“Oh!” Georgiana blushed at her interruption but could not hide her animation. “How extraordinary! For a foreigner to be admitted is an incredible honor. Mr. Butler surely possesses a talent vastly exceeding my impression if he has such expectations. How extraordinary,” she repeated, face dreamy as she lapsed into silence.
“He does play beautifully,” Mary resumed, “and with my knowledge of music I can assert he is prodigiously skilled. I am sure in time he will comprehend the importance of visiting Italy to study opera where it originated and reigns supreme.”
“If he is as precious to the musical world as it appears then hopefully he will sail to Italy rather than risk his magical fingers or genius brain to the rigors of crossing the mountains!”
Laughter rang out at Herr Oeggl’s exaggeration, only his mother pursing her lips and remaining silent.
“Jens teases at Mr. Butler’s expense not out of maliciousness, Miss Darcy, but because the two instantly bonded in friendship. Mr. Butler is as humorous as my husband, if one defines sarcasm as humor.” Anita Oeggl winked at her spouse, Herr Oeggl bowing in mock salute.
“Only desiring to avoid a tragedy that would wound us all, my love.”
“Is the crossing into Italy as formidable as they say?” Georgiana asked. Her voice and expression showed exhilaration at the concept and not a shred of fright, music and Mr. Butler forgotten.
“Oh, indeed it is,” her cousin answered in an ominous tone, winking sidelong at Darcy, who frowned. “The pass of Saint Bernard through the Valais Alps to Aosta is roughly fifty miles of narrow winding pathways overlooking plunging gorges and rising to elevations over eight-thousand feet. All around you are towering snow-clad mountains touching the heavens. It is breathtaking to behold! God at His greatest display of artistry. One must be hardy to cross and incredibly brave.”
“You have crossed it yourself, Herr Oeggl?”
“I have, twice I am proud to say.”
“An adventurous soul is my son,” Baron Oeggl declared.
“I am Austrian. And Austrians climb mountains fearlessly, yes,
“So I am continually informed,” Mary agreed dryly.
Herr Oeggl grinned. “You shall see,
Lizzy shivered. “One hears such tales of woe related to that pass. Are you sure it is wise to take that way?”
“It is the closest and well traversed, Cousin. Thousands of people travel that way each year. One must be diligent and prepared, naturally. That is why we will not depart until well into June, for one thing, and we will move slowly with guides.”
“And you will shelter at the hospice for a day or more of rest,” Darcy ordered.
“Goodness knows I will need the hiatus.” Lord Matlock stretched his legs as if already imagining the ache from an arduous ride.
“The monks who honor Bernard of Menthon by maintaining the hospice will treat you well, my lord. The food is hot and satisfying, the fires raging, and the travelers constant through the pass. The monks and their dogs also patrol the trails for unsavory folk bent on thievery. That is no longer the concern it once was.”
“I hear the dogs of St. Bernard are as big as mastiffs. Is this true?”
“It is, Cousin,” Jurgen, youngest son of Herr Oeggl replied, leaning forward in his chair and holding his hand shoulder level. “Like small horses they are, but gentle. They gaze at you with their enormous brown eyes and compassion touches your heart. You can see why they love rescuing stranded people, risking their own lives selflessly to aid humans. It is beautiful.”
“My son is a lover of animals.” Herr Oeggl smiled fondly. “He wishes to join the monastery I believe and devote himself to breeding the St. Bernards. Hence his interest in this journey, unlike my lovely nieces who want to shop in Milano.”
“Milano designers and fabrics are unlike anywhere else, except perhaps Florence.” Romy sniffed. “It is worth any hardship for fashion.”
“Well,” countered her sister, Viveka, “Milano excites me as well, but I am also intrigued by the reputed brilliance of spring wildflowers that cover the meadows, the lakes and waterfalls, and any other vistas along the pass. I will be bringing my paints and pad, praying for flat terrain.”
“Painting while riding? You are talented to attempt it. You must show me how.”
“My pleasure, Miss Darcy, if you teach me how to play the harp as brilliantly as you.” She squeezed the blushing Georgiana’s hand.
“Not to put a damper on the youthful enthusiasm, but I am happy
“Why, Dr. Darcy”—Lady Matlock laughed—“after your adventures a steep mountain pass gives you pause? I am shocked and disappointed.”
“One word, madam: snow. No offense, Baron and Baroness, but I think my blood is now frozen solid and fear removing the three layers of stockings I wear, as I am positive I have frostbite!”
Everyone laughed. Georgiana leaned into her uncle, hugged his arm, and spoke to the crowd, “My dear uncle is delicate it seems. I, on the other hand, am determined to be brave and enjoy every moment!”
“That is the spirit, Cousin.” Herr Oeggl slapped his hand onto the chair’s arm. “Remember that only half of the journey is uphill. The rest is a descent, and how hard can that be?”
Lizzy filled two journals with notes and etchings of their time in Switzerland. Many of her entries were stories recounted by Darcy’s female cousins, those same ladies who taught him to dance the waltz so many years ago. Their remembrances were highly amusing, at least to Lizzy. Darcy flushed and attempted to correct their embellished reminiscences to no avail. He did prove, however, that their lessons in the Viennese waltz were intact, Lizzy reaping the benefits several times at the balls held in their honor.
Yet for all the entertainments and family memories, years later, Darcy would maintain that the best part of their stay in Switzerland was when he felt their baby move for the first time.
A week after arriving, on a night in May, Darcy reclined on a chair in their guest bedchamber with his feet crossed on the ottoman and mind engrossed in a book, while Lizzy sat at the desk writing in her journal. Silence ruled other than the crackle of the fire, muted tick of a clock, and scribble of her pen.
Sudden Lizzy released a sharp gasp and jumped up from her chair. It was so precipitous that Darcy had no chance to react before she plopped onto his lap. He grunted with the unexpected pressure, the book toppling to the floor when she grabbed his wrist with a jerk. Without a word she pressed his palm firmly against the small mound of her belly, smiling at his bewildered expression.
“Wait,” she whispered, “he will kick again, I am sure of it.”
He stared into her eyes, waiting as she said with his hand tight over the warm flesh encasing their baby. Lizzy held his gaze, lifted her legs until stretched over his, and leaned back onto his chest with her head resting on his inner shoulder.
“He is usually quiet in the evenings. When I feel him you are never around or we are in public. It has been frustrating.”
“I agree with the frustration,” Darcy breathed softly. “He, or she, is uncooperative. Hopefully not a sign of what is to come. Behave, little one, let your father know you are there.”
Lizzy shifted, moving his fingertips to the left side. “I think his legs are over here more. Wait.”
But the word barely left her mouth when their unborn child jabbed back at the seeking fingers invading his space, Darcy sucking in his breath at the sensation. He swiveled instantly misty eyes to her abdomen, as if possible to outwardly see the feeble movements.
“See, he is a cooperative boy.”
“He is amazing! Ah, how I have missed this miraculous feeling.” He buried his face in her hair and closed his eyes. He relaxed his taut muscles, inhaled deeply, and settled in to enjoy the profound emotions sweeping through him as their child lazily stirred under his broad hand.
It was only two or three minutes, the baby yet too small to exert energy for long. Darcy could sense his stretches spacing, and then a palpable rolling motion as he presumably flipped inside his watery home and ended
