softly.
Life had certainly changed at stately old Pemberley since the newlyweds had taken up residence. He thought fondly back to when he had begun working for Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy, and the lad’s transformation from callow young Corinthian to somber estate owner and now to besotted bridegroom.
Mr. George Darcy had passed away after a brief illness, in the early evening hours of 17 April, 1806. His son, Fitzwilliam, was named his heir, inheriting at barely twenty-one years of age the single largest privately held estate in all of Derbyshire, as well as being named co-guardian to Georgiana, his nine-year-old sister. Overnight, young Darcy seemed to age, to mature, to toughen; he soon became obsessed with responsibility, with achievement and success.
A natural leader, he astounded men twice his age, and this when he was still little more than an adolescent. Now he moved among a new circle of acquaintances bringing about new interests—viewpoints more conservative than the young. Darcy gradually abandoned the ideas and pursuits of youth as well as the follies and mistakes that would have been his by right to make, and became more appreciative of class and privilege. He rarely relaxed and was seldom carefree, still naïve enough to believe a serious demeanor more befitting his station in life than frivolous laughter. Time and responsibility were sedating his youth.
It was an unfortunate incident involving his beloved sister, Georgiana, that pushed him that final meter into premature dotage. He and his co-guardian to Georgiana, his cousin Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, had relaxed their vigilance, assuring themselves that Georgiana was a sensible, well-bred young woman, but little more than a child, still with childish interests. They both adored her but took no real notice of her maturing; after all, the colonel was far away in Portugal, chasing Napoleon, and Darcy was drowning in drainage concerns at Pemberley.
At fifteen years of age, she ran away with a hireling, a thoroughly unsuitable young man whom she had known her whole life, had loved and trusted. Darcy discovered them before her ruination, but destroyed was any measure of folly that remained lurking within him. Darcy aged from twenty-six to sixty-six within two days. Georgiana was devastated with guilt.
Fitzwilliam, the closest thing to a true brother Darcy possessed, acknowledged that gone forever was his coconspirator in disasters, his fiercest competitor, his staunchest defender, his best friend. In his place was the reincarnation of his stolid and sensible old Uncle George, only without the powdered wig.
But, no matter how proud, how aloof, how miserable he became, it was inevitable that a wealthy, handsome, single young man would inspire great matrimonial interest. Feverish competition exploded among the masses of aristocratic women vying for his hand, with the fiercest, the most vocal, and the most relentless of these being two particularly ambitious women.
In the country, his aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, insisted to all who would listen that he would marry her sickly daughter, Anne. In the city, his best friend Charles Bingley’s amoral sister Caroline informed all in her circle of friends that he would choose her.
Neither was correct.
Speculations and prophesies ended with Fitzwilliam Darcy’s surprise marriage to a little country mouse named Elizabeth Bennet. All who thought they were “in the know” were stunned when Darcy fell in love with the sparkling Elizabeth, a poor but gently bred young lady of infinite humor and intelligence, and although Miss Eliza Bennet never once chased Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy, he was run to ground like a fox, and happily so.
He was alive again, a bit older perhaps, but a healthy young man rescued nonetheless, besotted and hopelessly in love.
“Oooh, you are an evil, wicked, vile man.” A mortified Lizzy emerged from the floor as soon as Bradford left, closing the door to their bedroom behind him. Covering her burning cheeks with her hands, she squeaked with laughter. At first faking his remorse, and badly at that, Darcy swiftly grabbed her and tickled her back into the bed, beginning again his inventory of kisses. First her forehead, then her eyes, then her nose…
“No! No, you don’t. Not this morning, oh please, William! You have made us late for breakfast every morning since our return. It is past embarrassing. The whole staff knows we’re up here.” She then tilted her head to the side and pointed to a spot just beneath her ear, thereby ensuring a continuation of his barrage of kisses to the underside of her throat. “…Ooh, here, you’ve missed a spot, aaahhh lovely… and they know what is going on; they are not stupid! Please, dear, let us just get dressed and go down to breakfast before they stop bothering with it altogether.”
“Maybe tomorrow,” he growled, and truth be told, she capitulated happily.
It was very late in the morning when the smiling bride and groom finally emerged hand in hand from their suites. Nearing the middle of the grand staircase, they encountered Mrs. Reynolds.
“Good morning, Mrs. Reynolds.”
“Good morning, Mr. Darcy, Mrs. Darcy.” The aged housekeeper smiled warmly up at her beloved boy, silently thanking the Lord for his obvious happiness.
“Mr. Darcy, Colonel Fitzwilliam has arrived and is waiting for you in the library.” Mrs. Reynolds beamed with the joyful news. She knew how deeply her master had mourned when they thought his cousin dead, and how hard he had fought back tears when the news had arrived of his safety.
“Why that old degenerate; we didn’t expect him for at least another two weeks! Has he been waiting long?” Darcy’s pace down the stairs quickened. Lagging behind but still holding her husband’s hand, Elizabeth began to feel flutters of embarrassment and turned her head away, wondering how she could perhaps better blend into the wallpaper.
“Well, about three hours, I should say,” continued Mrs. Reynolds. “He arrived very early, as always, and has settled into the library with ‘Fanny Hill.’ Oh, he’s not lost his appetite, I can tell you. He’s already had several servings of breakfast and even went downstairs into the kitchen to hug the cook—greeted everyone below stairs. Why, he had us all laughing like fools, he did. He specifically requested that we not wake you, insisted that the ‘newlyweds’ not be disturbed.”
A low moan escaped Elizabeth as she blushed crimson from her forehead to her toes.
Darcy tried not to laugh and patted Lizzy’s hand. “It could be worse, believe me,” he whispered. “Knowing my cousin, we’re lucky he didn’t barge right in on us with his morning tea.” He continued down, Elizabeth dragging in tow. “Mrs. Reynolds, Could you send a tray into the library with some breakfast for Mrs. Darcy and me?”
Elizabeth suddenly stopped. “Oh no, William, I don’t… I mean, I’m really not that hungry. I think I’ll take a walk in the garden… my afternoon walk… I mean morning walk… if you don’t mind.”
Her face was flushed, and she chewed viciously on her lower lip, all the while trying to appear perfectly reasonable. How in the world was she expected to face Darcy’s cousin now? He had just sat there in a room directly beneath theirs while they were so busily enthusiastic upstairs. No, thank you, she would just as soon take a brisk walk.
“But it’s too cold for a walk this morning, isn’t it?” He successfully kept the smile from his face. She was still so easily embarrassed by so many things, and he loved her all the more for it.
“No, it’s fine, really. I’ll merely walk faster.” Her face brightened up a bit. “You know how I adore a good trudge in the mud. Excuse me, I’ll just run up and get my wrap.” Elizabeth turned, retreating quickly up the stairs, muttering bitterly all the way. “This is so humiliating! How am I supposed to behave rationally with dozens of people around knowing what’s happening? Even when we haven’t done anything, I feel obliged to blush just for decorum’s sake.”
It had been much easier in Scotland and Wales where they had honeymooned. For eight wonderful weeks they were alone and in love, traveling and seeing new wonders daily, a romantic dream come true every night.
Their first time had been thoroughly embarrassing, romantic, and very funny—all at the same time.
