“I hear the dogs of St. Bernard are as big as mastiffs. Is this true?”
“It is, Cousin,” Jurgen, youngest son of Herr Oeggl replied, leaning forward in his chair and holding his hand shoulder level. “Like small horses they are, but gentle. They gaze at you with their enormous brown eyes and compassion touches your heart. You can see why they love rescuing stranded people, risking their own lives selflessly to aid humans. It is beautiful.”
“My son is a lover of animals.” Herr Oeggl smiled fondly. “He wishes to join the monastery I believe and devote himself to breeding the St. Bernards. Hence his interest in this journey, unlike my lovely nieces who want to shop in Milano.”
“Milano designers and fabrics are unlike anywhere else, except perhaps Florence.” Romy sniffed. “It is worth any hardship for fashion.”
“Well,” countered her sister, Viveka, “Milano excites me as well, but I am also intrigued by the reputed brilliance of spring wildflowers that cover the meadows, the lakes and waterfalls, and any other vistas along the pass. I will be bringing my paints and pad, praying for flat terrain.”
“Painting while riding? You are talented to attempt it. You must show me how.”
“My pleasure, Miss Darcy, if you teach me how to play the harp as brilliantly as you.” She squeezed the blushing Georgiana’s hand.
“Not to put a damper on the youthful enthusiasm, but I am happy not to be making the trip; enormous dogs and stunning landscape are not enough to tempt me.”
“Why, Dr. Darcy”—Lady Matlock laughed—“after your adventures a steep mountain pass gives you pause? I am shocked and disappointed.”
“One word, madam: snow. No offense, Baron and Baroness, but I think my blood is now frozen solid and fear removing the three layers of stockings I wear, as I am positive I have frostbite!”
Everyone laughed. Georgiana leaned into her uncle, hugged his arm, and spoke to the crowd, “My dear uncle is delicate it seems. I, on the other hand, am determined to be brave and enjoy every moment!”
“That is the spirit, Cousin.” Herr Oeggl slapped his hand onto the chair’s arm. “Remember that only half of the journey is uphill. The rest is a descent, and how hard can that be?”
Lizzy filled two journals with notes and etchings of their time in Switzerland. Many of her entries were stories recounted by Darcy’s female cousins, those same ladies who taught him to dance the waltz so many years ago. Their remembrances were highly amusing, at least to Lizzy. Darcy flushed and attempted to correct their embellished reminiscences to no avail. He did prove, however, that their lessons in the Viennese waltz were intact, Lizzy reaping the benefits several times at the balls held in their honor.
Yet for all the entertainments and family memories, years later, Darcy would maintain that the best part of their stay in Switzerland was when he felt their baby move for the first time.
A week after arriving, on a night in May, Darcy reclined on a chair in their guest bedchamber with his feet crossed on the ottoman and mind engrossed in a book, while Lizzy sat at the desk writing in her journal. Silence ruled other than the crackle of the fire, muted tick of a clock, and scribble of her pen.
Sudden Lizzy released a sharp gasp and jumped up from her chair. It was so precipitous that Darcy had no chance to react before she plopped onto his lap. He grunted with the unexpected pressure, the book toppling to the floor when she grabbed his wrist with a jerk. Without a word she pressed his palm firmly against the small mound of her belly, smiling at his bewildered expression.
“Wait,” she whispered, “he will kick again, I am sure of it.”
He stared into her eyes, waiting as she said with his hand tight over the warm flesh encasing their baby. Lizzy held his gaze, lifted her legs until stretched over his, and leaned back onto his chest with her head resting on his inner shoulder.
“He is usually quiet in the evenings. When I feel him you are never around or we are in public. It has been frustrating.”
“I agree with the frustration,” Darcy breathed softly. “He, or she, is uncooperative. Hopefully not a sign of what is to come. Behave, little one, let your father know you are there.”
Lizzy shifted, moving his fingertips to the left side. “I think his legs are over here more. Wait.”
But the word barely left her mouth when their unborn child jabbed back at the seeking fingers invading his space, Darcy sucking in his breath at the sensation. He swiveled instantly misty eyes to her abdomen, as if possible to outwardly see the feeble movements.
“See, he is a cooperative boy.”
“He is amazing! Ah, how I have missed this miraculous feeling.” He buried his face in her hair and closed his eyes. He relaxed his taut muscles, inhaled deeply, and settled in to enjoy the profound emotions sweeping through him as their child lazily stirred under his broad hand.
It was only two or three minutes, the baby yet too small to exert energy for long. Darcy could sense his stretches spacing, and then a palpable rolling motion as he presumably flipped inside his watery home and ended the interlude. Still Darcy cradled the soft bulge, silent and at peace with his wife in his arms and the newfound connection charging through his veins. He could almost hear his heart expanding, each beat sending life-giving blood to the cells created to love this addition to his family, his head dizzy with the glorious feelings flooding over him.
“I love you, Elizabeth. You are a marvelous gift to me, and now you are blessing my life further with our children. I will be content with whatever God allots us, but I must say I selfishly wish for many.”
“Be careful what you ask for,” Lizzy chuckled. “Many is rather vague and as we are constantly being reminded, most children are not as complacent as Alexander!”
“It makes no never mind. I absolutely adore being a father and will gladly accept them all.”
“I shall note that remark in my journal in case I need to jog your memory of such a bold promise. The next one may well possess my personality, or worse yet, your father and George’s!”
He smiled benignly, cupping her face and rubbing a thumb over her cheek. “I will take my chances.” The kiss that followed was lengthy but soothing and soft. His fingertips brushed over her jaw for a momentary caress before returning to cradle the mound where his second child lay. With his other arm he drew her closer to his body, Lizzy instinctively curling and melting into the contours of his form.
A low hum of pleasure purred from the back of her throat when he finally released her lips, the sound wafting as a breath over the curve of his neck when she buried her face there. He held her, contentment a tangible blanket surrounding their bodies, and continued to fondle the pillowy swell for a long while. The baby moved occasionally, faint and fluttery but discernible now that he knew what to expect, but remained quiet for the most part. Eventually Darcy’s eyes grew heavy and he carried his sleeping wife to their bed to nestle with his hand tight over her belly and unconscious mind registering every prod.
Toward morning but while the sun yet hid below the surface of their area of the world, Darcy was roused by movement on Lizzy’s side of the bed and a brief but cold blast of air across his shoulders. He was on his back and rolled toward the space she typically occupied, only then sleepily assimilating that what roused him was her returning to bed.
“Why were you up?” he grated.
“Nature’s duties. I apologize for waking you.” He garbled something that sounded like never mind and reached for her body, Lizzy keeping a distance and whispering, “My gown is chilled and toes like ice. I will make you cold.”
He grabbed her anyway, strong arms slipping her over the sheets as if a feather, the heat radiating off his skin pouring through her. “Do not be ridiculous,” he rumbled, sending fresh shivers through her flesh, although not from the cold as Darcy thought. “I will have you warm in seconds.”