With barely controlled mirth Lizzy read the juvenile novel of a hero named Admiral Achilles and his red-haired companion Sergeant Hector conquering celestial planets. Darcy glanced at her face and nudged her side. “Go ahead, laugh. God knows I did. Give me some latitude, please, as I think I was eleven when I wrote that.”
“And reading The Iliad at the same time?”
He shrugged, reaching into another box. “I always wanted to be Achilles. Handsome, nearly immortal, fleet, heroic.”
“And how were you supposed to have arrived upon the shores of Mars?”
“I do not think I ever worked that part out. Look here, the puzzles I remember playing with!” He pulled out numerous twisted wooden and metal brain teasers such as those purchased in Derby. “Hmmm… I shall have to take these down and see if I can recall the mystery. Add them to the others that I have yet to solve. This whole box contains classroom apparatus: slates, abacus, a globe, old textbooks… Lord, these are outdated! Why keep such things?”
Lizzy had finished chapter one of the Martian tale, turning to an open box by his feet. The box was larger than the others, really a moderate-sized chest with elaborate scrolling, and had Fitzwilliam etched onto the lid in gold embossed cursive. “What is in here?”
“All my infant things. My grandfather built that chest. He was an incredible whittler. You recall the collection of miniature sailing vessels in the library that he created? Some of these,” he indicated the interlocking wooden puzzles, “were designed by him. He was very gifted. Unfortunately neither my father nor I inherited the talent. Father built a similar chest for Georgiana, but it is more functional than ornate. Hers is in her room as was this one in mine until I moved to the master's chambers. I am not really sure why it ended up in the attic.” He shrugged.
He watched Lizzy pull the various items out, both smiling as he reverently fingered each one. “I thought my mother foolish for keeping so many silly things. Until now, that is. As a soon-to-be father, I appreciate the value of every token, each one a testimonial of a precious moment lived and deserving of remembrance. I suppose when one is young, one imagines that all events are etched permanently upon the mind, but time has a way of eroding some memories, or perhaps the brain can only hold a finite amount of information.”
Among the maternally cherished treasures were two tarnished silver and polished stone rattles; well-gnawed and cracked teething rings of rubber, ivory, and coral; several sets of dented, tarnished miniature dining utensils, cups, and bowls; a stuffed grey Irish wolfhound that was threadbare and lumpy, missing one button eye and floppy ear; three equally ratty, stained blankets; a pouch containing a mass of fine, light brown hair; a collection of bibs, bonnets, booties, and gowns likely special gifts from some relative or friend; a tied bundle of envelopes enclosing birth congratulations; a hairbrush and comb, both missing teeth and bristles; and a dozen odd toys perfect for small hands.
Lizzy had lifted the lid on a tiny silver case lined with scarlet velvet in which resided dozens of varying sized, pearly white teeth. She chuckled, grasping one of the tiniest between her thumb and index finger, “Yes, it is as you say, dearest, but much more.” She placed the tooth onto the palm of his hand, continuing in a soft voice as he gazed at the miniscule white rock lost on his large hand, “It is so that years later you can do precisely what you are doing now, rumbling through old boxes covered in dust and filled with seemingly useless paraphernalia, and know that your parents loved you so much that nothing was deemed superfluous.”
He smiled, rolling the tooth about on his palm. “They waited many years for a son and after losing my sister, I confess I was hideously pampered and a bit spoiled. Then there were all the long years until Georgie. Naturally I was loved, but I judge it was partially because my mother had no one else to dote on.”
Lizzy laughed. “There is likely a great deal of truth in that. I know my mother kept very few of our childhood mementos. What souvenirs I have were kept by me. She was far too busy having more babies, not to mention definitely unsentimental.”
“However many children we are blessed with, Elizabeth, they will be equally overindulged. I promise you that. What's this?” He withdrew a carefully sealed smaller box, placing it on his lap.
Lizzy gasped at the revealed contents, fingers immediately caressing over the delicate fabric. “Is it yours?”
“Must be, as this box contains all my keepsakes. Ah, yes, look here, my birth announcement: Fitzwilliam Alexander James Darcy born to Mr. James and Lady Anne Darcy on November Ten of 1787.”
“It is beautiful.” Lizzy spoke softly, truly stunned by the gown of exquisite satin and Alencon lace overlay. It was white with short puffy sleeves, a lined skirt three feet long with the lace extending three inches to end in a scalloped pattern of leaves and bluebells, and minute pearls sewn over the bodice. “You wore this.” It was a reverently whispered statement rather than a question.
“Apparently. I remember Mother saying she sewed a gown while expecting my sister. There is a box of belongings that were Alexandria's over there,” he pointed to a lone box. “The awaited heir required something extravagant, she said.” He smiled wistfully, eyes dim in memory.
“I cannot believe she created this herself.” She bit her lip, looking shyly to Darcy, who was still lost in reminiscence. “Would you mind terribly if our baby wore this for the christening?”
Darcy snapped to the present with left brow raised in surprise, gazing at Lizzy in bafflement, “Why in the world would I mind? It is your decision, beloved, although I thought you planned to make a gown yourself. Would you not prefer our son to wear something new?”
Lizzy's cheeks were flushed and she ducked her head in embarrassment. “Well, I rather like the idea of him wearing what you wore. A sense of continuity and good fortune. But if you must know the truth, it is partially because I am not skilled enough to create a garment half this lovely, and your heir deserves the best.”
He gently clasped her chin, lifting to meet her eyes as he leaned toward her. “Elizabeth, it is our child who deserves the best in all things, no matter the sex. I do not care what gown he or she wears when baptized, only that he is healthy and that the ceremony takes place. The choice is yours.” He kissed her tenderly, caressing over the soft bulge of their son. “If you sew it, then it will be perfect. If you buy something or have it made, it will be perfect. If you wish to use this gown, then it will be perfect.”
“Thank you, William.”
He stroked over her cheek, leaving smears of dirt. “As for your sewing techniques or lack thereof, I married you even though you are so hideously flawed and I love you anyway.”
He was grinning widely, Lizzy laughing and shoving forcefully so that he nearly fell over. They ended up dust covered, but happy and content when they finally left the sweltering confines. Arms were laden with items that were cautiously if hastily laid aside in the rushing need for a cleansing bath… together.
“Mrs. Darcy,” softly whispered in her ear and accompanied by a tiny nibble and smattering of brushing kisses.
Lizzy stretched, arching blissfully into her husband's body and clasping the warm hand resting on her abdomen. “Rising so early, William. Something special about today?” She turned her head to reach his smiling lips for a glancing kiss.
“Indeed. We are a long way from Hertfordshire and the sun is barely cresting the hills. I have no need to converse with your father or any other Bennets, and can remain unclothed rather than formally attired. Thus I planned no rehashes of the day one year ago when you agreed to be my wife, but I certainly do not intend to forget it.”