The Road to Pemberley (60 page)

“Hold a moment, sir!”

“What, my dear?”

Elizabeth was perturbed, “You mean to tell me that this girl was so forward as to kiss you?”

“Yes, quite.”

“The little tart!” Elizabeth exclaimed under her breath. “Pray, who is she, Fitzwilliam? Does she still live in Lambton?”

Darcy chuckled as he realized Elizabeth's discomfort at the disclosure of his first kiss. She was not one to exhibit jealousy as a
general rule. However, her emotions seemed to be more acute these days.

“Elizabeth, I was a man of eight and twenty when we married,” Darcy playfully scolded her. “Did you expect me not to have been in the company of other women before we met?”

Elizabeth tried her best not to pout. “No, I cannot say that I did.”

“Besides, Miss Annabelle Martin has long since taken the name of Mrs. Taylor. She married a man from Devonshire, and I have not seen her for many years.” Darcy took Elizabeth's hand and placed a loving kiss on it. “Rumor has it that she has had at least six children in as much as ten years.”

“I should not doubt it!” Elizabeth huffed and stiffly shifted her position in the chair.

Darcy glanced at Elizabeth, a sly grin on his face. “Perhaps you would wish me to stop for the evening, my dear?”

“Not at all!” she exclaimed. “That is, unless you are to inform me of any other young wenches who happened to make such advances on your person?”

“No, dear. I shall not tell you about
any
of the others,” Darcy pretended to study the toy sword, awaiting his wife's reaction. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her pick up her embroidery and begin to busy her hands and her mind with something constructive.

“Pray, continue,” she said and sighed.

As Richard and Darcy walked along the path toward the lake, they could hear Edward singing at the top of his voice. The boys stopped and hid behind a tree as they watched Edward cooling himself in Pemberley's lake, quite by himself, happily raising his voice in song.

They looked at each other and grinned, for Edward was indeed a sorry singer. Richard looked around and spied Edward's clothes atop a boulder beside another tree.

“Wills,” Richard said in a low voice and then snickered. “He is stark naked! Look, there are his clothes.”

Darcy began to giggle, but bit his lip for fear of Edward hearing them. “Do you think he will notice if his clothes turn up missing?”

“Not at all,” Richard said and stifled a laugh. “Why would he need clothes on such a warm day?”

The boys crawled over to the rock, pulled off Edward's togs, and tucked them under their arms. As they hastily returned to the house, they could hear Edward's merry melodies wafting on the breeze.

As Edward pushed the food around on his plate, Fitzwilliam and Richard sat quietly, attempting to keep their faces from showing their guilt, though Edward's red cheeks made it very difficult.

“Well, Edward, I believe you have been taken in by one of the oldest tricks in the book.” The earl looked at his son with a stealthy
grin upon his face. “It must have been one of the tenant children who took your clothes, for no son of mine would ever do anything so low.” He eyed his younger son and pursed his lips.

Glancing at his own father, young Darcy met a look of disapproval. He lowered his eyes to his plate to hide his mirth and quietly ate the meal before him. Darcy nearly choked on his food as the earl recounted how Edward had been forced to make his way to the stables, quite in the buff, where he bribed a stable hand for a horse blanket to wrap himself in so he would be able to make his way into the house.

Young Richard let out a snicker at the story. “Do you find this amusing, Richard?” his father barked.

Richard gathered his faculties and snapped to attention. “No, sir, not at all.”

“And you, Fitzwilliam?” Mr. Darcy inquired sternly of his own son. “You appear to be quite amused by your cousin's misfortune.”

“No, sir, excepting that it does lend itself to a rather ridiculous picture,” Young Darcy's grin turned into open laughter as Richard let out a brief guffaw.

“Mind your impertinence, young man,” Mr. Darcy reprimanded his son. “The table is no place for foolishness. Perhaps a night spent in your room would be appropriate. Take yourself there now, straightaway.”

“Yes, Father.” Darcy got up from the table with his head bowed and quickly slipped from the room.

“You too, Richard, and do not let me catch you laughing at your brother's expense again,” the earl snapped.

“Yes, sir.” Richard followed his cousin's example and obediently left the room.

The earl turned to his brother-in-law with a purposeful look, which was returned by a meaningful twitch of Mr. Darcy's eyebrows before Edward could catch either gesture.

Side by side, Darcy and Richard headed for their rooms, grinning as they went. They both knew it would go better on them to take the easier punishment than be made to confess and suffer a worse one. Confinement to their rooms was not such a bad deal, as it also saved them from the wrath of Edward. They both had stowed a few good books in their rooms, for just such occasions.

It was Sunday and the morning was spent in church. This was torture for most boys, as it was expected that they would sit quietly and reflect for longer than they deemed tolerable. They had to listen to tedious sermons, droned on by vicars. The subject that week concerned the propriety of virtue.

Young Darcy sat next to his father in the family pew. He glanced around the church and happened to see Miss Annabelle Martin sitting across from him, with her parents. She gave him a shy smile as he caught her eye, and he looked back and smiled, too. Then he tried his best to pay attention to the sermon.

He thought perhaps he should feel some guilt at having compromised the girl, though as he contemplated it a while longer, he decided that the experience had not been wholly bad. In fact, he had rather enjoyed his first experience with the opposite sex, and besides, it had been she who had kissed him. He let his mind drift back to his present situation. He fidgeted in his seat as he thought of the battles to be waged and victories to be claimed down by the ruins.

Mr. Darcy looked down at his son and noticed his discontent. Though not unsympathetic to the discomfort of a hot, stuffy room, there was etiquette to be maintained. He reached down and put his hand on his son's knee, implying to the boy to remain on his best behavior.

Young Darcy knew the meaning of the press of his father's hand. His father was kind and loving, and not given to an ill temper, as were some he had seen. However, he had learned that it was not wise to test his father's patience too severely. From as much of a desire to please his father as to avoid any further gesture of correction, Fitzwilliam shifted once more and thereafter tried to emulate his father's still and composed posture.

When the family arrived home, Darcy went upstairs and knocked on his mother's bedchamber door.

“Mama, may I come in?”

“Yes, Fitzwilliam. I would very much like to see you,” Lady Anne's voice consoled him. His mother had taken to bed, for she had recently discovered she was with child, and she had begun to
feel somewhat ill. The much-awaited news that a child was on the way had been a long time in coming for the Darcys, being as Fitzwilliam was already eleven. He really had no idea of the impact a baby would make on his life. He did not understand any of it, nor did he particularly care to.

“How do you feel, Mama?” he inquired.

“Well enough, under the circumstances. Are you and your cousins behaving yourselves? I do not wish to know that you are giving your father grief.”

Fitzwilliam smiled mischievously and said, “Fairly well, Mama.”

“You are not climbing trees and bashing one another with those sticks, are you?” his mother asked and raised her eyebrows questioningly.

“Mama, it is what boys do! If I am not allowed, there will be nothing left to do and the summer will be for naught!” Darcy protested.

“Fitzwilliam, I should not want any harm to come to you. You will surely hurt yourselves wielding those sticks and hanging like monkeys from the trees.”

Darcy watched his mother shift position in bed and close her eyes as a wave of illness overtook her. “Are you certain you are well, Mama?”

“Yes, dear, it is only a little discomfort. It is endurable, as it is a sign that the baby is well enough.”

“Your poor mama, Fitzwilliam,” Elizabeth said and sighed. “I do know how she felt.” Elizabeth lowered her feet from the stool and sat forward to stretch as much as she was able.

“Shall we walk for a bit, my love?” Darcy stood up and gave her his hand.

“Around the room will be sufficient, for I would not wish you to forget to continue your story,” she said and smiled up at her husband.

“Somehow I think you will not let that happen.”

Elizabeth stood up. “Ooh…there,” she said. Grabbing Darcy's hand, she placed it on her belly. “There, do you feel the baby?” she said and giggled.