For the four-block walk to the Grosvenor Gate to Hyde Park, Alexander was carried on George’s shoulders while Darcy held a squirming Michael, the infant refusing to sit calmly in his pram. Crowds of families were already gathered throughout the enormous park, blankets and shading canopies or pavilions haphazardly dotting the areas not designated for games.

The recognizable blue canvases belonging to the Vernors stretched between tall poles, shading the rugs spread over the damp ground on a level field preselected at the base of a knoll near the lake. Some of their friends had already arrived, the adults busily setting out food and eating utensils while the children played and formed instant friendships with every other child in the near vicinity.

Richard greeted them midway down the grass-covered slope, taking the basket of food and eggs from Georgiana’s hands as he teased, “We thought you had forgotten the way! Or been attacked by a horde of hungry egg bandits. It is a mania, I declare. Why, Oliver has eaten a dozen already!”

“I have eaten two, Father, whereas you have eaten three and would have done another if Mother had not slapped your hand.” The son of Lady Simone’s first husband, now Lord Fotherby although not appearing particularly lordly with his sallow complexion and stumped posture, smiled fondly at his stepfather before turning to greet the new arrivals and take Lizzy’s basket.

“Oliver can eat all the eggs he desires, or anything else for that matter.” Simone’s voice was light as she gazed at her stepson, only the barest hint of anxiety noticeable. Oliver despised references to his illness or public expressions of pity, bravely and stubbornly refusing to succumb to weakness. “You, however, must wait until the food is properly served,” she finished, poking her husband in the upper arm.

“Brutality, I say,” Richard said, rubbing his arm as if wounded. “The definition of a picnic is to pick at the food when one feels the urge. Back me up on this, Darcy.”

“I am not about to argue with the mandates of your wife, Cousin. You are on your own.”

“Traitor.”

“I doubt you shall starve, Richard. Harry”—Lizzy turned to Simone’s nine-year-old when they reached the picnic area—“would you please take Alexander and Ethan to join the Sitwell and Fitzherbert boys? Thank you, dear.”

“And please take Fiona as well,” Amelia Lathrop added, plopping her two-year-old into Harry’s arms. Fiona screamed and kicked her legs, poor Harry recoiling from flailing limbs while trying to hold on. “Oh bother! Let the wee tiger down, Harry boy. She can run with the laddies for a spell until Mrs. Daniels arrives with her lasses, not that my Fiona will sit and play with dolls for more than five minutes, heaven bless her.”

“Perhaps she will mellow with maturity, Amelia, especially if your baby is a girl.”

“I am guessing she will corrupt the new bairn ere she learns to crawl. Or more likely it will be a male child as filled with the devil as she is!” Amelia caressed over her belly, shaking her head as she smiled.

“We need to add a few more girls to this generation. Deborah, Claudia, Fiona, and my Abigail are vastly outnumbered.” Marilyn Hughes glanced at the pram where her baby slept. “They are doomed to be ruffians just to survive with all these boys. You two do your best to save our sweet girls from that tragedy!”

She nodded toward the expectant mothers Amelia Lathrop and Harriet Vernor, the latter touching her distended abdomen. “Third time lucky, let us pray. A baby girl would be most welcome to soften up my own ruffians. Stuart and Spencer would benefit from a female touch.”

“I daresay the future will include plenty of opportunities for female babies.”

“Are you slyly imparting momentous news, Julia?”

Julia Sitwell laughed, shaking her head vigorously. “Merciful heavens, no! Austin is not yet weaned, please God grant me a reprieve! Besides, after four boys I have accepted the fact that we can only produce male offspring, so would look for no assistance from me. I was merely pointed out that collectively we appear far from finished in creating English citizens.”

“I can promise to do all in my power to ensure the future of our great land,” Richard offered, smiling at his wife, who blushed and ducked her head. “Mr. and Mrs. Darcy are diligently attending to the task and those who are not yet married will eventually do their duty to God and country.” He nodded toward Georgiana, who through the entire exchange had been scanning the shifting sea of bodies beyond their group. “Searching for anyone in particular, Georgie?”

Georgiana started at Richard’s question, reddening at his knowing smirk, but answered calmly, “I was looking to see if the Daniels were amongst the people approaching. Not yet, but I do see Lord and Lady Blaisdale. He does stand out in the crowd to be sure.”

“Caroline is fairly easy to spot as well,” Charles said with a laugh. “The curse of being red-haired, not that you can see her hair with that ridiculous hat. Heavens! She has an entire garden on her head!”

The former Caroline Bingley, now the Countess of Blaisdale since marriage to Lord Blaisdale after a surprising and brief engagement two years ago, wore a gown of daffodil yellow—not the most flattering color for her—that was nevertheless of the latest fashion and richest fabrics with an elaborate, and enormous, Easter hat adorned with real flowers. The tranquility of spirit and softened attitude seen in smaller, private milieus since her satisfactory marriage and the birth of her son disappeared when in the public arena. Caroline’s air of superiority had only increased with her elevated rank, as had her other annoying habits. Her current costume proved the point, as did the first words out of her mouth.

“Charles, I do hope our blankets are on a flat patch of ground and the canvas generous enough to adequately cover. I cannot allow the sun to color my son’s face.” She pointedly glanced to the rosy-cheeked and tanned Ethan and Alexander, who were playing tag with the other equally brown and sweaty children, Dr. Darcy dashing among. “Nor can my fair skin tolerate these fierce rays. Jane, dear, adjust your bonnet brim before you burn. Sun-darkened skin is vulgar.”

“I have always preferred a healthy flush upon a woman’s cheeks,” Darcy interjected urbanely, “but have no fear, Caroline. We have these two large tented areas in a perfect location to observe the children during their games, and that smaller pavilion is for the babies. Will you be assisting young John hunt eggs? Several will be placed in plain view for the younger children to easily pick up.”

“Lady Blaisdale,” the Earl responded with emphasis, “will stay covered. Our nurse will lead John, although why a one-year-old needs to grab eggs off the grass is beyond my comprehension.”

“You will be pleasantly surprised then, my lord, to see how delighted even the youngest are at finding hidden eggs and watching them roll down the slope. It is a joy, I assure you.”

He smiled faintly, green eyes doubtful. “I shall take your word for it, Mrs. Darcy, and hope I am delighted by the spectacle.”

“Speaking of spectacles,” Richard murmured, nudging Darcy and grinning.

George joined them, long limbs effortlessly crossing the field in a handful of strides. “If I could bottle the mysterious elixir that bestows unlimited energy to children I would be a rich man.”

“You are a rich man.”

“True, Colonel, true. But then I would live far longer and have more stamina to enjoy those riches! Lord and Lady Blaisdale”—he bowed—“welcome to our intimate Easter gathering. We attempted to rent the entire park for ourselves but alas the crown would not comply. I see Master Clay-Powell is anxious to exhibit his dose of childish vigor.”

Caroline turned toward the trailing nurse, her face softening at the wiggling impatience of her son, who was frantically trying to escape the woman’s firm hold. Even the icy Lord Blaisdale chuckled under his breath.

“Poor dear!” Lizzy laughed, linking her arm with Caroline’s and gesturing toward the tent. “We have the babies together, Caroline. Come, let’s sit in the shade and drink our cool tea while the young ones exhaust themselves. Tell me, how long has John been walking?”

The antics of the children occupied the bulk of the afternoon. All jesting aside, the number of offspring just from the couples in some way related to Darcy and Elizabeth numbered over twenty! Oliver Pomeroy, the Earl of Fotherby, was the eldest at seventeen, and probably would not have been considered in the list of children if not for his frail, immature appearance and delight in playing the games with them. The remainder ranged from ten years to infancy, all but the tiniest joining other children in the park to partake of the varied entertainments.

Every parent, relative, and nanny lent a hand in supervising the fun and controlling the army of younglings hunting, rolling, and cracking eggs in an assortment of games. Eventually the bunnies brought as a traditional part of Easter celebrations circulated to their section, the children freshly squealing in glee at the sight of rabbits jumping and frolicking in the grass. A few found new homes, including a fluffy gray one that Alexander fell in love with and who evoked a string of babbled ba-ba-bas from Michael. Darcy was not so sure about Lizzy’s insistence that he was trying to say “bunny,” but the animal was cute and the boys so enamored that he saw no reason to deny them another pet to add to the menagerie already at Pemberley.

As the sun crept toward the horizon, tired tempers flared and irritable cries grew more prevalent. Then Deborah Daniels stopped mid-step, crumpling into a heap onto the grass soundly asleep with thumb in mouth, leaving no doubt it was time to retire to Darcy House!

The Easter week festivities of 1820 ended minutes before midnight when Darcy bid farewell to Gerald Vernor and Albert Hughes after winning the last billiards game. He joined his sleeping wife in bed, the beautiful and fragrant white lilies not put to use that night, and his sleep was not darkened by unpleasant dreams. Attentiveness to any possible threat was instinctual, so he was not lax during the week. Yet the best diligence in the world may not successfully halt a threat that comes from within.

***Geoffrey, Come tonight at ten o’clock while they are distracted by guests. I shall leave the gate unlocked. Prudence

With an evil grin marring his handsome face, the reader of the hastily scribbled note reached for the candle, applied the flame to the scrap of paper, and watched as it caught fire and burned down to ash.

It is almost too easy, and exceedingly pleasurable, he thought.

He sat back in the hard, wooden chair, eyes staring sightlessly at the roughly hewn wooden rafters of his rented rooms. Clamor from the streets bustling with Easter revelers drifted to his ears, but he paid no heed. His thoughts were consumed with weightier musings.

For too long he had been thwarted in improving his prospects and gaining the respectability he was due. His charm and education gave him an advantage for periods of time, but inevitably something went amiss. Numerous times he came close to winning fortunes while gambling or in a business proposition. His military career had crumbled and prestigious employment eluded him.

The source of all his woes traced directly to Fitzwilliam Darcy.

George Wickham grabbed the bottle of wine, lifting it into the air as if toasting. “To Darcy, my former playmate once as close as a brother. Soon you will be repaid for your envy of me and the spiteful treatment in the wake of your father’s death.”

He drank deeply while thinking of the past and the future.

While Darcy inherited Pemberley and everything that came with the estate, Wickham was purposefully thwarted and left to rot in mean conditions. Darcy seemed protected by angels, increasing in affluence and felicity, whereas Wickham grew despondent. His hatred grew exponentially with the disappointments.

After his discharge from the army, he wandered aimlessly and accepted any available job that provided for their needs. Oddly his only contentment was Lydia. She was a receptive wife, easily controllable and willing to do his bidding as long as he reaffirmed his undying love thirty times a day. Her housekeeping skills were nonexistent, but her personality did entertain and lighten his mood. Mostly she was as sexually insatiable as he, so the need to seek pleasure elsewhere did not drain their fragile finances.