astounding concept! I must have missed that lesson in my youth.” He shrugged. “I only disrupted the romantic interlude to inform you that dinner shall soon be served. Since Mrs. Darcy whined about her hunger for the past hour, feeding two and all that, and I distinctly heard your stomach growl between the infant wails, I thought you both would be interested in the news.”
Lizzy’s giggle and Darcy’s sharp retort were cut off by a sudden piercing scream echoing down the hallway, shut door and stout walls not greatly muffling their son’s healthy lungs. Lizzy sighed yet again and closed her eyes for a momentary skyward supplication for strength. Darcy halted her rising, however, leaning for a kiss to her forehead.
“Go and eat, Elizabeth. I will see to it. I doubt it is sustenance he is wishing for, so perhaps I can handle it.”
“Thank you! I am famished.”
“Just save a bit for me. Uncle, will you escort my wife to the dining room?”
“With honor.”
Briskly and bravely entering the nursery chamber, the doting father was greeted by lusty yells, soothing vocalizations, and the faint clunk of wooden blocks being banged together. The former two issued forth respectively from the mouths of his six-month-old son, diminutive face angrily screwed-up and beet red, and the nanny, Mrs. Hanford, who stood near the window swaying and bouncing as she crooned to no avail. The latter noise, barely audible amid the cries, came from the serious, blue-eyed boy sitting on the carpet surrounded by a pile of building blocks in dozens of shapes and sizes.
The toddler lifted his adorable face, azure gaze serenely greeting the tall man, his piping voice calm. “Papa, baby sad.”
“Yes, Alexander. I gathered as much. Thank you.”
Darcy smiled at his firstborn, stooped to ruffle the wild curls that resisted any form of tamed combing, and turned to the nanny.
“You need not fret, Mr. Darcy. I can attend to him while you dine. Nothing we haven’t all seen before!” she concluded, hugging the irate infant and bestowing a loving kiss to his sweaty forehead.
“I do not doubt your competence, Mrs. Hanford, you know that. But Mrs. Darcy will dine easier if I am here with him. Come here, little demon, let your father deal with your tantrum. There, there now. Is it
He chuckled as he sat onto the sofa, the baby not even mildly amused, and winked at Alexander who observed the proceedings with quiet interest while still banging blocks. Darcy laid the thrashing, belligerent infant belly down over his knees and proceeded to bounce and pat the diapered bottom. It took awhile, but experience gleaned narrowed this down to the best avenue to hush and pacify.
Alexander rose, tossed the blocks aside, and grabbed one lumpy leg of a tattered, stuffed hound dog. He walked to his father’s side, adding soft pats to the firmer ones calming the infant who was now intermittently gasping while sucking on a plump thumb. Leveling his small face with the smaller one, bright azure eyes engaging the teary cobalt ones of his brother, he added phrases in a soothing voice mimicking Darcy. “Go sleep, baby. Hush, hush now. Papa here. No more tears, sweet baby. Be happy.”
Darcy smiled, watching Alexander bestow soft kisses to the wet cheeks as angry eyes glazed with serenity and sleepiness. For several minutes after regular breathing was reached, Darcy and Alexander continued to administer pats at a gradually lessening pace. Experience had also taught them not to trust the newest Darcy’s complacency too swiftly, a fact they were recently reminded of when his mother’s declaration of slumber was proven erroneous.
Michael James Anton Darcy was born on the blustery afternoon of September 14, 1819, after a mere seven hours of labor. His birth, a good month earlier than Dr. Darcy’s soonest estimate, caught everyone by surprise, especially his father who galloped frenziedly up the drive and barreled through the bedchamber door an hour and a half before the blessed event, as no one, not even Lizzy, had anticipated the imminent delivery that morning when he blithely rode off to attend to estate business. The uneventful pregnancy and easy birth of the delicate five pound, premature baby was in no way an indication of future complacency.
Darcy teased that their second son was simply fashioned after his mother. Lizzy could not dispute these realities too vigorously, as the stories of her infant years were gleefully related by both parents to an amused spouse. She had searched through the journals, but alas, the writings of Anne and James Darcy conclusively revealed a child Fitzwilliam who was even-tempered and tranquil. George Darcy, who delighted in teasing his serious nephew, could not disagree.
Her counter argument was to blame it on their holiday at Matlock Bath, neither her or Darcy doubting Michael was conceived within that three-day span of crazed lovemaking. After an extended business trip to London, Darcy returned to Pemberley and an ill wife. It was his idea for a recuperative visit to the healing mineral waters. Frenzied intimacy amid the untamed atmospheric conditions was a bonus; the humorous jests of personality traits of the unborn being influenced were not taken seriously until after Michael was born.
Alexander was a happy baby and contented toddler. He rarely cried and tantrums were exceedingly unusual, but spontaneous hilarity and uncontained laughter were infrequent as well. He naturally dwelt in a state of calm neutrality and quiet humor, the stoic twenty-eight-month-old so like his father it was uncanny.
Michael, conversely, was perpetually at opposite ends of the mood spectrum. When not in a rage over some perceived slight, he was bursting with mirth. Thankfully, his sprightliness was infectious and all it took was witnessing one episode of wiggling gaiety to forget any moments of pique.
At six months of age, his devoted parents and loving brother had long since fallen under his spell and learned ways to avoid or remedy the tantrums. Waiting until absolutely certain Michael was asleep, Darcy transferred the snoring babe to his shoulder with steady competence. Alexander climbed onto the settee, settling against the welcoming warmth of his father’s side with faithful stuffed companion secure on his lap. Darcy embraced his firstborn, his strong arm hugging tight, and called to Mrs. Hanford.
“Mrs. Hanford, could you please inform the kitchen to bring our dinner here. I will dine with Alexander.” Once alone, he looked at his son and asked, “What do you say? Shall we build a tower to the sky once we have dined?”
In true Alexander fashion, he thought it over carefully before replying. “Nanny say it bath time after dinner.”
“I believe I can overrule Nanny’s orders just this once.” He winked at the staid face, Alexander assimilating the words before nodding and smiling happily.
“Aunt Giana here, Papa?”
“Not yet, my sweet. Soon she will be here. I know she misses you and will hurry to Netherfield as soon as it is possible.”
“Gramma and Grampa here? Aunt Kitty?”
“We will see all of them tomorrow. Longbourn is only three miles away, but it is late. Michael was in no mood for extended visitations. Tonight it shall just be us, but rest assured your grandparents are anxious to see you.”
Alexander nodded at that statement of fact, reaching to pat his sleeping brother’s back. Yet the tiny crease between his brows did not disappear.
“Do not worry, my son. Everyone will be coming for your Aunt Kitty’s wedding. You will be reacquainted with dozens of relatives and meeting new ones. Far more than your young mind will be able to absorb.” He paused, dwelling momentarily on the intelligent gaze of his son and shook his head as he continued, “On second thought, I would be unwise to underestimate your memory. You have not seen Aunt Giana in months and ask about her every day! Come, help me tuck your brother into bed and then we can get started on that tower while waiting for our food.”
Netherfield Hall, the finest country manor in all of Hertfordshire, had remained greatly unoccupied over the intervening years since Mr. Bingley first let it over four years prior. The question as to why the owners continued to do so was a mystery that none of the current lessees knew.
On the occasion of Mary’s nuptials two years ago, the Darcys had resided in the local inn; a modest establishment that served well if humbly. One other time they had stayed at Longbourn. That was one of the longest weeks in Darcy’s life and he stubbornly, and not too kindly, refused to do so ever again! Space for their
