In the Arms of Mr. Darcy

Chapter Seven Thanksgiving for the Gift of a Child

Alexander had not received any Christmas gifts per se. All the gifts addressed to the young master which began arriving some three weeks after his birth were set aside to be opened nearer to his christening. Lizzy was stunned by the barrage of packages delivered by Royal Mail or servants or the hands of the gifter. Once again she was struck by the prestige and eminence of her husband as Master of Pemberley; the full scope of what that title portended was signified by the wealth of accolades and blessings pouring in.

The red velvet drape once encumbered with wrapped holiday presents was now equally laden with gilded and sparkling packages of all sizes from all over England. A number had arrived with the Bennets from the relatives and friends of Lizzy. A package containing three wrapped gifts was sent from Darcy’s family in Devon. There were parcels from Lady Catherine, Anne and Raul, and the Collinses, all delivered together while Darcy was away. They had received an abundance of written congratulations with a smattering of small gifts from friends and associates in London and elsewhere. No word yet from Austria, but the birth announcement had likely barely been conveyed. Other more modestly wrapped presents mysteriously appeared at all hours of the day and were clearly from the staff. The biggest surprise was a complete layette of quality Irish linen dyed a brilliant sky blue from Darcy’s Uncle Phillip and his family.

Opening the surfeit of gifts became part of the evening’s entertainment for the three nights following Darcy’s return from Derby. The bulk of offerings consisted of knitted blankets and quilts; cotton, wool, and linen baby dresses in every color of the rainbow with matching bonnets; an adorable collection of toddler boy outfits with small trousers, ruffled shirts, and tiny jackets; several rattles and teething rings; a profusion of bibs in all sizes; and a dozen satin pillows.

“I will need to change his clothing three times a day for the next six months to wear all these dresses,” Lizzy exclaimed. She held up a lovely gown of faded pink with white ribbons crisscrossed down the front and along the hemline, a gift from Jonathan and Priscilla Fitzwilliam.

“I am surprised you are not weeping at all the time wasted sewing gowns yourself, considering how you detest such activity.” It was Jane, teasing from where she sat beside her sister, refolding and repacking the individual presents to be put away later.

Darcy hid a smile in the rim of his teacup. He stood across the room, ostensibly watching the unwrapping, although in truth the procedure was becoming a bit boring. Not that he would confess this to his wife or any of the other women in the room, who seemed to be inexhaustible in their enchantment over each item, many of which looked identical as far as he was concerned. All the other men had pretended attentiveness for thirty minutes maximum before meandering to far corners. Darcy maintained his vigil from a purposefully selected locale near enough to partake in the festivities when necessary, but also converse covertly with Bingley and Colonel Fitzwilliam. For two nights he had diligently observed the unmasking with a mixture of the extreme pleasure experienced with anything regarding his son and an ennui that he vaguely felt guilty about, but could not control. Tonight, thankfully, they had finally worked methodically through the gifts from business associates, friends, staff, and distant relatives to the ones presented by close family and friends.

“I cannot argue with the truth of that statement, Jane.” Lizzy responded to her jest while looking to her husband’s glittering eyes with a faint shake of her head. Darcy merely raised one brow.

“Mrs. Darcy, this is from me. You saw the beginning pattern and have been gifted an array of quilts, but I do hope you will like it.”

“Thank you, Miss Bingley! I am sure we will love it. And have no fear, as cold as it is here in Derbyshire, I am sure we will have great need of blankets and quilts aplenty. Jane has already informed me of the beauty of your creation, and I see she was not exaggerating. Look William! Oh, Miss Bingley, it is truly incredible.”

Darcy drew near in honest awe. The quilt in question was magnificent: a collage of poplin pieces in varying degrees of brightness exceptionally woven into a Crown of Thorns pattern. The entire quilt was a bit larger than a true infant-sized blanket, which was a bonus.

“Caroline, this is a marvel!” Darcy exclaimed, losing his usual formality in surprise. “How wise of you to create it larger, as it will fit well over his toddler bed. The colors are remarkable! Thank you, Caroline. We will treasure it always.”

Caroline was beaming, all the typical arrogance erased in the light of the Darcys’ praise. For one of the first times in all his years of acquaintance with her, it suddenly struck him how truly beautiful she was when her features were allowed to relax and light with an honest smile. Abruptly, the epiphany bolted through him that this is what his wife and friends saw in his countenance now as compared to the severe façade presented for most of his life. With a surge of emotion bordering on affection, he grasped one of Caroline’s hands and brought the fingers to his lips for a thankful kiss.

“Thank you, Caroline, from the bottom of my heart.” He spoke softly, the words reaching only the immediate bystanders. “Elizabeth and I will cherish this gift created from your heart. Our greatest wish is that someday we may be honored to return the gesture when you are blessed with the exalted joy of motherhood.”

Caroline’s mouth had fallen open, eyes misty as she gazed into Darcy’s shining visage, swallowing the lump formed with difficulty before murmuring, “You are welcome, Mr. Darcy.”

Kitty stepped into the slightly awkward tableau, handing her gift to Lizzy. “It is no big thing,” she stated apologetically, “but I did do all the work myself!”

Lizzy laughed. Of all the Bennet sisters, Jane and Mary were the only two who excelled and actually enjoyed working with needles in all the various methods. Lydia hated it the most, probably never finishing a project in all her life, but Kitty came second. Lizzy delighted in embroidery, as long as it was not too complicated a pattern, and found a relaxation in knitting, but that was it. Crocheting was out of the question and sewing she abhorred. Lizzy had noticed a calming of Kitty since Lydia’s departure and, upon rare occasion, observed her head bent over a hoop. If she had created a gift of any sort with her own hands, it would be a prize to be sure, no matter the caliber of craftsmanship.

As anticipated, the gown sewn and detailed by Kitty was not a masterpiece. But its beauty was in the simplicity of design, especially as compared to many of the fancy infant dresses thus far given. Constructed of plain white cotton with eyelet lace along the collar and sleeve edges, the gown itself was pure in its minimalism. Clearly, Kitty had devoted her skill and time to the embroidered border of the skirt. In painstakingly perfect stitches and every color imaginable, she had fabricated a flowing pattern of inch-high stick figure children at play: skipping rope, swinging, bouncing a ball, running, jumping, rolling a hoop, swatting a shuttlecock, tumbling, and blowing soap bubbles. It was playful, colorful, and utterly delightful.

“Oh, Kitty! I love it! The pattern is wonderful! I can imagine Alexander doing all these fun pastimes. Thank you so much!” Darcy thanked a blushing Kitty with a regal bow and courtly kiss to the fingers.

Hugs and kisses became rampant and enthusiastic as the family gifts were gradually unveiled. The men began to drift closer to the fray with sincere smiles of delight. The presents varied widely and reflected the personalities of the individuals involved. Silver implements abounded per tradition, with Alexander provided a wealth of eating utensils, porridge bowls, and cups. The Gardiners, Bennets, and Lady Catherine, as the eldest family members, especially adhered to the tradition of silver, each implement beautifully carved and shiny. Lord and Lady Matlock gifted a gorgeous silver and lapis lazuli inlaid brush and comb.

Anne and Raul sent the complete series of S. & J. Fuller paper doll books. These were instantly popular among the guests, and the precious books were passed from hand to hand with each adult reverting to childhood as the dolls were dressed and the story verses read aloud. Darcy finally confiscated the expensive books before “they are smudged and creased beyond Alexander being able to read them.”

Samuel and Marguerite kept to the theme of literature with both volumes of Ann and Jane Taylor’s Poems for Infant Minds, Rhymes for the Nursery, and Hymns for Infant Minds, signed to Alexander Darcy by the loyal personal servants. Not surprisingly, Mary and Mr. Daniels gifted a small white-dyed leather Bible and accompanied publication of inspirational quotations from spiritual writers.

Numerous gifts came from the servants, most of a simple nature such as the crocheted blanket with embroidered clusters of Sweet William from Phillips and his wife, but two stood out from the rest. Mr. Clark and the entire grounds-keeping staff presented Lizzy and Darcy formally with a three-year-old oak sapling, carefully cultivated in the orangery from an acorn harvested off the enormous oak marking the eastern boundary of the private garden.

Standing with grubby hat in hand, his staff crowded behind, Mr. Clark had nervously delivered his speech to the touched Darcys that afternoon in the Conservatory. “Reckoning how much you enjoy gardening, Mrs. Darcy, and as Pemberley for generations now has gained renown for her landscaping, we”—he swept the hat toward the shuffling gardeners—“figured a tree to mark the young Master’s birth was appropriate. It will grow with him, strong and enduring, so it had to be an oak. There is a perfect plot in the garden for it, with a few re-plantings come spring, but of course you can decide to plant it wherever you wish it to be.” The Darcys assured him that the private garden would be preferred, trusting to his expertise. Lizzy was so choked up she could barely speak, Darcy maintaining his equilibrium adequately enough to thank the groundskeeper and his excellent staff with the essential pomp and formality.

Mrs. Reynolds provided the final habiliments to the christening outfit with a superbly crafted bonnet of lace and satin, and tiny slippers of pliant kid leather sewn by her hand. She had produced both with Darcy’s christening gown in mind, keeping to the old-fashioned style and sparing no expense in purchasing fine Alençon lace similar to the original. The entire project was taken on faith, hoping that her Master and Mistress would choose her gift over the ones worn by Darcy. The finishing touch came from the Bingleys. As godparents, they added an elaborately carved stout silver cross pendant on an ebony and ruby beaded chain. The necklace was stunning, the fiery red and bold black a masculine contrast to the ruffles and lace. Darcy was elated.

Richard, typical man, went farther afield from the standard infant paraphernalia. His box was far and away the largest, too big to set into a lap. Rather, he deposited the hefty, and obviously heavy, unwrapped parcel onto the low table before Elizabeth. Grinning widely, he addressed Darcy and Lizzy, “I am well aware that this is not a customary christening gift, but then neither is the gift you bestowed upon your son, Darcy.”

Darcy raised a brow. “What are you referring to?”

Richard grinned further, glancing to Lizzy’s baffled face. “Surely you have informed your wife of the generous bequest awarded to your infant son?”

Lizzy started laughing. “Shame on you, Colonel, trying to cause your cousin trouble. Of course he told me about Wolfram. Asked my permission, if you must know, although I judge he would have finagled the transaction somehow whether I deemed it suitable or not. My only stipulation was that he forbids Alexander to ride a fully grown stallion until he can competently manage a pony.”

“Which will be by the time he is six or seven,” Darcy stated firmly, prideful assurance evident on his face. Lizzy merely shook her head, but Darcy was lost momentarily in dreamy visions of squiring his son about the corral. Horses never far from his thoughts upon any given day, it had occurred to him soon after Alexander’s birth that the year old colt Wolfram would be in the full bloom of his maturity when Alexander was ready to make the transition from pony to horse. Lizzy may not be thrilled with the idea of her son atop a feisty horse, but marriage to Darcy made it inevitable, so she had happily agreed to his desire to deed Wolfram to Alexander.

“In all honesty, Elizabeth, horses are as important to me as Darcy.” Lizzy smiled at that understatement, Richard continuing without pause, “I think Wolfram an excellent choice, but in the meantime, until he is strong enough to ride a full grown horse he will need to ride a pony. If I know my cousin he already has one of the Connemaras picked out for him.” He glanced at Darcy with a questioning grin, but Darcy merely pressed his lips together, his expression speaking volumes nonetheless. “So, with that in mind, I had this fashioned for my newest cousin by a leather maker named Anderson in London.”

Darcy was already whistling, familiar with the prestigious Anderson and his equestrian products, and standing with unveiled excitement to lay eyes on what he now suspected was in the box. He was correct. It was a pony-sized saddle crafted for dressage in the fashion of Gueriniere and included all necessary tack. Fine cowhide tanned and dyed a deep brown then polished and oiled until gleaming and supple. “Alexander” was stamped into each saddle flap in a stylized script with a shooting star bursting off the R’s final curve. The entire ensemble was exquisitely constructed.

“Along with this saddle ensemble, I vow to lend my superb horsemanship skills to teaching Alexander to be a superior rider. I am better than Darcy, so it only fitting I extend my expertise.”

Darcy merely grunted his disdain toward that statement, otherwise ignoring the grinning Richard for meticulous examination of the saddle. Collectively the men assembled for inspection, offering vastly superior interest over this one item to all the others combined.

Georgiana and George applied their artistic talents to their offerings. In the case of Georgiana this was to be expected, but George’s was a complete surprise. Georgiana had begun creating a wealth of baby items upon first hearing the news, even when it was not a certainty. Therefore, Lizzy and Darcy had already been the grateful recipients of numerous garments, decorative furnishings for the nursery such as floral adorned silk lampshades, a painted tile table sitting next to Lizzy’s rocking chair, and two enamel decorated porcelain flower vases. Her gift for the christening was equally stunning and exhibitive of her talent.

Painted on miniature ovals of silk were striking likenesses of Lizzy and Darcy from the shoulders up, the portraits sewn above each other onto a twelve inch square quilted wall hanging with the following poem masterfully stitched alongside:This little tiny baby Was sent from God aboveTo fill our hearts with happinessAnd touch our lives with loveHe must have knownWe’d give our allAnd always do our bestTo give our precious baby loveAnd be grateful and so blessed

“Georgie! Oh! It is so beautiful!” Lizzy jumped up, handing the picture to a dazzled Darcy, and embraced her sister tightly.

“This is incredible, Georgiana. Precisely as we look now, when Alexander was born. How absolutely marvelous!” Darcy smiled incandescently. “You truly astound me, baby sister. Now I only wonder why I pay anyone else to paint portraits when I have a remarkable artist within my household.” He cupped her head, leaning for a kiss to her forehead.

“I love you with all my soul, Georgie. This will hang above Alexander’s cradle, the faces of his adoring parents watching over him eternally and the poetic phrases conveying our everlasting sentiments.” He enfolded her against his chest, murmuring into her hair, “How fortunate our boy is to have such a fabulous auntie. Thank you my dearest, thank you.”

“Enough mushiness! Break it up so Elizabeth can open my presents. Two! For you, my darling niece.” George breezed in, bowing with a flourish and handing the largest of the last two presents to Elizabeth while linking arms with Georgiana. “I would say the best has been saved for last, but I doubt my meager offering can transcend Georgie’s. I shall boast, nonetheless, as I too created these masterpieces with mine own hands.” He lifted his long fingered appendages, digits waving. “Skilled surgeon’s instruments employed in the creative process for my grand nephew and partial namesake.”

Lizzy laughed, shaking her head. “Are you ever serious, Uncle?”

“Rarely, my dear. Only when delivering babies. Now open.”

The formless, cushiony bundle was wrapped in one of his Indian scarves—a particularly flamboyant one of chartreuse and orange, all tied with blue string. Lizzy was smiling even before revealing the contents, upon which she burst into huge gales of laughter. Darcy merely shook his head in resignation. Nestled between sheets of tissue paper was a wardrobe of baby and toddler sized Indian outfits! Casual dhotis, salwar, kurti, salwar kameez, all in bright colors and exotic prints, and one formal khalat robe of thick wool lined satin in turquoise with woven peacocks and Bengal tigers.

Gasps and exclamations of awe rose from the gathering crowd as every hand reached to inspect the kaleidoscopic miniature garments. “Elizabeth dear, I fashioned these from the cloths I brought with me or new ones purchased in Town. My nephew deserves to be breezy and as handsome as his Grand Uncle, do you not agree? On a practical note, youngsters should wear clothing that is unencumbering to developing extremities and allows the genitalia to freely grow.”

“Uncle!” Darcy chastised with a pointed glance to Georgiana’s reddening cheeks.

George merely shrugged unperturbed. “It is the truth of it, William. That khalat,” he nodded toward the robe Darcy held in his hands, “is of the same fabric as mine. Very elegant, I daresay, and Alexander will be exceedingly comfortable while reclining with his favored companion: me!” His grin was broad, Darcy laughing and rolling his eyes.

“Do Indian children really dress like this, Dr. Darcy?”

“Actually, Miss Kitty, Indian children rarely wear more than a loincloth. It is far hotter in India, if you recall. But on occasion they do, yes, although I confess the colors are traditionally beige hues. For some unfathomable reason neutral tones do not appeal to me,” he concluded with false confusion.

“I adore your attire, Dr. Darcy, and so admire your bravery in wearing brilliant colors. Goodness knows I would never have the nerve.” Mrs. Gardiner offered, George bowing gallantly in her direction.

Mrs. Bennet was closely examining one of the kurtis. “I am extremely impressed, sir, at your sewing abilities. These stitches are remarkable!”

“Thank you, Mrs. Bennet. I do have vast experience with needle and thread, although not often utilized with fabrics you understand.” He grinned, Mrs. Bennet staring incomprehensively for several seconds, then paling and eyes widening humorously as understanding dawned. Muted snickers rippled through the assembly.

George continued, “Of course, as a bachelor I am not blessed with the joy of a loving, devoted wife to darn my socks and mend ripped hems, therefore I must attend to such tasks myself. Tragic really.” He hung his head, tone mournful as the women collectively Aaahed.

Mr. Bennet snorted and Mr. Gardiner coughed a laugh, George winking sidelong. Darcy was inspecting the exquisite two-year-old-sized robe, speaking with skepticism, “You intend to maintain you sewed this yourself? Forgive me, Uncle, as I have no experience with needlework, but my wife informs me that working with such a delicate fabric is incredibly difficult.”

“I would not be too swift in gauging sewing skills in general against anything Lizzy has told you, Mr. Darcy.” Mary interjected with a teasing glance to her sister, who retaliated by sticking out her tongue.

Darcy’s lips twitched, but he held his laughter in check. “Be that as it may, Miss Mary, I persist in believe my uncle dissembling.”

“Oh very well! If you must know I had assistance from a seamstress in Lambton. The patterns, however, were all mine and I picked the materials specifically so Alexander will be most adorably adorned.”

“Well, I love them!” Lizzy declared and lifted on tiptoes to kiss her uncle’s cheek. “Alexander will be adorable. I can already see him dashing up and down Pemberley’s halls in a flash of color. Thank you, George.”

He smiled, kissing Elizabeth’s forehead. “You are welcome, my dear. Well, William?” He turned to his nephew with a raised brow.

“I concede that six months ago I would have been horrified at the prospect, but I suppose I have grown accustomed to the attire.” He smiled dreamily. “Yes, Alexander will look adorable. Very well then, I like them as well, as long as you realize they are for private only. We have our public reputations to maintain.”

“What an old fogy you are!” Richard asserted with a laugh.

“I do not see you dashing out to garb yourself in flamboyant Indian wear, Colonel,” Darcy said primly, fresh laughter erupting.

“Now I have the opportunity to redeem myself after being revealed as a sewing incompetent.” George handed a small package to Darcy. “This I did create with my own hands, honest to God.” He smiled sweetly and sincerely, speaking with emotion, “It is important to me that Alexander have something from me that he can carry with him always. An everlasting remembrance of his beloved uncle and godfather.”

“Oh! George! It is exquisite!”

Lying in the palm of Darcy’s hand and taking up the entire area was a finely detailed, three-dimensional carving of an Asian elephant in pristine ivory. With white trunk raised in the air, mouth agape, curved tusks proudly lifted, small ears erect, legs spread in a run, and tail swishing, the inanimate pachyderm projected a realism so astounding that one held their breath waiting for the trumpet sound to burst forth. Each crease of the rubbery skin and coarse hair was etched in meticulous technicality, the artisanship clearly a gift of expert proportions.

“When did you learn to whittle? I had no idea.” Darcy paused, choked up from the breathtaking beauty of the object in his hand coupled with the rushing memories of his grandfather creating such miniature works of art. Of all the various visions burned upon his memory, the sight of his beloved grandfather with hands masterfully wielding a whittling knife as a flawless creation of wood or other raw, shapeless material gradually evolved into a work of art was foremost.

“My father taught us all. You remember how much he loved to carve. My twin and I were the only ones who inherited the propensity, although after Alex died I refused to touch a sculpting knife for years. Now I find it calms me and the aptitude remains within my hands.”

“Have you seen many elephants?” Kitty asked in awe.

“Hundreds, Miss Kitty. They roam freely in certain regions and the locals do ride them as the stories proclaim.”

“Have you ridden one?”

“Dozens of times.” He chuckled at the wondrous expression on her face. “They look as if they would be slow and plodding, but the contrary is true.” He launched into a lengthy dissertation of Indian mammals and lifestyle that filled the bulk of the evening. The sculptured elephant would eventually be encased in glass and placed next to Darcy’s christening bonnet and shoes in the nursery. Alexander would treasure the figurine for all his life, adding many others sculpted by Uncle Goj to his collection, the marvels always gracing a place of prominence in whatever room he dwelt in.

Per tradition and the precepts of the Anglican Church of England, the christening ceremony served two vitally important objectives. One was the official naming and declaration of the child before the congregation, family, and God. The second was to receive the baptism into the Body of Christ, ensuring that the child begins his or her life on the proper pathway toward a mature affirmation of faith leading to complete salvation.

In order to correctly fulfill the first objective, the christening was to take place on Sunday during the normal worship service when the local congregants were assembled as witnesses. These witnesses accepted the partial responsibility of overseeing the spiritual upbringing of the child, who was henceforth a part of the flock. With this idea in mind, it was also critical to perform the rite at the parish church where the parents were members and by the pastor who ministered to them.

Due to the irrefutable fact of infant illness and subsequent death being a frequent harsh reality, the christening of Alexander William George Bennet Darcy was scheduled for the Sunday that fell three days after Christmas. The hasty departure of his father to Derby had necessitated a postponement until the following Sunday, arranged by Mr. Keith as one of the tasks assigned at the last minute by his Master.

The dawn of January fourth, 1818, with Alexander now a full five weeks old and stout, should have brought nothing but high enthusiasm to both his parents.

In the case of his father, this was true. The past days had been hectic ones between duties to his guests, endless hours opening presents, and extended hours with Mr. Keith, and three days on horseback to visit local clients, but the robust man in the prime of his life suffered no depreciation. Being home within the bosom of his family amid the comforting rooms, entertained and well fed, was all he needed to restore his equilibrium. The final crown to his joy was the formal presentation of his son and heir and the necessity of ensuring the new life’s dedication to Christ. With these pleasant thoughts premiere, Darcy woke as the first rays of sunlight bathed the snow drenched landscape and drew his sleeping wife closer with a dreamy smile, then drifted back into a doze.

In contrast, Lizzy roused roughly an hour later and vaulted from the bed. She dashed to the nearest window and ripped the curtain aside. Darcy jerked upright in sheer panic, shock rendering him speechless.

“The sun is shining!” She exclaimed ecstatically, glancing to her befuddled spouse then turning back to contemplate the outside. “No wind or rain or clouds! Oh thank you, Lord! Do you think it warmer?”

She whirled back to Darcy, who was now faintly smiling in amusement. His answer was to gaze pointedly at her rock hard nipples and spreading goose bumps as the frigid cold of the chamber waved over her bare flesh. He quite enjoyed the view of her alabaster nakedness and wildly disheveled hair as illuminated by the filtered beams of light, but she was beginning to shiver so he held out his arm beckoningly.

“I think you know the answer to that question, my darling. Come back to bed and let me warm you.” She hesitated, her face falling slightly as she glanced outside again before sighing and turning toward the welcoming bed and spouse. Darcy enfolded her, pulling down into the cushions, and covering with thick comforter and radiant body. He kissed her forehead, “Do not fret so. He will be bundled securely up to his eyeballs. No harm will come, I promise. He must travel beyond Pemberley sooner or later, and this is the appropriate occasion.”

“I know,” she mumbled petulantly. “I just… worry.”

Darcy smoothed the hair from her brow, kissing tenderly. “Focus instead on how precious he will look in his gown, fat rosy cheeks surrounded by lace, while we stand together at the altar with his godparents. This is a magnificent day! Be filled with only cheer, I beg you. I know for me it is a day I have longed for, for many years, one of the best days of my life after the day you married me.”

“Of course you are correct. Thank you, love.” She smiled. “He will be absolutely adorable, to be sure. Oh, I just love him so much! And you too, my dear husband.” And she hugged him tightly, the lovers losing themselves in soft kisses and caresses until Alexander’s hunger overruled.

“There, there, my darling. Hush now and do not be so vexed with your mama. You look absolutely adorable.”

“I thought he had grown so big until now. That gown swallows him! No wonder you are irritated, my lamb.” Darcy bent to kiss the flushed cheek of his fussing son, securing waving hands. “Only for a short time must you endure. It is important, even if you do resemble a blob of meringue confection. Be strong, my son, as life is full of these travails and clothing is rarely comfortable.” Alexander had calmed somewhat at the resonant murmurings of his father, but additional wails were clearly bubbling under the surface.

“Hold the skirts up so I can find his feet. Thank you. I should have placed the stockings and slippers on first. Oh, there he goes! Ticklish feet. Talk to him before he loses all control and wrinkles the material beyond repair.”

Darcy bent again to croon placatingly into a tiny ear while Lizzy finished the difficult task of placing small garments on a flailing limb. Mrs. Hanford stood nearby with the bonnet and silver cross in hand, smiling at the scene. Alexander was well fed and wishing to fall asleep as was typical, but instead was being subjected to the horrors of dressing in a lace encrusted gown with dozens of buttons that had required him to lie on his abdomen for far too long. At least now he was on his back, so all the surroundings, including the two beloved adults who cared for him so devotedly, could be visualized in the appropriate perspective.

“It is understandable, my sweet, cry if you must. I cannot say that I blame you, as you do look rather ridiculous…”

“William! He does not! He is adorable.”

“He looks like a girl or a doll all smothered in satin and lace. I cannot believe I ever had to wear this frippery, but traditions must be adhered to. Yes, that is the way of life, my son, lesson number two after the revelation is that clothing is generally uncomfortable.” He nibbled on Alexander’s neck, whose slow crying was replaced with baby giggles.

“I am sure you were equally adorable in this gown, although you would have filled it out better, since you weighed nearly two pounds heavier than Alexander at birth. Your poor mother.”

The christening gown currently disturbing Alexander had been sewn by Anne Darcy during her first pregnancy, expressly to be worn by the Heir to Pemberley. When that first child had ended up being a girl, Alexandria, she had instead been christened in the gown worn by her mother, the far more elaborate gown packed away until Fitzwilliam was christened.

Initially, Lizzy had imagined sewing a gown as well, but the plain reality was that she was not very skilled with a needle, especially when dealing with fragile fabrics. While in London she had examined several readymade garments, considered purchasing one that she liked, but was too embarrassed to do so. Darcy would laugh at her later when she finally confessed that she was ashamed to admit her deficiency to him. As sentimental as Darcy tended to be in many respects, he honestly could care less what his child wore during the baptism ceremony. It was only upon one of his excursions through the stacks of boxes stored in the attic that the resolution presented itself: the gown worn by him and sewn by his mother, discovered among the stacked boxes of memorabilia.

“Finished!” Lizzy gently patted the silver cross lying square on Alexander’s chest. “He is perfect.”

“Yes, he is.”

Alexander was finally succumbing to the draw of infant slumber, allowing the donning of bonnet and pendant to proceed with minimal pique. He was resplendent. Wispy chestnut curls escaped the lacy edges of the bonnet, framing his round face and accenting the alabaster fairness of his skin. Pudgy body encased in flowing white lace and satin with the train extending well beyond his leather slippered feet and cascading over the side of the dresser. Darcy had jokily added a daub of his cologne, declaring that Alexander needed a dose of manliness to augment the bold pendant in counteracting the frilly gown.

“Are we ready then?” Mrs. Hanford asked. She held the blanket, a thick one of bleached spun wool trimmed with lace and ribbon.

Lizzy nodded. Darcy lifted his sleeping son carefully so as not to startle, while Lizzy assisted with arranging the gown. The trio of adults, all dressed in fine garments for the momentous event, gingerly made their way to the main parlor where their friends and family awaited. Everyone was there dressed in his or her Sunday best: Lord and Lady Matlock with Lady Montgomery and the Fitzwilliams, all four of the Vernors, the Hugheses, the entire Bennet clan and Mr. Daniels, the Gardiners, Colonel Fitzwilliam and Dr. Darcy, the three Bingleys and two Hursts, the senior staff members, and Georgiana.

Quiet conversation drifted as all eagerly waited. A hush descended as the Darcys appeared on the threshold. Darcy wore a broad grin, happiness ebullient as he crossed to the three godparents.

“This is it. Are you ready?” His answer was a trio of radiant smiles and affirmative nods in concert.