The cabinet in question was a grand, antique armoire of ornately carved oak. There was an identical armoire against the opposite wall, also locked securely, in which were kept the estate documents, ledgers, funds, and such. Lizzy had previously been given a key to this cabinet, the only other keepers being Mr. Keith, Mrs. Reynolds, and Darcy, naturally. Lizzy lit an additional lamp and then unlocked the door to Darcy’s personal storage area. Her eyes were immediately drawn to the array of correlative leather-bound books filling the top shelf and roughly half of the second. She retrieved the first book, his journal with Fitzwilliam Darcy etched on the cover, and opening it to the first page, she began to read.
The first paragraph elicited a smile. It was dated November 10 of 1801, his thirteenth birthday, and he had written in his firm, precise hand a dry narrative of who he was, where he lived, his family, what he was studying with his tutor, and other pertinent particulars. It was detailed but wholly devoid of any emotion or insight. Then he wrote:
“My father gifted this unfilled book to me for the express intent that I initiate inscribing my daily musings, undertakings, and activities of import. I extended my gratefulness, however, deemed it essential in the interest of maintaining frank communication and honesty to inform him that the concept of elucidating personal minutiae betwixt the pages of a book was ludicrous and demeaning. He assured me that it was a worthy endeavor, one that he has partaken in since he was a young man, and further guaranteed my future appreciation in possessing a catalog of my memories. I persist in judging the exercise inane; nonetheless, I shall trust my father and obey his dictates.”
Lizzy laughed out loud. So like him to overanalyze even the simple matter of keeping a journal! She returned the slim volume to its designated space. It would consume months if she ever wished to read all the books, so instead she proceeded to the third shelf. Here were stacked several cigar boxes of varying sizes and brands. The oldest by appearance contained an odd assortment of what she could only assume were his “mementos.” There was a glass jar filled with a disgusting collection of dead bugs and spiders, oddly shaped knots of wood, ten rocks of diverse colors and textures, a small case with pinned moths, the well-preserved flattened corpse of a toad, and a book with meticulously fine labeled drawings of leaves.
Clearly the treasures of a young boy, although Lizzy could well remember her own fascination with the oddities and marvels of nature. Each subsequent box revealed the maturing Darcy as his possessions grew more sophisticated: a lock of his mother’s hair; numerous other sketch books of flowers, trees, animals, insects, and more, all detailed and labeled; programmes from an astounding number of operas and plays; letters from his father, mother, sister, and other loved ones; the reports of his marks from Cambridge (all excellent, Lizzy noted); stamped passage and boarding tags from excursions abroad; and a vast amount of other odds and ends, many of which indubitably held meaning only fathomable to Darcy.
The last box was entirely devoted to Lizzy. A parchment note lying on top of the items was addressed to her:
“My dearest, most precious wife,
Conscious as I am of your formidable and boundless curiosity, my beloved Elizabeth, it is doubtless that you have hastened with alacrity to my armoire and books contained therein, have dutifully scrutinized each page of text and illustrations, and are already formulating diverse methods of employing your newfound enlightenment to shock me! I render this allegation yet wish to assure you, my lover, that I harbor no anguish or repulsion at the idea. I am yours to do with as you will. My only chagrin is that I am too much the gentleman to wager with Vernor and the gang as to how long it takes you from the key’s presentation to when you utilize it. I envision you tiptoeing through the corridors early Christmas morning; however, I may be amiss by a day or two.
Eventually you shall make your way to these boxes. I trust that, after a month of wedded bliss, you will be sufficiently enamored with me so as to not be appalled nor amused by my cloying sentimentality. I jest, for in truth we both know that our mutual love has afforded me the latitude to relinquish the rigid walls of reticence I had erected. I can now relax my guard without shame or fear of rejection, and it is all due to you, my darling wife. I have not the words to convey how you have touched my life. All that hides in this cabinet is yours to explore, my love. You already possess the key to my heart and soul, and the greater value lies therein.
Yours for all eternity,
William”
Lizzy was laughing and weeping simultaneously. Would he believe that she had not first examined the special books? Yes, because despite the rapture savored in the physical aspect of their marriage, the joy of their two lonely souls redeemed and melded into one was unparalleled. She was moved by his declarations of love and faith yet also tickled by his humor and accurate assessment of her actions. With a smile she turned her attention to the box.
Among the anticipated letters she had written during their separations while betrothed were some surprises: one of her handkerchiefs, confiscated she knew not when; a green ribbon loosened from her bonnet that she had completely forgotten to retrieve from him; the hairpin he had intentionally and scandalously removed so he could play with a lock of her hair; the crown of jasmine she had placed on his head at the fountain; the stub of the life candle from his birthday party; one of the gold ribbons worn in her hair at their wedding; a pressed and dried gardenia that she had tucked behind his ear one day while walking; the cork from the champagne drunk on their wedding night; the programme from the symphony performance attended while in London; and so many other little tokens.
Lizzy was amazed. She knew that her William was a romantic, but she had not comprehended the depth of his sentimentality. The astounding plethora of memorabilia collected over his lifetime belied his thirteen-year-old assertions of the inanity of cataloguing his memories and displayed how mawkish he had always been despite his cool exterior. What a complex man she had married!
Lastly, she turned her attention to the books. There were six of them of differing sizes. The largest was a medical textbook devoted to human reproduction and sexuality from the clinical viewpoint. She flipped through it quickly, noting numerous comprehensive illustrations and exhaustive chapters covering everything from bodily systems to diseases to pregnancy. She made a mental note to absorb the latter so she would be prepared for what she prayed was a timely blessing.
The remaining books were decidedly more carnal in nature and brought a ready blush to her cheeks. Perhaps Darcy was correct in keeping these books from her, she thought, as an acute rush of embarrassment washed over her. The illustrations and text were blunt, inclusive, and graphic, clarifying the question of her husband’s competence in the bedroom!
The clock chimed five, startling Lizzy. She had been here for almost two hours. She grabbed one of the books at random for perusal at her leisure, folded the letter under the front flap, and made her way silently back to her chambers. Darcy was soundly asleep but no longer snoring. She secreted the book in her bed stand, crawled under the covers, and nestled close to her husband’s warm body. He sighed deeply, pulled her into his embrace, sleepily murmured her name, and kissed her forehead without waking. Within seconds she was asleep.
Lord and Lady Matlock departed that morning after breakfast. Lady Matlock embraced Lizzy warmly, thanking her for a delightful Christmas. The Earl, looking a wee bit peaked, kissed her hand also thanking her, and smilingly assured her that he would gladly thrash his nephew if he maltreated her in any way. Lizzy laughed and with a nod to her husband pledged to accept the offer if necessary.