“Thank you, but I prefer a nice red wine. Spirits do not agree with me. Mr. Darcy,” Dr. Penaflor addressed from his perch behind Anne, “is not your cousin, Miss de Bourgh, the very picture of health?”
The phrase was perhaps a bit overzealous, but Anne certainly was flourishing, especially with the bright blush currently spreading over her fuller cheeks. Darcy smiled fondly at his cousin. “She is radiant and beautiful. What exactly did you two prescribe?”
“Primarily foods rich in iron. Green vegetables, beans, red meat and organ meat, grains and nuts, and strawberries. Also, an herbal tea brewed of ingredients found to strengthen the blood. The taste is bitter, but Miss de Bourgh is brave and an excellent patient.” Dr. Penaflor was clearly pleased with the improvement to his patient.
“Miss de Bourgh,” Lizzy said, “you are radiant as Mr. Darcy stated. How are you feeling?”
Anne answered in her quiet voice, “You are too kind, Mrs. Darcy. I must confess that I am feeling so much stronger. I do not sleep as much as I did, I breathe easier, have more energy, and my appetite is improved. William, you remember the ruins a half mile or so from the manor that we used to play in?” He nodded. “I visited them the other day for the first time in probably twelve years! I could never walk so far.” She smiled brightly and giggled. “It brought back so many memories.” She turned to Lizzy. “Your husband, Richard, and I would play hide-and-seek amongst the fallen stones. I always won!” She declared with childish pride.
Darcy chuckled in remembrance. Richard spoke up with a grin, “You won, dearest cousin, because you were far smaller and could squeeze between and under the stones.”
“Remember how dirty you would get, Anne?” Darcy chimed in with an evil laugh. “Aunt Catherine would grab your ear and march you off for a bath, declaring all boys the spawn of Satan for messing up proper ladies. How many times did she forbid us to play outside?”
“Hundreds, I am sure,” Richard answered, suddenly bursting into a deep laugh. “Remember the one time when Anne had that big, black spider caught in her hair? Aunt Catherine shrieked so loudly we thought the rafters would cave. Maids and footman were running about trying to kill the poor arachnid while Aunt perched precariously on the arm of a chair. It was the funniest thing I ever saw.”
Lord Matlock spoke, “She wrote me a scathing letter demanding I thrash you. I know she wrote the same to James.”
“What ever happened to the spider?” Kitty asked.
“Smart fellow crawled away. Probably still resides in some unused room of the manor, begetting hundreds of little black children,” Darcy replied. The women shuddered but laughed nonetheless. The afternoon passed with remembrances and laughter, while the Pemberley staff efficiently readied guest chambers. The Matlocks would journey on to Rivallain after dining, but Richard would stay at Pemberley.
“I promised Lady Catherine I would be Anne's official chaperone,” he shared with Lizzy and Darcy, rolling his eyes. Then he glanced pointedly to Dr. Penaflor, who was relating a story about King Ferdinand of Spain to the avidly listening group. “I think she is afraid of the scary, swarthy-skinned fellow! He is a foreigner, after all, and you know you cannot trust them foreigners,” he whispered in a perfect imitation of his Aunt.
Dr. Darcy approached Darcy and Lizzy as the party broke up to prepare for dinner. “Elizabeth dear, I have something for you.” He handed her a large jar filled with tallow-colored cream. “It is a mixture of oils and wool fat. Indian women massage this over their bellies and breasts when pregnant to prevent the skin unduly stretching.”
Both of the Darcys peered at him with absolute incomprehension. George looked from one to the other with a raised brow. “You know, the splitting of the skin that can occur as the child grows?”
Lizzy frowned but Darcy paled in horror, clutching his wife to his side and speaking with a weak squeak, “The skin… splits! This is… abominable! How is it the book says nothing of this? What other grisly realities should we know of, Uncle?” He was trembling, grasping Lizzy so tightly that she could barely breathe.
George laughed and patted his shoulder. “No no, nephew. It is not as you imagine. Forgive me for frightening you. I sometimes forget how repressed this culture is, not sharing private details.” He shook his head. “Let me explain: the skin can tear, very superficially, as the baby grows. Usually the scars disappear, but at times they remain and can be unsightly, although in no way damaging. Keeping the skin well lubricated aids in the natural process. That is all. I was merely attempting to help. Please pardon me for frightening you both or crossing any lines of that proper English behavior that I persist in forgetting!”
Darcy was so visibly relieved that he nearly collapsed. “No, Uncle, please, share your knowledge with us by all means. Elizabeth and I want to be prepared for this experience.”
George smiled and nodded. Lizzy thanked him for the cream, her own relief intense. George bowed and turned away, pivoting back a second later. “By the way, William. Some find that having the spouse be the administer of the cream and massage leads to other enjoyable activities.” He grinned as the Darcys’ blushed. “Of course, I am a single man so have no idea what they are talking about.” With a final wink, he strode briskly down the hallway, whistling cheerily.
The next morning, three days now until the Festival, Lizzy woke to a room of blazing sunlight and already stifling heat. It was nearly nine and she was alone in their huge bed, the warmth of her husband's body long since dissipated. She had no memory of his leaving, assumed it was probably in the wee hours after dawn, not even an imprint remaining partly because she was clutching his pillow into her chest. She yawned and stretched, the baby flipping about in wakefulness, as her eyes alit on Darcy's hastily scratched note. She retrieved it from where it was propped against the lamp on the bed stand, laughing as she read the four words he had scrawled: Gone riding. Love you.
“How romantic,” she murmured with a smile, rising and pulling on her gauzy robe, moving briskly toward the water closet as the baby painfully danced on her bladder.
Darcy entered the room moments later, a rapid scan concluding that she must be in her dressing room. He rather doubted she had risen and was already downstairs. The oppressive heat in the closed room struck him as a physical blow, so he crossed to the balcony doors, opening them wide and then moved to the other windows. One of the advantages of being on the top floor, surely one of the reasons that the Master chambers were located here and facing the valley with the lake and river, were the crisp breezes consistently flowing. He stood for a moment at the far window, allowing the cooling current to brush over his sweaty brow and damp linen of his shirt.
He was aware of the fact that he was grinning happily. Parsifal had greeted his Master with unmistakable enthusiasm. Darcy saddled his stallion himself, softly scolding him to stand still, Parsifal leaping forward before Darcy was fully mounted. They had run for hours. The sad result of Darcy's injury was that the horse had not been run for close to a month. There was not a groom in Darcy's employ, not even Mr. Thurber, who would brave taking Parsifal out, even if Darcy had ordered it. It was not that the animal was particularly reckless or unmanageable; it was the reality that he belonged to Mr. Darcy, the only person who had ever ridden him, and the thought of another on his back was quite simply unfathomable.
Darcy ended their race with an exhilaration not felt in weeks. He was renewed, with a sensation of health and vigor coursing through his body and making him feel a teenager again. His eyes had lifted from the stable yard to the corner of the manor where he knew his beautiful wife lay in slumber, and he had grinned slowly. Tossing the reins to a groom and nuzzling Parsifal one last time, Darcy rushed with long strides to a side door. In an odd twist from the last ride with Parsifal necessary to cool his passionate lust, this ride had heightened it. Taking the steps several at a time, nearly bowling over a towel-encumbered maid in his haste, Darcy lurched through their chamber's door with frankly only one thought on his mind.