In the Arms of Mr. Darcy

by Sharon Lathan

  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 above

  To fill our hearts with happiness

  And touch our lives with love

  He must have known

  We’d give our all

  And always do our best

  To give our precious baby love

  And 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.