“Poor froggy. No one eat you now.”

“No, he is safe enough here. And he is not a frog, my sweet, but a toad. Someday you will know the difference.”

“I keep him forever, Papa? Please?”

“I am sorry, Son, but no. He must be returned to his home tomorrow.” Alexander’s eyes welled with tears, lower lip pouting and quivering. Darcy hugged him to his side, and then pulled him onto his knee and kissed the crown of his head. “Do not be sad. He needs to be where he is happy. He probably has a family who needs him, maybe parents of his own. You would not want to be away from your home, away from your mother and me, would you?” Alexander shook his head emphatically. “Well, neither does he. Tomorrow, after Aunt Kitty’s wedding, we will take him back to the riverbank where you found him. You will have time to play with him before we have to say good-bye. All right?” The toddler sniffed but nodded.

“Let’s say good night to your little pet. I better get you up to nanny and your bath before we both get into trouble. Before bed I will read you the Grimm Brothers’ tale of a frog prince and the story of the frog plague from the Bible. How is that?”

He nodded again and said good night to the toad, wishing him sweet dreams. Darcy smiled and chose not to remind him what “nocturnal” meant. Alexander gave one last gentle pet to the amphibian, which chose that moment to extend his sticky tongue and snatch the worm before it slithered out of reach, yanking it into his mouth in one neat movement.

Alexander squealed in delight, eyes shining up at Darcy. “See that, Papa?”

“Yes, I did. Now you will not have to worry if he is hungry. Give him a few more worms for the night, Son. Very good. Now, to your bath! You smell like a fishy, muddy boy! If I were a big fish I would think you dinner! Yum!” He slung the giggling, squirming two-year-old over his shoulder, playfully placing nibbles along his chubby arms and waist while making yummy sounds all the way into the house.

Most of the Netherfield residents had gone to Lucas Lodge for a dinner party that evening, leaving only the Darcys and Daniels to dine in solitude since both young mothers needed to remain close to their babies. Darcy sensed Lizzy’s distraction even when rhapsodizing over Alexander’s toad and when she requested retiring early, pleading a headache, he knew all was not well. He was disturbed but refused to leap to false conclusions and trusted that once the children were asleep she would share whatever was troubling her.

Lizzy reclined on the chaise with Michael at her breast. She wore her usual dreamy expression as she gazed into her baby’s face, fingertips caressing over the velvety skin and minute knuckles of his clenched hand. Comfortable in his privacy attire of only trousers and loosened shirt, Darcy sat cross-legged on the floor with Alexander. The youngster was scrubbed clean, smelling of sweet castile soap and fire warmed towels, dressed in a crisp white sleeping gown and stockings. Several errant curls fell over his forehead and into the intent blue eyes that were focused on the assortment of brightly colored marbles arranged before their knees.

In one of his many forays into the dusty attic storage spaces at Pemberley, Darcy had discovered his old collection of marbles. Most of his childhood marbles were of clay or stone, but he and Alexander had since added a number of colorful glass specimens to the mix. Whenever they ventured near a shopping district they searched for marbles. It was a quest, with Darcy seeking used spheres with a history or made of rare materials while Alexander was instantly drawn to the bins of multihued, shiny glass marbles.

Darcy did not yet teach any rules of actual marble play, instead keeping it a simple matter of knocking one marble into another for the fun of making them roll about the large wooden board he had constructed expressly for the game. However, Darcy was learning that his son had inherited his competitive and exacting nature. Alexander would clap with joy when he managed to hit another ball hard enough to cause it to tumble over the flat surface’s edge, but most of the time his face was screwed up in deep concentration, the tip of his tongue in the corner of his mouth and brows furrowed as his tiny fingers attempted to aim and launch the marble with the proper technique as learned from his father. Darcy loved that his son studied his actions and mimicked his facial expressions and gestures, but it also made him aware of the reflexive mannerisms Lizzy had been teasing him about for years now!

“Excellent shot, Alexander! Right off the board. Well done! I think you are beating me tonight.” He ruffled his son’s hair, Alexander beaming with pride. He reached his small body across the board to retrieve the stray marble, one knee nudging the corner and setting the marbles to rolling crazily.

“Oh! Sorry, Papa.”

But Darcy was laughing as his large hands spread to prevent the marbles escaping too far while stabilizing the board. “No problem, sweetling. They needed to be rearranged anyway. In fact, here is a new game, let’s jiggle the board and see how many we can keep from falling off.” His broad grin was met by a smaller identical one and with laughter they set to their new game. Alexander’s enthusiasm for the new game brought him to his feet, marbles flying everywhere, and he launched bodily into his father’s arms.

Darcy was prepared and caught the soft projectile but feigned surprise and weakness by falling onto his back with a loud, “Oof! You are so strong, my son! Knocked me right over!”

It was a familiar type of play, Darcy instantly continuing the game by lifting the boy high into the air with sturdy broad hands spanning the tiny chest. Alexander stiffened, extended his arms perpendicular, and locked his knees.

“Flap your wings! That’s it. What bird do you wish to be today? Hawk? A fearless eagle?”

“Falcon, Papa. A pergin like Mr. Holmes has.”

“Excellent choice. Then hold your arms still, soar and glide.” He swung his arms, side to side and up and down, Alexander smiling and laughing. “No laughing! Be fierce! Raptors frighten their prey and terrify with a piercing gaze. Show me your peregrine scream, Son. Outstanding! If I were a mouse I would be petrified.”

Alexander set his face, attempting to be scary, but it was difficult especially as Darcy kept tilting him downward and bestowing glancing kisses to his face.

“Papa, no! I am hunting. Must be brave. Am I a brave boy?”

“The bravest boy who ever lived. Indeed you are. You killed the ugly spider that scared nanny last week. Remember? So very brave.”

“I told the man I was a brave boy. Not ascared of ducks like Michael.”

“What man?”

“The man on the horse. Mama not like him.” He frowned but then the smile returned. “He say ducks lay eggs in the bushes! I can hunt like brave fox too.”

“Yes, of course you can,” Darcy murmured. He glanced to his wife where she sat curled on the sofa with eyes closed and cheek resting on Michael’s head. The baby was asleep, cuddled against her upper chest. Her face was calm, but without the usual expression of blissful serenity that she typically wore in these moments of maternal relaxation. Darcy’s earlier intuition that something was not quite right with his wife came back in a rush as Alexander’s innocent remark sent cold shivers up his spine. “The man on the horse” could be anyone considering they were in Lizzy’s childhood home, but Darcy knew who it was.

He pulled Alexander to his chest, the toddler protesting for a second before nestling into the warm security of his father’s wide torso and embracing arms. His thumb instinctively entered his mouth.

“You are a brave lad indeed, but also sweet and loving and so precious. My son!” Darcy whispered fiercely, hands caressing firmly over the tender flesh that comprised his firstborn and heir. “I love you with all my heart, Alexander.”

“I lub you too, Papa,” he mumbled around his thumb.

Darcy closed his eyes so that other senses would dominate. He felt Alexander’s fast beating heart, the heat from the tiny body, the muscles tough but pliantly melting onto his torso, and the steady and deep respirations that tickled his neck. He relished the sensation of Alexander’s jaw movements against his left shoulder with each rhythmic suck on the thumb and the plump fingers that stroked the hair by his ear and the linen of his shirt. The springy curls tickled Darcy’s nose pleasantly with each breath, the incredible silkiness comforting as he placed gentle kisses onto the youngster’s head. The hardy two-year-old was so vibrant and alive, his energy nearly inexhaustible and health superb. His presence in their lives was a constant fount of joy and Darcy loved him with a love that was different than what he felt for Elizabeth, but no less powerful.

He squeezed him tightly, Alexander wiggling and giggling. “Papa! Squeezing my air out!”

Darcy gave another noisy kiss before loosening his grip. Alexander lifted, bright blue eyes meeting his father’s worshipful gaze just inches away. “Time for sleep, Son. Tomorrow is an important day for Aunt Kitty and you must again wear your suit.” Darcy smiled at the frown that fact elicited. “It shan’t be too horrible. And remember, you and your cousin Deborah get to spread flowers. Will that not be fun?” Alexander nodded, although his expression was one of dubiousness. “Now, kiss?” Alexander brightened, inclining to the pursed lips and giving a firm kiss accompanied by a loud, playful mwah.

Darcy launched upward abruptly. Alexander shrieked in delight, the noise and movement alerting Lizzy that her two favorite men approached.

“Bedtime for sleepy boys,” Darcy said with a smile, placing Alexander on the ground. “Is Michael satiated?”