Sharon Lathan - The Trouble with Mr. Darcy

“I love you, my Kitty.” But she was gone.

After Kitty left his room Randall agonized for hours. Had she been seen? When Mr. Darcy did not come pounding on his door with pistol in hand he assumed she had safely reached her chambers. Then, despite her assurances, he worried that she would regret what they had shared, that once alone the guilt might overwhelm. He chastised himself for weakness, for being a rogue and taking advantage of a fragile female who trusted him to be a gentleman and leader. He started to doubt how passionate and receptive and willing she had been, twisting specific actions or words to emphasize his loutishness. When he finally walked into the breakfast room his nerves were seriously on edge.

She was there and turned instantly as if sensing his presence before he crossed the threshold. She smiled radiantly. In fact, her whole countenance was radiant, glowing, and breathtakingly beautiful. All of his doubts evaporated, leaving behind a rush of pure love and excruciating desire. So much for the idea that tasting of her delights would curb his hunger since it was tenfold what he had ever felt in her presence. He staggered from the assault, literally, Mr. Darcy instinctively grabbing his arm to steady.

“Hold up there, Major General. I did not think you drank all that much last night. The rest of us should be the unsteady ones. Personally, I wish someone would take pity and darken the sun.”

Randall noted Darcy’s pained grimace, collecting himself with a shake that Darcy again concluded was the by-product of excessive carousing.

The day passed in sedate activities. Most of the men were recuperating from varying degrees of indisposition as a result of their public house revelry so did not leave the drapery drawn rooms. The ladies embarked upon one long walk with the children scampering alongside, but also spent a fair portion of the afternoon chatting as they lounged in the spacious parlor. Disappearances in the latter hours of the afternoon were mostly for rejuvenating naps, Kitty especially needing to regain her strength for what she hoped was a second long night of passion.

She and Randall finagled a few minutes of alone time, both of them suffering acutely with the need to touch and kiss. By that evening, when the wedding party gathered in the Netherfield parlor awaiting the announcement for dinner, he could barely stand straight due to the churning sea of ardor wrecking havoc on his insides. But having his fiancée clutching his left arm and agreeably plastered against his side was wonderful in its own way. Plus, he was momentarily content to be surrounded by her family.

He was familiar with enormous family gatherings and delighted in the pleasing atmosphere of community and love prevailing even in this mixed group. This assembly, although reminiscent of the boisterous Artois collectives with all seventeen of his nieces and nephews loudly playing and dashing underfoot while the adults engaged in vibrant conversation, was far more refined.

There were children, but only five of them. Ethan Bingley, Alexander Darcy, and Hugh Pomeroy sat in the corner rolling a ball back and forth. They were under the watchful eye of Mrs. Geer, who held fourteen-month-old Deborah Daniels on her lap while the toddler avidly observed the boys at play. Harry Pomeroy, the eldest son of Lady Simone Fitzwilliam, was content as retriever for the frequent wayward ball, smiling and only slightly bossy in his instructions for proper ball aiming. The babies, Michael Darcy and Claudia Daniels, remained in the nursery with Mrs. Hanford.

The adults were scattered about the room, standing and sitting, but in a rough circle that focused on the centrally located sofas and chairs. Talk was animated and filled with laughter, but with an air of restraint and formality that was lacking with the Artois crowd. The event which brought them all to this place at this time may be the upcoming wedding of Major General Randall Artois and Miss Kitty Bennet, but for the present, the prime topic of conversation was the adventures of the Continental travelers.

“I know I could not definitively appoint a particular event or place as number one on a list of favorites,” Georgiana spoke in her cultured tones. “The list of museums, fabulous gardens, beautiful castles and chateaus, picturesque rivers and lakes would be unending, I am certain, with a dozen fighting to inhabit the top five and none prevailing!”

“It becomes rather muddled after a time, does it not, Georgiana?” Lady Simone asked with a laugh.

“Indeed it does,” Lady Matlock agreed, “and I have toured the various towns of Europe several times in my life. Perhaps that is why I now delight in visiting relatives and friends while on holiday abroad, as another garden or opera house is likely to overwhelm the cluttered section of my brain that stores such information.”

“Personally I was content to stay in France, especially Paris,” Colonel Fitzwilliam interjected. “It was wondrous to walk the streets so radically altered since I last walked them in the immediate aftermath of the war. There is yet a great deal of unrest and disquiet, but Louis XVIII and his Bourbon restorationists are establishing order and a functional constitution. Decazes is managing capably with a moderate approach that appears to please the populace, for the most part.”

“Frankly I grew tired of the discussions. French politics are messy and boring since none can agree, and most revel in the argument with no true desire to conclude,” Lord Matlock rumbled from his chair. “But then, that is the definition of all politics, post-Revolution France or England.”

Laughter and nodding met that statement, Lady Matlock patting her spouse’s hand as she spoke. “Precisely why we should let the topic drop for the present. I can debate politics when in the mood as ably as you, my lord husband, but would rather not do so now.”

“As you wisely wish, Mother.” Richard inclined his head in respect to his parents before turning a mischievous eye back toward Georgiana. “So, fair cousin, claiming a favorite may be impossible, but surely Paris itself stole your heart more than the other great cities?”

“Indeed it did,” she replied levelly, only a hint of rosiness touching her cheeks. “The Conservatoire alone was adequate to cement love of Paris within my heart. However, Rome, Milan, and Florence equally intrigued. And not only for their beauty in landscape and music, as I discovered a surprising interest in the history.” She smiled toward her brother, teasing as she continued. “You may be shocked, dear brother, that your lengthy discourses on ruins did penetrate my stubborn skull. Imagine my own amazement when the commentaries of the tour guides resonated and piqued my attention! There I was climbing over crumbled medieval remains searching for clues to the past.”

Darcy laughed, bowing in mock approbation. Bingley visibly shuddered and groaned, speaking with exaggerated relief. “Thank goodness for miracles! Now you can haul your wife and sister on your excursions over dusty, moldy ruins and never pester me.”

“It is a promise, Bingley. You are safe from here on.”

“Well, I cannot claim that to be my favorite part, but it was not as painful as imagined, unless you count poor Uncle’s sore feet.”

“Not to worry, Georgiana dear. It was nothing days of languishing by the fire with a brandy in hand did not cure,” Lord Matlock assured. “Personally, I would rather traverse over cultured lawns and well-tended pathways, such as the Borghese gardens. Hours in the serene atmosphere of the vivarium healed every ache.”

“William, the Galleria Borghese was everything you declared it to be. I spent countless hours wandering the rooms, gazing in awe. We visited often, and it is not that large a museum compared to the Louvre especially, yet I failed in assimilating the full wealth of art and beauty. It touched me so.” Georgiana shook her head, clasping Lizzy’s hand. “Oh, Lizzy! You would have loved it! I thought of you so often. The gardens would have overwhelmed you.”

“Indeed,” Darcy offered, “the gardens are astounding and I daresay put Mr. Clark to shame. However, it is the marbles that I would most adore sharing with my wife. Bernini’s works alone are worth the trip. My grandfather acquired one of his pieces, but I was not so fortunate when I traveled to Rome.”

“I refuse to lament what I was unable to view,” Lizzy said with a laugh. “I struggled with absorbing all the wonders I was gifted to canvass, much of the journey yet dreamlike, so am relieved to stage it gradually over my life.”

“If you two can manage to space out the task of creating inhabitants for every empty bedchamber in Pemberley, you may be able to arrange another trip before the sculptures erode into dust, or whatever happens to marble.”

“I believe, my dearest, that marble is nearly indestructible,” Simone chastised her husband, Colonel Fitzwilliam winking at a blushing Lizzy before smirking at his expressionless cousin.

Lady Matlock smoothly intervened. “I delighted most in the gardens, I must confess. It was a popular locale for artists. The landscape and architecture offered an endless opportunity for sketching.”

“Quite true. An additional trunk was required to haul the creations home.”

“As if you were not delighted by Aunt’s drawings, Uncle. Raved on and on, rightfully so.”

“You do have an astounding talent, Lady Matlock, and I have not forgotten that you promised the Rotunda to me.”

“Nor have I, Simone. As soon as it is framed, it is yours.”

“The little ponds, rivers, and impressive lakes were arguably everywhere. I always thought of you, dear sister.” Georgiana again squeezed Lizzy’s hand. “I know how you adore the water.”