Loving Mr. Darcy: Journeys Beyond Pemberley (66 page)

He smiled at the relief written on her face, taking her elbow and steering her along the pathway until the ugly mine had disappeared from view. In stark contrast to the dismal vision of scarred landscape to the south was the majestic mansion Hardwick Hall. Standing again on the edge of a shallow vale, Lizzy and Darcy could clearly see the stupendous house and magnificent grounds. In fact, Hardwick Hall, the breathtaking mansion home of the wealthy Elizabeth Hardwick, could readily be seen from nearly all points of the little hamlet.

"As you know, my love, versed in English history as thoroughly as you are, the Countess of Shrewsbury was a powerful and rich woman, second only to Queen Elizabeth herself. I must confess that if any Derbyshire mansion rivals Pemberley, it would be Hardwick."

"I will concur that it is impressive, dearest. I do not think I have ever encountered a house with such enormous windows. Perhaps I too am merely prejudiced, but I think I prefer the baroque style of Pemberley to the Tudor. In the end, I suppose it depends on one's taste without there being a definitive winner. Pemberley seems homier and not so ostentatious. I could never imagine a Darcy wanting their initials boldly emblazoned from each pinnacle!"

Darcy laughed, glancing at her impishly. "Are you certain? I was just envisaging how it would look to have E. D. in scrolling steel or marble on all four corners of the manor."

Lizzy seriously shook her head, but her lips were twitching with humor. "Too bold, William. Perchance a niche in the parlor for a carved idol and candles? Or possibly a blooming hedge shaped like my face?"

Darcy shook his head, lips pursed. "No to the idol. I prefer to offer my worship upon your physical body. As for the hedge," he said, nodding, "I shall give it some thought."

"Ha!" Lizzy pinched his side. "Good luck on that one. I am positive Mr. Clark would flatly refuse if you requested such an atrocity on his grounds."

"His grounds?" Darcy said with lifted brow.

Lizzy laughed. "Make no mistake, William. You own the estate and pay the bills, but when it comes to the landscaping, Mr. Clark is king."

Chesterfield, although the second largest town in Derbyshire, was a third the size and population of Derby. Initially this disparity was not evident, the bustling activity along the streets fairly intense. Chesterfield's central location on the northeastern region of the county, coupled with lying on the northern road to Sheffield, ensured a steady traffic.

"Why do you never travel here, William? Chesterfield is closer to Pemberley than Derby."

Darcy shrugged. "I have no business ventures here, and Derby has more to offer in both commerce and entertainment. Frankly, I tend not to travel there all that much. In the past, prior to marrying you"--he bent for a kiss to her brow--"I passed so much time in London that I had little need to venture afield once at Pemberley. You are correct that Chesterfield is nearer to us. One can be here in an hour by carriage, far less on a fast horse. We should keep this in mind as we wander about. It may be a more reasonable alternative, my love, if you need wares not attainable in Lambton or Matlock."

The carriage pulled into a long drive before a substantial sized inn entirely constructed of multihued river stones. Numerous singular stone cottages and moderate two-story buildings were scattered about the extensive, park-like property. The whole campus bordered the River Hipper.

Lizzy was gazing out the carriage window in awe. "This is a lovely inn for such a modest town. Are they expecting us?" She turned to her husband with questioning eyes.

"No, but that is immaterial. We are the Darcys. They will have a room for us." He said it bluntly and absently, Lizzy taken aback momentarily; then she remembered with a start the truth of his words, especially as the carriage halted and five livery garbed servants leapt forward to assist with their luggage while Phillips hopped down and opened the door. They were greeted formally by the hotel's superintendent, the man fawning as if welcoming the Prince Regent himself. Darcy assumed his full Master of Pemberley pose, the semblance natural and anticipated in these sorts of situations.

Lizzy, after months in London, was quite familiar with this presentation of her privately boyish, casual spouse. Therefore, it no longer shocked her and, in fact, sent little shivers of excitement up her spine. She adored both aspects of Darcy's personality: the charming, teasing, passionate man that he was when relaxed as well as the commanding, forceful, aristocratic man of means who was every inch a Darcy.

Within minutes, they were escorted to a secluded cottage on the edge of the river. Samuel and Marguerite instantly set about unpacking Lizzy's and Darcy's personal effects; a maid arrived with freshly cut flowers and to open the windows; a servant with a tray of wine, cheeses, and bread appeared; and a last materialized to provide an orientation to the cottage's facilities. It was a whirlwind, and Lizzy was exhausted by the time they all departed.

As soon as the door closed behind the last maid, Lizzy slumped onto the sofa with a heavy sigh. "My, my! What an ordeal. The rooms are delightful though. Have you stayed here before?"

Darcy was at the sidebar pouring a whiskey. He shook his head, taking a large swallow. "No. I asked the manager at the Georgian in Derby for the best lodging Chesterfield had to offer, and he recommended this: the Royal Cottages. I shall have to send a note of thanks. The grounds alone are worth the expense." He gazed out the window as he sipped his drink.

"Well, I like the privacy of a separate dwelling with our own patio and river view." Lizzy rose, approaching her daydreaming husband, slipping both arms about his waist, and nestling her head between his shoulder blades. "Lost in thought, my love?"

"Forgive me, dearest. I was merely trying to decide what to do next. Stroll about the grounds? Walk into town and see the sights? Or remove all your clothes and make love?"

"What a dilemma, Mr. Darcy. What shall you do?"

He laughed, pulling her around and clasping her face. "First, I shall kiss you, my wife, as I have yearned to do all day." He did, Lizzy rapidly growing weak in the knees from the power of his allure and love as poured was evident from his kiss. Such a simple thing a kiss is, yet potent to a degree unmatched by any other force on earth. Darcy encircled her waist, pressing her tightly to his body. Both allowed the magic of the kiss to course through their beings, the indescribable intimacy of this fundamental act of devotion bonding them.

Darcy broke away with a contented sigh, resting his forehead on hers. "My Elizabeth, how tremendously I love you. So much so that I do not wish to rush loving you." He brushed her lips tenderly with a feathering tickle of his tongue. "Let us walk a bit, my heart, explore, and enjoy each other's company. Tonight I shall make love to you slowly, no haste whatsoever, followed by endless hours of bliss in your arms." He withdrew, meeting her eyes with a smile; Lizzy's expression suffused with passion and clearly undecided regarding waiting. Darcy chuckled softly, bestowed a brief buss to her nose. "Anticipation is sweet, lover. Now, write a note to the Sitwells, and then we shall survey the land."

They stopped at the lobby to obtain a general map of the town and information from the manager as to the main attractions. Darcy called for the coachman to deliver the missive to Reniswahl Hall, and then he and Lizzy set out. They walked through the immediate surrounds, highly impressed by the finely landscaped gardens so perfectly merged with the natural vegetation by the river. Enormous trees grew haphazardly, offering shade and providing the beginning carpet of autumn leaves of red and gold that padded the cobblestone pathways. An arched stone bridge spanned the narrow, placid river, Chesterfield proper looming on the far side. Ducks and swans paddled serenely across the still water.

Like all English towns of ancient ancestry, there are always the occasional stories to tell. Chesterfield was no exception, although the vast majority of the town was fairly modern and the region relatively devoid of any truly exciting history. A narrow street known as The Shambles held the claim as the oldest part of town, dating from the twelfth century. It was an area of tea houses, small exclusive shops, and a pub called the Royal Oak, which was reputedly once a resting place for the medieval Knights Templar.

The shopping district was inclusive, even boasting a small toy store that Lizzy forbid Darcy to enter. They did a bit of shopping, purchasing four baby outfits which were simply too adorable to resist. Darcy noticed the rare bookstore on the far side of the street prior to Lizzy, grasping her arm and propelling her onto the road, narrowly avoiding a pile of horse droppings in his enthusiasm. No doubt the highlight of that leg of their trip was finding a Chaucer, Thomas Paine's
Rights of Man
, and Moliere's
Le Misanthrope
in the original French that he promised to read to Lizzy, who had read the English translation but nonetheless delighted in hearing his melodious voice speaking French.

Late afternoon found them before another church. Here was the one true oddity and tourist attraction of Chesterfield. The thirteenth century church, dedicated to Saint Mary and all Saints, was beautifully constructed of grey and gold bricks in the typical cruciform formation, with tall arched windows gracing the sides and above the main entrance. Both the interior and exterior was a marvel of ornate craftsmanship at its finest. However, it was the spire atop the clock tower which lent the church its uniqueness and countrywide fame. Apparently, the architects erred in their engineering and erection. The two-hundred-foot spire of wood was built perfectly and then covered with over thirty tons of stunning lead tiles in a herringbone style, a massive cross at the pinnacle. It was brilliant and surely struck awe in all who beheld it. Unfortunately, the error was in utilizing unseasoned wood, which, as it gradually dried over the centuries, had been twisted by the sheer weight of the tiles. Now, the once reportedly spectacular but standard spire, was yearly changing as it continued to spiral incrementally, creating a wonder both strange and extraordinary.

They returned to the inn as dusk was descending. Deciding to dine early so they could spend the remainder of the evening in quiet, casual solitude was Darcy's idea and was met with his wife's smiling approval. Therefore, by eight, they were reclining in their sitting room in robes, Moliere imparted in flawless resonant French to a rapt Lizzy. She sat propped against the sofa arm, her feet on her husband's lap being softly massaged while she knit a blue baby blanket. Lizzy did not understand a word, but this was inconsequential as far as she was concerned. The joy was in hearing Darcy's voice and the placid companionship engendered in these relaxed enterprises.

"I finished!" she announced with pride and relief. "How does it look?"

She held the small blanket up, Darcy reaching over to touch the edge. "It is so soft. Is this special yarn for infants?"

She nodded. "Yes. It is woven to be pliable and tender to their delicate skin. Harsh wool would be scratchy and leave a rash."

"Oh. I did not remember that their skin was so sensitive. It makes sense, I suppose. Foals have fine hair and delicate hides initially."

Lizzy laughed. "Well, I do not expect our child will be covered with hair nor have a hide necessarily, but his skin will be fair and very soft, like velvet." She cocked her head. "Have you truly not seen or touched a baby, William?"

He shrugged. "I remember Georgie when she was small. Her skin was nearly translucent it was so fair. Minute veins visible and she had little hair. I recall mother bemoaning in jest how bald she was." He smiled in memory. "Mother said I was born with a mass of dark hair, so perhaps our son will be as well." He paused, still stroking the blanket with faraway eyes. "The blanket is beautiful, my love. You knit masterfully despite your disdain for the activity. As for the answer to your question, I have seen infants in perambulators about the park, held by parents as they stroll, that sort of thing. However, I have not, since Georgiana, actually touched nor really examined one. I confess this with trepidation as you will likely decide I am unfit to hold our child, and you would be wise to do so." He smiled, laying one hand on her belly.

Lizzy shook her head. "You are mistaken, love. I have no fears whatsoever as to your competence as a father." Darcy beamed, leaning forward to initiate his ritualistic conversation with his child, but was interrupted by a knock at the door.

He rose with a frown, tightening his robe as he walked to the door. Lizzy observed him, always delighting in his fine figure so perfectly displayed when robed. It was a servant delivering an envelope. "It is from the Sitwells," he declared, handing the letter to Lizzy and promptly resuming his interrupted task.