Mr Darcy's Second Chance Page 5

  "All right." He cleared his throat. "Go lie down. I will lay after you."

  She moved and her chemise hissed against the cotton blanket as she lay down. Once she was still, he unrolled his own blanket and stretched out next to her, cushioning his head with his forearm.

  "Are you all right?" he asked into the darkness.

  "I am not sleepy," she answered. "I do not think I can sleep."

  "Close your eyes and try to rest, even if you don't sleep."

  She sighed, shifted, and there was silence for several minutes. Elizabeth had taken a nap during the day but Darcy hadn't and he was drifting off when she asked, "Can you tell me something more about Pemberley?"

  "The leaves are changing now. The trees are every shade of orange and crimson and yellow and even violet. Winter will come soon, but Pemberley is beautiful. You will love it."

  "That sounds nice."

  "It is nice," he promised her. "I had almost forgotten how nice my life was. The rooms have their skeletons but I keep them locked and I am the only one with a key. I get up, go to meet with my steward, met with neighbours, take Brick for the ride, maybe go to Lambton, the small town near my estate. Then come home, enjoy my family, eat dinner, and go to sleep in a soft, warm bed. It is nice."

  She said nothing for so long he got worried.

  "Are you all right?" he asked again, reaching out and searching for her in the darkness. Finding her shoulder, "Elizabeth?"

  As soon as he touched her, she was very still, not flinching, but not relaxing, either. "I am fine," she answered carefully, sounding like she was holding her breath.

  "No, you aren't." He outlined her shoulder with his hand, stroking gently. "We're not married yet," he reminded her.

  "I was not sure if it mattered to you," she murmured, still not looking at him.

  "It does. Relax and go to sleep." She nodded again. "You can cry if you want," he whispered. "It is allowed."

  "I do not want to cry. I just want to be warm inside."

  Darcy understood what it was like to be cold. Not outside, but inside. To shiver like he'd eaten too much ice cream. It was a different kind of cold.

  Without another word, he moved closer and lay down behind her, putting his hand on her shoulder again but otherwise not touching her. "I'll keep you warm. Go to sleep."

  *~~*~~*

  Mr. Darcy reread the short letter he was about to send by messenger to Pemberley. It was done, then. Even if they wanted to, it was too late to back out. He announced that he is coming home, with a new wife and a baby. Entering into the holy covenant of marriage was significantly less binding than telling his housekeeper she was about to have a new baby to fuss over.

  Elizabeth was waiting beside the door of the post office, holding Jane and trying to keep her eyes open. If she had slept at all the previous night, Darcy hadn't noticed it.

  "Elizabeth, are you all right?" he asked sitting beside her on the bench. "This is so much, so quickly. Are you sure?"

  She inhaled, opened her eyes a little wider and forced a smile, nodding.

  "Please don't do that. I hate falseness. Please don't pretend what you don't feel. If you want to wait, or if you've changed your mind, just tell me. If it's a matter of money, I'm in debt to you for months of room and board. You could collect and take a grand tour," he added, trying unsuccessfully to get a genuine smile. "Above all, you are my friend, Elizabeth. I won't have you do something you don't want to do. I'll take you anywhere you want to go and I'll make sure you and the baby are well taken care of once you get there. Would you wish to go to your parents? Hertfordshire isn't far away from London and I also should go to Kent where I have the estate to care of."

  "I choose to go with you if you want me." It was the longest sentence he'd heard from her all day.

  "I do," he responded with all honesty. He waited, but she said nothing else.

  "All right, then." He leaned down, kissing her lightly on the forehead. He attempted to touch her often, and she made a conscientious effort to respond, even though she frequently seemed surprised, she'd momentarily forgotten whom he was or why he was there.

  *~~*~~*

  One nice thing about being a man, there wasn't much to spruce up. If he was clean, combed, shaved, and buttoned, he was ready. It was the much longer process for women, he realised.

  Elizabeth stood at the dresser, staring at her reflection in the bedroom mirror. She leaned her head from side to side, examining herself.

  "I look so shabby," she commented, running her hands over her blue dress. "I did not realise how shabby."

  "The world is shabby, we just blend in," he explained, coming up behind her and putting his hands on her shoulders. "You look fine." She grimaced at her reflection, then picked up the brush and pulled out hairpins, showing every sign of starting over. It was a feminine routine he'd experienced before and it never ended well. He should have remembered. Whenever a woman asked how she looked, the proper answer was "beautiful". Any further comments required sensitivity and were sure to get him in trouble. Unfortunately, he'd decided for "fine."

  "You look beautiful," he added, trying to make amends. "Anyway, who cares how you look?"

  She'd sent him a look, her lower lip between her teeth and her forehead wrinkled, before brushed out her long hair.

  "Elizabeth, considering you've been living hand-to-mouth and just had a baby-"

  "Mr. Darcy, any charm you have, you must have gotten on the street."

  He would have laughed but his head hurt. "I'm not making it any better, am I?"

  "No." She hesitated, disappointed with the woman in the mirror. "And neither am I."

  "The ladies I saw on the street today had their hair kind of sitting atop their heads." He gathered her dark mane into a sloppy ponytail at her crown, trying to show it. "Smooth on the sides, then some curls, with a stupid little bonnet on top."

  "I do not have a stupid little bonnet, Mr. Darcy."

  Untangling his fingers, he handed her a hairpin and promised, "I will buy you some fabric, patterns, and a stupid little bonnet so you'll be the height of fashion. Until then, just do the best you can."

  *~~*~~*

  "It's always nice to see a young couple so in love," the priest said cautiously when the young pair stood in front of him. "You're wearing wedding rings." He remarked.

  "We were married before," Darcy said and received an uncertain look from the parson.

  "Do you want to use them?" The clergyman pointed at the rings.

  "Oh, uh, no. No, we don't. I'll get new ones for us later. Is that all right?"

  "It's great." The cleric's eyes were kind, and he appeared amused at their confusion. "Well then, I will be in my study whenever you're ready. Take your time." He closed the door, leaving them alone.

  Darcy exhaled, "The priest's ready," he informed Elizabeth needlessly. She nodded, scowling in concentration as she tried to work her wedding ring off her finger. After hesitating, Darcy did the same.

  Succeeding, she rubbed the pale, indented skin on her finger and handed the band to him for safe keeping. He slipped both rings in his pocket without comment.

  "So I must buy wedding bands, fabric, patterns, and a stupid little hat before we start travel to England," he listed nervously. "Anything else?"

  She nodded no, smiling gently.

  "The priest's ready," he repeated, offering his hand.

  *~~*~~*

  As long as he didn't move or breathe, he was only in moderate agony. He had one of those terrible headaches, which his doctor diagnosed as a migraine five years ago. His stomach, the miserable battlefield between his ribs and hips, felt like it had revolted and then been beaten into submission with a hammer. They barely left Gretna Green and had to stop in Carlisle, in a nearby inn, when he got nausea.

  A cold, wet cloth passed over his forehead and cheeks as he opened his eyes.

  "You were smiling," Elizabeth mumbled, turning away to re-wet the washcloth. She was wearing her white chemise and her hair hung over
her shoulder in a long, thick knot. The clock showed it was after four in the morning. She probably just finished feeding Jane. "In your sleep. You were smiling. Were you dreaming of Anne?"

  "My father," he rasped, his lips dry. The candle beside the bed burned low, barely illuminating the ornate mahogany furniture of their room. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and took a careful, shaky breath he immediately regretted. "I was dreaming of my father." His chest was bare, as were his feet underneath the blankets, though he didn't remember her undressing him. It seemed the only thing less romantic than the brief engagement and the hasty wedding was the wedding night.

  "So, Mr. Darcy, when I promised in sickness and in health, I did not know I would be tested so soon." she teased.

  She went back to bathing him, running the washcloth over his shoulders. He'd forgotten, as familiar as he was with her body, after Jane's birth and his more recent hallway-lurking, she was a stranger to his. He closed his eyes when the cloth passed over his eyelids and down the bridge of his nose. "Forgive me, Elizabeth."

  "Tell me about your dream," she whispered. Water swished in the basin, then splashed and dripped as she squeezed out the washcloth.

  "I was dreaming of the day I told him he would be a grandfather. He was worried. For me, for Anne. My mother died after she gave birth to my sister. But he never lived to see Ed. He passed away three months earlier. The doctor said it was the heart."

  He tilted his head from side to side as she washed his neck, deciding the pleasant coolness outweighed the pain of moving.

  "How did Anne die?" she asked all of a sudden.

  Several seconds passed before he responded, "It was an accident. She was not well. I was supposed to be watching her, and I wasn't. I was tired, and I fell asleep. My sister found her..."

  "It must have been horrifying for her?"

  "Yes, it was... Georgie was very close with Anne. Though they were cousins, Anne was like a big sister to her. After she died... After she died Georgie clammed up. I... She didn't wish to live with me anymore so I permitted her move to a dower house, where is living Anne's mother now. Georgie didn't like her much but for some reasons chose her over me..."

  "How old is she?"

  "Fourteen." Water swished and splashed again and he decided quickly change the subject before she asks another question.

  "Come to bed. Get some sleep." he responded, shifting painfully to his side and scooting back on the mattress. She put the basin aside and folded the blankets back, making a place.

  *~~*~~*

  Women were soft. He'd almost forgotten. He was accustomed to touching them. All men were. Lifting them into or out of a carriage, helping a lady who had fainted or just being a solicitous escort but that was through the merciless whalebones of a corset, layers of hoops, and petticoats. In their natural state, like asleep beside him, women were unbelievably soft.

  It was their fourth day of travel. Because of Darcy's illness and a very small child, they travel only several hours a day. And that was also their fourth night as a married couple.

  His hand rested comfortably in the valley of Elizabeth's waist as he opened his eyes, wondering what had awakened him. His wife's back fitted nicely against his front. Her skin was warm under his fingertips through the thin nightgown. Content, Darcy was about to go back to sleep when Jane mewed again, not crying, but announcing she was up and thinking of a late-night snack.

  "Baby," he mumbled to Elizabeth who didn't budge. He jostled her gently. "Elizabeth, the baby wants you."

  She said something unintelligible and cuddled against him as if she planned to hibernate there until spring. Jane reiterated her request, stressing its urgency.

  Darcy pushed up on his elbow and swung his bare feet over the side of the bed. He rubbed his arms vigorously against the cool air and leaned over the cradle. "You do realise it's midnight, don't you?" he asked Jane, who appeared unashamed.

  There was a blanket spread over the sofa beside the cradle and he laid her on it, giving her his finger to hold while he got everything ready. After a few tries, he had a dry diaper folded so all the important parts were covered. Not an easy trick with a baby who'd discovered she could roll over and escape. He settled Jane against his shoulder, one hand on her head and the other on her dry behind.

  "Would you consider just going back to sleep for papa?" he checked, rubbing her back encouragingly. "Let your mama rest a little?"

  Jane snuggled against him, radiating baby-heat, and letting Darcy rock and murmur to her for several minutes before she decided, no, that wouldn't do after all.

  He sat on the edge of the bed watching his wife and put his hand on her shoulder. "Baby," he whispered, hating to wake her. "Elizabeth, the baby."

  "Yes?" she finally mumbled, stretching and yawning. She rubbed her eyes, blinking at him as she sat up. "What is it? Is something wrong, Mr. Darcy?"

  "Baby," he repeated with an amused smile. She always woke up like a kitten. Happy to be here but unsure exactly where here was. Small words worked best. He pushed a loose strand of hair back from her face then brushed his thumb along her jawbone. "Elizabeth, the baby," he whispered.

  "Oh." She sat up again quickly, finally noticing the infant squirming against his bare chest. "Oh," she repeated sheepishly, reaching for her child. "I will feed her. Thank you for telling me."

  "You are welcome," he answered very politely for a man wearing only his breeches.

  Darcy lay down, tucking his bare feet under the blankets and crossing his arms across his bare chest. As he waited for sleep to come, he watched Elizabeth gather up a spare blanket, preparing to take Jane behind the screen to nurse her in private, far away from the fireplace.

  "Elizabeth," he called as she left, his voice carefully casual. "It's warmer in here."

  "Yes," she agreed, her response just as neutral.

  "I'm going back to sleep. It's dark. There's no reason for you and the baby being cold or uncomfortable."

  "You need to rest. I would not want to disturb you."

  "You won't."

  In the silent invitation, he scooted back a few inches, so he was on the left side of the broad mattress, leaving ample space for her in front of him. He pushed up on one elbow as he studied her and waited.

  "You brought her to bed last night to feed her," he reminded her.

  "I thought you were asleep when I did that. Were you just pretending, Mr. Darcy?"

  "Perhaps I woke up and peeked," he admitted tiredly.

  "And will you be peeking again?" she asked with a note of embarrassed amusement in her voice.

  "I can't promise either way. Stop shivering, bring the baby and come back to bed, Elizabeth."

  After a few seconds, the mattress dipped as she sat down and laid down with the baby in front of her, with her back to him. A ribbon whispered as she slowly untied the top of her chemise, baring one breast just enough for the baby to nurse. In the dim light, he could make out Jane's tiny hand resting on Elizabeth's breast, and her glistening, beautiful eyes looking up at her mother as she nursed.

  "Ed used to do that," Darcy said softly. "With his hand. When he was a baby. He wasn't nursed by his mother though."

  "You were watching his wet nurse, Mr. Darcy?"

  "Of course not. But he did that with his hand. I remember it as it was yesterday."

  Her profile just smiled and nodded. He scooted closer to Elizabeth, pulled the blanket up to their waists and pillowed his head on his folded left arm. With his right hand he traced down her shoulder and along her arm until his hand covered hers on Jane.

  With his eyes closed, he could hear the baby's mouth moving against Elizabeth's breast. Her bottom was warm and round against his pelvis, causing a pleasant sensation in his belly and groin, not an arousal, only a comforting reminder that he wasn't dead.

  Soon, he told himself. Home, intimacy, normalcy.

  Soon.

  As promised, he slept.

  *~~*~~*

  As much as people liked to think they were enigma
s, they weren't. What they owned, how they conducted themselves, all said much more about them than they realised. It was just a matter of taking time and caring enough to notice.

  Darcy hadn't quite figured out his wife yet, but he was working on it. He was in charge of this dance and he knew the steps but part of being a good dancer was knowing his partner.

  He knew she didn't like tomatoes. If Elizabeth were in charge, they probably wouldn't even be permitted to grow, let alone be eaten. She loved to read and he was sure his grand library will be one of her favourite places soon. He knew she liked fine things against her skin. Underclothes, nightgowns. Her taste was elegant and understated. It was expensive but it wasn't designed look like it was expensive. She only pretended to dislike his jests but that was his opinion and his sense of humour hadn't been at its best in the last few days.

  Unlike Anne, who would either wince or burst into tears if he accidentally raised his voice, Elizabeth either ignored his black moods and sarcasm or seemed amused, which was discomforting.

  She liked sleeping beside him at night and he liked her there. In the inns they stayed he could take two rooms for them and she could have slept elsewhere if she had wanted.

  She had been comfortable caring for him while he was ill, unlike some women who thought of men's bodies as vulgar or dirty. Many girls were raised to be something past prudish and men were taught to expect their wives to be good mothers, but less-than-enthusiastic bed companions. For ladies, marital relations were a weekly duty. Like laundry but less pleasurable. If a gentleman wanted passion or even to break a sweat in bed, he should look elsewhere rather than trouble his wife. Elizabeth seemed to have been raised with the middle-class notion men were touchable and he was secretly grateful for it.

  He knew Elizabeth thought more than she said but what she said was worth listening to. He couldn't say for certain she was happy, but she didn't seem unhappy and that was a start. When he kissed her, she kissed back.

  He watched her walking across the room toward him, her skirt and the blanket covering the baby fluttering in the breeze. Not noticing him at first, she passed, stopped and looked puzzled. He held out a white silk flower to her, twirling the wire stem between his fingertips so the petals spun.