and assurance. But as he gazed into her frightened eyes his essence grew colder and an agonizing tightness banded across his chest. Neither Wickham nor Orman may comprehend love and family devotion from a personal perspective, but as a result of their individual dealings with Darcy, each was wise to the depths of his emotions for his loved ones. Memories of how Wickham plotted and attempted to destroy Georgiana in an effort to wound him flashed through his brain.
“The boys!” He pivoted so precipitously that he almost tripped over his own feet. Recovering instantly, he grabbed the carefully folded robe that Samuel always placed on the chest at the end of the bed and had one arm within the sleeve and was turning back toward Lizzy before she had taken a breath. “They are staying here, with us, tonight and tomorrow night. And you three will not be allowed out of my sight for a second. Do you understand?” The robe was on, if not yet belted, and his hands were gripping her upper arms painfully. She had rarely seen him so intense and would not have been able to disagree in the face of his exigent command if she had wanted to.
He did not wait for a reply or a nod of assent. Her consent was not necessary. He was telling her how it would be, not asking for her opinion. He strode to the door, throwing it open, and was halfway down the hall before properly concealing his nakedness. He did not care. Nor did he acknowledge or apologize for the near heart seizure he gave Mrs. Hanford when he aggressively hurtled through the nursery door. He glanced to both sleeping bodies assuring their reality and safety, crossing toward Alexander’s bed. He spared a rapid visual exchange with Lizzy, who he knew was following, and gestured curtly toward Michael.
Alexander was tight in his embrace, vibrant flesh and strongly beating heart pressed into the bare skin of his chest, before he permitted a slight easing in his coiled terror. In a coarse rumble he informed Mrs. Hanford that the boys would be sleeping in the Master’s chamber, offering no other explanation. He turned to Lizzy where she stood with Michael clutched in her arms, brushed over the baby’s plump ruddy cheek with his knuckles, and then grasped his wife’s hand, leading back to their bedchamber in as much of a whirl as the entry.
Not until the four of them were nestled snug and warm under the goose down duvet did Darcy breathe freely. Alexander had barely twitched during the relocation, now curled in a tight ball beside his father and sharing the wide pillow. Darcy closed his eyes and kissed the soft forehead, fingertips smoothing over the disorderly curls while he inhaled deeply of the fresh scent emanating from the toddler’s skin. He drew back a few inches, fingers caressing to the open mouth where a slack hand with moist thumb poised on the plump lower lip. Darcy smiled. “I love you, my son,” he murmured, bringing the chubby fist to his mouth for another kiss. “You are safe with your father.”
He rolled carefully onto his back, looking over his shoulder first to make sure there was plenty of space between his body and Michael. Lizzy’s delicate hand ran over his arm, tugging, letting him know it was safe. Naturally, Michael
Darcy captured her hand, fingers lacing with hers, and pulled it in for a lingering kiss to her knuckles and light sucks to each tip.
“Relieved, my heart?”
“Marginally,” he responded. “Tomorrow I will construct a pallet with blankets and pillows near the fire so we can place the boys there and give us more space. Darcy House is unassailable unless one mounts a siege, and I am in command and know it is secure. I doubt I shall sleep well until then. If then.”
Lizzy did not admonish him for overreacting. The incident that afternoon remained hazy at best, and her mind shrank from contemplating the potentials if Darcy’s conclusions were correct. She simply could not deal with it and shamelessly relegated the task to her vastly competent spouse. Knowing he was in absolute control, feeling the potency that radiated from every pore, hearing the sobriety in his voice, observing the steadfast reliability in his blue eyes, and having been witness time and again to his supreme dependability and keen intellect was enough to allay her fears.
“I apologize for alarming you with my melodrama, dearest. In the light of day I may feel a bit foolish for reacting so. But I confess I breathe easier knowing you are safe within my reach. I could not bear anything happening to you or our children.”
Lizzy nodded, smiling her assurance in his capabilities and understanding of his fears.
“Sleep now. Your eyes are weary.” He brushed over her cheek, fingers yet entwined with hers, and touched her eyelids until they closed. “Sleep. I will watch over our sons. I love you.” His voice dropped to a whisper, murmuring loving devotions until her respirations were regular.
He watched her sleep, eyes frequently drifting to the tiny body of Michael cradled against her breast and the long-limbed form of his firstborn sprawled to his left. Every muscle ached with fatigue, but he would not fall into a troubled sleep for a long while.
Chapter Thirteen
Darcy was jolted to semi-wakefulness late the next morning by a pair of soft but surprisingly heavy elbows landing square on his chest.
“Papa, wake up! We need to see my toad!”
Darcy opened bleary eyes, befuddled brain registering the anxious expression of Alexander, whose face was close enough to see two of him. Darcy blinked and groaned as remembrance seeped into fogged wits.
“Papa!” Alexander gripped his father’s chin between pudgy fingers, shaking for attention. “Hurry! What if he is hungry?”
Darcy nodded, reaching to encircle his son’s body for a squeeze while rubbing gritty eyes with the other hand. He looked to the right, but the bed was empty. “Where are your mother and Michael?”
“Gone,” the boy answered unhelpfully, unconcerned over absent mother and brother or apparently confounded by waking in a bed other than his own. The issue of toad safety was far more pressing a worry!
“Your toad is fine, I promise you. Come, let’s find your mother and attend to our own hunger. I am in need of coffee.”
“But…”
“Trust me, Son. He is just fine. Now give me a kiss.”
Lizzy and Michael were in the sitting room, both consuming a morning meal, when the elder Darcy men joined them. Thus the morning began. Darcy had lain awake theorizing until the darkest hours of the night, finally falling into a deep but nightmare-filled sleep that was far from sufficient for his needs. Being continually prodded by a flipping toddler all night long did not help either. Nonetheless, his superior perspicacity prevailed and he wasted little time before executing the necessary requirements.
He was dead serious when stating that he would not permit his three loved ones out of his sight, but of course in the light of day the realities of such a blanket statement were not as easy to arrange. Lizzy departed to bathe and prepare for her sister’s wedding, but only after being sternly reminded to keep Marguerite within shouting distance and to send for him before leaving her chambers. The nursery door was kept bolted, Mrs. Hanford instructed to open for no one other than Mr. or Mrs. Darcy. It was an odd request that baffled the nanny but was executed without question.
Darcy performed his own toilette hastily, returning to the freshly scrubbed faces of his sons with relief. He did not think that Wickham or Orman would boldly storm Netherfield to abduct or harm his family, but he was not going to slacken his defense.
With the boys clean and dressed, and Mrs. Hanford finally apprised of cursory details regarding her Master’s strange behavior, the four of them set out to check on the toad, who was fine as promised. With a contented Michael clasped to Darcy’s chest, they knelt beside the barrel and supplied the indifferent amphibian with three more fat worms. The baby was mildly intrigued by the animal, but was equally fascinated by the buttons on his father’s jacket. Darcy would not relinquish Michael from his arms to the nanny until they were safely sequestered in the library. And then it was only so he could speak to Colonel Fitzwilliam and Dr. Darcy in private, and the three were mere feet away within easy reach, if out of earshot.
“Why the long face, Cousin? Wedding days are ones of rejoicing.”
“For some perhaps.” George countered as he took the chair across from his somber nephew and smiling
