“Honestly, Lizzy, and you too, Jane, be thankful you have husbands able to present such treasures! How fortunate you both are!”

“Thank you for the reminder, Mama,” Lizzy said with sarcasm.

Of course Lizzy was quite familiar with her husband’s need to shower her with gifts. It was a habit borne of his deep love for all those dearest to him; an expression established long before she entered his life. The logical conclusion was simply to accept it, but her nature would not allow her to ever be mercenary or greedy and, therefore, it was mildly uncomfortable. She glanced upon his glowing visage, much like a child with a secret, and could only say a silent prayer of thankfulness.

The box contained a book bound with fine calf leather dyed a deep blue with gold leaf etching along the spine. The pages inside were blank, the intent of which was unmistakably indicated by the gold emblazoned Alexander William George Bennet Darcy scrolled across the front cover.

Before Lizzy could find her voice, Darcy was kneeling with hands caressing over the exquisite binding. “It is a memory book. I saw something similar in Derby. I had this made by a bookbinding establishment in London that has restored numerous antique volumes I have purchased over the years. You can write your thoughts, facts as he grows, ink prints of his feet, memories of first words, when he walks, and anything else that comes to mind. Is it not a fabulous idea?”

“Darcy, this is marvelous!” It was Charles, face suffused with enthusiasm. “Where did you get it?” The new father and father-to-be launched into a discussion, Jane and Lizzy exchanging amused glances.

“William, thank you so much! It is a marvelous concept, keeping an itemized log, so to speak, of his transitions and growth. Will you write in it as well?”

“If you wish. My mother kept a similar journal for Georgie and me. I ran across them in the attic, having not thought on it for years.” His voice grew quiet, eyes far away for a spell as he stroked the embossed name of their son. “Such memories are priceless.” He cleared his throat gruffly with a slight shrug, voice firmer as he resumed. “The other gift accompanies and is the last, I promise. Merry Christmas, my love.”

It was a trunk of cedar, approximately three feet cubed with short legs, sturdily if plainly constructed with no embellishment other than “Alexander” carved in rough block letters across the lid. The sweet aroma of cedar pervaded the air, every eye lifting from individual unwrapping to observe the scene.

“Mother kept particular artifacts in a series of boxes, some that I discovered damaged. I did not want that to happen to Alexander’s favorite toy, first shoes, blanket, or anything else we deem worthy of keeping. So I built this…”

“You built it?” Caroline interrupted in astonishment, Darcy glancing to her face with a smile.

“I am quite skillful with my hands, Miss Bingley. Unfortunately, I do not have the talent for whittling or engraving as did my grandfather, so it is unadorned, but it will withstand the test of time and any pounding by a rowdy son! I thought it would fit nicely below the window in the nursery.”

“Absolutely! It is fantastic.” Lizzy raised one hand to lightly brush his cheek. “Thank you, William, again.”

“I do hope you kept the pattern, William, so you can create more. I think you will need an entire collection in due course.” George declared with a wink, Lizzy blushing but Darcy meeting his eyes boldly.

“Not a problem, Uncle. I have a very good memory.”

“I pray you are an adequate instructor as well, Darcy, as I want you to teach me how to construct a cedar box for our child. I have never worked with wood, so it shall be a challenge for you.” Charles looked at his friend with a grin.

“Really, Charles! Carpentry? Is not sheep farming and walnut harvesting enough manual labor for you? It is so, so… common!” Caroline was truly aghast.

Darcy’s mumbled and sarcastic thank you was lost behind Bingley’s reply, “Honestly, Caroline! It is not as if I pick the nuts myself or shovel manure. I manage an estate, and none of this has any bearing on desiring to construct a memory box for my firstborn.”

“Attaboy, Mr. Bingley!” George declared with a stunning clap to the younger man’s shoulder. “Artistic creativity is food for the brain! Keeps the nerve’s firing, eh, Mr. Bennet?”

“I cannot claim any particular skills with my hands, Dr. Darcy, but I do agree with the philosophy. Although, I have assisted in the mending of the fence a time or two and did apply saw and hammer to create a finely wrought birdhouse and feeder which yet graces the east garden.”

“Oh, I remember that!” Mary spoke up with a rare burst of enthusiasm. “I was but seven or so, Papa, and I recall you let each of us hammer a bit and Lizzy sawed. Jane, you carved the perches, is that not so?”

Jane was blushing, Charles gazing at her with pride. “It was a small thing really. I merely smoothed several branches. We all worked on it together. Even Lydia, who was barely four or five, was placed in charge of handing each nail.”

Lizzy and Kitty were smiling in memory. Caroline sniffed, “Well, I suppose such an endeavor could be amusing, in certain circumstances. Seems a trifle rustic to me. Artistry is one thing, but pounding wood strikes me as a menial chore destined for the working man.”

Darcy was stiff with indignation, hand tight on Lizzy’s shoulder. She caressed his white knuckles tenderly, opening her mouth to flash a retort, but was halted by her mother’s voice, “Of course, Miss Bingley, you have a point! I am certain the venture will not be a frequent activity for either Mr. Darcy or Mr. Bingley. Men of their fine stature and finances have no need to lower themselves to such base levels, naturally. Do not fret!”

“I am of the opinion that talent of all kind, whether it be musical or architectural or scientific or any of a million other realms are all gifts inspired of God and, therefore, to be acknowledged and pursued extensively, otherwise it is an insult to the Giver. As the Declaration penned by the founders of the Americas states, ‘all men are created equal, that they are endowed, by their Creator.’ No tasks are too menial or unnecessary, Miss Bingley.”

All in the room were staring with amazement at Mary, who had delivered this quietly voiced speech. The attitudes may have varied as to the veracity of her words, but all were momentarily speechless. Not surprisingly, it was Dr. Darcy who shattered the silence first with a raised cup of tea and ringing endorsement, “Here, here, Miss Bennet! Well said indeed. I’ll drink to that!”

The mood thus lightened, Lizzy turned to Richard, “Colonel, now that my husband has finally exhausted the gift giving, it would be an appropriate time to retrieve the package you assured me was in your safekeeping. If you please?”

Richard bowed formally. “As you wish, Mrs. Darcy. Pardon me a moment.” And with a brisk clap of his military boot heels, he pivoted and exited the room.

“Secrets, Mrs. Darcy?” Darcy asked with a raised brow.

“It is Christmas, my dear.”

“While we are waiting, Lizzy, this is from all of us Bennets. We pooled our resources.” Kitty placed a smallish, but heavy gift on her lap, stooping to kiss her cheek. “Merry Christmas.”

The wrapping hid a roughly cigar box–sized, highly glossed, cherry wood musical box! The glass panel in the ornately carved lid displayed the copper cylinder and shiny mechanical devices required to turn the cylinder and elicit the sounds. Lizzy gasped, hand instantly over her heart in awe and delighted expressions of thanks pouring forth. It was a stunning piece of workmanship, instantly drawing the attention of most in the room, especially the ever invention-fascinated Darcy.

“Incredible! Where did you acquire one so large and sporting a cylinder rather than disk, Mr. Bennet?” He was already lightly touching the internal springs and motor.

“One of the advantages to having a brother in trade,” he answered with a smile and nod toward Mr. Gardiner.

“I have an associate who deals with various Swiss manufacturers of timepieces. He occasionally acquires musical boxes as well. These are new, Mr. Darcy, created by Recordon and Jundon. This one plays a compilation of Mozart’s sonatas.”

“I have two musical snuff boxes purchased in Paris and London, one of which I gave to Elizabeth to listen while at her desk. I dismantled a third in an attempt to figure how it worked, failing miserably as I was unable to completely fathom the mechanics nor reassemble properly.” His voice dropped to a tone of inner musing as he intently investigated the visible parts, Lizzy playfully batting his hands away with a laugh.

“Get your own musical box to dissect, Mr. Darcy! This one is mine.”

He straightened with a faint blush. “Of course, dearest. I was merely looking.”

Several snickers erupted, Colonel Fitzwilliam returning to a room of polite twitters and flushed cousin. “What have you done now, Darcy?”

Darcy, however, had no response forthcoming. Rather, his gaze was riveted to the wooden case Richard held in both arms. It was well over five feet in length yet only a foot wide, which would have strongly hinted to Darcy what it contained even if it was not branded with the label Knopf Bros. of Shenandoah Valley, Virginia. His mouth fell open and immobility gripped all four extremities.

“How did you…?” He stopped, speechless.

Lizzy was grinning broadly, face rosy with delight as she jumped up to stand beside her paralyzed spouse. Placing one hand tenderly on his arm, she explained, “I know you have coveted one for your collection. Richard was able to acquire an original, dated 1786. I have yet to see it myself, not that I would know what I was inspecting, so I pray it meets your expectations. Open it!”