Lizzy linked arms with her spouse but addressed the doctor. “Your friend is apparently intent on squiring each young maiden in the room, Dr. Darcy.”
George laughed. “Yes, that would be Raja. Raised with courtly manners, he would deem it his duty. Although I judge his interest in Miss de Bourgh is primarily professional.”
“What do you mean, Uncle?”
He waved his hand dismissively. “One of the side effects of being a diagnostician. We never can fully push our instincts aside. We were both curiously discussing what treatment she is on for her anemia. Do you know, William?”
Darcy, however, was staring at him in total bafflement. “I fear, Uncle, I do not understand. The physician my aunt employs has determined it to be a heart condition.”
Dr. Darcy raised a brow, apparently an inherited Darcy gesture when perplexed. “A heart condition? That seems unlikely. Of course, I would need to examine her fully to be certain, but she is pale, not cyanotic or breathless, nor is there obvious evidence of edema.” He was frowning as he muttered, studying Anne as she sat across the room, fingers twitching over his lips.
Lizzy found the whole episode intriguing, not only Dr. Darcy's unconscious gesticulations so akin to her husband's, but also the references to Anne's affliction. Darcy was watching his uncle with interest and a glimmer of hope.
“I have long encouraged Aunt Catherine to seek an alternate opinion. Do you think you could help her, Uncle George?”
Dr. Darcy shrugged. “I know of several tonics as well as natural remedies for anemia, if that is her ailment. Heart diseases are difficult. Far too many variables. I have seen some success with the distillation of digitalis. Hmmm… The question is your Aunt Catherine. She never cared for me. I am too outrageous and improper,” he declared in Lizzy's direction with a grin. “You are not the first to earn her disfavor, my dear.”
“How comforting,” Lizzy murmured sarcastically.
“Dr. Darcy, pardon me, but what did you mean by Dr. Penaflor raised with courtly manners?” Mrs. Bennet asked, a keen glint in her eyes.
“Raul Penaflor, Mrs. Bennet, is the third son of a Spanish Duke, and his mother is one of many royal sisters to King Ferdinand. It is all rather a jumble of intermarriage intrigue that exhausts me, frankly.”
Mrs. Bennet's eyes had opened widely, and she was peering at Kitty and Dr. Penaflor as they completed their dance with unveiled calculation. Lizzy coughed a laugh, turning slightly to hide her face into Darcy's sleeve as Mrs. Bennet continued. “How very interesting! Has he a grand inheritance then? Or perhaps a family income?”
Dr. Darcy smiled innocently at Mrs. Bennet. “They have not disowned him, Mrs. Bennet, if that information profits you. Raja, however, is apathetic regarding his lineage and rank. I tease and call him ‘raja,’ which is prince in Hindi, yet he is indifferent. Healing is all that truly matters to him.”
Mrs. Bennet was obviously saddened at the news and chose to ignore Dr. Penaflor thereafter. The evening progressed with all in attendance enjoying themselves immensely. Lizzy danced twice, once with Colonel Fitzwilliam and then with George Darcy. Primarily, she stood happily by her husband, the two randomly conversing with all guests equally. Occasionally, she sensed Aunt Catherine's eyes boring into her, but essentially, she ignored the woman, far too delighted in the evening's gaiety to be irritated. Darcy was in a felicitous mood, smiling incessantly and laughing often. Even his trifling annoyance at his bound arm was insufficient to dampen his spirits.
Dinner was a success, Aunt Catherine and a couple others the only members to express repugnance at the exotic cuisines. Lizzy sat to Darcy's right, ready to assist him if necessary, but he managed proficiently without moving his left arm beyond the proscribed degrees. Lizzy had quickly rearranged the seating assignment so that Anne de Bourgh sat next to Dr. Raul Penaflor and quite far from her mother. She also rapidly ensured that her parents sat close to Mary and the Daniels family. Lady Catherine sat on the far side of Lord and Lady Matlock, near Darcy and Elizabeth. This, too, was on purpose. If Lady Catherine wished to “observe” Lizzy, then she would encourage the action.
All in all, it was a lively gathering. Food and wine flowed in abundance, the entire meal lasting several hours. Lizzy was amused to note Lady Catherine ingesting a vast quantity of red wine, becoming cheerful and borderline animated as the meal progressed. The Darcys shared many an entertaining glance and whispered comment, not to mention the typical loving touches that were now so natural and essential to their existence that they hardly noticed them any longer.
The largest shock of the evening came as they said their farewells to their guests. Lady Catherine approached with a shyly smiling Anne. She was a bit unsteady on her feet, yet appeared in control of her faculties when she grasped Elizabeth's hands. Peering intently into Lizzy's eyes, she spoke clearly, “Mrs. Darcy. I regret my prior actions. I may not fully approve of how Fitzwilliam went about choosing his bride, but I can no longer deny his… affection for you and yours for him. He is happy. Any fool can see that. Tonight's event has proven to me conclusively not only this fact, but also your excellence as Mistress. Thank you for the invitation. Understand that you are always welcome at Rosings Park.”
Finally alone, weary yet jubilant, Lizzy sat astride Darcy's lap as she firmly massaged the medicinal ointment into his shoulder. They talked quietly, comparing notes and laughing in remembrance. Darcy endured the massage, expressing clearly how he intended for the evening to end.
“How am I ever to manage fulfilling my nursing duties each night if you distract me so, Mr. Darcy?”
“Am I distracting you, beloved? So very sorry. Perhaps you should give me what I want so I shall no longer disturb you so.” His muffled voice rose from the vicinity of her bosom.
“Fitzwilliam,” she began hoarsely, grip faltering yet again.
He pulled her into his chest, kissing lustily as he rolled to the side with her pinned beneath his body. “Such an excellent Mistress as you, Mrs. Darcy, deserves to be rewarded in a most satisfying way. I believe I know exactly what you shall find most satisfying.”
Lizzy gasped in pleasure, yet attempted one last time to forestall his raging amorousness, “William, we should at least bind your arm…”
“Damn my arm! I love you, Elizabeth, and I have wanted you all evening. No longer shall I wait to love you, my wife, my heart and soul. Kiss me, my Lizzy!”
She did, wholeheartedly. They loved blissfully and, indeed, most satisfyingly.
Chapter Sixteen
Return to Pemberley
The day in mid July when the Darcys were to return to Pemberley dawned fair with the promise of extreme heat. Darcy woke even earlier than usual, the sun barely cresting the tops of the buildings surrounding Grosvenor Square. The bedchamber remained sunken in deep shadows, the drawn curtains effectively blocking the faint rays of light. Darcy lay comfortably in that hazy realm between sleep and full wakefulness. Elizabeth lay with her head nestled perfectly in the bend of his shoulder and chest, the remainder of her lovely body pressed firmly into his with one leg draped over him. Her steady respirations indicated her sleeping state.
Darcy smiled drowsily and pulled her closer, softly stroking her hip. The prospect of being home filled him with bliss and peace. This sojourn in London, although of less duration than usual, had without any doubt been his most satisfying in recent memory. The reason was all wrapped up with the woman he held in his arms… his wife. Each event attended, soiree or ball danced at, and conversation engaged in had transcended all past ones. In addition, he had managed to conclude all pressing business, paving the way for another long tarriance in Derbyshire.