But for now the toddler was only interested in picnics and play at the park. His parents followed him to the foyer, his piping voice nonstop in expressing his enthusiasm. George scooped him up, playfully planting his large hand over the child’s mouth.

“Uncle Goj!” He exclaimed as soon as his mouth was freed. “You smashing my bread! How duckies eat them now?”

George rolled his eyes and then winked at Lizzy and Darcy, the group chatty as they filed onto the street and into the parked carriage.

The short drive south on Park Lane to the Hyde Park Corner entrance on Knightsbridge took longer than typical due to heavy traffic. It was a gorgeous day in April with crowds of merrymakers taking advantage of the placid temperatures in dozens of outdoor pursuits, carriages and horses and pedestrians vying for space on the walkways and avenues. The sun shone brightly, but a steady breeze off the Thames cooled the air. Scattered white puffy clouds offered breaks in the sun’s direct intensity and created interesting shadows along the ground.

The intriguing combination of shadow and clouds fascinated Alexander and finally halted his tongue. From his perch on Uncle Goj’s lap, he could study the patterns formed by the cottony clouds high in the azure sky and the silhouettes moving over the land. Darcy kept a close eye on Lizzy, but she appeared perfectly fine as she sat beside him chatting with Georgiana, who sat across holding a wiggling Michael and next to George with his sedate burden.

The ladies fluttered fans, but more out of habit and to keep the dust away from faces sheltered by wide bonnet brims. It was tolerably warm and the open calash permitted the gentle wind to waft over their bodies. George, of course, was attired in a flowing Indian garment of lightest silk, pale blue with edgings in navy that accented his sapphire eyes. His head was hatless in defiance of proper fashion, and a flashily embroidered and beaded pair of new juttis adorned his long feet. The cut left most of his upper feet bare, Darcy frowning upon seeing the scandalous footwear, but George just grinned and wore them anyway.

Lizzy and Georgiana were gowned in dresses of finely woven muslin as thin and loose as modesty would allow. Georgiana’s was dandelion yellow with lacy sleeves capped upon her shoulders. Lizzy was similarly clothed, her gown a fallow-brown trimmed in copper with layered half-sleeves. Their wrist-height gloves were netted for ventilation, leaving the greater part of their arms bare and unprotected except for the matching shawls currently bunched at their elbows. Fashionably protecting their fair faces from the harshest rays of the sun were brimmed hats strategically placed to shield while also accenting elaborate coiffures and jewels.

Darcy, naturally, was resplendent and every inch the dashing English gentleman. From his tall, felted beaver hat to the tips of his polished, mid-calf Wellington boots, he oozed 1820 style. Although he did own a large collection of longer trousers and pantaloons, Darcy still preferred breeches, today wearing a calf-length pair of beige nankeen precisely tailored for his muscular lower body and tucked with barely a wrinkle into the tops of his black boots. His brown-and-gray-striped waistcoat and jacket of Prussian blue were sewn from lightweight kerseymere, the lacy white cravat tied elaborately but loose, all designed to withstand the soaring heat and humidity of a London summer.

As usual, it was his professional valet who selected the day’s attire, Darcy rarely having an opinion on the subject. Samuel was well aware of the societal nuances in dress and accoutrements that were essential for the various meetings, activities, and places that filled Mr. Darcy’s schedule, knowing it better than Darcy did. Today he had decided that, although still April and the average temperatures not rising to drastic levels, his Master would be worried over his family and thus would need to be comfortable. Of course, Darcy did not know this was Samuel’s reasoning, simply donning the individual garments with barely a glance. His only disagreement was on wearing gloves or taking a walking stick. He did not care for the ridiculous affectation of a dandified cane when he was perfectly capable of walking unassisted and he also wished to keep his hands bare and unencumbered so he could delight in the touch of his wife and sons.

He reached across to rescue the increasingly rambunctious Michael from Georgiana’s questionable grasp. She smiled her thanks, but otherwise maintained the steady prattling conversation with Elizabeth. Lizzy’s cheeks were rosy and eyes alit with delight as they turned onto the spacious access through the massive gates at the corner entrance to Hyde Park.

The King’s Road, built by William III in 1690 as a direct route between Kensington Palace and St. James’s Palace, was one of several carriageways cutting through the enormous royal park, but it was by far the largest and most popular. It was broad enough to easily accommodate three carriages abreast, thickly paved with a sea of coarse gravel from the Thames, and lined with manicured lawns, hedges, and footpaths. With over three hundred lamps positioned to illuminate the thoroughfare at night, this avenue held the distinction of being the first in the country to be artificially lit, a fact Londoners were proud of. Officially named The King’s Road, the corruption of the French “Route de Roi” led to the more common, humorous name of Rotten Row. Of course, there was nothing “rotten” about it, the avenue pristinely maintained and scenic with a stunning view of the Serpentine’s glittering blue waters through the trees and bushes to the north.

The fine carriage emblazoned with the Darcy crest was admitted to Hyde Park, the guard nodding briefly to the driver. The true “fashionable hour” for promenading and flirting would not be until later in the afternoon, but at this earlier part of the day, Rotten Row was far from empty. Several equally fine carriages were making their way west along the avenue, mixing in with the dozens of pedestrians and equestrians roaming up and down the graveled track. The clamor of hooves, wheels, and raised voices was intense, even with the relative sparsity in noontime visitors. Lizzy and Georgiana began waving at people they knew, Darcy nodding sedately as well, but the driver did not halt. Under orders from Mr. Darcy to proceed west until signaled to stop, he urged the horses at a stately pace.

They traveled roughly a mile, slowing for occasional brief conversations with known acquaintances either mounted on magnificent steeds or reclining in opulent carriages. Finally, when nearing a grouping of tall cedars and a bubbling fountain near a diverging footpath, Darcy addressed the driver and instructed him to halt. It was here that the occupants disembarked for their exercise.

The Darcy House footman jumped down to open the calash doors and then turned to assist Mrs. Hanford from her perch next to the driver. The perambulator was untied from the rear footboard and a protesting Michael secured inside the cushioned bed with a wide, leather strap spanning the opening. Darcy had been forced to emergently fashion a restraint for the small baby carriage two days before they departed Pemberley, after Michael exploded in a fit of temper while strolling with his parents and brother through the private garden. He had dropped his favorite toy, a ring of metal keys that clanged so beautifully when shook, arching his back and kicking his legs so violently that it was only Darcy’s swift reflexes that saved the contorting infant from tumbling to the pebbled pathway. It was an incident that had never remotely occurred with Alexander, taking both parents utterly by surprise. The agitated father had marched into the stable yard and enlisted the aid of the mechanical wizard Stan in the project. So far the shackle was working fairly well to keep Michael in place, but Darcy remained vigilant.

“Calm down, you rascal!” Darcy knelt by the pram, tucking the folded blankets and padding around his irate son, propping him safely so he could see over the edge without escaping. “Here are your keys and your rattles. Elizabeth, do we have one of those biscuits he loves? Excellent. Here you are, sweet. Yum. There, much better, yes? Now can we take our walk? So many pretty flowers and people to capture your attention. Let us pray, that is.” He leaned to kiss the soft forehead, wiping the tears off the ruddy cheeks. Michael gnawed on the hard cookie and reached one hand toward the beloved face of his father. Darcy snatched the chubby fingers between his lips, nibbling until Michael erupted in bubbling giggles.

“And what, pray tell, will you do when he begins to walk? Put him on a leash?”

Darcy glanced upward into the grinning face of his cousin Richard, a smiling Lady Simone on his arm. “I certainly hope such a drastic step will not be necessary, but with this one I may have no option.” He smiled at his son, bestowing another kiss before rising. “Glad you could join us, Cousin. Lady Simone.” He bowed. “A delight to see you. You are well, I trust?”

“Quite well, Mr. Darcy. Thank you. Elizabeth, you look especially radiant. I was so worried for you.”

“Thank you, Simone. I am fully restored, partially due to your husband’s efforts. I have not had the opportunity to thank you properly, dearest Richard.” Lizzy reached to take his hands, squeezing firmly.

“Please, Elizabeth, you shall embarrass me!” Darcy coughed at that ridiculous statement, the colonel ignoring him. “I was delighted to be of service. Besides, your husband needed me to watch his back. Pathetically inept without me to take care of him.”

She shook her head, face serious. “I shall not allow you to jest or make light. I know what you did for us, and I can never adequately express my appreciation. If not for you, your associates, and your intervention, we may not be here. And William could have been…”

She choked on the words, lowering her head to compose her emotions. Darcy touched her lightly on the small of her back, a tender caress as he spoke into the unsettling moment. “Mr. and Mrs. Bingley approach, dearest. Alexander, run and greet your cousin Ethan.”

Lizzy smiled, her emotions again in check as she scanned the group of people milling about the lawn. She looked up at her serene spouse. “I see you have indeed invited everyone we know to join our excursion to Hyde Park.”

“I may have mentioned it to one or two people. How they chose to spend their time is outside my purview.”

Lizzy laughed at his bland statement and squeezed his arm once before joining Simone to accost her sister. The women welcomed each other, voices musical as they ambled the trail leading toward the river’s edge where the blankets were spread. Lizzy’s joy in the out-of-doors was evident to her husband, who turned a carefree face toward Bingley as he neared.

“Elizabeth appears her usual lively self,” Bingley noted, inclining his head to George and Richard in greeting, “and the weather today is perfection for a picnic. Grand idea, Darcy. We have the tents erected and enough food to feed half of London.”

“That is unlikely once I eat my fill.”

“We considered your attendance, Dr. Darcy, and have provided accordingly,” Bingley countered with a wink to his friend.

The four gentlemen assumed a knot trailing leisurely behind the ladies with the children and nannies in between. They exchanged pleasantries for several minutes until Darcy touched Richard’s sleeve, pausing in his steps.

“What is the verdict from Newgate?” he asked, eyes intent upon his skipping son.

“Guilty, all of them, on numerous charges. As pathetic as they were as guards, each one of them possessed histories of crimes that continued to grow with further investigation. In the end, my brilliantly fabricated story was irrelevant. Rather disappointing in a way, but I am glad to see it done. Frankly, I am weary of remembering the night, as exciting as it was in some respects.”

Darcy frowned, but George chuckled. “Rethinking your decision to retire, Colonel?”

Richard shook his head. “Not in the least. Domesticity fits me, I have discovered to my surprise.” George snorted humorously, Richard continuing with a laugh, “I have happily foregone tramping through blood and mud, as have you the jungles and deserts, all for the sake of a fine meal and warm bed. We are not so dissimilar, Dr. Darcy.”

“True, true.” George mourned.

“Surely there are no legal consequences, is there, Darcy?”

“No, Bingley. Mere formalities to appease the authorities. They only spoke with me once, and Colonel Fitzwilliam twice. Orman remains silent and his helpers are grossly ignorant and untrustworthy, so nothing damning there.”