Finally pulling themselves away from their impromptu hosts, the Darcys resumed their journey. They were a bit behind schedule, but neither regretted the delay at Wollaton. Turning northwest, extending the loop toward Derby, they sedately traveled the five miles to Ilkeston. The moderate sized mining town naturally sported an old church, another dedicated to the Virgin Mary, built in 1150 with a noteworthy clock tower and effigy to the most powerful ancient Lord of Ilkeston, Nicholas de Cantelupe from the fourteenth century.
Again, they paused to wander about the prosperous town. Several shops interested Lizzy, the weaving of fine hosiery being an Ilkeston specialty. However, by four o’clock they were weary and ready to finalize their journey. The seven miles to Locknell Hall passed easily, the Darcys arriving to joyous enthusiasm from Chloe Drury and a more sedate greeting from her husband, Clifton. Thereafter followed another block of time spent in engaging company, even Darcy and Clifton enjoying themselves with billiards and chess.
Chloe could hardly wait to finagle privacy with Lizzy, grasping her hand the moment her parlor door was closed and pulling her to the settee. “Elizabeth, I was thrilled beyond words to receive your note. How fortuitous that you chose this time to visit. I have wonderful news.” She paused a moment before gushing with happiness, “Clifton and I are expecting!”
Lizzy squealed and hugged her tight. “Oh Chloe! That is marvelous news. When is your date of confinement? How are you feeling? Have you told anyone else?”
“Slow down, Elizabeth!” Chloe laughed. “One question at a time, please. The baby should arrive in late January, I am feeling as well as can be expected, and other than immediate family, we have told no others. There. Any other queries, Mrs. Curious?” They both laughed, Lizzy bending to pour tea.
“Well, I am overjoyed. Our children will be months apart. In fact, we all seem to be procreating at an alarming rate, rather like rabbits! Filling Derbyshire with the next generation of citizens in one fell swoop.” Lizzy handed Chloe a cup. “Mr. Drury must be ecstatic. Tell me, is he as ridiculous as my husband? If he is, be warned, as the nursery will be decorated lavishly, and there may be no toys remaining in the little shop on Oak Street!”
Chloe smiled sweetly. “Clifton is yet refusing to allow himself to anticipate fully.” She glanced at Lizzy's puzzled face and sighed. “I have told few this, Elizabeth, but I lost a child four years ago.”
Lizzy squeezed her hand in sympathy, instinctively resting the other on her own baby, safe and secure in her womb. Chloe continued, “We had been married but a few months when I conceived. All seemed well until the third month.” She swallowed in remembered grief, shaking her head briefly and then smiling weakly. “Since then we have tried but to no avail. The physicians all said there was no reason why I should not conceive, but it simply did not happen until now. We waited to be sure, but quickening has occurred and I am feeling well. Clifton is yet afraid to hope and would rather I maintain the secrecy, but I am too happy.”
“Oh Chloe, I am certain all will be well! It must be! You appear hale enough, better than I did at your stage as a matter of fact.” Chloe laughed, confirming that she had hardly been ill a day, Lizzy declaring that horribly unfair, and the two pregnant friends embarked on a long discourse of all things baby.
Day three, they headed south, halting first at Chellaston. This tiny suburb of Derby was famous for the alabaster quarried there and, not shockingly, was home to a thirteenth-century church. After a brief tour, they rambled on, meandering in no discernible pattern as far as Lizzy could ascertain. They passed through Swarkestone and over the famous thirteenth-century stone bridge spanning the River Trent. They paused on the far side, remaining in the cabriolet while Darcy explained that it was this bridge where the army of Prince Charles Stuart the Pretender was repulsed in its march on London. Local lore, he further informed her, maintained that the bridge and small, attached chapel was built by two sisters who lost their loves in the waters of the Trent during a flood. Whatever the truth, the bridge was a marvel of construction and art.
Continuing on due south, they headed toward Calke Abbey. Calke Abbey was in fact not an abbey at all, but was built over the ancient site of an Augustinian abbey in the early 1700s and was given the illustrious name by one of its early residents. The Harpur family, Darcy told Lizzy, were known for their extremely strange eccentricities, rarely leaving the manor and constantly renovating the essentially baroque style mansion with rumored bizarre enhancements. Reclusive in the extreme, their brief appearance at the Cole's Masque was a shocking surprise. Darcy was unacquainted with the current occupants—few were—and presumed that the peculiar suppositions were probably exaggerated. Nonetheless, he thought it would be fun to view the manor and walk through the gardens, which were reputedly some of the grandest in all of England.
Lizzy immediately noted the similarity between Calke Abbey and Pemberley. Both country manors were of the baroque style with extensive, cultivated grounds surrounding. Where Pemberley boasted fountains, a river, and ponds as a focal point, Calke Abbey centered on exotic vegetation and garden buildings. The notoriety of the sculptured and varied landscaping was not unfounded. Lizzy and Darcy could have easily passed all day strolling about the grounds so incredible were they. Apparently, other tourists agreed, as the area was busy with gaping pedestrians.
They toured the small church, the psychic garden, one of the greenhouses, and the recently constructed domed orangery. Darcy gazed with longing at the fantastic stables, but they were near the house proper and restricted to visitors. The expression on his face was so pathetic that Lizzy squeezed his arm tightly to her side and kissed his cheek.
“In two days we shall be home, beloved, and you can salve your aching heart in your own stables.” He smiled and returned her kiss, causing two elderly ladies to gasp in shock, and causing Lizzy to giggle as they ducked quickly around a corner.
After two hours and a snack necessary for the woman feeding two, Darcy and Lizzy recommenced the trek, heading due west through Bretby to Burton-upon-Trent just over the border in Staffordshire. They halted here, as Darcy worded it, “Out of necessity, as Burton-upon-Trent produces the finest ales in all of England.” This particular claim to fame held little weight to Lizzy, as she detested ale, but Darcy was of a differing opinion altogether. The village itself was quite small, the fame of Burton's breweries having not spread too far beyond the immediately surrounding shires, although Darcy was of the mindset that this would change in time. For the present, they located a pub that seemed decent for luncheon and, therefore, Darcy's requisite pint or two.
With sudden inspiration, Darcy settled his wife in the carriage and commanded her to stay put, walking briskly back into the pub. Lizzy obeyed, watching the front door with bafflement. Hence her extreme surprise when Darcy appeared on the other side with two pub workers in tow, each of them carrying a heavy cask of ale.
He was grinning, obviously quite proud of himself. “What brilliant maneuver have you dreamed up now, my heart? You are positively glowing with self-satisfaction.”
“It occurred to me that the rear driver's bench is empty, saddened by fulfilling no purpose in life. Therefore, in an effort to appease its grief, I am loading it with a burden.”
Lizzy laughed, Darcy swinging up beside her, embracing her quickly and bestowing a tender kiss. A mile north, Darcy veered off the main road onto a nearly invisible trail between trees that made it barely wide enough for the carriage. “Where are we headed now?” Lizzy asked, Darcy demurring, only telling her it was a surprise.
The trail twisted amongst the thick trees, the main road long since vanished, as the carriage bumped along the rugged trail. Lizzy held on securely, clutching Darcy's arm and the side rail. Just about the time she was prepared to beg him to halt—the jerking sending vague twinges through the stretched muscles and ligaments of her lower abdomen—the path opened into a narrow glade, grassy with a minute pond to the left. Not dissimilar to Darcy's grotto, although far smaller and less lush, it nonetheless presented a serene atmosphere.
Lizzy turned to her husband's smiling face. “It is lovely, William, but how did you know this was here?”
He shrugged. “A friend of mine from Cambridge, Mr. Harold Kensington, resides near here. In fact, we are on his lands, but I do not think he will mind, especially since he is abroad right now.” Darcy reached up and cupped Lizzy's face, bending until brushing her lips. “I experienced an overwhelming urge to be alone with you, to kiss you without old-fashioned biddies gasping in shock.” Lizzy giggled, but he interrupted her with a consuming kiss, leaving her breathless. “Also, I want you to rest. You overexerted yesterday—do not deny it, my love—and were falling asleep in the carriage.” He trailed one finger along the tops of her breasts. “Additionally, my selfishness is unmasked in that I desire my wife alert tonight so I can ravish her body, bringing her joy unlimited as well as my own profound satisfaction.”
They spread a blanket along the shady tree edge, reclining contentedly. Darcy removed his jacket, stretching long legs and laying back with one arm folded under his head and the other around his wife's waist, stroking her arm gently. “Are you enjoying yourself, dearest?”
Lizzy gazed at her husband with undisguised love. “I am having a marvelous time.” She stretched beside him,
