A Sense of Obligation Read online

  They walked hand in hand. Darcy could hardly wait until the evening. He had had many fantasies of taking Elizabeth in passion while at Netherfield, and the one night they had been in residence was certainly not enough. Elizabeth blushed as though knowing his thoughts.

  Their shared, heated gaze was unceremoniously interrupted. “Nephew!” Lady Catherine demanded. “Come. Speak to me about this new physician you and your uncle have hired for Anne.”

  Elizabeth squeezed his hands, and he turned to leave

  Mary, who had just arrived with the other Bennets for the dinner they were to have at Netherfield, came running to Elizabeth’s side. “Lizzy, Mama has been looking everywhere for you. She insists you sit with Jane.”

  Elizabeth smiled. “Of course.”

  She and Darcy shared a look and mouthed the words “I love you” before being pulled away to attend to their duties.

  *****

  Elizabeth heard footsteps in the hall and tossed aside the handkerchief she had been working on. The door opened, revealing her husband in a dressing gown.

  “You came,” she murmured as he walked to her side.

  He spoke no words, only nodded. His eyes raked over her body, similarly undressed. He lifted her hands to his lips, then turned them over and kissed her palms, making Elizabeth’s heart race.

  She walked over to a bookshelf and fingered a binding before pulling it out. “I believe I may need a lesson on this one,” she held it out to him.

  Darcy took it from her hands and tossed it on the sofa she just left. Then he pulled her to him and kissed her deeply. Finally breaking it, he pulled her towards the door.

  “Where are we going? I thought...I thought you liked the library,” she said breathlessly.

  “Oh, I do,” he chuckled. “But it does not end here. Now I have an obligation to return you to your chambers.” He scooped her up in his arms.

  An obligation, indeed, she thought and suppressed a smile.

  Finally reaching Darcy’s room, he eased her onto the bed.

  “Is this what you wanted?” she asked.

  “This is better than anything I ever imagined. You, the real you, are better than anything I ever imagined,” he said as he joined her on the bed. He kissed her, then laughed. “I do wonder how I thought I might speak of novels while attempting a seduction.”

  Elizabeth laughed as well. “Oh, yes. I much prefer it when you let up on the seriousness and instead laugh with me.”

  “Is that so?” he asked and poised his hand over Elizabeth’s stomach. She flinched, realising his intent and expecting a treatment to one of his merciless rounds of tickles. Instead, he drew a lazy circle on it. “There is one thing we forgot to list amongst our obligations this afternoon.”

  “Is there?” His other hand wandered deliciously slow over her, clouding her ability for coherent thought.

  “We do have an obligation to have children…,” he said quietly in her ear, causing a riot of sensations to course through her body.

  Elizabeth nodded. “Yes, for the estate.”

  “And to love,” he said before kissing her deeply.

  “Then we had best see to that,” she said with a grin when he finally broke away.

  They shared a light laugh before resuming their marital obligations.

  The End

  Coming Soon from Barbara Silkstone…

  Mister Darcy’s Honeymoon

  Chapter One

  Just as I felt nothing could possibly shake my world, my husband whispered in my ear, “Tomorrow’s the day.” We were in the library of Darcy’s penthouse and I had just settled into one of our two armchairs, wearing a pale green nightgown and matching robe. A book about Anne Boleyn rested in my lap.

  The pink poodle slippers permanently borrowed from Darcy’s sister Georgiana were on my feet. I kept them in the library for fireside chats. The slippers, acting as foot puppets, spoke for me on the occasions when I was too polite to push a point. The slippers were very outspoken whereas I was not, except on rare occasions.

  “We are to honeymoon…finally?” the left slipper said.

  The right slipper interrupted. “We have waited long enough.”

  Fitzwilliam Darcy and I had been married for a tad bit longer than one month. Most of that time we had spent sequestered in his apartment in One Snyde Park, the ritziest and most secure structure in all of London.

  Cuddling with Darcy was a lovely way to spend long, lazy days but I was getting antsy and wished to add a bit of adventure and perhaps a bit of spice to our lives. Still waters run deep, and Darcy was the most still of waters, I assumed he had something brewing as he had been terribly quiet for the last few days.

  It appeared he had finally completed the plans for our honeymoon. It was to be a surprise destination and a honeymoon unlike any other, or so Darcy said.

  I had imagined us in dozens of exotic settings from mountaintops to jungles and finally fixed my dreams on a stilt house in the clear turquoise waters of the Maldives. And to be certain my darling husband took my suggestion, I began to leave travel magazines open to pictures of love nests standing alone in crystal clear water with creamy white sands visible through the gentle ripples. Any part of the Maldives would do, just somewhere we could spend hours slathering sunscreen on each other, and swimming in the all-together.

  “Well my love, we are off to Scotland!” He said sounding proud of his choice.

  I rather liked Scotland with its breathtaking bens and lochs, but although it is one of the most beautiful of countries, outside of my own dear England, it is not exactly known for its nude swimming beaches, and hypothermia is more common than sunburn.

  Darcy knelt at my chair and held my face in his hands. I gazed up into his deep brown eyes and read more meaning into his plans than he had revealed. “This is about the Red Rosary, isn’t it?” I bit my lip hoping I was wrong. Bye, bye honeymoon.

  The rosary was a priceless Templar antiquity and one more proof that the legend of the destruction of the Templars was, in fact, a fact. Darcy temporarily held the rosary secure in the vault in his apartment. I must get used to saying our as in our apartment. The word our was an alien concept as Darcy was one of the richest men in England, and I was a struggling dog psychologist whose only clients were Darcy’s two basset hounds, Derby and Squire. And yet Darcy wished me to say our as he had bestowed all his worldly goods on me upon our marriage.

  My handsome husband sat on the ottoman at my feet employing his serious face. “It is time to return the rosary to the bed of history until the Templars are prepared to disclose all that was done to them and to hold fast to their treasures in the face of claims by the Vatican. It is my duty and my honor to protect the Red Rosary. I have thought long and hard about how best to transport it to Rosslyn Chapel in Scotland.”

  He rubbed his fingers over my hands as he chose his words. “Much has been made in books and movies of the chapel being the depository of the Templar treasures. Our historians have denied and denied that the chapel holds our treasures, but people remain unconvinced. There are those in Rome who might know at this moment that I possess the rosary. If I attempt to bring it to Rosslyn Chapel with guards and a secured vehicle, I might as surely draw a map certifying the chapel as the location of all the Templar treasures and evidence.”

  I studied his mouth while he spoke. My husband possessed the most delicious lips, firm and just moist enough. Biting the inside of my cheek I brought myself around to pay attention to his words. “What of our honeymoon?”

  He must have realized I was lusting as he grinned a crooked grin, provoking the dimple on the left side of his mouth. “First the rosary and then the honeymoon. We will use our honeymoon in Scotland as a cover for our journey to Rosslyn Chapel. From there your wish is my command.”

  “I like the sound of that.” I imagined us floating in the waters of the Maldives while little fish nibbled at my toes.

  “Here is my plan. Early tomorrow we will drive your Range Rover to Edinburgh and fid
dle a bit in the traffic of the city to lose any possible followers. From there it is but a short drive to Rosslyn Chapel. Your Rover won’t attract the attention that would my saloon car would. We shall bring cameras and equipment to make it appear to any Vatican spies that we are going on a photo tour for our honeymoon. It will not be very romantic, but it should be touristy enough to not arouse suspicion.”

  So far the plan was acceptable. As one of my many wedding presents from my darling husband, Darcy had replaced my old Range Rover with a shiny new model. It was white with all the bells and whistles including white leather fold-down seats and hidden compartments.

  “Will we be stopping in quaint country inns along the way?” I thought of what I might want to wear to set the mood and perhaps pretend we are in another century. Maybe the early 19th century? I imagined wearing Regency dresses and pinning my hair in an upsweep. I could make this pre-honeymoon jaunt into a romantic holiday.

  Darcy soon flattened that thought. “We shall take the M6 straight away. It’s about a seven-hour trip. No overnight stops until I have entrusted the rosary. You don’t mind visiting the burial vaults beneath Rosslyn Chapel, do you?”

  What could be more romantic? But I understood. Duty first, dilly-dallying second. Even if the dallying was our honeymoon.

  Darcy stood and helped me from my chair. He clutched me to his chest, kissed the top of my head and ran his tongue over the shell of my ear. “Since we leave in the morning, shall we practice for our honeymoon in Scotland, Mrs. Darcy?”

  “I doubt we need practice, Mr. Darcy. But if we are to rehearse at all, let us do so with the Maldive Islands in mind.” I kissed his lips. Then slipping out of the poodle slippers, I stepped into my ballet flats and let my husband lead me down the long corridor to our bedchamber.

  We spent an hour or so rehearsing for our honeymoon, and finally came to rest between the black satin sheets of our bed. Darcy fell asleep, breathing evenly. I lay there watching him, marveling at all that had brought us together. At our first encounters, I thought him a pompous ass, but slowly he had won me over. He could still be a pompous ass at times, but now he was my pompous ass. I fell asleep with visions of floating in warm crystal-blue waters.

  The bedside phone rang, yanking me from my sleep. I looked at the clock. It was three in the morning. My first thought was that something had happened to my father. He had been feeling poorly the last few weeks and I did worry about him. Mother was not the best of caretakers; in actuality she was one of the worst.

  I scrambled for the receiver and put it to my ear as I rolled away from Darcy still sleeping soundly at my side. It was my sister Mary who ran a children’s home established and funded by Darcy. Most of the children who stayed at the Marley Street Children’s Home were victims of poverty or poor parenting. A few of the children lived with Mary full-time. She did a lovely job of nurturing the little ones.

  Her voice was urgent and on the verge of tears. At all times stalwart, to hear Mary’s wavering words, shook me awake. “Lizzie, I need you. Please come here as fast as possible. You know I would not call if it were not a dire emergency!”

  ~ A Light Comedy ~

  COMING SOON

  MISTER DARCY’S HONEYMOON

  A Mister Darcy series comedic mystery

  Under the guise of honeymooning, Mr. and Mrs. Darcy set off to save a quartet of domestic maids being held hostage in London and to return the legendary Red Rosary to the Templars’ treasure vaults. Can they avoid Caroline Bingley, evade the sinister men from Rome, and will they ever get to enjoy their honeymoon?

  Can be read as a stand alone, but it helps to read the series from Book One.

  Based on the enduring characters created by Jane Austen, this is a contemporary spin on a classic tale of love denied, and love discovered.

  Mister Darcy’s Dogs ~ Book One

  Mister Darcy’s Christmas ~ Book Two

  Mister Darcy’s Secret ~ Book Three

  Pansy Cottage ~ Book Four

  Mister Darcy’s Templars ~ Book Five

  Mister Darcy’s Honeymoon ~ Book Six

  Barbara Silkstone is the best selling author of sixteen novels and novellas. Her comedy mysteries feature goodhearted heroines caught up in screwball situations.

  https://www.facebook.com/barbara.silkstone

  https://www.facebook.com/pages/Barbara-Silkstone-Author/156097004489447

  http://www.twitter.com/barbsilkstone

  http://secondactcafe.com

  Also by Rose Fairbanks

  No Cause to Repine

  Undone Business

  The Gentleman’s Impertinent Daughter

  A Sample from Letters from the Heart

  Chapter One

  December 10, 1811

  Darcy House, London

  8:30 am

  Fitzwilliam Darcy tore through the contents of his desk drawer again. I must find it! He lifted every single piece of correspondence from his letter tray. His usual fastidious standards did not help today, as there seemed no hope of finding the object of his search.

  The letter was not on or in his desk, or among his personal files. He considered he may have burned it after all, but soon rejected the notion. His earlier drafts were crumpled and in the waste bin. Surely if he would have burned the final product, he would have burnt all the evidence. He could only face the truth and the likely consequences of his actions. The letter he had written to Miss Elizabeth Bennet the night before had vanished!

  He called for his butler, who confirmed several letters were sent out last night in the last post. In an agitated manner he interrogated the housemaid who had tidied the room before he had arisen for the day. He decreed to his housekeeper that she alone was to clean the room henceforth, and only at his request. Additionally, all outgoing mail would be placed by him alone into the hands of the butler since obviously other members of his staff were too incompetent to carry out the task. If they had not served his family faithfully since before he was breeched, he would have reprimanded their mild look of censure; as it was, he knew he would be apologizing for his ungentlemanly display sooner rather than later.

  Darcy dismissed them and slumped into his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose. How could this have happened? No, now was not the time to ask questions. He needed to make plans.

  Yes, he needed a new plan. Darcy knew how to make arrangements and carry them through with authority. Groomed as a child to be the landlord and master of a vast estate, complete with wealth, smaller holdings, and many investments, forethought was fundamental to good order. However, he loathed admitting the truth to himself; his contrivances caused this very problem. As a Naval acquaintance had once told him, one could be too clever for one’s own good.

  Yes, Wentworth, I have been truly hoisted by my own petard: my very need to control and plan my future has, inexorably, resulted in the elimination of any freedom of choice: there was now only one honourable way forward.

  There could be no more excuses or dissemblance, which he found strangely comforting; instead, he must plan to present matters in the most positive light. He thought back to how it had all came-to-pass the night before.

  *****

  Monday, December 9, 1811

  Darcy House, London

  5 pm

  “Are you certain you do not wish to attend the theatre this evening?” Charles Bingley queried his friend.

  “No.” Fitzwilliam Darcy said emphatically.

  The two sat in the billiards room after the early and informal dinner. Darcy’s younger sister, Georgiana, had excused herself early to write letters in her chambers, leaving the two gentlemen alone.

  “I say!” Bingley proclaimed with a hint of his usual levity. “I truly had it right that evening at Netherfield when I claimed I never knew a more awful fellow than you on a Sunday night—and now a Monday—in his own home with nothing to do!”

  Darcy remembered this remark and the surrounding conversation in great detail, but feigned ignorance. “I do not recall you saying
such.” He affected a scowl in hopes of the subject being dropped, but he could not intimidate his friend.

  “Truly? It was after you and Miss Elizabeth were in a dispute over whether my impulsiveness was a fault or a virtue, and before you asked her to dance a reel and she refused you.”

  Darcy did not need the reminder; he had already spent hours with his memories of the twinkle in Elizabeth Bennet’s eyes during their debate—it was not a dispute! He recalled precisely the expression on her face, the scent she wore and—to his extreme mortification—the exact shade of blue of her gown with the delicate yellow ribbon in her hair. It was like the sun cresting over the rocky peaks of Derbyshire in a sky just after a rainstorm. Darcy cringed again as he realized how ridiculous and poetic his thoughts regarding the lady had become. I am practically a mooncalf!

  Despite himself, Darcy sighed at his memories. It was the second time Elizabeth had refused to dance with him, and he should have been offended, but she was simply too endearing. She had a unique mixture of sweetness and archness in her manner. Darcy had not met with her more than six times before being entirely bewitched. The time she spent at Netherfield, seeing her each day, had been a sweet torture.

  His thoughts were interrupted by a sigh from his companion, no doubt remembering his own Bennet lady.

  “Netherfield really was a very picturesque estate. And so close to London, Caroline could have no complaints.”

  Darcy closed his eyes in annoyance but knew the following conversation necessary, yet again. “Considering how frequently she claims to enjoy Pemberley and Derbyshire, it should be no surprise she cannot complain about the distance from Hertfordshire to London. I believe her complaints were of a different matter.”