The Trouble with Mr. Darcy by Sharon Lathan

plagued her adult life was pernicious and unexplainable. Her husband devoted a vast amount of his time in searching, consulting, and experimenting in hopes of finding a cure for her illness. So far the skilled physician had managed palliative measures only and pregnancy had proven a challenging state. Twice she miscarried early in the initial weeks when her condition was not completely certain. The third miscarriage occurred in the fourth month—after quickening had given them greater hope. Emotionally these losses were draining, but the serious affliction was physical. It was as if all the progress made prior due to the medications and treatments by Dr. Penaflor and Dr. Darcy were erased. Anne bled for weeks afterwards and grew frighteningly weak. But each time she healed and regained her newfound vigor and serenity with life.
    The image Anne presented as she walked toward them onto the graveled drive was not of a woman suffering ill health. Yes, she was thin as she always had been and it was doubtful Anne would ever possess true ruddiness to her skin, but her cheeks were pink and her entire being glowed. Darcy had verbalized to Lizzy his doubts over the wisdom of Anne marrying and then continuing to conceive. Yet now, as they gazed upon her visage, they both realized how wrong that assessment.
    She embraced Elizabeth first, their protruding abdomens bumping together and inciting girlish giggles. “Welcome, Elizabeth! You have no idea how you have been missed! Now we shall have even more to talk about.” She rubbed over her belly briefly and then turned to Darcy with a beaming grin. “Oh my, Wills, obviously the Channel crossing took a toll. You look positively dreadful.”
    “Thank you. Just what every man prefers to hear from a woman.” He smiled wanly, kissing her hand. “Thankfully, I cannot claim the same for you, dear cousin. You are radiant. I would embrace you but fear the outcome may be unpleasant.”
    “You can embrace Lady Catherine instead. That would be amusing.”
    Anne choked a laugh at Lizzy’s remark. Darcy tried to frown but his features were so pinched it came out as more of a sour grimace. George voiced their feelings succinctly when he exited the carriage. “This physician’s treatment plan is brandy, or better yet whiskey, in large quantities, and a bed. Not necessarily in that order.”
    “As you wish, Doctor.” She turned, arm in arm with Lizzy, leading into the cavernous foyer and directing servants with ease and confidence. “Unfortunately the greeting to my mother will have to wait. She is visiting an ill friend in Ashford. Sorry to disappoint your amusement, Elizabeth”—she winked sidelong at her companion—“and my husband is at the hospital. We were unsure when you would arrive. I do apologize. Now,” she paused before the parlor doors, waving her hand toward the staircase, “off to bed with the three of you.” She inclined her head to include Alexander, fast asleep in Mrs. Hanford’s arms. “Your indisposition allots us time to chatter and gossip.”
    And almost like wayward boys being scolded, Darcy and George obeyed.
    For two weeks they dwelt at Rosings.
    Lizzy inevitably felt odd whenever their paths and duty took them to Kent. The memories associated with the first time she ever came here were not necessarily pleasant. She and her husband had long since buried the past misconceptions with a love so profound that any guilt or sadness was washed clean. Nevertheless, one does not ever forget, especially when boldly confronted with places triggering those memories.
    This alone may not have created a great burden. Lizzy and Darcy were able to find ways to erase or supplant bad remembrances with happier ones—just ask the silent walls of Netherfield or immobile willows near Longbourn! Making love on the floor of the Hunsford parlor or Rosings drawing room was clearly not an option, but even if it were, Mr. Collins and Lady Catherine would still be there to annoy Elizabeth