The Trouble with Mr. Darcy

by Sharon Lathan

  “Yes!” Orman whispered, closing his eyes in bliss.

  “Well, it seems as if you have attained rapture in the way that best pleases you, my friend. I, on the other hand, as much as I shall derive gratification at Darcy’s downfall, need release in a more fundamental way.” He glanced to the barmaid, who met his gaze with frank provocation.

  “Does your wife not satisfy you adequately?” There was no judgment in the question, but a strong undertone of loathing and jealousy.

  Wickham laughed gaily, draining his mug in one large gulp. “Let us just say I do not keep Lydia around for her cooking skills. But that fact in no way prevents a real man from tasting elsewhere. Diversity is true living, my friend. Now, go back to your lodge and stay out of sight. I found a chemist with no scruples and have a delivery coming tomorrow. Between that and a well-stocked wine cellar you are comfortably provided for, my lord Marquis. I will contact you in London.” He stood and bent close to Orman, smothering his repugnance behind a cheery façade. “I am off to slake my other thirst. Be at peace. We will win this time and be vindicated, I promise you that.”

  Then he pivoted away and sauntered toward the maid, who deftly caught the coin Wickham tossed her direction.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  The Plot Thickens

  A beaming Alexander proudly gifted his father with the slimy amphibian clutched in his tiny hands, rushing forward as Darcy knelt and showed the appropriate enthusiasm in his son’s acquisition. He listened attentively to the tale of how the boy had chased the toad into the reeds and toppled into the river during the hunt. The fact that he was wet with muddy smeared cheeks and grass clinging to his damp curls mattered not. Darcy hugged him, praised his bravery, declared the toad by far the most amazing toad in all of England, and immediately set to the task of providing a temporary home for the pet, after Lizzy replaced the wet gown for a dry one.

  A wooden barrel was found in a shed by a baffled groundsman. The Netherfield cook grudgingly gave an old pie pan for a pool after stating firmly that she did not want it returned. Together father and son searched for the best rocks, grasses, and leaves.

  “Toss the grass over there, Son. That’s it. Now he has a nice bed to lie on if he wishes.” Darcy arranged three large stones to form a type of shelter for the impressive sized toad who squatted on a large, flat rock. Darcy crouched next to the barrel with Alexander standing beside as he taught about toads.

  “He will probably stay on the rock, or burrow into the grass or under the rocks, but he might go into the water too. However, toads, unlike frogs, prefer to be dry. He probably was not all that pleased when you fell into the water.” He laughed, kissing Alexander’s cheek. “They are nocturnal animals which mean they are most active at night.”

  “Like bats, Papa?”

  “Very good! Yes, just like the bats we have near Pemberley. So smart you are, my sweet.” He ruffled the dried curls, face flooded with paternal pride. “Remember how we watched them that one night? Flying through the trees?”

  Alexander nodded. “Mama so mad.”

  “Yes, a little bit only. It was past your bedtime and she worries. That is what mothers do. But it was fun, was it not?”

  Alexander nodded again, glancing upward with a smile for his father before turning his attention back to the placid toad. “He sick, Papa?”

  “No. He is fine. Toads do not really do much, Son. They sit around most of the time and eat bugs.” Alexander grimaced. “Spiders and worms too. Give him one of those fat earthworms Mr. Hale brought us.”

  Alexander dutifully took a wiggling worm from the jar given them by Mr. Hale, one of the stablemen who was also an avid fisherman. He plopped the juicy specimen right before the toad’s nose, but the bulbous eyes never blinked. “He not hungry now,” the toddler declared authoritatively.

  “Perhaps he will eat it later. Fear not, Son, he looks to be fat and healthy.” He reached one finger to smooth over the bumpy skin. “Feel how soft he is, Alexander? The warts over his skin will not hurt you, although some types of toads can be mildly poisonous. See these ridges here behind his eyes?” Alexander nodded, one tiny finger rubbing over the mentioned spot. “They are glands that secrete a poison so that predators will leave the toad alone and not try to eat him.”

  “Poor froggy. No one eat you now.”

  “No, he is safe enough here. And he is not a frog, my sweet, but a toad. Someday you will know the difference.”

  “I keep him forever, Papa? Please?”

  “I am sorry, Son, but no. He must be returned to his home tomorrow.” Alexander’s eyes welled with tears, lower lip pouting and quivering. Darcy hugged him to his side, and then pulled him onto his knee and kissed the crown of his head. “Do not be sad. He needs to be where he is happy. He probably has a family who needs him, maybe parents of his own. You would not want to be away from your home, away from your mother and me, would you?” Alexander shook his head emphatically. “Well, neither does he. Tomorrow, after Aunt Kitty’s wedding, we will take him back to the riverbank where you found him. You will have time to play with him before we have to say good-bye. All right?” The toddler sniffed but nodded.

  “Let’s say good night to your little pet. I better get you up to nanny and your bath before we both get into trouble. Before bed I will read you the Grimm Brothers’ tale of a frog prince and the story of the frog plague from the Bible. How is that?”

  He nodded again and said good night to the toad, wishing him sweet dreams. Darcy smiled and chose not to remind him what “nocturnal” meant. Alexander gave one last gentle pet to the amphibian, which chose that moment to extend his sticky tongue and snatch the worm before it slithered out of reach, yanking it into his mouth in one neat movement.

  Alexander squealed in delight, eyes shining up at Darcy. “See that, Papa?”

  “Yes, I did. Now you will not have to worry if he is hungry. Give him a few more worms for the night, Son. Very good. Now, to your bath! You smell like a fishy, muddy boy! If I were a big fish I would think you dinner! Yum!” He slung the giggling, squirming two-year-old over his shoulder, playfully placing nibbles along his chubby arms and waist while making yummy sounds all the way into the house.

  Most of the Netherfield residents had gone to Lucas Lodge for a dinner party that evening, leaving only the Darcys and Daniels to dine in solitude since both young mothers needed to remain close to their babies. Darcy sensed Lizzy’s distraction even when rhapsodizing over Alexander’s toad and when she requested retiring early, pleading a headache, he knew all was not well. He was disturbed but refused to leap to false conclusions and trusted that once the children were asleep she would share whatever was troubling her.

  Lizzy reclined on the chaise with Michael at her breast. She wore her usual dreamy expression as she gazed into her baby’s face, fingertips caressing over the velvety skin and minute knuckles of his clenched hand. Comfortable in his privacy attire of only trousers and loosened shirt, Darcy sat cross-legged on the floor with Alexander. The youngster was scrubbed clean, smelling of sweet castile soap and fire warmed towels, dressed in a crisp white sleeping gown and stockings. Several errant curls fell over his forehead and into the intent blue eyes that were focused on the assortment of brightly colored marbles arranged before their knees.

  In one of his many forays into the dusty attic storage spaces at Pemberley, Darcy had discovered his old collection of marbles. Most of his childhood marbles were of clay or stone, but he and Alexander had since added a number of colorful glass specimens to the mix. Whenever they ventured near a shopping district they searched for marbles. It was a quest, with Darcy seeking used spheres with a history or made of rare materials while Alexander was instantly drawn to the bins of multihued, shiny glass marbles.

  Darcy did not yet teach any rules of actual marble play, instead keeping it a simple matter of knocking one marble into another for the fun of making them roll about the large wooden board he had constructed expressly for the game. However, Darcy was learning th
at his son had inherited his competitive and exacting nature. Alexander would clap with joy when he managed to hit another ball hard enough to cause it to tumble over the flat surface’s edge, but most of the time his face was screwed up in deep concentration, the tip of his tongue in the corner of his mouth and brows furrowed as his tiny fingers attempted to aim and launch the marble with the proper technique as learned from his father. Darcy loved that his son studied his actions and mimicked his facial expressions and gestures, but it also made him aware of the reflexive mannerisms Lizzy had been teasing him about for years now!

  “Excellent shot, Alexander! Right off the board. Well done! I think you are beating me tonight.” He ruffled his son’s hair, Alexander beaming with pride. He reached his small body across the board to retrieve the stray marble, one knee nudging the corner and setting the marbles to rolling crazily.

  “Oh! Sorry, Papa.”

  But Darcy was laughing as his large hands spread to prevent the marbles escaping too far while stabilizing the board. “No problem, sweetling. They needed to be rearranged anyway. In fact, here is a new game, let’s jiggle the board and see how many we can keep from falling off.” His broad grin was met by a smaller identical one and with laughter they set to their new game. Alexander’s enthusiasm for the new game brought him to his feet, marbles flying everywhere, and he launched bodily into his father’s arms.

  Darcy was prepared and caught the soft projectile but feigned surprise and weakness by falling onto his back with a loud, “Oof! You are so strong, my son! Knocked me right over!”

  It was a familiar type of play, Darcy instantly continuing the game by lifting the boy high into the air with sturdy broad hands spanning the tiny chest. Alexander stiffened, extended his arms perpendicular, and locked his knees.

  “Flap your wings! That’s it. What bird do you wish to be today? Hawk? A fearless eagle?”

  “Falcon, Papa. A pergin like Mr. Holmes has.”

  “Excellent choice. Then hold your arms still, soar and glide.” He swung his arms, side to side and up and down, Alexander smiling and laughing. “No laughing! Be fierce! Raptors frighten their prey and terrify with a piercing gaze. Show me your peregrine scream, Son. Outstanding! If I were a mouse I would be petrified.”

  Alexander set his face, attempting to be scary, but it was difficult especially as Darcy kept tilting him downward and bestowing glancing kisses to his face.

  “Papa, no! I am hunting. Must be brave. Am I a brave boy?”

  “The bravest boy who ever lived. Indeed you are. You killed the ugly spider that scared nanny last week. Remember? So very brave.”

  “I told the man I was a brave boy. Not ascared of ducks like Michael.”

  “What man?”

  “The man on the horse. Mama not like him.” He frowned but then the smile returned. “He say ducks lay eggs in the bushes! I can hunt like brave fox too.”

  “Yes, of course you can,” Darcy murmured. He glanced to his wife where she sat curled on the sofa with eyes closed and cheek resting on Michael’s head. The baby was asleep, cuddled against her upper chest. Her face was calm, but without the usual expression of blissful serenity that she typically wore in these moments of maternal relaxation. Darcy’s earlier intuition that something was not quite right with his wife came back in a rush as Alexander’s innocent remark sent cold shivers up his spine. “The man on the horse” could be anyone considering they were in Lizzy’s childhood home, but Darcy knew who it was.

  He pulled Alexander to his chest, the toddler protesting for a second before nestling into the warm security of his father’s wide torso and embracing arms. His thumb instinctively entered his mouth.

  “You are a brave lad indeed, but also sweet and loving and so precious. My son!” Darcy whispered fiercely, hands caressing firmly over the tender flesh that comprised his firstborn and heir. “I love you with all my heart, Alexander.”

  “I lub you too, Papa,” he mumbled around his thumb.

  Darcy closed his eyes so that other senses would dominate. He felt Alexander’s fast beating heart, the heat from the tiny body, the muscles tough but pliantly melting onto his torso, and the steady and deep respirations that tickled his neck. He relished the sensation of Alexander’s jaw movements against his left shoulder with each rhythmic suck on the thumb and the plump fingers that stroked the hair by his ear and the linen of his shirt. The springy curls tickled Darcy’s nose pleasantly with each breath, the incredible silkiness comforting as he placed gentle kisses onto the youngster’s head. The hardy two-year-old was so vibrant and alive, his energy nearly inexhaustible and health superb. His presence in their lives was a constant fount of joy and Darcy loved him with a love that was different than what he felt for Elizabeth, but no less powerful.

  He squeezed him tightly, Alexander wiggling and giggling. “Papa! Squeezing my air out!”

  Darcy gave another noisy kiss before loosening his grip. Alexander lifted, bright blue eyes meeting his father’s worshipful gaze just inches away. “Time for sleep, Son. Tomorrow is an important day for Aunt Kitty and you must again wear your suit.” Darcy smiled at the frown that fact elicited. “It shan’t be too horrible. And remember, you and your cousin Deborah get to spread flowers. Will that not be fun?” Alexander nodded, although his expression was one of dubiousness. “Now, kiss?” Alexander brightened, inclining to the pursed lips and giving a firm kiss accompanied by a loud, playful mwah.

  Darcy launched upward abruptly. Alexander shrieked in delight, the noise and movement alerting Lizzy that her two favorite men approached.

  “Bedtime for sleepy boys,” Darcy said with a smile, placing Alexander on the ground. “Is Michael satiated?”

  “Utterly stuffed to the brim. He has already burped and regurgitated the standard amount, so your shirt should be safe.”

  He leaned over to take the baby and paused to cup Lizzy’s cheek with his palm, concern in his voice and expression. “Are you well, beloved?”

  Lizzy pressed his hand against her face and then turned to kiss his wrist. “I am fine, dearest. Just tired mostly, but we need to talk when you return.”

  “Very well. I shall be swift. Come to papa, sweetheart boy. There’s my littlest lamb. No, no, stay asleep.”

  “Story first, yes, Papa?”

  “I promised and have the book right over there, Alexander.” He pointed. “Grab it on the way out. We will use your Bible for the story of Moses.” He turned to his wife, smiling crookedly. “Tales of the Frog Prince and frog plagues.”

  “Ah! Of course.”

  ***

  Lizzy sat on the edge of the bed brushing her waist-length hair when Darcy returned. Wordlessly he sat behind her while she relinquished the beautiful walnut-handled boar bristle brush gifted to her the past Christmas by him. The mother-of-pearl inlay brush given to her on their wedding night by her new husband had lost too many bristles to be functional, but was tucked into her traveling trunk to be repaired once they reached London. Darcy had provided his wife with several fine brushes since then with no intention of halting the ritual of brushing her lustrous hair. His love for her hair was birthed on that long ago day at Netherfield when she arrived after a three-mile walk to nurse an ill Jane. Her hair had tumbled freely down her back, vivacious and wild, framing her rosy face in a way that was altogether unique. It captured his soul then and the effect brushing her hair had upon him, both arousing and soothing, had not diminished over time.

  He clasped the wavy tresses in one hand and passed the stiff bristles through with the other, the sensations flowing through him. Her hair crackled with life, a few individual strands rising as if prepared to fly away while the bulk fell heavily onto his palms, all of them glistening like liquid chocolate with multiple hues of brown. The subtle fragrance of lavender reached his nostrils and he bent to inhale deeply from the mass located at the nape of her neck and bestowed a lingering kiss to the sensitive skin before resuming the task.

  “Is your headache entirely gone?”

&n
bsp; “Just a twinge in the temples. Nothing significant. It has been warm here compared to home. I think it took my body by surprise.” Her right hand caressed over the muscled thigh pressed into hers, eyes closed while he brushed and massaged her left temple with firm fingertips.

  Silence descended for some minutes with neither wishing to disturb the intimate experience. Finally Darcy broke the quiet, his voice a resonant whisper. “I doubt it the sun that caused your headache. Tell me what distressed you, love. Who was the man on the horse? Wickham?”

  She gasped, stiffening in surprise. “How did you…?”

  “Alexander. He mentioned a man you did not like who told him he was brave. And something about ducks and eggs. Not sure about that part.” He smiled, trying desperately to internalize his anger and fear. “What did he say to trouble you so?”

  Lizzy turned, took the brush from his hand, and dropped it forgotten onto the floor before grasping his warm hands within her own. “Fitzwilliam, please, I beg of you, can we talk about it later? I promise I shall tell all and I assure you it was nothing of any great significance. But right now I ache for you to just hold me and make love to me. I need to feel your protective strength and devotion surrounding me.”

  She leaned in to initiate feathering kisses over the exposed surfaces of his neck and breastbone, hands seeking more flesh as she gradually peeled the linen away from his chest.

  There was something indefinable in her eyes and the tone of her plea that disturbed him tremendously. He knew her thoroughly and her dismay went beyond what seemed likely from an encounter with Wickham, no matter how rude he may have been. Vulnerability or weakness was rarely seen in his strong wife, so he briefly contemplated staying her sensual assault to question her distress. However, her skilled touch was already causing his ardor to rise, and furthermore, he intuitively understood that she needed the special consoling and security that came from their bonding as one.