“Are you sure nothing will interfere? No pressing affairs that Mr. Daniels will insist must be attended to immediately or the fate of Pemberley will teeter on the edge of destruction?”
He winked, lowering his voice in mock secrecy, “I told him I was leaving the country for a while so he would not pester me.” She laughed and shook her head, Darcy continuing in a normal tone, “I am all yours today. Did you doubt my assertion?”
She shook her head, eyes flaring with sudden mischief and promise. “No. Merely wanting to reaffirm. I intend to prove my healthiness to you, my husband, so you will no longer worry and annoy me with your overbearing attentiveness. I want to walk the garden paths, frolic with the children, laugh with our friends, and eat until bursting. Then”—she leaned into his body, mouth brushing against his ear—“later while the children are napping I will further prove my robustness by removing all your clothing and ravishing you all afternoon until you are begging for mercy.” She seized the lobe between her lips, tugging decisively before running the tip of her tongue over the sensitized skin.
Darcy growled deep in his chest, pulling her body hard against his torso. Huskily, he responded, “Do not tease me if you are unsure of the outcome.”
She placed her smiling lips lightly over his. “I am acutely aware of the outcome and prepared to ensure you are not disappointed.”
“I am never disappointed with you, Elizabeth. However, I will admit the prospect as you outline it is abundantly appealing.”
He brushed his lips over her collarbone, Lizzy squeezing tightly. “You have been so patient and devoted, Fitzwilliam. My love for you has grown to another level through this trauma. I cannot explain it, but I know it to be true. Your care for our sons and me has been remarkable. My gratefulness is not the root cause of my yearning to love you, but I will say that the emotion augments my desire. Truthfully, as much as my pride hates to admit it, I do feel vulnerable these days. It may be pathetic, but activity clears my mind and erases the residual fear. Vigorous loving declares my vitality in a special way that heals me, not to mention how enjoyable it is to love you.”
She ended her statement with a teasing smile, but Darcy sensed the unease underneath. His embrace was tender but stalwart, gazing into her eyes for several heartbeats before whispering, “Elizabeth, I love you.”
The consuming kiss that followed conveyed his boundless love and happiness, Lizzy returning the searing exchange wholeheartedly. Instinctively their hands kneaded and stroked as mouths battled gloriously. Lizzy’s escalating ardor was felt deep in her belly, in those hidden places that only his touch could reach. Darcy’s heightening passion was felt pressing hard into his wife’s lower abdomen.
Both of their hearts were pounding, the mutual rush of blood and heavy breathing drowning out all extrinsic sounds and Darcy had taken a sideways step toward the bed when they were interrupted.
“Mama! Papa! I got bread cumbs for the duckies! Nanny has Michael dressed and sent me to get you. Hurry! Carriage outside!” Alexander had barreled into their legs, grabbing on to skirt and breeches, and was tugging insistently. Darcy and Lizzy staggered at the forceful impact, clutches steadying the other as they separated a pace. Lizzy burst into laughter, Darcy turning his red face and aroused body away from his son. Fortunately Alexander was innocently impervious, although as he grew, his awareness would follow a similar path as Darcy’s with regards to his parents. Frequent embraces of an intimate nature would be a matter of course for the numerous Darcy offspring to witness, their parents’ love and passion multiplying as the years progressed.
But for now the toddler was only interested in picnics and play at the park. His parents followed him to the foyer, his piping voice nonstop in expressing his enthusiasm. George scooped him up, playfully planting his large hand over the child’s mouth.
“Uncle Goj!” He exclaimed as soon as his mouth was freed. “You smashing my bread! How duckies eat them now?”
George rolled his eyes and then winked at Lizzy and Darcy, the group chatty as they filed onto the street and into the parked carriage.
The short drive south on Park Lane to the Hyde Park Corner entrance on Knightsbridge took longer than typical due to heavy traffic. It was a gorgeous day in April with crowds of merrymakers taking advantage of the placid temperatures in dozens of outdoor pursuits, carriages and horses and pedestrians vying for space on the walkways and avenues. The sun shone brightly, but a steady breeze off the Thames cooled the air. Scattered white puffy clouds offered breaks in the sun’s direct intensity and created interesting shadows along the ground.
The intriguing combination of shadow and clouds fascinated Alexander and finally halted his tongue. From his perch on Uncle Goj’s lap, he could study the patterns formed by the cottony clouds high in the azure sky and the silhouettes moving over the land. Darcy kept a close eye on Lizzy, but she appeared perfectly fine as she sat beside him chatting with Georgiana, who sat across holding a wiggling Michael and next to George with his sedate burden.
The ladies fluttered fans, but more out of habit and to keep the dust away from faces sheltered by wide bonnet brims. It was tolerably warm and the open calash permitted the gentle wind to waft over their bodies. George, of course, was attired in a flowing Indian garment of lightest silk, pale blue with edgings in navy that accented his sapphire eyes. His head was hatless in defiance of proper fashion, and a flashily embroidered and beaded pair of new juttis adorned his long feet. The cut left most of his upper feet bare, Darcy frowning upon seeing the scandalous footwear, but George just grinned and wore them anyway.
Lizzy and Georgiana were gowned in dresses of finely woven muslin as thin and loose as modesty would allow. Georgiana’s was dandelion yellow with lacy sleeves capped upon her shoulders. Lizzy was similarly clothed, her gown a fallow-brown trimmed in copper with layered half-sleeves. Their wrist-height gloves were netted for ventilation, leaving the greater part of their arms bare and unprotected except for the matching shawls currently bunched at their elbows. Fashionably protecting their fair faces from the harshest rays of the sun were brimmed hats strategically placed to shield while also accenting elaborate coiffures and jewels.
Darcy, naturally, was resplendent and every inch the dashing English gentleman. From his tall, felted beaver hat to the tips of his polished, mid-calf Wellington boots, he oozed 1820 style. Although he did own a large collection of longer trousers and pantaloons, Darcy still preferred breeches, today wearing a calf-length pair of beige nankeen precisely tailored for his muscular lower body and tucked with barely a wrinkle into the tops of his black boots. His brown-and-gray-striped waistcoat and jacket of Prussian blue were sewn from lightweight kerseymere, the lacy white cravat tied elaborately but loose, all designed to withstand the soaring heat and humidity of a London summer.
As usual, it was his professional valet who selected the day’s attire, Darcy rarely having an opinion on the subject. Samuel was well aware of the societal nuances in dress and accoutrements that were essential for the various meetings, activities, and places that filled Mr. Darcy’s schedule, knowing it better than Darcy did. Today he had decided that, although still April and the average temperatures not rising to drastic levels, his Master would be worried over his family and thus would need to be comfortable. Of course, Darcy did not know this was Samuel’s reasoning, simply donning the individual garments with barely a glance. His only disagreement was on wearing gloves or taking a walking stick. He did not care for the ridiculous affectation of a dandified cane when he was perfectly capable of walking unassisted and he also wished to keep his hands bare and unencumbered so he could delight in the touch of his wife and sons.
He reached across to rescue the increasingly rambunctious Michael from Georgiana’s questionable grasp. She smiled her thanks, but otherwise maintained the steady prattling conversation with Elizabeth. Lizzy’s cheeks were rosy and eyes alit with delight as they turned onto the spacious access through the massive gates at the corner entrance to Hyde Park.
The King’s Road, built by William III in 1690 as a direct route between Kensington Palace and St. James’s Palace, was one of several carriageways cutting through the enormous royal park, but it was by far the largest and most popular. It was broad enough to easily accommodate three carriages abreast, thickly paved with a sea of coarse gravel from the Thames, and lined with manicured lawns, hedges, and footpaths. With over three hundred lamps positioned to illuminate the thoroughfare at night, this avenue held the distinction of being the first in the country to be artificially lit, a fact Londoners were proud of. Officially named The King’s Road, the corruption of the French “Route de Roi” led to the more common, humorous name of Rotten Row. Of course, there was nothing “rotten” about it, the avenue pristinely maintained and scenic with a stunning view of the Serpentine’s glittering blue waters through the trees and bushes to the north.
The fine carriage emblazoned with the Darcy crest was admitted to Hyde Park, the guard nodding briefly to the driver. The true “fashionable hour” for promenading and flirting would not be until later in the afternoon, but at
