A Darcy Christmas

by Amanda Grange

  “Cease staring at me, William. I am fine.”

  “Drink all your tea and then I will cease staring at you.”

  Lizzy lifted the cup reluctantly to her lips, grimacing with each swallow. “This is exceptionally foul.” She shuddered, it now her turn to glare at the doctor.

  “If medicine was delicious, people would stay sick,” George asseverated. “It is a psychological inducement to get well if the medicine is bitter and fetid.”

  “Alexander’s medicine was a sweet, berry-flavored syrup,” she grumbled sulkily, already knowing his response since they had had this argument several times, the physician always winning and the tonics suspiciously tasting worse.

  “Babies must be tricked into taking their medicine. Adults apply reason.”

  “Or force,” Darcy added, pointedly nodding toward the half-filled cup.

  “Lizzy may be ill and you larger, but I am not so sure who would prevail in that contest of wills,” Georgiana offered. “Here, Alexander, open this one from your Aunt Giana.” She knelt onto the floor, handing her nephew the wrapped bundle and winking at Lizzy.

  Darcy made no attempt to dispute Georgiana’s allegation, knowing his wife’s temper, but he held no doubts he would indeed prevail even if he had to physically restrain and pry open her jaws! Luckily that course did not appear imminent, as Lizzy finished her tea in one pained gulp.

  An enthusiastic upward launch from Alexander with hard skull cracking against an equally hard, firmly set jaw effectively diverted attention from ill wife to giddy son. Wiping tears of pain from his eyes, Darcy examined the collection of sock puppets spread between the happily gibbering toddler and delighted aunt.

  “Papa! Papa, see?” Alexander grabbed the top two, one in each fist, swinging them directly into Darcy’s face.

  “Yes, son, I see them. No need to hit me. Let me look.”

  Georgiana leaned forward. “This is a grandfather and this a grandmother. She is the pretty blonde shepherd girl and here is her sheep. This is a footman in livery, perhaps Phillips or Watson. And the soldier like Uncle Richard.” She inserted her hand into the latter, her pinkie bringing the puppet’s arm up for a salute.

  “Most impressive, Georgie. A judge, a frog, an elegant lady, and a horse. Well done.” George slipped his bony hands into the frog and horse, “hopping” and “galloping” around Alexander’s head while the infant laughed and wiggled.

  “These are very thick, woolen socks. Where did you get them?” Darcy asked, one arm firm about his son’s squirming body while examining the shepherd girl with his free hand.

  “Mr. Clark gave me a dozen. The groundsmen wear them in the winter. They are the thickest stockings I have ever seen. Perfect for warmth and sturdy puppets, is that not so my sweet, sweet Alexander? Give your Aunt Giana kisses.”

  Georgiana was nuzzling Alexander and did not notice the strange expression on her brother’s face until Lizzy began to hoarsely laugh. She glanced from Lizzy to Darcy, and then rolled her eyes. “I was not looking at the gardener’s legs, William, only their attire.”

  “I was not imagining that. I am merely surprised you noticed the workers’ leg coverings as suitable for creating puppets.”

  She shrugged. “I noticed the socks years ago and asked Mrs. Reynolds to get them for me to wear in winter. They are the warmest woolens in all of England, I am sure of it.”

  Darcy’s mouth dropped open in shock. “You wear these ugly, roughly woven things?”

  “Not in public!” She flushed but lifted her chin. “Not all Darcys are impervious to the cold of Derbyshire.” And she nodded significantly toward his muscular legs, thinly sheathed in lightweight wool breeches, silk stockings, and low soft-leather house shoes.

  “Lord knows I am not,” George interjected with an excessive shiver, his thirty years in India’s kinder clime meaning the gesture was only slightly overblown. “I wish you had shared your secret with me sooner, Georgiana. I would wear those socks, public or private.”

  “They might clash with your garments, Uncle. Plain grey and bleached beige? Unacceptable!”

  George flashed his toothy grin at Lizzy, winking at her jest. “Not a problem, my dear. I can dye them fuchsia or maroon or blue to match. I even have the red left over from coloring my Christmas outfit.” He lifted one long, thin leg, the bright red, loose, Indian-style trousers a stunning complement to the flowing kurta of three shades of green that covered his broad chest. They were all so familiar with Darcy’s eccentric uncle’s chosen way of dressing that none had even blinked when he strutted into the dining room that morning proudly modeling his “Christmas ensemble.” George had been visibly deflated at the lack of response, prompting Darcy to take pity upon him and mutter grumpily that, “In this one instance, it is fortuitous Elizabeth’s illness prevents me the embarrassment of attending church with you and witnessing the elderly ladies fainting in fright.” George had beamed, his mood instantly improved.

  “Apparently our son agrees with Georgiana’s opinion.”

  All eyes swung to Alexander, still sitting in Darcy’s lap, but now seriously intent upon the task of pulling sock puppets onto his chubby legs. The elegant, ball gown dressed lady puppet encased his left leg, but the grandfather puppet was not cooperating as well. Alexander frowned, deep creases between his thick brows, azure eyes squinting with concentration as his dexterous fingers manipulated the knitted edges from between his toes where they kept getting caught.

  Everyone laughed at the humorous picture. Darcy reached to assist but was given an irritated glare and elbow nudge.

  “I do it! No he’p, papa!”

  Darcy buried his face into his son’s wild, curly locks, shaking with laughter. Present opening shifted to gifts for the adults as Alexander refused to veer from placing sock puppets onto the stuffed, gangly extremities of his gibbon. He approached the procedure with the single-minded focus inherited from his father, finally managing to garb the ape before turning to the next glittering box.

  Alexander next acquired a miniature kaleidoscope, the brass tube gripped and twisted with glass lens pressed against his eye for a full ten minutes. The wooden wagon was tremendous fun for three fast-paced circuits about the parlor after which his disenchantment was obvious when he exited the moving vehicle with a nosedive onto the floor. No permanent damage was done, hugs and sympathetic kisses by a remorseful father restoring his good humor.

  Each pair of the twenty species of painted animals had to be positioned in a precise line awaiting entry on Noah’s balsa-wood Ark ere Alexander was satisfied enough to pay heed to anyone in the room. Only then was the grand finale carried in by two footmen: a three-foot tall, six-foot square, to-scale replica of a medieval castle jointly created by Darcy and George. It was complete with functioning drawbridge and portcullis, crenellations, towers at each corner, arrow slits, and a painted moat. Tiny cannons and catapults were manned by enough tiny knights of shiny tin that, if added to the tin Regimental soldiers stored in the playroom, Alexander’s army could withstand a pretend Saxon siege for years.

  Lizzy watched it all from her comfortable roost on the chaise. The effort to control the persistent tickle in her throat, ignore the pain in her chest, and keep her eyes open sapped her already depleted strength, but Lizzy fought the impulses. She sipped the medicinal tea brewed by Dr. Darcy, smiling brightly whenever Darcy pierced her with his hawk-eyed gaze. If some of her sparkle was due to a fever, it was enough to placate her overprotective husband.

  Darcy smiled in return, frequently reaching to tenderly caress her quilt-covered body or stooping to kiss her hand or forehead. He wasn’t fooled by her brave act but knew it was fruitless to argue, yet he kept one joyful eye on his son and one sharp eye on his wife as the Christmas merriment unfolded.

  As the maids gathered up the debris and Georgiana and George organized the gifts, Alexander stood up and toddled toward his mother. The movement was disjointed due to the clutter on the floor and the long limbs of the primate entangling about his
legs, Darcy assisting the process.

  “M’key, Mama.” He held the stuffed toy out for his mother’s inspection.

  “He is a beautiful monkey, my sweet. Help him up, William, please.”

  Darcy lifted Alexander onto the chaise, the baby instantly snuggling onto her chest with thumb in his mouth and the gibbon clutched tightly. “I think Dog may have competition,” Darcy said. “Is he too heavy, love?”

  “No. He feels so good.” She kissed his curly head. “Cuddling is not a top priority these days so I must take it when I can get it.”

  Darcy chuckled. “That is true.”

  “He is a man of action like his father.”

  “Perhaps, but I never pass up a chance to embrace his beautiful mother.”

  Lizzy started to laugh but the sound caught in her throat, inciting a violent coughing episode. Within seconds Alexander was grabbed by George and a breathless Lizzy was gathered into Darcy’s arms. She tried to protest as he strode briskly from the room but simply did not have the energy or free air to do so.

  “You will rest for the remainder of the afternoon and I shall have dinner brought to you. Do not argue with me, Elizabeth!” But an argument was not forthcoming as she pliantly melted into his stalwart embrace and succumbed to her need for sleep before he reached their upper floor chambers.

  Christmas Addition

  It was nearly midnight on another Christmas Eve. The halls, as always, were faintly illuminated with spaced lamps burning low. Darcy and Lizzy crept down the stairs, heading toward the parlor.

  “Explain to me again why we are being so stealthy when the boys are soundly asleep in our room? And why we are adding more presents to the sky-high pile in the first place?”

  “Very funny, Mr. Darcy. Just because you were too lazy to leave our bed, do not pretend you have forgotten this was your idea in the first place.”

  “Can I help it if sleeping cuddled with you and our boys is preferable to traversing freezing corridors in my bare feet?”

  “You are tough. Now, put those packages right there in front where the boys will see them first off. No, no! Stack them nicely, William!”

  She leaned over to meticulously arrange the presents he had dumped onto the carpet, Darcy kneeling beside. He grinned and nudged her shoulder. “You know, I do not recall ever making love on Christmas Eve before the Yule fire.”

  “If we had, I am sure you would remember it.”

  “No doubt of that. Seems quite remiss of us, do you not agree? And it is almost Christmas, so I believe it is obligatory. I think it is a commandment in the Bible.”

  She laughed and shook her head. “Unbelievable. I shall do my best, but considering the condition I am in, I may well fall asleep midway through.”

  He nuzzled kisses to her ear, one hand caressing the swell of her belly. “I am confident I can find ways to keep you interested.”

  “Arrogant,” she teased, turning to kiss his lips.

  “Hmm… Absolutely. But you forgot virile, wildly handsome, supremely masculine, and crazily in love with you.”

  “I shall consider the notion after you help me with these and only if you do an excellent job.” She smiled and patted his cheek. “It really was a fine idea, Fitzwilliam. Alexander thinks he is so smart and has all his gifts figured out. Discovering new ones delivered by the mysterious Father Christmas will shake his composure.”

  “I would not count on it. I have been reading him all the stories so he knows that Father Christmas does not bring gifts but brings good cheer, although I have tried to gloss over the fact that spirits are usually the impetus for all that cheer. I made up a few bits here and there since he cannot read all that well yet, but I am not sure he is convinced about Father Christmas toting presents all over England in the dark of night.”

  “Well, either way, the boys will be happily surprised. And they did not have enough presents anyway.”

  “Ha! Tell me that after my aunt and uncle arrive for dinner. You would think with Richard now adding to the Fitzwilliam flock they would not shower our children with trinkets.”

  “There,” she declared, sitting back on her heels. “It looks beautiful.”

  Darcy paused to survey the scene, including his gorgeous wife in the tableau, and had to agree. The flickering glow from the perpetually burning Yule log cast a ruddy sheen over the array of colorful tissue and rag-paper wrapped packages stacked on the plush velvet drape spread nearby. It was the perfect corner with the window above kept partially uncloaked so any starlight or moonbeams could enter in. The fire added to the illumination and the holiday atmosphere was further accented by the bundles of mistletoe and holly branches strategically hanging over everything. The newest acquisition was a three-foot tall Father Christmas carved and painted by George Darcy that sat on a small shelf above. It was as if the historical Yuletide visitor was watching over the collection, his mischievous grin casting some doubt on his intentions!

  They tarried in the parlor to enjoy the holiday scene, comfortable atop a layer of cushions, and snuggled under a fire-warmed blanket before the burning log. Darcy caressed Lizzy’s abdomen. Approximately two or three weeks away from the anticipated birth, her belly was smaller than in previous pregnancies. Lizzy was carrying this baby completely different than she had with their two boys, joking with some irritation that she resembled a pear. Darcy thought it was wonderful, convinced that the pronounced deviations meant it had to be a girl! Lizzy thought that was ridiculous. Even this close to her date of confinement, the overall growth and weight gain was far less than previously. George assured them that it was still within normal parameters and that the baby appeared quite healthy if constant activity was any indication!

  Finally, as the mantel clock chimed one o’clock, they rose to return to their bedchamber. They knew they would be woken in a mere four or five hours, Alexander catapulting onto his father with all the exuberance of a youngster anxious to open his presents.

  Darcy halted her at the top of the Grand Staircase, pulling her into a firm embrace where they stood just under the enormous kissing bough that was yearly redecorated with fresh greenery and polished until gleaming.

  “One kiss under the Darcy bough,” he whispered, lowering his mouth to brush over hers. “It shall bring us luck.”

  “You are a superstitious man, Mr. Darcy.”

  “Or simply grasping onto another opportunity to kiss my stunning wife.”

  Who knows how long the kiss may have continued if not for the strange popping sensation Lizzy felt from the recesses of her loins that was followed by a gush of warm fluid streaming down her thighs into a puddle on the marble floor. She gasped, jerking out of Darcy’s arms, and exclaimed a shrill, “Oh my!”

  Darcy was perplexed for about two seconds before processing the information and meeting his wife’s embarrassed and startled eyes. He was jubilant! His eyes sparkled, the grin spreading over his face reaching from ear to ear. “A Christmas baby! Ha! Once again, my dearest, I am immeasurably thrilled that you never do anything as it is expected of you!”

  And with a booming laugh he swept her into his arms.

  “The boys will be disappointed that I ruined their Christmas!”

  “Nonsense. They will consider their sister the best gift of all.”

  And he was correct on both counts. The boys were overjoyed to greet their newest sibling later that afternoon, loving her wholeheartedly and forever, even if Noella Holly Jane Darcy would prove in time to be puckish, high-spirited, and fiery as often as she was loveable, generous, and jocose.

  Christmas Morning

  The bed curtains were drawn tightly with only a mere slit allowing Lizzy to see the darkness of the chamber. There was nothing within her eyesight to hint toward the time of morning, but an internal clock gave the impression of a pre-dawn hour. For a few seconds she wondered what had roused her. Surely it was too early for the children to be awake, even as anxious as they were to open the presents in the parlor. No, it wasn’t the patter of feet and sh
outs of tiny voices raised in enthusiasm. Rather, it was the muted sounds of her husband adding a log to the fire and then the metallic click of the door’s bolt being thrown that woke her.

  She smiled, stretching her limbs under the sheets still warmed by his body. Christmas guests and customs varied, and new traditions were added each year, but the one established on their first Christmas together had been kept. Whether later in the day due to their children sharing the bed with them or before being disturbed for the Christmas festivities, they allotted time for intimacy.

  Lizzy may have wanted to sleep longer and was certain by the stealth employed as Darcy tread about the room that he did not propose to wake her quite yet, but she discovered that she was more than ready to greet their eighth Christmas as a married couple, even if the sun was hiding below the horizon.

  Darcy gingerly pulled the heavy burgundy velvet drape aside and carefully slid his tall, muscular body under the thick coverings so as not to lift them off his wife’s bare skin. He slithered across the cool expanse until reaching the burrow created by where he had lain nestled against her back. Fully intending to resume his customary sleeping position with Elizabeth clutched within his arms and legs, snuggling on the edges of sleep for an additional hour or two, he was surprised when she rapidly flipped over and pulled his face down for a hard kiss.

  “Merry Christmas, my dearest,” she breathed minutes later.