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  Chapter 1

  Under Heaven

  In the year ’18, Mr. Darcy remained the tall, handsome-featured gentleman of his youth. The figure he struck remained much admired by other than just his wife. Given the peculiar tribulations he had withstood, society certainly could have forgiven him (even expected) an alteration in his bearing. However, he suffered no stoop, no dishevelment of his costume, nor had he taken to drink.

  If he had scars from the wars, they endured indelibly, only examined upon retreat. Hence, there was little improvement in his public mien. Upon social occasions, his conversational skills remained hampered by a continued disinclination to share his private thoughts. Indeed, Mr. Darcy’s silences remained near legendary. When he did speak, it was at great personal sacrifice.

  The birth of his children did not alter his pride nor meliorate his arrogance. In many ways he was of even stricter sensibilities. Indeed, he made no more outward show of affection for his children than the average man of condition. When unobserved, however, he had a habit of tousling his son’s hair and lifting his daughter into his arms that suggested a fondness for them few people of station would forgive.

  Until he returned from his sojourn to the Low Countries, his fastidiousness would have required a month’s ablution to cleanse him of the indignities of town. Of late he had become remarkably tolerant of the patriciate. Indeed, he had accustomed himself to the notion that one day it would be necessary for him to deliver himself unto The Season on behalf of his children’s future. He was happy only in knowing that as an eventuality—a far distant prospect not to be bothered with until the day was at hand.

  As for the Darcy marriage, some whispered that few love-matches could withstand the boredom of constancy. Elizabeth Darcy was far too happy to be bothered by those ill-informed opinions. As before, their two hearts beat as one. So abiding was their love that they felt no need to put it on display.

  The armies of devotion stood firm, only vulnerable to injury from within.

  In the year ’18, to every thing there was a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven.

  Chapter 2

  How Does Your Garden Grow?

  It was a fair estimation to say the Darcy marriage had remained… well-tended. Despite their duties to hearth, park, and children, they consoled each others’ enduring appetence with great enthusiasm. Time and children had not mitigated their passion whatsoever. If any consternation bedevilled them, it was finding privacy wherein to avail themselves of their desire, not the want of it.

  ———

  Due to what certain mavens of propriety might have decreed as an inordinate degree of indulgence in their children, it had become the Darcys’ custom to allow them to come to their chambers at will. Whereas Mrs. Bennet (and her unheralded intrusions) had returned to Longbourn, they had leave to forswear the heavy bolts placed on their door. Elizabeth had given specific directions to nurse that should her children awake from some night terror; they were free to go to their mother.

  This freedom made it necessary for the Darcys to be more circumspect about when and how their conjugal exchanges were enjoyed. When once they had not hesitated to enjoy achievement in a random closet or deserted dining room (enduring the wrath of scattered cutlery and mahogany veneer as they did), such acts were now proscribed. When in want of true abandon, they simply visited the verdant grounds surrounding the estate. (One particular spot so well-used as to be absent of all but the most unflappable wildlife.)

  Of course, time was the test of all tribulations, even for the impervious Mr. Darcy. It did happen that his hauteur was challenged—most often from awakening prematurely from his night’s rest by tiny toes imbedded beneath his chin. (This happenstance, of course, was better entertained than when small, thrashing feet brought him to that singular grief—the sort that only a man could appreciate.)

  This night a passing storm had been accompanied by a huge clattering of thunder. The twins had fled to their parents’ bed just before dawn. They had made their way with such haste as to be through the door and in their parents’ bed ere nurse caught them. Margaret Heff halted at the doorway, wringing her hands and extending profuse apologies. Elizabeth waved her away, content to quiet their fears herself. Mr. Darcy was less pleased, for as she cosseted them, their cold feet found warmth against his. By the time every tear was dried and fear calmed, there was no question of them returning to the nursery.

  By daybreak, Geoff was sound asleep on his father’s chest. With well-rehearsed precision, Mr. Darcy betook himself from the bed and carried the boy to the door. Owing to his father’s care (or that the boy was simply a good sleeper), he did not awake.

  Darcy opened the door but a crack and peered out. Seated in a chair just outside, sat the nurse, still in a fret. He whispered to her and she leapt to her feet, allowing him to hand the boy to her—still without waking him. Nurse began an apology for allowing the escape, but Mr. Darcy put a finger to his lips and shushed her. She nodded and withdrew, Geoff still fast asleep. A stout housemaid stood ready to collect his sister.

  It took some time for Darcy to untangle Janie’s fingers from her mother’s hair. It was his particular wish not to awaken his wife. (Of late, she looked to be well-nigh fordone by half past four.) She must have her rest. Despite his guardianship, Elizabeth awoke before he could transport Janie to the door.

  “Does she stir?” she asked.

  He shook his head, gave Janie over to waiting hands and closed the door.

  As he turned to the bed, he said, “Roused by the slightest bit of thunder outside their window, our children would sleep through Armageddon in the room.”

  Running her fingers awkwardly through her hair, she tossed back the bedclothes as if to rise.

  “I must look a fright,” said she.

  To him, her mussed hair and sleepy eyes were nothing less than an aphrodisiac.

  He announced, “You look nothing of the sort.”

  As he walked towards her, he drew his nightshirt over his head and tossed it aside. Well-honed and well-hung, he sported a rather magnificent genital tumescence, one that gently swayed with every step he took in her direction.

  Was she given to histrionics, she could have managed a swoon. As it was, she had to stifle an anticipatory gasp. She knew well that his sexual capital included, not only immoderately appointed loins, but a penchant for passion that included the bestowal of pleasures upon her person so exceedingly well-executed that her toes curled at the very thought of them.

  Without word or hesitation, she quit any thought of taking leave and extended her arms to him. He slid in beside her, nuzzling her behind the ear.

  She laughed.

  As he serried his body next to hers, the evidence of his affection (at present heavy with morning pride) insinuated itself between her thighs. Overborne by her own indocile desire, she turned to meet his touch. Within their embrace, Mrs Darcy’s hand slithered downward to Mr. Darcy’s nether-region—to guide, to encourage, or, perhaps simply to admire. Whatever her motive, Mr. Darcy’s response to his wife’s caress was immediate—and thorough.

  As much as they loved their children, languorous longing and supine delights would never be suspended.

  The ruling passion conquered reason still.

  Chapter 3

  Speaking of Love

  There were four dining parlours in Pemberley House. The prettiest was well-proportioned and ideal for summer as it had grand windows opening to the grounds below. It also beheld a fine prospect of the hill Elizabeth Bennet and her Aunt and Uncle Gardiner descended on the occasion of her first visit to Darcy’s estate. Every disposition of the park was handsome, but that remained Elizabeth’s favourite. It was crowned by a wood, with trees scattered on its banks and the winding o
f the valley as far as Elizabeth could trace it.

  As it was hithermost to the stairs leading to the nursery, they chose there to breakfast. The children took their own morning meal in the nursery. If they did not dawdle with their food, they were allowed to join their parents. Having them attend his table curled, powdered, and dressed was a concession to their father’s sensibilities.

  Whereas the napery was adorned with a pair of fine silver candelabras and a sideboard that groaned under the weight of china tureens (and a chafing-dish embossed with a scene of Perseus turning Phineus to stone), the children were expected to behave accordingly. It was all much more opulent than anything Elizabeth Darcy had enjoyed at Longbourn, but then, material possessions had never been her heart’s desire. As the owner of her heart possessed the finest estate in three counties, she thereby was of the opinion that their children should be witting of their station—but not ruled by it. Consequence had its tax and that included taking care of gilt wood tables and French glass.

  Mr. Darcy arrived at the dining parlour behindhand of his wife. Before he seated himself, he came to her ostensibly to bestow a kiss. Whilst engaged in that liberty, he used the morning light to steal a glance at her countenance. Diligent husband of her health, he was a bit troubled by what he observed. Small, dark semi-circle lay just beneath each eye. (Those eyes that once drove him to distraction were provocative still.) In every other way, she seemed fresh as the morning rain. Her hair was glossy and her cheeks pink. Thus he was reluctant to remark on the circles lest she take his observation as censure. It was apparent that she knew they were there for she had taken to dusting her face with a bit of powder. That, in and of itself, was unusual.

  He would not have her unwell.

  For all their household help, there was great need of another nurse. Obviously, Mrs. Heff needed help. Once another nurse was in place, Elizabeth would be less inclined to take the stairs every time she heard a child cry out. (Their children were, granted, a noisy pair.) When they were young, Mrs. Littlepage, the former wet-nurse had served as nurse as well. However, she had proved far too fatigable to chase the youngsters. Once they were weaned, she had bid take her leave. The search for a second nurse had not been embarked upon in a timely fashion as Elizabeth had braved great travail in finding the first one. She was loath to begin interviews again and he could not help but be sympathetic. (One particularly nasty applicant had tempted him to set the dogs after her.)

  In deciding that he should resolve the ongoing worriment for his wife, he began to grumble before he took a plate to the sideboard.

  “We must see to obtaining a second nurse, Mrs. Darcy. Or, at the very least, find one a bit quicker than the one we have.”

  She turned her eyes in his direction. Her expression, an odd combination of relief and defeat, suggested that she was in agreement.

  He continued, “Despite the troubling economy, I do believe Pemberley can afford to take on additional help. Indeed, if you would like, I shall be happy to interview them for you myself.”

  His suggestion was less an offer than a command. Her procrastination, she knew, had provoked his decree. Saving her from the necessity of formal surrender on the matter, their children did gain the room with only a little less cacophony than last eve’s storm. As fine a house as Pemberley was, Elizabeth believed nothing above the angelic faces of her children, freshly scrubbed and fed, beaming up at her in the bright morning sun. This day the twins had trooped down the stairs and taken their places looking for all the world as if it was the first their parents had seen them.

  Quite as usual, Geoff and Janie were engaged in a disagreement, one Janie wanted her father to resolve. Before being seated, she escaped Mrs. Heff’s grip and ran directly to his chair.

  “Papa,” she asked with great solemnity, “When it thunders, is God angry?”

  Geoff interrupted her, snapping, “Oh, do not be such a ninny!”

  Once he had entered his fourth year, he had begun to harbour little patience for his sister and even less for her opinions.

  He announced, “Everyone knows that it is caused by lightening.”

  “Papa,” Janie grumped, “Geoff called me a ninny!”

  Without looking up from his melon, Darcy said, “Geoffrey, do not use such language. It is coarse. Apologise to your sister.”

  “Yes, Papa,” he replied. To Janie, he said, “I am sorry that you are a ninny.”

  Janie frowned. However, Mr. Darcy was pleased to leave any more reproach to his wife. Content with his success over his sister, Geoff looked at his mother with apprehensive eyes. Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. He needed no other censure. It was uncharacteristic of him to be unkind. Elizabeth wondered if Jane’s wild brood was a regrettable influence on him. Neither Jane nor Bingley had the heart for discipline which left their children in compleat want of restraint. Being the second born in a house full of girls, Elizabeth believed it should fall to Darcy to instruct his son.

  Geoff was seen to be quite precocious (even to those other than his parents). He was handsome and sturdy, unafraid (aside from thunder) and his favourite possession was a compass. Although he was, at times, uncivil to his sister, no one had leave to tease her but him. Janie was quiet, but clever and very independent. Although it was a struggle to keep a ribbon in her hair, she was as pretty as a porcelain doll.

  From beneath his coat Geoff produced a horse that his namesake, Colonel Fitzwilliam had carved for him. He pranced it along the edge of the table without thought to the finish or to his lapse in table manners. Elizabeth thought to correct him before Darcy spied him, but she held her tongue. If she was to err, she would rather it be on the side of indulgence. Time would come soon enough for the burden of his heritage. She was disposed to let him be a boy whilst he could.

  “What do you call your horse?” she bid.

  He said airily, “I have named him Copenhagen, Mama.”

  “After the city?” she queried.

  He answered patiently, “No, Mama. I have named him after Wellington’s horse.”

  “Wellington’s horse is called Copenhagen?” she repeated.

  Enunciating carefully, he said, “Yes. Copenhagen. Wellington chased that French rotter, Nappy across the Continent.”

  His father corrected, “Do not employ that word either. It is coarse as well. A gentleman does not speak in that manner. Enemy or not, the emperor’s name is Napoleon Bonaparte.”

  The boy needed no further chastisement. He suffered under his father’s censure above any other. Without compleat submission, he ducked his chin and hid his wooden horse beneath the edge of the table. Usually his parents listened with nothing but pleasure to what the boy said, but it was important that he not become accustomed to employing such language. Elizabeth suspected that he obtained the word “rotter” from the same relation who carved him the horse.

  Seeing that the tips of his ears had turned red, Elizabeth altered the discourse.

  She asked, “Do you know the name of Napoleon’s horse?”

  Delighted that he knew, Geoff said eagerly, “Marengo, Mama.” Geoff then asked his father, “Did you know that black horses are born with a brown coat?”

  Darcy opened his mouth to reply. Before he could utter a word, a servant stepped into the room.

  He announced, “Mrs. Littlepage here for Mrs. Darcy.”

  Without looking towards her husband, Mrs. Darcy told the footman, “I shall see her in the front salon.”

  As Mr. Darcy was well aware of the service Mrs. Littlepage provided, he caught his wife’s wrist as she made for the door.

  “Must we speak?” he inquired deftly.

  She did not pretend ignorance.

  “Perchance,” she replied, unintentionally evasive. “One must be prepared for any possibility.”

  “How possible?” he bid before checking himself. There were, after all, many ears in the room.

  Glancing at their children, she only agreed, “We must speak.”

  Chapter 4

  Passion�
��s Gift

  After speaking to Mrs. Darcy, Mrs. Littlepage took her leave directly.

  Having been sent a bit off-kilter by the woman’s unexpected arrival and her husband’s observance of it, Elizabeth escaped from his questioning eyes via the back staircase. She was breathless by the time she gained their chamber door. This was only partly due to her dash up the stairs. A frisson of anticipation scurried up her spine as she turned the knob. This day she was especially stirred.

  Darcy abhorred schemes and disliked conjecture. No doubt he had been apprised that her meeting had concluded and was on his way thither to hear of it from her own lips. Her obliqueness had been deliberate—and she hoped she would be forgiven.

  She thought it only fitting that she inform him of the coming child next to the bed they had laboured so pleasurably in to create it.