Chapter Ten
“Jane, how shall I know when I am with child?” Elizabeth asked as she and Jane sat in the atrium and darned socks for some of the village children.
“I was at the birth of Mrs. Fenner's babe and it was frightful, but he was large, or so the physician said. I pray I do not have such a child. I might burst.”
Jane smiled and set her work on her lap. “Our bodies are designed for such a task, my lady. But, to answer your question, your cycle will stop.”
“Oh! I am near to my beginning. Do ye think I shall know soon?”
“Very possibly.”
“Wonderful! It would be such a gift for my lord.”
“What about yourself? Would you not welcome a child?”
“I think I would. When we were attacked, a sword was pressed into my womb, and all I could think of was what if it hurt my babe? How would I live with myself knowing I could not protect him?”
“I think you will make an excellent mother,” Jane said. Although she smiled, a sadness filled her eyes.
A sense of dismay washed over Elizabeth and her hands flew to her mouth. “Oh, lord! Jane! How sorry I am! I did not mean to dredge up those awful memories for ye. Pray forgive me.”
“Already achieved, my lady. It was a long time ago.”
Elizabeth bit her lip and looked away from her friend, her unspeakable question hanging in the air between them.
“No, I cannot carry a child. It is fine, though. We have long since accepted our fate, my lady. It is difficult at times, but I manage. When my sister, Mary Collins, had her son, I was a bit jealous, but Alexander is such a lovely child that one cannot help but adore him.”
The princess held out her hand. “Ye are a goodly woman, Lady Jane. I am proud to call ye a friend.”
“Pardon me, Mistress, but the Master requests your presence in the Hall,” one of the maids said from the door.
Elizabeth nodded, and she and Jane made their way through the passages of Pemberley, with Samuel following a respectable distance behind.
Somehow, Darcy had not caught wind of Elizabeth’s escape from the guard, and they had agreed it was better not to mention it further.
The group reached the tunnel that connected the great house to the Hall and forged ahead, coming out behind the dais that held Darcy’s throne.
Three huge fireplaces all burned with great fires, but a chill remained in the air as the banner with the Darcy family seal fluttered lightly above.
Except for business and the occasional reception, Elizabeth avoided this room like the plague.
It was the place where she had seen Darcy as the man who had conquered her instead of the man who held her tenderly.
Over the last two weeks, she had noticed the distinction between the two men that seemed to reside within the same body.
When others were present, he was the man she had met at the Assembly oh so very long ago: the cold, trying man with the iron will, but when there was no chance of others seeing him, he coddled her, smiled, even occasionally laughed with her and showed infinite patience.
He was a conundrum, a puzzle that she was pained to have to solve, despite knowing that the resolution would have incredible results.
“My lord, ye sent for me?” she asked.
He was bent over a parchment, his steward hovering nearby. He looked up, his eyes briefly flashing warmth before they resumed their flinty stare. Curtly, he held out his hand and waved her over.
“Yes, my lord?” She asked once she beside him.
“Your throne has arrived, my lady.”
There, on the dais next to his large, gilded, intricately carved throne was a small, cushioned seat that barely compared.
It was elegant to be sure, but it lacked the same command, the same power he seemed to present merely by existing.
Of course, he outranked her and that was fine, but having become quite used to her high station, Elizabeth had to admit she was disappointed.
“That is it?”
Darcy looked at her sharply, most likely due to the disapproval in her tone. “Whatever do you mean?”
“It is a bit, I do not know, plain perhaps?”
“Plain?”
“Well, my lord, thy chair is so grand. I suppose I expected mine to be similar.”
* * *
Darcy cast his gaze about the room. Jane did not hide her smirk as she was prone to do when he was put on the spot, and his steward was busy looking everywhere but his direction.
Footmen had been placed at random intervals throughout the room, and he could not dismiss them all without causing a scene.
“I am sorry you do not like it.”
“It will do,” she replied as though she had sensed his irritation. “It is not as though I spend a great deal of time here. Only the mornings when I tend to business.”
He crooked an eyebrow to let her know that he identified with that complaint too.
With the skirmish between Hargrove and Foster, he had not had opportunity to explain certain things to her, especially once Hargrove was connected to the ambush and hanged for treason.
It was the daily running of the realm of which he had neglected to inform her.
His wife had done her best to learn by watching, but it was clear she had become frustrated and spent less and less time each morning in the Hall.
Instead, she preferred to be out amongst the people: attending births, weddings, and funerals and visiting the poor.
Elizabeth wanted to show that the people meant a great deal to her, and she had found a way, even when he had protested out of concern for her safety.
“Is that all, my lord?” Her eyes were wide, mocking him with her feigned innocent stare.
“Not quite, my lady. Will you accompany me?” He offered his arm, and he escorted her to one of the parlours where he proceeded to lock the door behind him.
“Am I to be scolded by the master of Pemberley for my impertinence?” The corner of her mouth curled in a wicked smirk.
“You cannot behave like that in front of our subjects,” he muttered while he tried in vain to ignore the sudden tightness of his breeches.
“Behave how? Like a spoiled child or a demanding princess? Ye have never deigned to inform me of my role, sir. Am I a princess in name only? Do I have duties other than keeping ye occupied in the bedchamber?”
He blew a breath of air out of his nose and tried to focus on his frustration to keep his arousal at bay.
He was at fault, but he need not have her point it out to him.
His mind was filled with worries enough without that discomfort.
His concerns that he had gone soft had grown steadily.
Had his people noticed his newfound lenience?
With all that had happened in the last few days with regard to the traitors, he was once again ruling from a precarious spot.
Suddenly, Elizabeth's mouth covered his. He held her face and pulled her back; his eyes crinkled.
“Ye looked concerned. Ye never look like that.”
“I am concerned,” he admitted. “The traitors have been punished, and I dread the repercussions.”
“Ye will survive it as ye have survived in the past.” Her voice and manner were so confident.
“In the past I did not have anyone else depending on my survival.”
“Are ye implying that living for me is a hindrance to your form of government?”
Guilty, he looked away, his thumbs caressing her cheeks gently.
“Ye did not take into account that thy life would change when ye married, did ye? Neither of us expected that things would change so drastically, but they have, and we must accept them. Rule, sir, as ye have always ruled: with ferocity and certainty, and know that I shall support ye.”
“Even if you do not agree with me?”
“Oh, ye shall know when I do not agree with ye.”
“I had very little doubt in my mind regarding that, actually.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him to her lips once again.
The kiss was long and slow, each of them seeking comfort in the other as their lips were crushed together and their tongues tasted the exquisite sweetness.
Neither of them were fully aware of how she came to be cradled in his arms or how they came to recline on the sofa, but when their mouths finally parted, Elizabeth was panting, and Darcy was unfastening ties to loosen her gown.
“Surely this is no way to rule a realm.” She was moaning even as he pushed his hand beneath her skirts.
“Have you not found by now that I do as I please?” He dipped into the valley between her legs and stroked her softly.
“And ye certainly please.” Her backed arched and her knees fell open.
He managed to free her of her gown, and, for a moment, he was stunned.
In all his years, he had never imagined that his own wife would be the kind of woman he would be able to have anywhere, but she had proved him wrong.
She laid there, skin flushed, and lips swollen, waiting for him on furniture that had entertained visiting dignitaries.
Fumbling a little, Darcy undid his breeches and leaned down.
“I never expected this, my sweet,” he whispered.
“Expected what, my lord?”
“That I would never get enough of you. That I would count the minutes until I was near you again or hate the world for diverting your attention. I never expected that I was not and never have been whole.”
“Hush,” she whispered. “Come into me.”
He did, and all was now clear. His uncertainty melted away with the sound of her pleasure riding the air like high tide.
They moved together, dipping and grinding, filling each other with security and joy.
It terrified him to acknowledge how much he had come to love her in such a small space of time and, as she bit her lip, dread sank into his heart and poisoned his all too brief happiness.
If she ever learned the truth about him, she would leave him, and then where would he be?
Lost? Dead? An angry soul looking for a victim to haunt?
“Stop scowling,” she commanded, her voice tremulous. “Ye look as though ye are not enjoying thyself.”
“You are quite wrong, my sweetest wife,” he replied, coming back to her as always. “I am enjoying myself immensely.”
“Show me.”