“We can readily divert to the nursery, as I assume this is your reference. Be warned, however: Alexander is asleep, so formal introductions must wait. Come, and while we walk you can tell me when your parents will be visiting.”

“We arrived at Rivallain last evening. Mother was more than prepared to arise with the sun and travel on, but father wanted to settle for a day or two. I rather believe that, as in most matters, mother’s will shall prevail and expect they will rattle into the courtyard tomorrow morning at the latest! She is anxious to meet your son and visit with Elizabeth, having brought the subject to the fore of all conversation at the breakfast table no less than a dozen times. I decided I needed to ride on if I wanted to see him myself, the women liable to monopolize all his waking moments discussing the joys of childbirth and motherhood!”

“You have no idea how accurate your jest, my friend. I have barely laid eyes on him since Elizabeth’s family arrived and he is mine. Quite annoying actually, so I am forced to rise with the late night feedings just to steal precious time alone.”

Darcy was speaking lightly, but Richard, who knew him so well, detected the undertone of irritation. In an attempt to soothe the easily somber Darcy, he said, “Surely you cannot be missing too much. After all, babies, so I am to understand, lie there as lumps and sleep all the time!”

Darcy bristled, the idea of his son a “lump” not appreciated, but one look at his cousin’s face brought laughter to the surface. “Very well, Colonel, we shall see. I have it on good authority that he is the most adorable child in the universe, and thus far, all who lay eyes on him have fallen hopelessly in love. Be cautious, my friend, as your heart will be wrested away!”

They reached the nursery, Darcy entering cautiously although the well-oiled door was unlikely to squeak. Mrs. Hanford glanced up from the dresser where she was folding a pile of clothes, smiling at her Master and nodding toward the cradle.

“Mrs. Hanford, this is my cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam. Richard, our wonderful nanny, Mrs. Hanford.”

“Madam,” Richard bowed gallantly, turning into the room to follow Darcy, who had crossed swiftly to the cradle. Alexander lay curled on his right side, pink hands folded beside his parted lips as if in sleepy supplication to the Almighty. Auburn curls lay heavy over his now perfectly round head, longer wisps brushing his brows; skin porcelain with ruddy cheeks marred only by a faint pinpoint rash across his chin. Both the nanny and excellent in-house doctor assured the Darcys that these scattered rashes were normal as his delicate flesh adjusted to the outside world of fabrics and soaps. Despite the trivial imperfections, Alexander was beautiful, his father’s assertions only a slim exaggeration, as everyone in the manor was adoring.

A softly smiling, prideful father competently bent with seeking hands to lift his son, Richard grabbing at his wrist. “Darcy, wait! Do not wake him!”

“He just finished eating and I know how to lift him without disturbing. Sit in the chair and you can hold him.”

Richard blanched, arms instinctively clasping behind his back as he shook his head emphatically. “I do not think that a wise plan at all! If I drop him, I am quite certain you will be perturbed!”

“Heavens, Richard. The mighty man of His Majesty’s Armed Forces who handles sword and musket in battle is afraid of a tiny baby?”

“Precisely. If I fail with any of those things, it is my own health and life that is forfeit.”

“Sit and quit complaining. Besides, you have held Annabella’s children, so stop pretending. Alexander is sturdy and I trust you completely.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam sat as bid, his face yet pale. “Very well, but if something happens, I will tell Elizabeth it was your fault.”

Darcy had lifted Alexander adeptly, the slumbering babe merely stretching slightly before nestling into the familiar warm shape of his father’s embrace. As always, Darcy’s heart swelled with a love indescribable and unique. Instantly, he was mesmerized by the breathing reality of his child, the living presence clutched close to his body, overwhelming his senses; his soul elevated by the tiny personality created with the woman he loved so profoundly.

Colonel Fitzwilliam observed his cousin, freshly amazed—even after the transitions of the past year—by how altered the serious, perpetually melancholic mien was that he had assumed was an integral trait in Darcy. Now it was entirely erased; Darcy, even in his intensity, displayed a tenderness and joy that was transparent. Richard privately challenged anyone who knew Darcy well to not be moved by the positive mutation of his character.

“Here he is, Richard. My son. Alexander William George Bennet Darcy. Did I not speak the truth in that he is amazing and adorable? Beautiful like his mother.” Darcy secured him into Richard’s arms, sitting on the chair beside and caressing one fingertip over the baby’s cheek.

“Yes, he is a highly attractive lad. He definitely has Elizabeth’s hair and nose, but he looks like you, Darcy. What about his eyes?”

“Blue, but shaped as his mother’s. He actually seems to be a fair mixture of us both, although I am sure his features will evolve as he matures.”

“Do not tell my sister I said this or I shall torture you, but he is far lovelier than any of her four children. Sadly, they inherited their father’s physical characteristics.”

Darcy smothered a laugh. “Shame, Richard. Lord Montgomery is a distinguished gentleman.”

“Ha! He is grouchy, old, and sports an enormous nose! Makes yours look positively petite.”

“Thanks,” Darcy interrupted dryly.

“You are welcome, and thank you for not countering with an acerbic remark about my own nasal assets, as you surely could have. By the way, Annabella and the children accompanied us from London and are at Rivallain. Lord Montgomery may show up if his preferred pursuits bore him, but we are not holding our breath.”

“Poor Annabella.”

Richard shrugged faintly. “In truth, I believed she was relieved. Ah, you know my sister, Darcy. Money and place in society were always more important to her than affection. She has that as Lady Montgomery and is content.”

“I suppose. It will be delightful to see her again, and I think I can now find it in me to endure her children.”

Richard chuckled, glancing to his cousin with a sly smile. “Oh, I would not count on that! They are spoiled rotten and unruly. Your best bet is to hint they stay at Rivallain with their governess.”

Darcy snorted. “Were we different as youths, Cousin? How many governesses labeled you incorrigible and me mischievous? I still have lash marks on my backside, I am sure.”

“Let it be a lesson for you, father Darcy. ‘Spare the rod, spoil the child,’ as the Good Book says, or ‘train a child in the way he should go and he will not depart from it.’”

Darcy shuddered, stroking his precious, innocent son’s cheek. “Perhaps, although I cannot imagine taking a switch or belt to Alexander. I guess Elizabeth and I will need to be prepared. I know I shall not tolerate a disobedient child.”

Lizzy discovered the two men a half hour later still fawning over the oblivious infant. She smiled at the tableau, like her husband never tiring of noting how everyone fell immediately in love with their child. Neither perceived her presence in the doorway until she cleared her throat. Darcy rose with a beaming grin, crossing to kiss her on the lips.

“Richard arrived, as you can see, and I could not resist introducing him to Alexander.”

“So I gathered. We waited in the dining room wondering if you had gotten lost in your own house, Mr. Darcy. Mr. Taylor enlightened us to Colonel Fitzwilliam’s arrival and I reckoned you had come here.”

“I am so sorry, love! We completely lost track of the hour. Forgive me?”

“Naturally. However, you, Colonel Fitzwilliam, will be punished severely for your rudeness in not greeting Pemberley’s Mistress, unless you pay penance by singing the praises of our incredible son.”

“Thankfully, madam, I can accomplish this with ease. Honestly, Elizabeth, he is lovely. Of course, he has been sleeping the entire time and I have not been gifted with the vocal prowess I am certain he possesses.”

Lizzy laughed. “Even his cries are rays of sunshine, Colonel. I think he has inherited his father’s resonant tones, as his yells are not shrill, and only occur with appropriate incentive.”

“He is demanding and with a wild temper, which could easily come from either of us,” Darcy interjected.

“A melding most probably, which could mean it double in intensity. Woe to you both on that count. Remember the switch, Darcy.”

“Very funny, Richard. Now, gentlemen, if I may be so bold as to insist we let the baby sleep in peace and eat lunch before it grows colder, and before he wakens to persistently request my presence. I have to schedule these things carefully.”

The remaining days until Christmas counted down slowly, with the residents and guests of Pemberley contented in their seclusion behind sturdy stone walls and snow blanketed lawns.