Sharon Lathan - The Trouble with Mr. Darcy

The wedding breakfast exceeded all expectations. Netherfield’s kitchen staff performed brilliantly with an array of delicious dishes leaving none wanting. As expected for such an occasion, happiness and laughter abounded. None, of course, felt as joyous as Randall and Kitty.

“Where did you say you were spending your wedding night?”

“I never said and would not divulge that information even if you applied a hot poker to my skin!” Randall answered his brother Roland’s seemingly innocent query with a laugh. “I shudder to imagine what you jokers would spring on me as a special wedding gift.”

All five of the Artois men wore wounded expressions, Reginald speaking for all of them. “We are deeply grieved that you would accuse us so, Brother. We are universal in our delight at your happiness and only wish to bestow our blessings upon your union in the most overwhelming terms. Any special gifts delivered shall be designed to enhance your wedded bliss and augment your first night as a married couple.”

Randall snorted and rolled his eyes. “How Major Henderson tolerates your long-winded pontificating is beyond my comprehension. Your secretarial skills must be consummate.”

“I am the best,” Reginald affirmed without a hint of equivocation, “but that is beside the point.”

“I was guessing you planned to lodge at Uncle’s house in Oxfordshire as that is on the way to Bath,” Royce speculated, eyeing Randall and Kitty closely for a telltale response.

He was disappointed. Kitty knew the brothers fairly well between her own interactions with the Artois family and Randall’s conversations so merely smiled benignly. Randall’s face was blank and he said nothing.

“Quit fishing, Royce.” The eldest, Roderick, spoke finally. He gazed at his brothers with feigned reproach. “Randall never said they were going to Bath. Could just as easily be Brighton or the Lake District or…”

“Or maybe we are sailing to France or taking the ferry to Ireland,” Randall interrupted with a laugh. “We may spend our wedding night at the inn down in Meryton, Aunt Phillip’s townhouse in London, or my house near the barracks. And, since I have mentioned all those places you can therefore conclude it will be none of them!”

“Unless it is one of them and you mentioned it to throw us off the scent,” Royce inserted with a grin.

Randall shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not. Face it, I have outwitted you so leave it be. My bride and I will have a perfect honeymoon without any interference, or ‘blessings upon our union’ from any of you.”

“Very well then. We admit defeat to your superior intellect and skills at stealth. Clever you are, Brother, but remember that no matter where you honeymoon, after a month you will be returning to your house in London and we all know where that is!”

Roland’s smug mien was mirrored by the others, until Randall replied, “Indeed. Bear in mind, however, that I know where all of you dwell. Retaliation would only add to the joy of my homecoming.”

And at this point Kitty burst into gales of laughter.

Expressing their thanks and accepting the numerous well wishes was time consuming, but the newlyweds managed to depart Netherfield by mid-afternoon. Georgiana embraced Kitty the longest, whispering her assurance that her wedding would definitely not take place until Kitty returned.

As predicted, the newlywed Artoises were relieved not to be traveling far, although the handful of miles proved enough to wildly escalate their fervency. Randall did not unhitch the horses, instead opting to carry his wife into the house and straight to the bed. The lovely surroundings and exceeding joy in officially being husband and wife added a dimension to their lovemaking that neither had expected. Despite Randall’s assertion that he would keep his wife in bed for the whole week, they took a few long walks in the wood and enjoyed the rustic scenery before moving on to Bath. In every way imaginable it was the perfect honeymoon and an auspicious beginning to their life together. But that is for another story.

In the meantime, the festivities at Netherfield continued until late afternoon with the guests occasionally turning their thoughts to the newlyweds but primarily enjoying the food and entertainment. Darcy and Elizabeth performed their duties as host and hostess, but did breathe a sigh of relief when the final guest departed that evening. Darcy was able to slip away with Alexander to return the toad to his riverbank home before darkness made that chore impossible. Just as dusk began to creep over the horizon, Darcy closed the wide front door, threw the latch, and fell against the thick wood to momentarily close his eyes in exhaustion.

George laughed, encircled the weary younger man’s shoulders, and steered wordlessly to the game room where Richard, Charles, and Joshua Daniels were already chalking their cues. Several rounds of billiards and a couple of glasses of brandy were just what Darcy needed to unwind. No one brought up the subject of Wickham or Orman, instead chatting amiably about the wedding, politics, horse racing, medicine, or anything else that arose naturally. By the time Darcy rejoined his wife and sons in their chambers he was nearly restored to his old self. He kept the boys close, constructing a pallet of thick quilts by the fire that ended up being a place for extended play and story time.

“Papa, do you think my toad happy?”

Darcy looked into the anxious face of his firstborn, smiling and not admonishing him for interrupting the story he was reading aloud. “I am sure he is content, Son. He is with his family, just as you are, maybe reading a story to his children.”

Alexander frowned, meditating on that information for a minute before shaking his head. “No, Papa, frogs not really read. Only in pretend.”

Darcy laughed, pulling him closer to his side and kissing the top of his head. “Indeed you are correct. I was only teasing.”

“Fuss no more over the toad, Alexander. Let your father finish the story. I want to hear what happens to Gulliver on Lilliput, do you?”

Alexander nodded. Michael squealed and babbled, his hand tapping on the open page of the book Darcy held as if he concurred with his mother’s question. He was perched on his father’s left thigh, fat body bouncing and wiggling, and the silver rattle gripped in his hand waving about dangerously. He looked upward into Darcy’s face and released a stream of bilabial monosyllables that apparently translated into his wish for Darcy to recommence the reading.

After a kiss to his second son’s head, he did, resonant voice rising and falling in a storyteller’s cadence. Michael calmed, the rattle brought to his mouth for serious gnawing as he listened to the adventures of Gulliver.

The final restoration to Darcy’s equilibrium came once the children were asleep and Lizzy was lying snugly against his side with head resting on his shoulder. They wore nightwear and had no plans to be intimate with the children in the same room, but that did not prevent tender caressing under the concealing covers. In light of the exhausting day and extreme emotion, it was soothing to hold each other.

“Miss Kitty, or Mrs. Artois I should say, was a vision of loveliness. Pale colors become her.” He drew the long lock of his wife’s hair that he had been negligently toying with to his nose. “Of course, she was no match for how stunning you were on the day we married.”

“Naturally not! It is requisite for you to make such a declaration. As I must say that your abundant handsomeness on our wedding day was no match for a man in military garb.”

“Is it not the truth, Mrs. Darcy?”

She pursed her lips, eyes twinkling, and answered with feigned uncertainty. “Well, the leather, jeweled baldric and gold saber did add a certain panache and éclat missing at our nuptials. Makes a definitive judgment difficult to render.”