could do about their nakedness. “I am sorry, sweet. Come here, Papa will make it all better.” He opened his arms and Alexander climbed onto the bed, nestling snuggly in the warm circle of his father’s embrace, clutching Dog tightly.
Lizzy had regained her composure, barely, rising to look over Darcy’s body and reaching to comfort her son. “Are you better now, darling?” She smoothed the crazy curls on his brow, his eyes meeting hers in the dimly lit darkness.
“Better,” he replied. “You better, Mama? Bad dream gone bye?”
“I am fine, sweetie. What do you mean?”
“You scream. Ogre get you too?”
Darcy howled, Lizzy slapping his back and hiding her instantly scarlet face in his shoulder. “It is well, Alexander,” he affirmed with a gasping laugh. “Papa was here to make Mama feel good… very, very good.”
“Fitzwilliam!”
Darcy had enormous fun with that one, but from that day forward, he did remember to lock the door securely no matter how caught up in their passion they were. Of course, they also remembered to unlock it later just in case a frightened youngster tiptoed in, as was the case from time to time.
Alexander’s transition was aided remarkably by the admission of Mrs. Hanford’s daughter Lisa as assistant nanny. Alexander knew the nineteen-year-old well, loved her even, so was delighted to have her close by at all times. Lisa was smaller than her matronly mother and accustomed to sleeping in a bed crammed with nieces and nephews, so slumbering with just Alexander was a luxury! By the time Michael made his appearance, the upheaval was adjusted to and Alexander would dwell in this room until his marriage many, many years hence.
Aside from that drama, the weeks after returning to Pemberley were tranquil. Their excitement was high, of course, but they were also calm and well prepared, having been through it once before.
Shortly after returning to Pemberley, father and son stood gazing at the massive tapestries tracing the Darcy ancestry that hung in the grand foyer. Darcy traced the lines, reciting the names to the raptly listening baby who said nothing until his father read the name Anton Darcy.
His chubby thumb exited his mouth with an audible pop, followed by a moistly declared, “Anton.”
“Yes. That is correct, Alexander. Anton Darcy was our ancestor, over two centuries ago. His son was Herbert Darcy, then John…”
“Anton.”
Darcy looked at the face so close and resembling his own, the baby’s eyes riveted to the fine threads scrolled to form the name Anton. Darcy smiled. “Indeed. Anton. Probably from the Roman influence. A shortened form of Anthony, or perhaps for Mark Antony, the Roman general who ruled for a time as Emperor. Do you like that name?”
“Anton.”
And that is how it began. Everything and everyone was “Anton” from there on. Even Dog was dubbed Anton for a time. When they told him that if the baby was a boy he would be named Michael, Alexander nodded calmly then pointed to Lizzy’s belly and said, “Anton.” They laughed and tried in vain to correct him, but what happened instead is that they grew to love the name and realized it flowed nicely. Thus it was decided that their second child, if a boy, would be christened Michael James Anton Darcy. They did toss around a few girl names, but Lizzy was convinced she was having a boy, so serious deliberation was ignored.
The waning days of summer led into a mild fall. Darcy was busy nearly every day, but always allotted time to play with Alexander. Now that he was older, Lizzy relinquished her hovering concern to a degree and Darcy was able to take his son into the stables or town, to visit with Mr. Vernor or Mr. Hughes, and once to Rowan Lake for naked bathing. Darcy chose a docile mare to ride around the corral with Alexander on his lap, the toddler unrestrained in his joy over the activity, much to Darcy’s delight and Lizzy’s resignation.
In every way life was picture perfection. Nothing marred the tranquility permeating the atmosphere of Pemberley as they enjoyed the sunlit days and nights of family felicity. Neither Lizzy nor Darcy took it for granted, but it was natural to relax into the contentment and almost assume that it could be thus forever. Very shortly they would discover that life is never perfect and that even the best marriages can suffer.
Considering the probable conception time, when Lizzy began experiencing symptoms and quickening, and how the pregnancy was advancing, Dr. Darcy’s professional calculation was for a date of confinement roughly one month before Alexander’s second birthday, November 27 of 1819.
Of course, they were wrong. In fact, they would be proven wrong on numerous counts regarding the outcome of their second child’s arrival into their happy family.
Aside from the fact that Michael delivered on September 14, nearly one and a half months before anticipated, labor onset took Lizzy utterly by surprise. She hummingly proceeded to sew, decorate, and arrange household matters in the days prior to his birth, sure that she had over a month yet to go. She suffered none of the weariness, backaches, or false contractions that had been rampant toward the latter months of Alexander’s gestation, and aside for a mild ungainliness, she was healthier than ever before.
On the day of his birth there was absolutely no warning. She serenely wrote a letter to her mother while Alexander played with his Noah’s Ark on a rug by the window of her parlor, ignoring the minor irregular cramps that did not cause her to breathe heavily. In fact, she was more than halfway through the process before she believed it was real, calling for Dr. Darcy a bare four hours before the infant made his appearance.
Nearly every groomsman in Pemberley’s employ was sent to scour the estate for its Master and Mr. Keith, who had not thought it essential to share their agenda with anyone. Darcy was found and did arrive before the blessed event, relieved of his considerable self-reproach by a barely sweating Lizzy who assured him with a smile that she was feeling fine!
“Is it not too early, Uncle?” Darcy’s voice cracked, his face screwed into a worried frown with sweat beading on his brow worse than Lizzy.
“Babies come on their own timing,” George answered with a jovial smile. “Early or not, your son is coming, so let’s not worry about that right now. Fortunately you have me, the best physician in all of Derbyshire, if not England, and since it appears my formidable skills will not be called into play for the deliver of this precocious infant, I may prove my worth after he is born.”
“No offense, Uncle, but I hope not.”
“You worry too much, William.” Lizzy patted his cheek, gazing into his face with shining eyes from her perch against his broad chest. He was trembling, partly from the frantic ride back to Pemberley and pell-mell dash up two flights of stairs, but also from excitement mingled with fear. He could not believe it was happening today! Lizzy, conversely, was calm in between contractions. She spend more time trying to comfort him than the other way around, only losing her composure once it came time to push the baby out.
The wild drama was somewhat anticlimactic as Michael slipped into the world with minimal effort on Lizzy’s part. That was a miracle it would take her months to fully appreciate due to her and Darcy’s all-consuming preoccupation over his survival.
Michael was a fragile infant who required careful handling. The respiratory distress that George most worried about never transpired. Michael’s lungs were healthy, as he would display in due course. Rather, his delicacy arose in the vicinity of his gastrointestinal area, Dr. Darcy indeed proving his worth. The initial month was a trial, no other way to state it. Lizzy produced copious amounts of milk, but Michael simply did not have the strength to nurse on more than one side at a time and often was too sleepy to do even that. In the first week he lost precious ounces he could not afford. George encouraged the anxious parents to wake him every two hours for feedings, a schedule that did work in filling his tiny stomach, but was exhausting on Lizzy and irritating to an already finicky newborn.
Additionally, he was extremely sensitive in the amounts he could consume. Vomiting after each feeding became the norm with the fussiness of true colic following. Lizzy monitored every bite that passed her lips, obsessed with discovering what foods were most distressing to his stomach. Lizzy insisted on keeping him close and attending to caretaking since no one else could feed him, and he notably slept and digested better when nuzzled onto her chest. Darcy barely managed to touch his son in those early weeks, Mrs. Hanford even less. Without realizing what was happening, Darcy gravitated toward caring for Alexander since Lizzy seemed to have forgotten the toddler’s existence.
George experimented with numerous herbal tonics, not finding the precise combination that allayed the worst of the messy symptoms for nearly three weeks. It was only then that the babe began to gain weight and achieve a
