The Trouble with Mr. Darcy

“Thank you. Just what every man prefers to hear from a woman.” He smiled wanly, kissing her hand. “Thankfully, I cannot claim the same for you, dear cousin. You are radiant. I would embrace you but fear the outcome may be unpleasant.”

“You can embrace Lady Catherine instead. That would be amusing.”

Anne choked a laugh at Lizzy’s remark. Darcy tried to frown but his features were so pinched it came out as more of a sour grimace. George voiced their feelings succinctly when he exited the carriage. “This physician’s treatment plan is brandy, or better yet whiskey, in large quantities, and a bed. Not necessarily in that order.”

“As you wish, Doctor.” She turned, arm in arm with Lizzy, leading into the cavernous foyer and directing servants with ease and confidence. “Unfortunately the greeting to my mother will have to wait. She is visiting an ill friend in Ashford. Sorry to disappoint your amusement, Elizabeth”—she winked sidelong at her companion—“and my husband is at the hospital. We were unsure when you would arrive. I do apologize. Now,” she paused before the parlor doors, waving her hand toward the staircase, “off to bed with the three of you.” She inclined her head to include Alexander, fast asleep in Mrs. Hanford’s arms. “Your indisposition allots us time to chatter and gossip.”

And almost like wayward boys being scolded, Darcy and George obeyed.

For two weeks they dwelt at Rosings.

Lizzy inevitably felt odd whenever their paths and duty took them to Kent. The memories associated with the first time she ever came here were not necessarily pleasant. She and her husband had long since buried the past misconceptions with a love so profound that any guilt or sadness was washed clean. Nevertheless, one does not ever forget, especially when boldly confronted with places triggering those memories.

This alone may not have created a great burden. Lizzy and Darcy were able to find ways to erase or supplant bad remembrances with happier ones—just ask the silent walls of Netherfield or immobile willows near Longbourn! Making love on the floor of the Hunsford parlor or Rosings drawing room was clearly not an option, but even if it were, Mr. Collins and Lady Catherine would still be there to annoy Elizabeth when the pleasure abated.

Lady Catherine’s acerbic tongue and outward disdain toward Elizabeth were carefully curbed. During their first visit to Rosings, Lady Catherine’s subtle slurs led to a second confrontation, minor compared to the one in London shortly after their marriage. Nevertheless, Darcy’s barely controlled rage, now seen twice by his aunt, and promise to leave the area never to return effectively quashed her lingering ire toward Elizabeth. Or at least it prevented her openly declaring her scorn. Now the two women tiptoed around each other. Lizzy would never like her and received perverse joy in vexing her, even if the behavior was unbecoming. She just could not help herself and Darcy gave up scolding her for it. Besides, it was rather amusing—not that he would ever admit it—to see his aunt befuddled by his wife’s clever wit.

“How can you allow your son, the heir to Pemberley, to wear such outlandish garments?” Lady Catherine indicated Alexander, who was running about the lawn with Rachel and Leah Collins, and the flowing tunic of Indian silk painted with jungle vines and monkeys that he wore.

“We want him to be a free spirit.” Lizzy’s voice was gay, bordering on vapid. “And besides, it allows the genitalia to grow freely.” She tossed George’s words out, Lady Catherine’s lips puckering so tightly in response that Lizzy was forced to jump up and join the children in their play to avoid bursting into laughter.

Another time: “You intend to walk to the village alone? In your condition? What does Fitzwilliam think of this?”

“Of the walk or my ‘condition’?” Lizzy asked innocently.

“Of you walking in your condition!”

Lizzy shrugged. “I did not ask specifically about this walk, but usually he does not tend to inhibit my walking. And the ‘condition’ I am in does not seem to influence his attitude on the subject in a negative way, as far as I have been able to ascertain. It is partially his fault, after all, so he cannot very well argue my need for exercise, now can he?”

Lizzy grabbed her bonnet by the strings, curtsied to Lady Catherine, and turned to make for the door.

“Are you not going to put your hat on? The sun is bright and without hat or gloves on you will become tanned.” Lady Catherine uttered the word “tanned” as if the worst curse word imaginable. “I cannot imagine Fitzwilliam would be pleased at that.”

“He has never complained before. But I promise that if he expresses any distaste, I shall henceforth don my bonnet from the outset.” She smiled brilliantly, curtsied again, and left—with the bonnet dangling by her side. Needless to say, Darcy did not mind her bronze skin in the least.

Another time: “Here is your book, Elizabeth.”

“Thank you, William.”

“May I ask what you are reading, Mrs. Darcy?”

“Of course, Lady Catherine. I am reading Evelina by Frances Burney. Have you read it?”

“I most certainly have not,” Lady Catherine sniffed. “I prefer to read books of intellectual quality and strong moral lessons rather than the nonsensical romanticism of novels.”

“As you have admittedly not read Evelina, how can you assert it is nonsensical? Romantic to be sure, but the titular character’s virtues and attention to upright morals in the face of difficulties are to be admired. Evelina is a lesson in etiquette and propriety.”

Lady Catherine was not convinced. “I am surprised you would allow such reading material for your wife, Fitzwilliam.”

“I do not dictate my wife’s reading material, Aunt Catherine. Her choices are invariably sound ones. Although in this case, I would disagree with Mrs. Darcy’s assessment. I found Evelina to be somewhat boring as a character. But perhaps my judgment is colored as I prefer women with spunk and a ready wit.”

He smiled at his wife but did note his aunt’s incredulous expression. “You read this… novel?” she sputtered.

“Indeed I have.”

“He tolerated it,” Lizzy put in with a laugh. Then she added, looking directly at Lady Catherine, “He much prefers a novel with a bit more excitement and controversy, like Tom Jones.”

Lady Catherine was so stunned she could not form a reasonable response. Darcy shot his wife a glare, but she noticed the twitching of his lips. Denying the charge was impossible since it was true, so he said nothing. Thankfully the topic turned away from dubious literature at that point!

But the worse forms of irritation to the priggish woman were unintentionally caused, and that was the blatant affection between her formerly staid nephew and the woman who had driven that good sense and propriety out of him. She was pleased on a certain level that Darcy was happy, as she was for Anne and Raul, finally accepting that her daughter never would have given Darcy what he needed and vice versa. She also accepted that the Darcys truly loved each other, and as ridiculous as she regarded that emotion, she was forced to acknowledge that Lizzy had not pursued him for his wealth and position as Lady Catherine had surmised. That acceptance did not necessarily mean she approved of his choice or saw Lizzy any differently than she did before, however. Witnessing his frivolity, as she interpreted it, and catching them amid loving displays only served to confirm her opinion of Elizabeth’s character.

Anne and Raul knew when to show affection, and that was behind a firmly closed door. The two were overwhelmingly in love, but other than polite pecks on the cheek or sappy gazes, they restrained themselves. Lizzy and Darcy had never learned to master that extreme caution, nor had they overly tried. They did not wantonly embrace or kiss in public, Darcy sooner dying than to go that far, but they were definitely more demonstrative than typically customary and, if alone, they could, and often did, lose control to a degree.

“William, come! A whole family of ducks is being herded by Lady Catherine’s corgi. It is hysterical!”

He rose from his seat to join his wife by the library window where she stood watching the antics of the corgi, he intent on rounding the uncooperative ducks and ducklings. “I believe my aunt would have a seizure if she knew her prized pet was playing with farm animals,” he rumbled, breaking into a laugh when one of the ducks snapped at the yipping dog’s tail, missing by less than an inch.

They watched the entire escapade, the corgi finally triumphing when every last duck entered the pond. Darcy unconsciously caressed the small of her back, his hand gliding over her waist when she turned and leaned into the window’s edge. “He does well for a little thing. Perhaps we should think of getting one. They are quite cute.”

“Dogs are meant to guard and protect, not be useless balls of fur labeled ‘cute’ that yap constantly and tread through the house.”