Sharon Lathan - In the Arms of Mr. Darcy

“So, did they catch the villain? He is not still running loose, is he?” Her voice unconsciously raised an octave, eyes wide with fright.

Darcy draped her with one arm and a leg, drawing her closer and kissing her forehead before tucking under his chin. “We caught him. A young man just eighteen on a pleasure tour with his brother. Fancied himself in love with Miss Hazeldon and thought she returned his affection, and…”

He fell silent, trembles and pounding heart felt by Lizzy. He did not speak for several minutes, and when he did, his voice was agonized. “I thought of Georgiana, Elizabeth. I have never seen anything quite this horrible, but I know what unscrupulous men are capable of, what they believe is their right, what is somehow owed them as the natural conclusion to a flirtation and roused desire. How some regard women as property and worthy of only what pleasure can be taken from them, forcefully or willingly it matters naught. Wickham was such a person, as I knew so well. When I arrived at Ramsgate, unexpectedly discovering his plot, my greatest fear was that he had violated Georgie. I knew it to be a real possibility. Praise God, I was in time, as I am absolutely convinced he would have taken her virtue either to secure her or wound me without the slightest consideration to her fragility or sensibilities. Yet never did it occur to me that she could have died. Some say rape is a fate worse then death. As a man I cannot judge whether this is true or not, but I believe I am sensitive enough to fathom the horror of it. However, nothing could be worse then what happened in Belper,” he finished in a bare whisper.

“You were correct to scold me for being foolhardy,” he continued, “for forgetting my responsibilities to you and my family. I will not forget it again. My place is here, protecting you and our son, and all the others dependent on me. I cannot allow myself to brainlessly or selfishly bring harm to my person because I must be diligent in my duties! I will not fail you, Elizabeth.”

“I know—”

“I promise to safeguard you, my wife, and you must promise to be wise, wary, sensible, and aware. Elizabeth, I cannot survive without you. I know this to be true as a mere five days drives me insane!”

Darcy trailed his fingers and lips airily over her face. Exhaustion washed over him in waves as the final vestiges of the tragedies were illuminated and scattered. He ached deep into his bones with sleep clawing at the edges of his consciousness, yet he could not halt hands and mouth which urgently required the final cathartic sensation of touching his wife’s vibrant flesh.

Lizzy, by the same token, experienced a similar abrupt weariness of heart and body. Her husband’s troubles had shaken her, and she felt his sorrow. Yet, with each unifying act of lovemaking, with each cleansing conversation, and with each current kiss and caress, she knew he was healed. Although weary, her heart nonetheless leapt for joy in the knowledge that their unique bond had worked another miracle.

Considering the expended energy and emotions of the evening thus far, it was a marvel that either would respond sensually. Then again, never could Darcy touch his wife without desiring to arouse her. He was well down the luscious curves of her body before fully comprehending her rising ardor, the lush swell of her breasts his personal undoing.

“I love you immeasurably, Elizabeth,” he whispered between tender licks and kisses, fingering through the tousled curls cascading wildly over their pillows. “Always and for all eternity you are mine. Only mine.”

Darcy was quite certain he could fall asleep in seconds and not budge for hours, but the titillation of his wife was irresistible. While his increasingly foggy brain fought succumbing to the oblivion of sleep, his potent manliness responded to her enchantment and touch.

Lizzy took charge. Rolling him onto his back, she rapidly straddled his hips. Darcy groaned weakly, hands slack on her thighs, misty eyes shining with profound contentment at the electrifying feel of her surrounding him and the captivating vision of her feminine figure with luxuriant tresses tumbling rising above him.

“I love you eternally, Fitzwilliam. Only for you, my life and breath. Always and forever, you are mine.”

It did not take long. A few minutes of tender motions and he yielded to the comforting surge of pleasure procured only with her. His satiated, stuporous brain was only vaguely aware of her moving away afterwards to add a log to the fire. He opened his eyes briefly, ponderously scooting closer to Alexander and laying one broad hand onto the baby’s back before falling into a daze. A brief rush of air over his back was quickly supplanted by the radiant warmth of Elizabeth nuzzling between his shoulder blades. Her arm snaked over his waist and her breath soothingly wafted across the nape of his neck.

“Good night, my darling. Sleep well.” A tender kiss planted at the top of his spine was his last memory. His final thought was a reciprocated wish for refreshing sleep, but the sentiment would remain unspoken as consuming, blissful, therapeutic, and revitalizing sleep overwhelmed. 

Alexander had not received any Christmas gifts per se. All the gifts addressed to the young master which began arriving some three weeks after his birth were set aside to be opened nearer to his christening. Lizzy was stunned by the barrage of packages delivered by Royal Mail or servants or the hands of the gifter. Once again she was struck by the prestige and eminence of her husband as Master of Pemberley; the full scope of what that title portended was signified by the wealth of accolades and blessings pouring in.

The red velvet drape once encumbered with wrapped holiday presents was now equally laden with gilded and sparkling packages of all sizes from all over England. A number had arrived with the Bennets from the relatives and friends of Lizzy. A package containing three wrapped gifts was sent from Darcy’s family in Devon. There were parcels from Lady Catherine, Anne and Raul, and the Collinses, all delivered together while Darcy was away. They had received an abundance of written congratulations with a smattering of small gifts from friends and associates in London and elsewhere. No word yet from Austria, but the birth announcement had likely barely been conveyed. Other more modestly wrapped presents mysteriously appeared at all hours of the day and were clearly from the staff. The biggest surprise was a complete layette of quality Irish linen dyed a brilliant sky blue from Darcy’s Uncle Phillip and his family.

Opening the surfeit of gifts became part of the evening’s entertainment for the three nights following Darcy’s return from Derby. The bulk of offerings consisted of knitted blankets and quilts; cotton, wool, and linen baby dresses in every color of the rainbow with matching bonnets; an adorable collection of toddler boy outfits with small trousers, ruffled shirts, and tiny jackets; several rattles and teething rings; a profusion of bibs in all sizes; and a dozen satin pillows.

“I will need to change his clothing three times a day for the next six months to wear all these dresses,” Lizzy exclaimed. She held up a lovely gown of faded pink with white ribbons crisscrossed down the front and along the hemline, a gift from Jonathan and Priscilla Fitzwilliam.

“I am surprised you are not weeping at all the time wasted sewing gowns yourself, considering how you detest such activity.” It was Jane, teasing from where she sat beside her sister, refolding and repacking the individual presents to be put away later.

Darcy hid a smile in the rim of his teacup. He stood across the room, ostensibly watching the unwrapping, although in truth the procedure was becoming a bit boring. Not that he would confess this to his wife or any of the other women in the room, who seemed to be inexhaustible in their enchantment over each item, many of which looked identical as far as he was concerned. All the other men had pretended attentiveness for thirty minutes maximum before meandering to far corners. Darcy maintained his vigil from a purposefully selected locale near enough to partake in the festivities when necessary, but also converse covertly with Bingley and Colonel Fitzwilliam. For two nights he had diligently observed the unmasking with a mixture of the extreme pleasure experienced with anything regarding his son and an ennui that he vaguely felt guilty about, but could not control. Tonight, thankfully, they had finally worked methodically through the gifts from business associates, friends, staff, and distant relatives to the ones presented by close family and friends.

“I cannot argue with the truth of that statement, Jane.” Lizzy responded to her jest while looking to her husband’s glittering eyes with a faint shake of her head. Darcy merely raised one brow.

“Mrs. Darcy, this is from me. You saw the beginning pattern and have been gifted an array of quilts, but I do hope you will like it.”

“Thank you, Miss Bingley! I am sure we will love it. And have no fear, as cold as it is here in Derbyshire, I am sure we will have great need of blankets and quilts aplenty. Jane has already informed me of the beauty of your creation, and I see she was not exaggerating. Look William! Oh, Miss Bingley, it is truly incredible.”

Darcy drew near in honest awe. The quilt in question was magnificent: a collage of poplin pieces in varying degrees of brightness exceptionally woven into a Crown of Thorns pattern. The entire quilt was a bit larger than a true infant-sized blanket, which was a bonus.