“Good night, my darling. Sleep well.” A tender kiss planted at the top of his spine was his last memory. His final thought was a reciprocated wish for refreshing sleep, but the sentiment would remain unspoken as consuming, blissful, therapeutic, and revitalizing sleep overwhelmed.
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.