A beaming Alexander proudly gifted his father with the slimy amphibian clutched in his tiny hands, rushing forward as Darcy knelt and showed the appropriate enthusiasm in his son’s acquisition. He listened attentively to the tale of how the boy had chased the toad into the reeds and toppled into the river during the hunt. The fact that he was wet with muddy smeared cheeks and grass clinging to his damp curls mattered not. Darcy hugged him, praised his bravery, declared the toad by far the most amazing toad in all of England, and immediately set to the task of providing a temporary home for the pet, after Lizzy replaced the wet gown for a dry one.
A wooden barrel was found in a shed by a baffled groundsman. The Netherfield cook grudgingly gave an old pie pan for a pool after stating firmly that she did not want it returned. Together father and son searched for the best rocks, grasses, and leaves.
“Toss the grass over there, Son. That’s it. Now he has a nice bed to lie on if he wishes.” Darcy arranged three large stones to form a type of shelter for the impressive sized toad who squatted on a large, flat rock. Darcy crouched next to the barrel with Alexander standing beside as he taught about toads.
“He will probably stay on the rock, or burrow into the grass or under the rocks, but he might go into the water too. However, toads, unlike frogs, prefer to be dry. He probably was not all that pleased when you fell into the water.” He laughed, kissing Alexander’s cheek. “They are nocturnal animals which mean they are most active at night.”
“Like bats, Papa?”
“Very good! Yes, just like the bats we have near Pemberley. So smart you are, my sweet.” He ruffled the dried curls, face flooded with paternal pride. “Remember how we watched them that one night? Flying through the trees?”
Alexander nodded. “Mama so mad.”
“Yes, a little bit only. It was past your bedtime and she worries. That is what mothers do. But it was fun, was it not?”
Alexander nodded again, glancing upward with a smile for his father before turning his attention back to the placid toad. “He sick, Papa?”
“No. He is fine. Toads do not really do much, Son. They sit around most of the time and eat bugs.” Alexander grimaced. “Spiders and worms too. Give him one of those fat earthworms Mr. Hale brought us.”
Alexander dutifully took a wiggling worm from the jar given them by Mr. Hale, one of the stablemen who was also an avid fisherman. He plopped the juicy specimen right before the toad’s nose, but the bulbous eyes never blinked. “He not hungry now,” the toddler declared authoritatively.
“Perhaps he will eat it later. Fear not, Son, he looks to be fat and healthy.” He reached one finger to smooth over the bumpy skin. “Feel how soft he is, Alexander? The warts over his skin will not hurt you, although some types of toads can be mildly poisonous. See these ridges here behind his eyes?” Alexander nodded, one tiny finger rubbing over the mentioned spot. “They are glands that secrete a poison so that predators will leave the toad alone and not try to eat him.”
“Poor froggy. No one eat you now.”
“No, he is safe enough here. And he is not a frog, my sweet, but a toad. Someday you will know the difference.”
“I keep him forever, Papa? Please?”
“I am sorry, Son, but no. He must be returned to his home tomorrow.” Alexander’s eyes welled with tears, lower lip pouting and quivering. Darcy hugged him to his side, and then pulled him onto his knee and kissed the crown of his head. “Do not be sad. He needs to be where he is happy. He probably has a family who needs him, maybe parents of his own. You would not want to be away from your home, away from your mother and me, would you?” Alexander shook his head emphatically. “Well, neither does he. Tomorrow, after Aunt Kitty’s wedding, we will take him back to the riverbank where you found him. You will have time to play with him before we have to say good-bye. All right?” The toddler sniffed but nodded.
“Let’s say good night to your little pet. I better get you up to nanny and your bath before we both get into trouble. Before bed I will read you the Grimm Brothers’ tale of a frog prince and the story of the frog plague from the Bible. How is that?”
He nodded again and said good night to the toad, wishing him sweet dreams. Darcy smiled and chose not to remind him what “nocturnal” meant. Alexander gave one last gentle pet to the amphibian, which chose that moment to extend his sticky tongue and snatch the worm before it slithered out of reach, yanking it into his mouth in one neat movement.
Alexander squealed in delight, eyes shining up at Darcy. “See that, Papa?”
“Yes, I did. Now you will not have to worry if he is hungry. Give him a few more worms for the night, Son. Very good. Now, to your bath! You smell like a fishy, muddy boy! If I were a big fish I would think you dinner! Yum!” He slung the giggling, squirming two-year-old over his shoulder, playfully placing nibbles along his chubby arms and waist while making yummy sounds all the way into the house.
Most of the Netherfield residents had gone to Lucas Lodge for a dinner party that evening, leaving only the Darcys and Daniels to dine in solitude since both young mothers needed to remain close to their babies. Darcy sensed Lizzy’s distraction even when rhapsodizing over Alexander’s toad and when she requested retiring early, pleading a headache, he knew all was not well. He was disturbed but refused to leap to false conclusions and trusted that once the children were asleep she would share whatever was troubling her.
Lizzy reclined on the chaise with Michael at her breast. She wore her usual dreamy expression as she gazed into her baby’s face, fingertips caressing over the velvety skin and minute knuckles of his clenched hand. Comfortable in his privacy attire of only trousers and loosened shirt, Darcy sat cross-legged on the floor with Alexander. The youngster was scrubbed clean, smelling of sweet castile soap and fire warmed towels, dressed in a crisp white sleeping gown and stockings. Several errant curls fell over his forehead and into the intent blue eyes that were focused on the assortment of brightly colored marbles arranged before their knees.
In one of his many forays into the dusty attic storage spaces at Pemberley, Darcy had discovered his old collection of marbles. Most of his childhood marbles were of clay or stone, but he and Alexander had since added a number of colorful glass specimens to the mix. Whenever they ventured near a shopping district they searched for marbles. It was a quest, with Darcy seeking used spheres with a history or made of rare materials while Alexander was instantly drawn to the bins of multihued, shiny glass marbles.
Darcy did not yet teach any rules of actual marble play, instead keeping it a simple matter of knocking one marble into another for the fun of making them roll about the large wooden board he had constructed expressly for the game. However, Darcy was learning that his son had inherited his competitive and exacting nature. Alexander would clap with joy when he managed to hit another ball hard enough to cause it to tumble over the flat surface’s edge, but most of the time his face was screwed up in deep concentration, the tip of his tongue in the corner of his mouth and brows furrowed as his tiny fingers attempted to aim and launch the marble with the proper technique as learned from his father. Darcy loved that his son studied his actions and mimicked his facial expressions and gestures, but it also made him aware of the reflexive mannerisms Lizzy had been teasing him about for years now!
“Excellent shot, Alexander! Right off the board. Well done! I think you are beating me tonight.” He ruffled his son’s hair, Alexander beaming with pride. He reached his small body across the board to retrieve the stray marble, one knee nudging the corner and setting the marbles to rolling crazily.
“Oh! Sorry, Papa.”
But Darcy was laughing as his large hands spread to prevent the marbles escaping too far while stabilizing the board. “No problem, sweetling. They needed to be rearranged anyway. In fact, here is a new game, let’s jiggle the board and see how many we can keep from falling off.” His broad grin was met by a smaller identical one and with laughter they set to their new game. Alexander’s enthusiasm for the new game brought him to his feet, marbles flying everywhere, and he launched bodily into his father’s arms.
Darcy was prepared and caught the soft projectile but feigned surprise and weakness by falling onto his back with a loud, “Oof! You are so strong, my son! Knocked me right over!”
It was a familiar type of play, Darcy instantly continuing the game by lifting the boy high into the air with sturdy broad hands spanning the tiny chest. Alexander stiffened, extended his arms perpendicular, and locked his knees.
“Flap your wings! That’s it. What bird do you wish to be today? Hawk? A fearless eagle?”
