Lizzy laughed at the vision educed, hugging her husband's arm. “Oh, William! You are a priceless treasure! I love you so.”

He grinned, kissing the tip of her nose. “Excellent news that is! Now, I must talk to Mrs. Reynolds. My curiosity is raging.” He rose and rang for the housekeeper, who arrived moments later with eyes downcast and a mild flush to her dear cheeks.

“Sir,” she began, “please forgive the deception with Mrs. Darcy…”

“Do not be ridiculous, Mrs. Reynolds, it is of no moment. Tell me what you know of this romance. How long has it been in the works?”

Lizzy sat on the sofa, listening to the tale and observing Darcy's avid face with a rising humor. What an old gossip monger he is! she realized, though, that it was not so much a desire for juicy gossip as it was an honest affection for his servant and interest in his well-being. Quite touching, actually.

According to Mrs. Reynolds, Marguerite had set her sights on a fortunate but utterly unsuspecting Samuel immediately upon entering the house. With careful and circumspect deliberation, she stalked her prey and snared her prize. None of the staff had any notion of the budding romance, the two cautious in the extreme and intensely private. Samuel's only true friends amongst the staff are the footmen Phillips and Watson. Marguerite's only confidante has been Miss Jameson, the still-maid, the two having developed a close bond. Mrs. Reynolds herself was completely unaware of the two personal servants being more than casual acquaintances until four days ago! Now the entire staff knew, the engagement having officially been proposed and accepted a week ago, and all were delighted if tremendously shocked.

Darcy had vacationed at the Lake District of County Cumbria twice in his life, so he was acquainted with the area somewhat. He and Mr. Keith sat down that afternoon and set the plans in motion for both the honeymoon of Samuel and Marguerite and the vacation of the Darcys. Lizzy left the men to their plotting, rejoining the ladies in her parlor for tea. Some three hours later the group of chattering females, accompanied by Colonel Fitzwilliam and Dr. Penaflor, returned to the manor having taken a leisurely and entertaining stroll about the grounds. They were greeted on the southern terrace by a reclining Dr. Darcy, attired today in an Indian kurta of deepest blue with swirls of fuchsia, book in hand. Lizzy had readily discovered that Darcy's uncle boasted an identical love of books as his nephew, happily ensconced in the Darcy House and Pemberley libraries for hours unending as he thoroughly examined the shelves for anything new.

“New books can be very difficult to attain while rambling through the far reaches of the Indian countryside,” he had told Lizzy, “I think I visit home as much to obtain fresh reading material as to see family and friends!”

“How was the walk?” he inquired now, peering at Miss de Bourgh with a smile. “Why Miss Anne, you have rosy cheeks and are perspiring so delightfully! How wonderful.”

Anne blushed further, but met his direct gaze. “Dr. Darcy, we walked all the way to the stone arch and around the lily pond. It was invigorating and I feel marvelous, thanks to you and Dr. Penaflor.” She glanced to the beaming Spaniard with an easy smile. “However, I must say I am vaguely fatigued and thirsty.”

Lizzy started to speak but George jumped up from his chair with a lurch, bony frame towering over all of them, and offered his arm to Miss Anne. “This can be arranged! Lemonade all around,” he declared, ushering them into the hall by sheer force of presence.

There they encounter further evidence of the power emanating naturally from the Darcy men by the appearance of the Master of Pemberley. Walking sedately, yet with a coiled energy and dominating deportment, Darcy approached with a wide smile and barely contained vibrancy, eyes sweeping the crowd but alighting on Elizabeth.

“Ladies, gentlemen,” he said as he bowed, “How was your walk?” He spoke calmly, but Lizzy could detect the scantily regulated ebullience to his tone. Praise burst forth on the plethora of virtues to be found on the landscape of Pemberley, Darcy nodding and offering his thanks as expected. Nevertheless, his impatient gaze repeatedly returned to his wife, Lizzy clearly deducing he wished to share some news of import but having no clue as to the direction. Finally, the proper pleasantries completed, Darcy extended his hand to Lizzy. “If I may be so bold as to claim my wife for a brief interval, thus divesting her enchanting company from the assemblage. I promise to return her forthwith to further charm you all with her witty conversation.”

Once out of earshot and ascending the stairs, Lizzy said, “Quite the charming speech, beloved. Where are we going? Or is that a redundant question?” She grinned impishly and Darcy laughed.

“Later, my lover, later. You quite exhausted and satisfied me this morning. I shall likely not be up to the task for several days.”

“Ha! Unlikely that! You, Mr. Darcy, are insatiable.”

“Not insatiable, my Elizabeth, merely in passionate love with the most beautiful creature in the entire world.” He paused on the stairs to kiss her chastely, resuming their climb. “Actually, at this particular moment my thoughts are on the end product of our love. I am escorting you to the nursery.”

Crossing into the chamber that Lizzy still persisted in thinking of as Darcy's mother's, they entered the nursery. Darcy was grinning with undisguised excitement. Several boxes marked “baby items” were scattered about the room among large sheet draped pieces of furniture. In the middle of the floor, resting on a canvas tarp spotted with drips of paint and varnish, sat a cradle of hard English oak. The cradle was big, elaborately scrolled with etchings of trailing ivy along the side railing and an incredible carving of a horse, naturally, gracing the head panel and the Darcy family crest on the footboard. The entire cradle had been freshly stained, varnished, and polished to a high gloss. It was exquisite, the workmanship unparalleled.

“It is still wet, my love, so you cannot touch it, but what do you think? Do you like it?” He was staring into her face with puzzlement, Lizzy displaying a mingled expression of appreciative awe and faint fright. “It has been in the family for generations, carved and constructed by a distant grandfather from an oak cut down in Pemberley's forest. However, if you do not like it we can purchase a new one.”

“No, no, William! I love it, truly. It is astoundingly beautiful and I am overwhelmed. It is just,” she paused and swallowed, looking into Darcy's anxious eyes with her own teary ones, continuing in a whisper, “in my dream of you with our son, this cradle was there! I remember the horse and beveled rails, although it was lighter in color. I know I told you how real the dream, like a premonition or message, and I do feel certain in my soul we are having a boy, yet this…”

Darcy smiled and laughed, enfolding her into his arms and kissing the top of her head. “I assured you before that I did not warrant you insane and I still do not. Nor do I reckon you are suddenly a soothsayer.” He cupped her face. “Undoubtedly your unconscious mind recalled the cradle, as it has appeared in several portraits in the Hall. Particular heirlooms have a tendency to do that. For instance,” he pulled away and stepped to one of the sheet covered bulks, tugging an edge to reveal an equally exquisitely sculpted rocking chair, “Was this what my dream-self sat on?”

Lizzy nodded an affirmative, relief washing over her countenance. She moved to his side, touching the fabulous chair. Darcy stroked her back. “Sit on it, love. I want to envision you there with our baby.” He spoke huskily and Lizzy glanced up at his tender face, smiling as she did his bidding. The chair was sturdy, comfortably structured with armrests at the perfect level for holding a baby to one's breast, curved support for the lower back, and a seat worn smooth by generations of Darcy mothers. Lizzy rocked slowly, caressing palms over the wide armrests while gazing at the shining cradle, touched anew by the significance to being part of a lineage with such a wealth of history. Happiness and peace consumed her soul, enhanced by a sense of intense pride for the family she was now indelibly a part of.

Darcy knelt before her and placed one broad hand over her belly, the other grasping her hand, entwining her delicate fingers with his long, mildly calloused but elegant ones. It was then that Lizzy noticed the stains on Darcy's generally pristine fingers.

“You painted the cradle yourself?” she asked in surprise.

Darcy smiled and arched a brow. “Of course! Do you think I would allow anyone else to touch the bed my son shall lay on? Or perhaps you are merely amazed at how competent I am?” he teased, leaning in to kiss her soft lips. “You may be surprised, my dearest, at how diverse my talents.” Lizzy laughed and hugged him tight.

Chapter Nineteen

A Picnic at Rowan Lake

Lizzy woke the following day—the day before the Summer Festival—earlier than she normally would have, although it was well after the dawning sun had rose enough to blaze through the cracks in the curtains. Darcy was soundly asleep, which was unusual at this late hour, but he had been a busy man yesterday. Upon returning to the parlor from the nursery, Lizzy and Darcy discovered Bingley returned from the Hasberry Estate and clustered with the men around the liquor cabinet, all of them sipping slowly on small tumblers of whiskey. Colonel Fitzwilliam suggested riding for a spell before dinner and the idea was greeted with enthusiasm, the men simply waiting for Darcy's reappearance. Therefore, Darcy shortly found himself again on Parsifal's back—not that he was in the least dismayed—and exercising for another two hours, albeit not as vigorously as his morning horseback excursion. Between his long day of riding, working on the cradle, managing Pemberley affairs in his study, and the evening in the game room with the gents, he was exhausted when finally crawling into bed beside his slumbering wife.

Now, he lay slightly curled next to Lizzy, clutching her arm and hand with hot breath tickling her neck and shoulder. It was the combination of his radiant warmth seeping into her skin and the fact that his head and shoulders were painfully trapping her hair that woke her. Darcy was a furnace while sleeping, a delight in the winter but rather annoying at times in the summer, especially lately as Lizzy noted her own internal temperature rising. The book said this was a common occurrence while pregnant, but it certainly made sleeping next to an inferno intent on snuggling difficult. Body dripping with sweat, Lizzy realized that she had been subconsciously attempting to pull away from her husband but could not due to the bulk of her long tresses being secured under the mass of muscular flesh comprising his torso.

As usual, he had thrown all the covers off his body, unknowingly landing them on top of his wife, adding to her burning distress. Lizzy rapidly discarded the coverlet, baring her flesh to the slightly cooler air of the room. It helped a little, and as long as she did not move away, her hair did not pull her scalp. With no real choice in the matter, Lizzy turned toward her comatose spouse, gently grabbed a shoulder, and shoved. He rolled onto his back with a grunt, mumbled something unintelligible, sighed deeply, and remained asleep. Finally free, Lizzy dashed to the windows and opened them wide.

She stood naked in front of the last window, allowing the cool breeze from the hills to wave over her skin, drying the perspiration, and lowering her temperature. The first few times she had seen her husband—who had not the slightest embarrassment about baring his flesh in the privacy of his quarters—positioned in front of the open window gazing at the landscape, Lizzy had blanched in shock. Darcy had laughed at her scolding, reminding her that, at three complete stories above the ground on this side and no other buildings in sight, a peeper would be in plain view on the field below and need binoculars to see into the window.

Long over her trepidation, Lizzy leaned against the edge and fingered the white chiffon curtain as her mind wandered. The Festival was tomorrow and all the plans were laid. Today the additional workers would be arriving to prepare the feast and begin setting up the pavilions, tables, and orchestra stand. Later today the musicians and other performers would be descending. In light of the chaos that would reign throughout the day, all of which would be handled skillfully by the Pemberley staff, Lizzy decided that it would be wise and fun to vacate the premises. Therefore, she had planned a picnic.