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 fiddle 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.
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