Sharon Lathan - In the Arms of Mr. Darcy

Lizzy chuckled, smoothing the blanket tight over his body. “Most likely that is true. I know I am exhausted by the day’s events so can commiserate.” She leaned onto her husband’s arm, yawning hugely. “I can hardly keep my eyes open! One of these days I am going to fall asleep while rocking him and he will tumble to the floor, I just know it! Perhaps this comfortable chair was not such a wise idea.”

Darcy laughed, rising and extending a hand. “I have no fear that you will ever drop our son. Come, dearest, there is one last ritual we must attend before I can tuck you both into bed. Grab that candelabrum.”

Lizzy raised a quizzical brow, but he merely smiled and wiggled his fingers, so she took the proffered hand and lit candelabrum without a word. Darcy led out of the warm chambers into the chill of the hall. As always, spaced lamps were lit so safe navigation was not an issue. Unerringly, he led them down the staircase, along the silent second floor hallways to the Grand Staircase, and down again to the massive foyer.

Slippered and bare feet made no sound on the marble expanse as they crossed to the blue tapestry. Darcy pointed, voice hushed but throbbing with emotion, “Look there.”

“Oh!” Lizzy covered her mouth as tears sprung.

Darcy cautiously readjusted the inert body of his son until he was facing the woolen veiled wall and stepped closer. “Alexander Darcy, our son. There you are, my wee love, forever a part of a noble heritage,” he whispered, fingertip tracing the embroidered rendering of Alexander’s name and birth date. Lizzy’s fingertip followed, tears freely spilling down her cheeks but chin lifted with immeasurable pride.

They stood for several minutes, Alexander sleeping on and unaware of the importance. Darcy, like his uncle and every Darcy child before, had spent hours examining these tapestries, often considering them the bane of his existence. Only with maturity did the true significance of family and ancestry dawn. He chuckled now in remembrance, Lizzy glancing into his amused visage.

“What is so funny?”

“Currently, Alexander is innocently indifferent to the history unfolding here, and in years to come, he will grow to hate the convoluted connections and bizarre names. I can assure you from personal experience that it will probably not be until he stands here with his wife and child years hence that he will fully appreciate what is revealed on these walls.”

“Perhaps. Nonetheless, it is a wonderful accomplishment and we can be proud for him.”

Darcy nodded. Lizzy sat the candelabrum on the floor and encircled her spouse’s waist, snuggling securely into his warmth and sturdiness as his free arm drew her tight. For a long while they remained gazing in silence until the cold of winter seeped into even Darcy’s bones, only then retiring to their warm bedchamber.

“Hold still, crazy little man, or soap will fly into your eyes! He is nearly outgrowing this tub. I believe more water ends up sloshed onto the floor than left in the basin.” Darcy said as he handed his wife a soft bristled brush, returning to his seat well away from the splash zone.

Lizzy attacked Alexander’s hair with a chuckle. “Indeed. I have come to consider the wisdom of simply taking him into the tub with me, since I end up practically soaked as it is. Be still, my sweet, or you will get soap in your eyes as Papa predicted. Ah, thank you, Mrs. Hanford.”

Bathing the rambunctious infant was rapidly becoming a three-person job. Alexander loved the water, limbs thrashing in delight throughout, but more than once, Lizzy had lost her slippery grip only to have Alexander slide under the surface. Alexander did not seem to mind these mishaps and the fine castile soap was mild so he was unfazed.

The towel-covered stone tiles immediately before the nursery’s Franklin style wood stove were nearly saturated by the time Darcy stepped in with warm, dry towels.

“Was that not tremendous fun, my lamb? How clean you are! You smell sweet enough to eat even without the coconut oil slathered onto your skin.”

Afternoon playtime continued, Darcy thrilled to be a part of it. Too often he was tied up with work or entertaining, not able to leave and assist Lizzy with the bathing procedure. As with all afternoon bath times, this one ended with the babe at his mother’s breast. Darcy sat beside Lizzy, gently caressing wife and son while joyously observing a healthy appetite illustrated.

“I thought we could bring him downstairs tomorrow since it shall just be the six of us. Your father has had scant time alone with his grandson,” he said in a hushed voice.

“How thoughtful of you! He will be thrilled. I know he is saddened at the reality of their visit soon coming to an end. Of course it eases the separation, knowing that we will be traveling south next month.” She sighed, leaning her head onto Darcy’s shoulder. “I confess I am looking forward to the respite. Peace and quiet sounds blissful right about now. Even tomorrow evening is an anticipatory caesura from the hectic environment of late.”

“You are not the least bit grieved to miss the Masque?”

“No. Oh, I would adore dancing with the handsomest man at the assembly, naturally. You, you understand?” She glanced up at his face with a playful lilt to her lips, Darcy merely smiling. “Yet all matters considered, I would much rather have you all to myself here, with Alexander. Besides, all the dancing over the past several days has quite exhausted me! I judge I can happily eschew the activity until the spring.”

“What a pity,” he whispered into her hair. “I was planning to ask for your favor once Alexander completed his meal. Hopes dashed once again!”

“Do not be so hasty, sir! A properly extended dance request from a worthy gentleman is rarely refused by an interested lady, no matter how weary she may be of the pursuit.”

“So the challenge is for me to couch my appeal in flowery prose? Hmmm… Not quite sure I am up to the test.”

“My soul weeps at the discovery of your pessimism, Mr. Darcy. I thought you brave and wholly stalwart, willing and able to face a contest head on. How disappointing.”

He chuckled and then fell silent, kissing the crown of her head. Eventually Alexander was satiated, mouth slack with sticky drool inevitably staining his father’s shoulder. From that point on, it was a simple matter of nestling him onto his round abdomen and tucking the blanket.

“Here, let me take care of that so Samuel will not scold you yet again.” Lizzy approached with a wet cloth, attacking the milk spot with vigor while shaking her head. “Why do you not place the cloth over your shirt?”

“I cannot feel him as well then. It is a small price to pay for the sensation of his pliant warmth and breathing. Actually, I should just remove the shirt as I prefer his skin touching mine, but do not think it wise to appear so with Mrs. Hanford nearby.” He chuckled, as did Lizzy still busily blotting the sullied linen. “Besides, Samuel has given up scolding, merely glaring and frowning with pursed lips.”

“There. The wet spot is larger, but at least the milk is gone.”

She turned toward her dressing room, intent on returning the wet cloth, but Darcy stayed her with a firm grasp. He tossed the cloth onto the floor, hands claiming both her dainty ones and placing them securely against his chest. His mien was utterly serious, blue eyes rapt and capturing her surprised gaze. Standing a proper distance but with a slight bow nearer her mesmerized face, he spoke in resonant oratory tones.“Come live with me and be my love,And we will all the pleasures prove,That valleys, groves, hills and fields,Woods or steepy mountains yields.“And we will sit upon the rocks,Seeing the shepherds feed their flocksBy shallow rivers, to whose fallsMelodious birds sing madrigals.“And I will make thee beds of roses,And a thousand fragrant posies,A cap of flowers and a kirtleEmbroidered all with leaves of myrtle;“A gown made of the finest wool,Which from our pretty lambs we pull;Fair-lined slippers for the cold,With buckles of the purest gold;“A belt of straw and ivy buds,With coral clasps and amber studs;And if these pleasures may thee move,Come live with me and be my love.“The shepherd swains shall dance and singFor thy delight each May morning;If these delights thy mind may move,Then live with me and be my love.

“Dance with me, my lovely Elizabeth?” he finished in a bare whisper.

She rose on tiptoes, kissing sweetly and murmuring against his full, moist lips, “Quoting Marlowe will never lead to a refusal. Yes, I will dance with you, my love.”

In their typical modified waltz pose, they began. Over time their amusement of private dancing had evolved, incorporating steps from numerous established dances with those created spontaneously as they swayed and glided about the room. The choreography changed from time to time, Darcy leading and Lizzy responding with flawless grace, adding her own twists and bodily gyrations as the emotions moved her. Neither pretended even for a second that the activity was anything other than an erotic precursor to astounding lovemaking. Yet, it was enjoyable in its own right, both of them being fond of dancing.

Boundaries of social decorum found in a ballroom setting were thrown aside. Caresses were intimate, bodies entwined, and kisses interspersed all while spinning, undulating, circling, weaving, and floating. They became increasingly daring, experimenting with sensual motions purely designed to arouse each other.

Today Darcy rose to her challenge, huskily whispering snippets of poetry as they danced. Usually it was Darcy who lost all restraint long before Lizzy, but today he seemed determined to drive her mad with desire. Never losing the faint humorous lilt upon his lush lips, voice especially sonorous, eyes lusty and trenchant, rhythm elegant and nimble, figure powerful and masculine, in all ways spiraling her sensibilities insanely.