love and also obtaining tremendous pleasure from each other's touch. It was also astoundingly clear, and the blush to her face increased at the remembrance, that there was far more to come. Yes, she had seen it all and despite the lingering mystery of the love act, Caroline was not a total idiot and could form deductions of her own!
Quite unexpectedly, the vision of Sir Wallace Dandridge entered her mind. He was a fairly handsome man in his mid-thirties, of medium height with blonde hair and a lovely smile. Caroline had been so focused on Mr. Darcy for the past several years that she had given little thought to any other. Sir Dandridge had barely entered her consciousness, despite her friendship with his youngest sister. This season, Mr. Darcy no longer a possibility, Caroline had seriously cast about for the logical replacement, successfully working her magic on a number of eligible bachelors. Of all the hopefuls, Sir Dandridge was the most persistent, if not as wealthy as she may prefer.
Caroline smiled and closed her eyes as the image of his kind face appeared. Dreamily she conjured the fantasy of him kissing her as Mr. Darcy had kissed Elizabeth. With tingles of a strange variety fluttering through her, Caroline eventually returned to her room where dreams of a unique nature would invade.
Meanwhile, the Darcys ascended the flights of narrow stairs, halting a dozen times for breathless kisses and cuddles. Only once were they required to quickly duck behind a corner to avoid a maid heading toward the basement. Darcy covered Lizzy's mouth to prevent escaping giggles, but utilized the interruption to press into her soft body. Once safely behind the latched door of their chambers, Darcy grabbed his wife and pulled her roughly against his body for a passionate kiss. His fingers nimbly attacked the buttons to her gown as they stepped toward the bedchamber. Clothes fell randomly as they were discarded until, naked, they tumbled onto their bed in a tangle of limbs.
Laughing, they panted and kissed and groped and squeezed all while attempting to navigate to the middle of the enormous bed. Lying on their sides as they faced each other to caress and kiss, the tactile enhancement continuing for some time. Few words were uttered, even Darcy caught up in a state of rapturous delirium inducing voiceless hunger. They loved slowly then with increased intensity, Darcy mesmerized by his wife. She was so beautifully sensuous and he experienced a fresh rush of amazement that she was his and, most profoundly, that she loved him as she did. In all his years of hoping and dreaming for a marriage based on love, and as self-awareness of his sexual desires matured, he refused to allow himself to imagine that he would actually find someone who would fulfill both cravings. Astoundingly, Elizabeth was such a woman. The fact that she was his for the entirety of his life was frequently a phenomenon that quite literally staggered him.
Darcy's own excitement was nearly unbearable in its intensity, but he held himself in check, preferring to further heighten his arousal by observing the fervor and gratification of his wife. Darcy enfolded her in his arms with overwhelming joy. She was trembling and inhaling raggedly yet ceaselessly planting kisses over his shoulders and neck. Darcy smoothed her tousled hair from a perfect, dewy brow as he kissed her, murmuring soft words of adulation. She rose, eyes glazed with satisfaction as she looked at him and tenderly touched his face.
“William,” she whispered, “I could not wait. You excite me so! What you do to me is indescribable.” She closed her eyes, shuddering still. Releasing a prolonged gush of air as she nuzzled her lips over his. “My love, my own. Ask anything of me and it is yours. How can I please you, best beloved?”
Darcy smiled and laughed lowly. “Lizzy, my Lizzy, do you not yet understand that my greatest pleasure is in bringing you joy? The fact that you love me so awesomely as to attain such dynamic rapture is a joy transcending my own. Merely holding you and feeling your trembling is heaven.”
His words were truth; nonetheless, the ache of his need could not be denied. He sat up with her encased in his arms, hands all over her body. He devoted a period of time to her constantly changing breasts, far fuller and heavier than when they married as they prepared for their baby. All the changes of her maturing body—some related to pregnancy, but others a result of a natural blossoming from their intimacy—incited him. It was not at all an exaggeration or opinion based on blind adoration to note that Elizabeth Darcy was luminous and gorgeous beyond what she had been seven months ago.
Darcy loved his wife with growing enthusiasm. If the maids did discuss the Master's prowess, Lizzy thought with a smile, they would undoubtedly be astonishingly inaccurate. Lizzy rather doubted anyone could match her husband's stamina or mastery. Of course, she had no frame of reference, but anything beyond Darcy's virility would likely incapacitate a woman! In fact, there was many a time when she believed she would faint from the experience and was often left sore and raw, not that it mattered one iota or inhibited her ardor.
Together they rose, passion growing to incomprehensible levels. Finally falling over a cliff of mindless, spiritual jubilance, they merged and were transported to a place of replete fulfillment. Darcy buckled in exhausted satiation, crushing her into the mattress, but Lizzy did not mind. Their son, however, was not as forgiving and began a series of furious punches, causing Lizzy to giggle. “Dearest, your son does not appreciate all this activity,” she declared with a nudge to his inert side.
Darcy grunted, rolling lazily off his wife but drawing her close and placing a hand over the swell. “Get used to it, my son, as I do not intend to halt loving your mother.” He kissed Lizzy's ear, nestling into the bend of her neck with a sigh. “I love you, Elizabeth, with all my soul.” He kissed her yet again. “Are you still certain this is a male child? I would hate to damage her fragile mind by referring to her as ‘my son’ or ‘he’ all the time.”
Lizzy laughed. “My heart says it is a boy.” She turned and cupped his face, blue eyes piercing hers. “Our son, Fitzwilliam. I only pray he has your eyes.” She kissed each brilliant orb, then chuckled. “Of course, if he is very fortunate he will possess all your marvelous attributes and, therefore, make some woman as deliriously happy as you have made me.” Darcy blushed but smiled with mild egocentric satisfaction. “Anyway, we cannot call the baby ‘it,’ so a sex designation of some sort is apropos.” She paused, tracing each feature on his face lightly, lingering on his lips, and then resting a fingertip into the cleft on his chin, speaking dazedly. “You are majestic, Fitzwilliam Darcy. I could stare at you all day and never tire of the simple perfection and beauty of your face. I am fortunate on more levels than countable. I love you so, William!”
They embraced fiercely, silent in their mutual adoration. Contentment bathed them as sleep drifted in. Darcy released her briefly to retrieve the crumpled covers, and then gathered her near, sleeping with her body tightly woven over his all through their first night home.
Chapter Seventeen
The English country house named Hasberry Hall rested in a narrow valley approximately seven miles southwest from Lambton near Winster. The property, as most of Derbyshire besides the Peaks, was pastoral with gently rolling hills and a narrow brook. A small portion of the acreage was set aside as a walnut orchard, but primarily Hasberry was known for the raising of prime sheep. The parcel was a fifth the size of Pemberley, but more than sufficient for the sheep to roam as they grazed and for the manor itself to be surrounded by lovely gardens and private lawns. The mansion was two stories constructed of grey brick, generous and comfortable. Several outbuildings and stables were clustered nearby; the sheds for the shearing, housing, and breeding of the sheep were a distance away.
Bingley and Darcy met with Mr. Greystone, receiving a thorough tour of the entire grounds as well as a detailed summation as to the business aspect of the estate. Darcy, as the one far wiser in both the financial and livestock realms, led the discussion, asking pointed questions. A prepared sheath of papers was given to Mr. Bingley for later study. On the way back to Pemberley, taking a circuitous route so they could talk, Bingley was childlike in his zeal. He had fallen in love with the spacious but humble country house, never one who was entirely at ease with the grandeur and opulence of Netherfield, or Pemberley for that matter. Additionally, he was ecstatic at the idea of actually managing a working farm.
Bingley had inherited his fortune. His great-grandfather was the Bingley who first amassed the greatest portion of the family's wealth as a spice and fur trader. By the time of his death, a huge percentage of the accumulated funds had been invested. So substantial were the various investment revenues that Bingley's grandfather sold the trading company, at an enormous profit, and devoted his efforts to advancing their capital via further diversification. Bingley's father, therefore, had not worked an honest day in his life, more than content to live comfortably on the earnings that poured in. He had been perfectly willing to dwell in Town, enjoying all the entertainments offered to a gentleman of means. Charles Bingley had been raised to follow his father's example and was quite agreeable to do so.
