“We’ll be unhappy to see you depart, Richard.” She placed her hand gently on his arm. “William has so enjoyed having you here, as have Georgiana and I.” Richard smiled and kissed her hand, then kept hold of it as he settled in next to her.

“Elizabeth, please see if you can persuade Darcy to end this strife with Aunt Catherine.” She seemed surprised at the intensity of his request.

“Truthfully, Richard”—Lizzy’s free hand gripped her shawl a bit closer and she looked down—“I am ashamed to admit how hesitant I am to reinstate their relationship, even if I could. I care little what she thinks of me, but she deeply hurt my husband, and that I find very hard to understand, let alone forgive.” She squeezed Fitzwilliam’s hand and smiled kindly. “However, I am truly very sorry that she was so ill.”

Fitzwilliam turned to look unseeing at the far horizon, at a loss as to how much he should confide, not knowing how many of the family secrets Darcy had as yet revealed to her. He leaned closer, touching his shoulder to hers, bending his head to speak in confidence. “I know she hurt you both, but perhaps you don’t know their history together, hers and Darcy’s.”

Elizabeth slowly put her book aside and turned toward him. “No, he has never told me anything, but I know his feelings run deeply for her.”

Sighing, Fitzwilliam rubbed hard at the back of his neck. “Well, where to begin? Were you at all aware that Catherine and George Darcy were very near to becoming betrothed? I thought not. It’s quite true, though. They were seriously in love from what I have been told. This is all wild family gossip, you understand, unsubstantiated and strictly confidential.”

Stunned beyond belief, Elizabeth could not speak for a moment. “I had no idea! What caused him to ask for her sister Anne’s hand instead?”

“Lord Louis de Bourgh was the cause, and Aunt Catherine’s pursuit of a title. At any event, that is what my father always believed. It was Catherine who put pin to their betrothal—she ran off with Lord Louis, figuratively speaking, and married him. Darcy’s father was devastated, brooded for several years. However, he was also very young, very handsome, and very healthy. Eventually he noticed Anne Fitzwilliam, Catherine’s baby sister, a child he had teased and laughed at for years. Well, the child had grown into an even more beautiful woman than Catherine. It was a happy day for them both when he turned to her for comfort. In any event, they soon developed a true love match and married.

“However, my father always believed Uncle George never fully forgave Aunt Catherine, though to his credit, he did not attempt to keep the two sisters apart. The women were famously close, supported each other through joys and sorrows; both had suffered several miscarriages before their firstborns. My father swore Darcy’s feet never touched the ground for his first four years, between Anne and Catherine. After his mother’s death when he was twelve, he was very often with Aunt Catherine—much more than I ever was.”

Elizabeth was speechless.

“Whatever Darcy may say to you now, it was Catherine who consoled him, took him into her home and comforted him when his mother died—after all, she shared his tremendous grief at Aunt Anne’s passing. Darcy remained at Rosings for several months while his father dealt with his overwhelming grief and his new baby daughter. Poor Darcy refused to be in the same room with Georgiana at first. It was Catherine who reassured him and told him that his mother had given her life for the babe, making Georgiana the most precious thing in the world. Obviously, Darcy, being the excellent man he is, soon cast himself as his sister’s protector and loved her unquestioningly, above everything else.”

Elizabeth rose to pace the garden. “My goodness, Fitzwilliam, she could have been his mother if she hadn’t chosen title over love”

Fitzwilliam nodded. “Please don’t let Darcy know that I have told you all this; however, I wanted you to be aware that there is a special history between the two of them, and both are hurting. If something should happen to Aunt Catherine, it will dearly affect Darcy.”

***

It was later, alone with her thoughts, that Elizabeth realized the full impact of what she had learned. No wonder William had been so unnerved by the news of Lady Catherine’s illness. She immediately felt she should do something or say something to him, but Fitzwilliam had sworn her to secrecy. She vowed to herself that she would think of something, some opportunity of repairing the rift between the two.

Chapter 6

It was soon after Fitzwilliam’s departure, only a few days, while preparing for bed that Elizabeth mused again about Catherine—one of the few people who had ever taken a great dislike to her. It was human nature to want to be thought well of, and the notion that someone harbored such a disgust of her was unsettling. She could not think of another soul who had turned against her in that way, looking upon her with jealousy and hatred in their heart.

But wait. She was seated before her mirror, hairbrush in use. Wasn’t there was another person who had taken an instant aversion to me, and on as grand a scale as Catherine? The name itself sent shivers of resentment down Elizabeth’s spine.

Caroline Bingley.

Her hairbrush paused for just a moment. I haven’t thought of that harridan in months. She smiled to herself, embarrassed by the sheer depth of her own dislike. Caroline Bingley had been vicious and cruel when they first met, deliberately hurting not only Elizabeth but also inadvertently hurting the sweet Georgiana. Since her sister Jane’s marriage to Caroline’s brother, Charles, an uncertain truce had been called.

Jane had written her of Caroline’s newest affaire de coeur, a titled gentleman once again, a viscount and friend of both Charles’s and their sister, Mrs. Hurst. It was hoped by all that this time, Caroline had finally found happiness. Caroline Bingley and Lady Catherine. Two women she had known in her life who absolutely detested her. She absentmindedly braided her hair as she pondered.

Why? What could I have possibly done to either that they hate me so? The only common thread Elizabeth could imagine was Darcy. Yes, it had to be Darcy. Unthinkingly, she undid her braid once again, ran her fingers through the long tresses to unwind them, and began to brush. What was the main reason that caused women to hate other women?

Jealousy.

Elizabeth stopped her hairbrush in midstroke. They both loved Darcy. In different ways, of course, but the intensity of their love for Darcy had turned them both against the one person whom they perceived had taken him from them. Jealousy.

Caroline was in love with Darcy. Oh! Good heavens, Elizabeth. Only took you a year and a half to figure this one out—so much for your quick mind. I must ask him about this. I wonder if he knew how much Caroline may have loved him. Lizzy wrinkled up her nose in revulsion while a surprisingly belligerent-looking female stared back at her from the mirror. One eyebrow arched. Upon further reflection, perhaps it would be unwise to remind him. If he did know, it would only bring back those memories. If he did not know, it could cause him to think of what might have been. No, no, no, that’s ridiculous. I’m surely more secure than that.

***

She entered their bedroom to see her husband at the windows, staring pensively out over one of Pemberley’s beautiful small lakes, brooding thoughts apparently taking him a dozen miles away. There was a troubled look on his face that cleared immediately upon seeing her. “There you are, little one. Did you know I was watching you brush your hair for quite a while? You were so lost in your thoughts you braided and unbraided your hair twice.” Wearily, he rubbed his hand across his eyes as he walked toward her. “Have a care, Lizzy, you’ll be bald within the year, brushing with that much ferocity.”

He came to a stop before her, a contented smile on his face as his eyes swept lovingly over her. It was a pleasant surprise to him how her young woman’s body was already changing subtly with her expectancy—her delicate breasts beginning to swell, her slim hips becoming rounder. “How are we feeling? Has the child moved yet?” He pulled her into his arms, wrapping them protectively about her as he hugged her close.

She nuzzled into his chest. “Heavens no, we’re not even two months into this. I shouldn’t even have begun to show yet—or have I?” Like a purring cat, she rubbed her cheek against the exposed part of his open shirt and kissed his skin, the smell and warmth of it always arousing. “Do I look heavier?” Although she was laughing, she appeared nervous, vulnerable.

“No, of course not. You look beautiful, incandescent. You are Mother Earth.” He gave her bottom an affectionate pat as they walked toward the bed. Lizzy’s side had already been turned down, the counterpane folded neatly across the foot. She climbed in, and he tenderly covered her, then he blew out the candle on her nightstand.

“William…” she began as she held up his side of the comforter, smiling sweetly at him as he climbed in.

“Yeeessss, Mrs. Darcy…” He drew her body to him, kissing her soft, white neck, his hand moving sensuously down her side and around to cup that darling little bottom he loved so. Deeply inhaling the sweet powder scent at the swell of her breasts, he tugged the tiny bow of her nightgown open with his teeth.