Chapter 76
Darcy woke to an uncomfortable scratchy feeling on his nose. He grimaced, and lifted his hand to brush the feeling away. A sudden reminder hit him — those almost forgotten days when the pain of his injuries had inflamed his temper and the starched cloth dressing on his nose had irritated him so.
But now, the something he had brushed aside slid down his cheek and he caught at it. Folded paper. He frowned and shook his head to shake the sleep from his mind.
He was still in Elizabeth’s bed, and she was standing beside it in her silken robe, laughing at him. “Happy Christmas, my love. I must hurry to the nursery.” She waved as she headed to the door. “I will see you at breakfast.”
Darcy pushed himself up to sit against the headboard, and looked at the letter, for that is what it was. It was directed with a single word.
William
He kissed his wife’s familiar handwriting, and unfolded the letter.
My beloved and patient husband, my William.
As you wrote to me last Christmas, I thought we might start a tradition, on this, the second true Christmas of our marriage.
What we did not know then was that we were possibly already a family, although the extra member had not then brought his presence to our notice as he does now.
Richard Thomas Darcy.
I am glad you wanted to name him for your cousin. He was a steadfast friend to you during that terrible time. And I have always felt that babies grow into the name they have been given, and little Richie is such a sociable little chap. He will drag you into making friends, my love.
Darcy snorted with laughter, his wife had already done that since she had returned to his side.
Nothing pleased her more than conversations with close friends and family; with her beside him, Darcy found he could tolerate it very well indeed.
He brought the letter to his lips and kissed it before reading on, his eyes misty.
In this past year I have grown to love you more each day, especially as you were so patient with me when I was irritable and touchy as I grew to the size of a carriage. The summer! You were so saintly, my darling, I do not deserve you.
And am I not fortunate I married a man with such an enormous ice cellar? I jest, of course.
But, to more serious matters: I shall never cease to be sorry that I caused you — and me — so much pain in those months I was gone; but, in trying to remember the pleasure rather than the pain, I believe I am a better wife than I might otherwise have been.
I am more patient — well, I will be, now I am not with child, and can make the best out of a difficult situation.
And — I appreciate you more. I take delight that I am happier when we are together than when we are apart, and I believe you feel the same.
I love you, William. Thank you for searching for me; thank you for understanding what I needed and making sure it was there for me, until I knew my heart.
Now, sir. I believe you must hurry to prepare for the day, and I will, too. Richie should have finished feeding while you have been reading, and we may go down to breakfast together.
What a wonderful word.
Together.
Always together, my love, my life.
Forever yours
Elizabeth.