My Dearest Mr. Darcy: An Amazing Journey Into Love Everlasting (33 page)

He smiled, rolling the tooth about on his palm. "They waited many years for a son and after losing my sister, I confess I was hideously pampered and a bit spoiled. Then there were all the long years until Georgie. Naturally I was loved, but I judge it was partially because my mother had no one else to dote on."

Lizzy laughed. "There is likely a great deal of truth in that. I know my mother kept very few of our childhood mementos. What souvenirs I have were kept by me. She was far too busy having more babies, not to mention definitely unsentimental."

"However many children we are blessed with, Elizabeth, they will be equally overindulged. I promise you that. What's this?" He withdrew a carefully sealed smaller box, placing it on his lap.

Lizzy gasped at the revealed contents, fingers immediately caressing over the delicate fabric. "Is it yours?"

"Must be, as this box contains all my keepsakes. Ah, yes, look here, my birth announcement:
Fitzwilliam Alexander James Darcy born to Mr. James and Lady Anne Darcy on November Ten of 1787.
"

"It is beautiful." Lizzy spoke softly, truly stunned by the gown of exquisite satin and Alencon lace overlay. It was white with short puffy sleeves, a lined skirt three feet long with the lace extending three inches to end in a scalloped pattern of leaves and bluebells, and minute pearls sewn over the bodice. "You wore this." It was a reverently whispered statement rather than a question.

"Apparently. I remember Mother saying she sewed a gown while expecting my sister. There is a box of belongings that were Alexandria's over there," he pointed to a lone box. "The awaited heir required something extravagant, she said." He smiled wistfully, eyes dim in memory.

"I cannot believe she created this herself." She bit her lip, looking shyly to Darcy, who was still lost in reminiscence. "Would you mind terribly if our baby wore this for the christening?"

Darcy snapped to the present with left brow raised in surprise, gazing at Lizzy in bafflement, "Why in the world would I mind? It is your decision, beloved, although I thought you planned to make a gown yourself. Would you not prefer our son to wear something new?"

Lizzy's cheeks were flushed and she ducked her head in embarrassment. "Well, I rather like the idea of him wearing what you wore. A sense of continuity and good fortune. But if you must know the truth, it is partially because I am not skilled enough to create a garment half this lovely, and your heir deserves the best."

He gently clasped her chin, lifting to meet her eyes as he leaned toward her. "Elizabeth, it is
our child
who deserves the best in all things, no matter the sex. I do not care what gown he or she wears when baptized, only that he is healthy and that the ceremony takes place. The choice is yours." He kissed her tenderly, caressing over the soft bulge of their son. "If you sew it, then it will be perfect. If you buy something or have it made, it will be perfect. If you wish to use this gown, then it will be perfect."

"Thank you, William."

He stroked over her cheek, leaving smears of dirt. "As for your sewing techniques or lack thereof, I married you even though you are so hideously flawed and I love you anyway."

He was grinning widely, Lizzy laughing and shoving forcefully so that he nearly fell over. They ended up dust covered, but happy and content when they finally left the sweltering confines. Arms were laden with items that were cautiously if hastily laid aside in the rushing need for a cleansing bath... together.

"Mrs. Darcy," softly whispered in her ear and accompanied by a tiny nibble and smattering of brushing kisses.

Lizzy stretched, arching blissfully into her husband's body and clasping the warm hand resting on her abdomen. "Rising so early, William. Something special about today?" She turned her head to reach his smiling lips for a glancing kiss.

"Indeed. We are a long way from Hertfordshire and the sun is barely cresting the hills. I have no need to converse with your father or any other Bennets, and can remain unclothed rather than formally attired. Thus I planned no rehashes of the day one year ago when you agreed to be my wife, but I certainly do not intend to forget it."

He rained tiny suckles over the nape of her neck, Lizzy shivering in pleasure, returning slowly to her ear. "I am as bewitched today as I was then, still desire to never be parted from you, and love you with an ardency multiplied a hundredfold. Thank you, my precious Elizabeth, for agreeing to become my wife."

"You are very welcome. And do not fret over the lack of celebratory dramatizations. I have a very good memory not to mention the painting to remind me of a significant event in our lives. All things considered, I would rather wake with you unclothed next to me in our bed. Besides, with another wedding fast approaching I am indubitably the luckiest of women in the area of special commemorations."

He chuckled against the skin of her mid back where he was bestowing all manner of oral delights while wending his way down her posterior side, one hand quite busy over her anterior. Neither would feel in any way slighted by their private choice in how best to honor the day in late September when Darcy proposed successfully.

G
EORGE CONTINUED TO TAKE his "holiday" very seriously. He spent large periods of time in the vast library becoming personally reacquainted with each shelf. As at Darcy House, Darcy often gravitated toward wherever his uncle was, not fully aware that his heart was seeking the older man out. The relationship germinated over the summer months was blossoming with each passing day. Darcy gradually continued to open up, sharing more of himself to the man who was so incredibly like his father. George unconsciously did the same, the bond being forged with his nephew growing daily deeper.

One such incident occurred two days after George's return to Pemberley. They sat in the library enjoying the breezes flowing through the open windows. Darcy sat at the small secretary located near one window composing a letter to Mr. Daniels, while George leafed through the
London Times
from the enormous Chippendale several feet away.

"Did you read this article?" George tapped a printed column on the day's newspaper.

Darcy glanced up from the letter he was writing, squinting to see what article his uncle was indicating. "Which article is it?"

"The one about William Blake's speech at the Guildhall in Cheapside. More of his free love and religious mysticism nonsense." He shook his head in disgust. "I may not be the best one to point fingers at another for disturbing the societal mores, but the man sees visions for goodness sake! They have a name for such people."

"I have heard him speak a couple of times. I concur that he is odd, but he does forward some positive notions regarding equality and abolition of slavery. His artwork is interesting, and I actually own two of his relief etchings. Of course, he has opposed our King and spoken out against many of the Church's tenets."

"Exactly!" George sat forward in agitation, fluttering the paper in the air. "The latter appears to be his primary theme these days as this is the second such expose I have read since coming home. It disgusts me."

Darcy was gazing quizzically at his uncle with head cocked. "Forgive me, Uncle, as I mean no disrespect, but I am frankly rather amazed at your vehemence. I would have suspected that your religious views had altered somewhat after your years in India."

George's left brow shot up, but then he fell back into the huge chair with laughter ringing. "Yes, I suppose that would be the natural assumption," he said, tugging on the edge of his blue silk tunic. "In truth the opposite is the fact of it, William." He paused, smiling with eyes distant in memory. "I confess that by the time I had finished my education my mind was far more centered on science and medicine than religious doctrine. Nonetheless, I was raised by your grandfather and you know how staunch he was. I think I was permitted to absent myself from weekly worship two or three times in all my youth, and two of those times was only because I had the mumps!"

They both fell silent, smiling inwardly with personal memories of the somewhat imposing but dear man who was the anchor at Pemberley for five decades.

George broke the quiet, voice calm and introspective. "It is interesting, William, to see how differently men deal with trauma and the ugliness of the world. During my studies and clinical employment at London's hospitals, I saw a tremendous amount of both. Yet I was still young, naive, and hungry for knowledge, so I placed a shield about my heart, so to speak. Forced the realities of what I saw out of my ready consciousness and focused on the cold facts of science. Once in India I quickly became immersed in the culture, which I still adore to a great degree, but was rapidly sunk into the harsh brutality of suffering. It breaks men far stronger than me. Many leave after short enlistments or become so hardened they are stony of soul." He paused, shaking his head in sadness.

"How did you learn to deal with it?"

George smiled. "Ah well, I could impress you and say I am of sterner stuff, a better man than that." He met Darcy's eyes with a twinkle. "Primarily I made a choice. I chose to focus on the good I was doing. I chose to focus on the people themselves, to dwell with them, be friends, learn who they are, share their joys and sorrows. In essence I chose to expand my heart, let it encompass these people who are so wonderful and real regardless of their skin color or odd beliefs. Additionally I returned to the roots of my faith."

He paused again, staring at his folded hands with a flicker of old grief crossing his face. Darcy waited. Finally George resumed, "After Alex died I retreated from the world for a spell. On the day of the funeral, once it was over and before the guests had even departed, I packed up a sack of essentials and went to the cave. For two weeks I stayed there, alone, fishing for food, eating wild berries and such. I had no plan, you understand, unless it was a vague one of dying myself." He shrugged and laughed faintly.

"What happened?" Darcy, totally unconsciously, had risen and was now sitting in the chair across from his uncle, elbows on knees as he leaned forward and avidly listened.

"Your grandfather happened! He marched into the cave, bellowing at me to come out of the inner chamber as he was too big to squeeze in. I contemplated ignoring him for about a second, but one did not ignore my father. He did three things. First, he hugged me tight for about fifteen minutes until I finally broke down and cried. Then he abruptly pushed me away, patted my head, smiled kindly, but stated firmly, 'Enough, George. Time to get busy and move on.' Before two more days had passed I was buried in chores. He set me to working as a common servant about the Manor and volunteered my time serving the old curate, Reverend Halifax, and at the orphanage. It worked. Of course I would never forget my twin, but the aching grief ebbed in time and I learned to think beyond my own selfishness."

He looked at his nephew, eyes serious. "Faith became very important to me. Part of the reason medicine drew me was because of Alex's death, the perhaps stupidly misplaced belief that proper care may have saved his life. Yet it also was the desire to aid God's creatures, all of whom are loved by their Creator even if they do not know Him."

"You are a missionary, Uncle."

George laughed. "No, not hardly! Only a man of superior medical expertise. I rarely share my religion with others, so that precludes me from being counted a missionary, but it is a vital aspect of who I am. I admire all people, even if they do not admire or respect themselves, and I do not see it my place to upset them in their religious beliefs. If they are comforted in their gods, then who am I to take that from them?"