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Darcy rolled the quill between his fingers and looked with benign pity upon his cousin. “You should, you know. It’s a wonderful feeling to be the head of your home, with a wife who adores you and whom you adore in return.” Fitzwilliam whipped out his pocket watch. “Oh, look at that. I have to run." Ignoring him, Darcy turned his face to the fire, a besotted look in his eyes and a smile on his lips. “It’s a good feeling to care for your family and their well-being. It makes you finally grow up, I can tell you.” He sighed deeply and began attacking his figures once more, his mind filled with unlimited love and joy, thinking on his upcoming paternal responsibilities. “I myself find women to be unbelievably wonderful creations.” “I suppose you will continue with this treacle even as I beg you to stop.” “Well, think about it…” Darcy continued, looking up from his work. Fitzwilliam groaned. “They give back to you double and triple whatever little you hand them.” “I think I’m going to be ill, Darcy. Please stop.” “You hand them disparate items of food, and they give you back a wonderful meal. You provide them with four walls and a floor, and they give you back a loving home. You give them your seed,” Darcy’s eyes misted, his voice choked with emotion. “You give them your seed, and they give you back the most precious thing of all—a child…” They sat in silence together. “And God help you if you give them shit.” Fitzwilliam was calmly packing tobacco into his pipe, and his eyes met Darcy’s for a moment. Understanding flashed between them. “Amen to that, Cousin.” Darcy crashed down to earth, quickly resuming his work ↗
After the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor, the United States entered into World War II to protect our way of life and to help liberate those who had fallen under the Axis occupation. The country rallied to produce one of the largest war efforts in history. Young men volunteered to join the Armed Forces, while others were drafted. Women went to work in factories and took military jobs. Everyone collected their used cooking grease and metals to be used for munitions. They rationed gas and groceries. Factories now were producing airplanes, weapons, and military vehicles. They all wanted to do their part. And they did, turning America into a war machine. The nation was in full support to help our boys win the war and come home quickly. Grandpa wanted to do his part too. ↗
And you . . . staring up at him, all starry-eyed and breathless—" "I wasn't!" "The picture was too perfect. A New England Christmas. Two childhood sweethearts sharing old memories—" "You're being unreasonable!" "You would have been a handsome couple. You do suit each other quite well." "I don't think so," she said quickly, placing a small, restraining hand on his chest as he towered over her. "Oh?" The bright flare of jealousy in his gaze showed no signs of diminishing. "No—I don't prefer that kind of man at all. He's . . . he's too short, for one thing. I never realized before how short he was. And his hair… well, it’s much too dark. I prefer lighter hair more." Heath's grip loosened marginally, a sign that encouraged Lucy to continue. "He's too quiet, too predictable…too straight-laced. I would die of boredom if I to spend more than five minutes with him. He doesn’t like to argue or swear, and he doesn't drink too much or lose his temper. He's not the kind who would appreciate black silk pantalets." “He has a respectable family that everyone approves of.” “I don't care about what anyone else thinks." Heath yanked her closer to him, his savage mood barely concealed. His fingers bit into the backs of her shoulders, but not harshly enough to leave bruises. Thick gold-tipped lashes lowered over azure eyes as he stared down at her mouth. “You’ve wanted him ever since you were a child,” he pointed out gruffly. “Until my taste matured." “He’s a gentleman." “Yes. That's the worst thing of all. ↗
