Chapter 34 #2
So to Pemberley they went, and her hope was rewarded on the day before Christmas, though not in the quantity she might have liked. Still, they dressed Bennet as warmly as they could and took him out on a walk with his puppy bounding alongside him.
“What did you do last year on Christmas Day?”
He shrugged. “The Gardiners and Matlocks came to Pemberley. I believe I drank too much and wished for you. What did you do?”
She smiled a bit wistfully. “Amelia was very close to dying then, so I believe I thought on it but little. No one in the house was of a mood to celebrate in even the slightest way, and Bennet was too young to know it was any different than any other day. I believe we did have a special pudding with dinner—Cook insisted on it.”
“Perhaps that is why I am quite eager for this Christmas to be perfect. As I recall my thoughts at the same time last year, I quite despaired of ever having you with me again, and now you are here, and I have a son whom I love beyond anything. If someone had told me last year that this time it would be so, I would have declared them quite mad.”
“When seen in that light, I must agree with you,” Elizabeth said. “That you found me, that we are where we are, is nothing short of miraculous.” She tilted her head up to receive the kiss she wanted him to offer her.
“It is a miracle indeed,” Darcy murmured, immediately bending to kiss her. “And like most miracles, it is not deserved but hailed with great thanks.”
Although they had given one another gifts on the first year of their marriage, it was not a practice they intended to keep. Nevertheless, Elizabeth had something for her husband—not really a present, but something she thought he would truly appreciate.
Darcy never tired of hearing stories about his son as a baby.
Her sense of guilt for what she had denied him sometimes tore at her.
He had missed eighteen glorious months in which Bennet had been born, learnt to walk, waved his pudgy hands, crowed his little sounds…
So much joy, and he had missed it all. To this, he offered no reproach, but still, Elizabeth knew she had denied him treasures.
She could not give them back to him, these small pleasures, but she did have one thing she wished him to have.
Although Amelia had not always been in her right mind, when she was, she was an excellent drawer and painter.
As such, once Bennet was born, she delighted in making his likeness, and Elizabeth had a particular favourite from when he was only a few months old.
He had lain sleeping on the grass, and Amelia had worked quickly and confidently, producing what was, in Elizabeth’s mind, a masterpiece, from the curl of his hair to the flush on his cheek.
Looking at it, one almost felt you could kiss that image and feel his precious warmth and smell his sweet baby smell.
At the time the painting was done, Elizabeth had carefully and discreetly clipped one of his curls to put with it, tucking it behind the frame.
She carried the painting to the library where Darcy was reading, concealing it behind her back.
He rose when she entered, smiling to see her. She smiled back. “I have a small something for you.”
“But we said no presents!”
“No, it is not really a present.” She pulled the painting from behind her, handing it to him.
“Bennet,” she said simply. “About three or four months old.”
Darcy’s eyes lit. “This is wonderful! Did you do this?”
She laughed. “No, Amelia did, before she became so very ill. You have seen my efforts—I could never produce anything so true.”
“I thought perhaps you had grown far more proficient in our time apart.” He then grew serious, sitting down to gaze on the image. “This is wonderful. I shall treasure it.”
“There is this too.” Taking it away for a moment, she showed him where the small curl was concealed. He took the lock of baby hair and gently traced it over his hand as he looked at the image, hardly able to tear his eyes away.
After a few minutes, she kissed his cheek. “Happy Christmas.” She left him there, still looking at his infant son intently.
Having missed both the actual day of his son’s birth as well as the time he turned one, Darcy awaited eagerly Bennet’s second birthday.
The night prior, Darcy went to the nursery just as his son was being prepared for sleep.
He had purchased a small pony, which even now was happily frisking about in the stable.
Darcy found himself quite at sixes and sevens with his own anticipation of his son’s joy in the animal.
Bennet was quite sleepy, but still enjoyed having his Papa put him securely into his bed.
“Bennet, I am eager to celebrate your birthday. Two years old! Quite a young gentleman.”
“Mama says cake,” Bennet replied.
“Ah, yes. A special cake for a most wonderful son.” Darcy stroked his boy’s soft, rounded cheek. He could not help himself, and asked, “So tell me, is there anything you would especially wish for your birthday? A toy or…perhaps—”
“Butter,” Bennet replied sleepily.
“Butter?”
“Butter,” Bennet confirmed. “No sisters, just butters.”
Darcy sat back, surprised by the request. Bennet had never seemed particularly impressed by his interactions with other children, but it seemed that might be changing.
“Well, brothers do take time to arrive, my darling. I do not think I can procure one for you by tomorrow.”
Bennet mumbled something, having already succumbed to sleep. Darcy watched him for a few pleasant moments before going to the drawing room. Elizabeth was therein, playing some Christmas carols on the pianoforte. He joined her, always loving it when she sang to him.
When she paused, he informed her, “Our son would like a brother for his birthday.”
She laughed. “Is that all? Let me see whether I have one in a closet somewhere.”
He chuckled, his hand tracing her spine. After a short pause, he asked, “Bennet was…well, it was an easy birth, was it not? I believe you said it was.”
“Oh yes. Nothing to it at all.”
“So you would like more children or…”
She turned towards him then, giving him her attention in full. “I would love more children.”
“Is that so?” He leant in to give her a series of light kisses on her mouth. “How many?”
“A lot. Ten, twelve. So many that we would run out of names for them all.”
“Seems we had better get started, then.” He rose and quickly swooped her into his arms, ready to take her up to their bed, but her next words stopped him.
“If memory serves,” she said with a little wink, “that fainting couch over there does very nicely.”
Thus, the Darcys spent Bennet’s birthday bleary-eyed, tired, and more in love with one another than ever.
As Bennet stood in the stable shrieking with delight at his pony (who he named Horse, after being discouraged from naming it Pop), Elizabeth remarked, “This feels very much like the first days we were married, this feeling of…happy lethargy.”
She gave her husband a smile that seemed innocent, but there was a naughty twinkle in her eyes.
“I like that,” Darcy mused, and after seeing that the stable boy and Bennet were occupied with Horse, pulled her closer. “A felicitous fatigue, you might call it.”
Elizabeth laughed just a bit, then with an arch look said, “A satisfied sleepiness perhaps?”
Darcy shook his head instantly. “Oh no, Mrs Darcy, not at all. I have missed you a very, very long time. Last night, delightful as it was, was not nearly satisfactory.”
Elizabeth blushed and looked at him, murmuring, “I have missed you as well.”
Spying the stable hand coming towards them, Darcy quickly said, “I adore you.”
“As do I, you,” she said with a tender look that nearly melted him.