Regina Jeffers - Christmas at Pemberley

“That’s a most fortunate situation. Mrs. Darcy has had only my poor companionship on this journey,” Darcy said teasingly.

Mrs. Joseph smiled knowingly. “Your wife, Sir, would beg to differ. Mrs. Darcy has extolled your fine qualities.”

He chuckled lightly. “My wife has the kindest heart.” Darcy bowed to the woman. “We’ll see you in the morning, Ma’am.” He escorted Elizabeth to their shared room.

Inside their quarters, Darcy quickly took Elizabeth into his arms and kissed her hungrily. He smiled with anticipation. His wife’s body warmed under his fingers’ firm strokes along her collarbone. A loving blush shivered through her, and Darcy deepened the kiss. Elizabeth locked her arms behind his neck and lifted her body to his. Her breasts, hips, and thighs pressed along his front, and Darcy groaned audibly as his manhood hardened.

Her tongue touched his in desire’s erotic dance, and Darcy shuddered on a breathy intake. His arms tightened about her, and he bent to lift his wife to carry her to the bed. The fire leapt between them: Desire and need kindled and sparked. His thoughts scattered as delight filled his lungs with her scent. “I love you,” he whispered — his breath’s heat caressing Elizabeth’s neck.

Nearly an hour later, they lay with arms and legs entangled. “I suppose I should see to my ablutions,” Elizabeth said sleepily. She stretched lazily against him before burying her nose in Darcy’s chest. Then she trailed a light line of kisses along his jaw. “Thank you, Fitzwilliam.” Elizabeth paused to nibble behind his ear. “For assisting the Josephs with lodgings. Whose room were they given?”

Darcy shifted her in his embrace. Without looking at her, he said, “No one’s room.” He knew she wouldn’t appreciate the solution taken by Mr. Washington.

She pushed up on one elbow. “Explain, Mr. Darcy.” Her voice held her suspicion.

“The baron refused to share with Bradley,” he clarified. “Mr. Washington felt Betts and Dylan had earned their room.” Elizabeth nodded her encouragement. “In the long and short of it, every available space is in use. The Josephs have bedded down in the stable.”

Elizabeth gasped. “Surely you jest, Fitzwilliam. That was the accepted solution. Eight men could offer no better accounting than to place a woman eight months with child in a cold, damp stable?” Elizabeth scampered from the bed before Darcy could catch her. “I shan’t have it, Fitzwilliam! Do you hear me? I shan’t tolerate such treatment for Mrs. Joseph!” She pulled her chemise over her head.

Darcy swung his long legs over the bed’s edge and sat up. “What would you have me do, Elizabeth? Would you have me tell Mr. Washington how to conduct his business? Would you demand that I physically force the baron from his room and give it to the Josephs? Washington and his wife and Nan have taken pallets in the kitchen.You must remember that each guest, except Betts and Dylan, brought servants, such as our Mr. Simpson and Jasper, who are being housed in the barn and attic and storage spaces.” He pulled on his small clothes and breeches. “It was a reasonable resolution. The Josephs will spend the day in the common room. It’s only for a short while — a day or two — until the weather breaks.”

“Why can the Josephs not stay the night in the common room?” Elizabeth demanded.

Darcy sighed heavily. He understood his wife’s angst: He had not agreed to Washington’s pronouncement, but Darcy had felt his hands tied. “The others are using it for socializing. Even the hostlers and coachmen are sharing time there. Washington wouldn’t want to lose the business.”

Elizabeth reached for her day dress. “We must do something, Fitzwilliam.” Tears misted her eyes. “Of everyone at Prestwick’s, we best understand the danger Mrs. Joseph faces.”

Darcy moved to embrace her. “The lady seems hardy enough.” He stroked Elizabeth’s back as she fought for control.

Elizabeth rasped hoarsely. “Most would’ve said the same of me.”

Darcy swallowed hard. For his wife’s sake, he had masked his own anguish at losing both their children. Elizabeth needed him to be strong, and so he had only allowed his introspection when riding alone across the estate or in the night’s middle when his wife sought the comfort of his arms. Then, he, too, grieved for the children he would never hold. “It’s not the same, Elizabeth,” he managed to say quietly.

Elizabeth moved slightly to where she could see his face. Silently, she held his gaze before reaching for his hand. His wife placed his splayed fingers upon the swell of her abdomen. “What would you wish for me… for our child, Fitzwilliam?”

Darcy breathed deeply to steady his nerves. Elizabeth had chosen this moment to acknowledge that she carried his child. His fingertip traced a line across her cheek. “I would want someone to move heaven and earth to protect you and our child.” His right hand gently cupped the rise where his heir lay. “I would demand it and wouldn’t care whose censure I provoked.”

“Then let’s be the ones to protect Mary Joseph.”

“Tell me how you wish to proceed.” Darcy pulled Elizabeth to him again. “Whatever you wish, it is yours, Elizabeth. Command me as you will.” Unbidden, an image of Elizabeth cradling their child sprung to life.

“We’ll share our room with the Josephs. At least, it’s warm and dry.”

Darcy simply nodded. He would follow Elizabeth’s wishes. She had openly accepted her condition, and Darcy recognized in her declaration a step in his wife’s healing. “I’ll dress and go find the Josephs. You should set your mind to rearranging the room to accommodate four people.”

Georgiana plastered on a smile as she entered the dining room. Sixteen people would sit to supper — of them, eight had not received invitations. It irritated her that these people had intruded on her brother’s quiet family Christmas, and it irritated her that her brother hadn’t arrived to resume his position at the table’s head.

“I would’ve thought Lizzy and Mr. Darcy would have arrived by now,” Mr. Bennet observed. “I pray they haven’t suffered an accident or met other hazards along the road.”

Mrs. Bennet’s hand fluttered about her face. “Oh, do not pronounce such dire circumstances, Mr. Bennet. Have you no compassion on my poor nerves?”

Mr. Bennet’s smile betrayed his amusement. “I have a high respect for your nerves, as you well know, my dear. They are my old friends. I have heard you mention them with consideration these twenty years at least.”

“Nerves,” Lady Catherine grunted. “I’ve never understood how some women always fancy themselves beset with nerves.”

Mr. Bennet’s face lit with amusement. “I assure you, Your Ladyship, that Mrs. Bennet’s nerves are quite real. I have witnessed their effect on numerous occasions.”

“I am of the opinion that women who seek such attentions possess weak minds.”

“Mother!” Anne gasped and looked quickly to Mrs. Jenkinson for support. Swallowing hard, she ventured. “I’m certain Your Ladyship didn’t mean to insinuate that Mrs. Bennet suffers from a feebleness.”

Lady Catherine sipped her wine. “Of course not,” she said grudgingly. “Mrs. Bennet, obviously, does not seek Mr. Bennet’s attentions through devious stratagems.”

“I suppose that means, my dear, that your stratagems are right-handed by nature.” With his wine glass, he saluted his wife across the table before turning his attention to Charlotte Collins. “Sir William seems content with Maria’s match. Your sister’s young beau has a promising future in London.”

“Yes, Papa has written that he hopes to return to St. James when he and Mama travel to London to meet Mr. Richardson’s family.” Charlotte indicated Mr. Grange. “And Mrs. Bennet appears pleased with Mary’s match.”

“Yes, our Mary has snatched up a viable candidate. At least, Mrs. Bennet has said such on countless occasions, so I must believe it so. After all, Her Ladyship has deemed my wife to have no mental deficiencies.”

Charlotte chuckled lightly before saying softly, “Lady Catherine is perceptive in her evaluations.”

Mr. Bennet smiled knowingly. “Lizzy has assured me that nothing is beneath the great lady’s attention.”

Mrs. Collins tightened the line of her mouth. “Her Ladyship is all kindness. She has taken it upon herself to oversee my domestic concerns familiarly and minutely, offering advice on how everything ought to be regulated.”

Georgiana, who sat at the table’s head, could easily hear their conversation, and she recognized the extent of her aunt’s interference into the Collinses’ lives. It didn’t surprise her. As a child, she had admired her aunt’s steadfastness, especially after Sir Lewis’s passing. Few men could run an estate as efficiently as did Lady Catherine. Time, however, had taught Georgiana that Her Ladyship was not in commission for the peace of the area surrounding Rosings Park; instead, Lady Catherine was a most active magistrate in her own parish, the minutest concerns of which were carried to her by Mr. Collins, and before him, Mr. Knight; and whenever any of the cottagers were disposed to be quarrelsome, discontented, or too poor, her aunt sailed forth into the village to settle their differences, silence their complaints, and scold them into harmony and plenty. Lady Catherine bullied people into doing what she said, and although Georgiana understood her aunt, the girl couldn’t help but feel sorry for those of whom Her Ladyship took notice. She also felt compassion for the former Lady Catherine Fitzwilliam, who had been thrust by Sir Lewis’s death into a man’s world.

“Tell me of your Hertfordshire family, Mrs. Collins,” Georgiana ventured.

“Mr. Darcy!” Mr. Joseph looked up in surprise from where he draped a horse blanket over the stall’s slats to protect his family’s privacy.