin, fingertips dipping into his navel. “You performed stupendously, my love.”

  “Yes,” he agreed with a smug leer, “I sense you are pleased.”

  Lizzy rubbed over the fingertip-sized pressure marks across his posterior shoulder blades. “Indeed I am satisfied, but I was not primarily referring to your prowess and ability to send me to the moon. I was talking about your impressive disrobing. I was not sure if you were up to the task. But considering the last time we were here and my excellent lesson in the art of seductive undressing, I trusted you had learned capably.”