In the Arms of Mr. Darcy

by Sharon Lathan

  “I think you know the answer to that question, my darling. Come back to bed and let me warm you.” She hesitated, her face falling slightly as she glanced outside again before sighing and turning toward the welcoming bed and spouse. Darcy enfolded her, pulling down into the cushions, and covering with thick comforter and radiant body. He kissed her forehead, “Do not fret so. He will be bundled securely up to his eyeballs. No harm will come, I promise. He must travel beyond Pemberley sooner or later, and this is the appropriate occasion.”

  “I know,” she mumbled petulantly. “I just… worry.”

  Darcy smoothed the hair from her brow, kissing tenderly. “Focus instead on how precious he will look in his gown, fat rosy cheeks surrounded by lace, while we stand together at the altar with his godparents. This is a magnificent day! Be filled with only cheer, I beg you. I know for me it is a day I have longed for, for many years, one of the best days of my life after the day you married me.”

  “Of course you are correct. Thank you, love.” She smiled. “He will be absolutely adorable, to be sure. Oh, I just love him so much! And you too, my dear husband.” And she hugged him tightly, the lovers losing themselves in soft kisses and caresses until Alexander’s hunger overruled.

  ***

  “There, there, my darling. Hush now and do not be so vexed with your mama. You look absolutely adorable.”

  “I thought he had grown so big until now. That gown swallows him! No wonder you are irritated, my lamb.” Darcy bent to kiss the flushed cheek of his fussing son, securing waving hands. “Only for a short time must you endure. It is important, even if you do resemble a blob of meringue confection. Be strong, my son, as life is full of these travails and clothing is rarely comfortable.” Alexander had calmed somewhat at the resonant murmurings of his father, but additional wails were clearly bubbling under the surface.

  “Hold the skirts up so I can find his feet. Thank you. I should have placed the stockings and slippers on first. Oh, there he goes! Ticklish feet. Talk to him before he loses all control and wrinkles the material beyond repair.”

  Darcy bent again to croon placatingly into a tiny ear while Lizzy finished the difficult task of placing small garments on a flailing limb. Mrs. Hanford stood nearby with the bonnet and silver cross in hand, smiling at the scene. Alexander was well fed and wishing to fall asleep as was typical, but instead was being subjected to the horrors of dressing in a lace encrusted gown with dozens of buttons that had required him to lie on his abdomen for far too long. At least now he was on his back, so all the surroundings, including the two beloved adults who cared for him so devotedly, could be visualized in the appropriate perspective.

  “It is understandable, my sweet, cry if you must. I cannot say that I blame you, as you do look rather ridiculous…”

  “William! He does not! He is adorable.”

  “He looks like a girl or a doll all smothered in satin and lace. I cannot believe I ever had to wear this frippery, but traditions must be adhered to. Yes, that is the way of life, my son, lesson number two after the revelation is that clothing is generally uncomfortable.” He nibbled on Alexander’s neck, whose slow crying was replaced with baby giggles.

  “I am sure you were equally adorable in this gown, although you would have filled it out better, since you weighed nearly two pounds heavier than Alexander at birth. Your poor mother.”

  The christening gown currently disturbing Alexander had been sewn by Anne Darcy during her first pregnancy, expressly to be worn by the Heir to Pemberley. When that first child had ended up being a girl, Alexandria, she had instead been christened in the gown worn by her mother, the far more elaborate gown packed away until Fitzwilliam was christened.

  Initially, Lizzy had imagined sewing a gown as well, but the plain reality was that she was not very skilled with a needle, especially when dealing with fragile fabrics. While in London she had examined several readymade garments, considered purchasing one that she liked, but was too embarrassed to do so. Darcy would laugh at her later when she finally confessed that she was ashamed to admit her deficiency to him. As sentimental as Darcy tended to be in many respects, he honestly could care less what his child wore during the baptism ceremony. It was only upon one of his excursions through the stacks of boxes stored in the attic that the resolution presented itself: the gown worn by him and sewn by his mother, discovered among the stacked boxes of memorabilia.

  “Finished!” Lizzy gently patted the silver cross lying square on Alexander’s chest. “He is perfect.”

  “Yes, he is.”

  Alexander was finally succumbing to the draw of infant slumber, allowing the donning of bonnet and pendant to proceed with minimal pique. He was resplendent. Wispy chestnut curls escaped the lacy edges of the bonnet, framing his round face and accenting the alabaster fairness of his skin. Pudgy body encased in flowing white lace and satin with the train extending well beyond his leather slippered feet and cascading over the side of the dresser. Darcy had jokily added a daub of his cologne, declaring that Alexander needed a dose of manliness to augment the bold pendant in counteracting the frilly gown.

  “Are we ready then?” Mrs. Hanford asked. She held the blanket, a thick one of bleached spun wool trimmed with lace and ribbon.

  Lizzy nodded. Darcy lifted his sleeping son carefully so as not to startle, while Lizzy assisted with arranging the gown. The trio of adults, all dressed in fine garments for the momentous event, gingerly made their way to the main parlor where their friends and family awaited. Everyone was there dressed in his or her Sunday best: Lord and Lady Matlock with Lady Montgomery and the Fitzwilliams, all four of the Vernors, the Hugheses, the entire Bennet clan and Mr. Daniels, the Gardiners, Colonel Fitzwilliam and Dr. Darcy, the three Bingleys and two Hursts, the senior staff members, and Georgiana.

  Quiet conversation drifted as all eagerly waited. A hush descended as the Darcys appeared on the threshold. Darcy wore a broad grin, happiness ebullient as he crossed to the three godparents.

  “This is it. Are you ready?” His answer was a trio of radiant smiles and affirmative nods in concert.

  Chapter Eight

  CHRISTENING

  As Lizzy had noted upon rising that morning, the sun was blazing in a brilliant cobalt, cloudless sky, bathing the earth in eye piercing sparkles reflecting off the banks of snow. Yet, despite the reality of a fierce sun, the air was only a few degrees above freezing. The faint rays of warmth able to radiate through the chill succeeded in melting the layered frozen flakes enough to edge the chapel’s eaves with glistening spikes of twisted icicles and provide background sounds of muffled drips from snow-laden trees.

  Bundled to his eyeballs, as promised by a protective father, Alexander was rosy-cheeked and red-nosed, but otherwise unfazed by his first excursion abroad. He slept through the entire short jaunt to the church, nestled in Darcy’s arms with Lizzy incessantly retucking the tightly wrapped blankets, only blinking and stretching briefly upon alighting from the carriage. Reverend Bertram assured that the wide drive and stone pathways leading to Pemberley’s quaint house of worship were scoured clean of every speck of ice. This allowed not only for safe passage, but also for an accumulated crowd of local citizens craning for a second glimpse of the young Master.

  Darcy undertook this event with the utmost seriousness. If there was one aspect of his existence he understood deep into the core of his being, it was the significance of this moment and the obligatory protocol associated. He was not about to allow several dozen people to touch or breath on his newborn son, nor subject him to the atmospheric elements for longer than absolutely necessary. So he turned to offer a hand to his wife, lent an arm to her dainty gloved hand, and imperiously walked into the brightly candlelit interior with nary a glance to either side. It was left to Mrs. Darcy to extend kind smiles to the onlookers.

  The front pews were reserved for the Darcy family and friends, some of whom were already seated. Reverend Bertram greeted from the inner narthex, bowing properly at the Darcys and ex
changing a short whispered conversation. His estimation that the modest chapel would be bursting at the seams with attendees proved to be inaccurate, but the seats were filled to a capacity not seen in many a year. Darcy submerged his emotions behind a composed façade, but he was profoundly moved by the devotion expressed in their participation.

  A hush fell over the previously talkative assembly as Mr. and Mrs. Darcy carried their son to the designated bench in the front row. The sanctuary was pleasantly warm due to the combined effects of thick stonewalls, a mass of bodies, and the four braziers burning coal in each corner. Lizzy gently worked to remove the woolen blankets, revealing Alexander in all his lacy satin glory. A ripple of whispered awe ran through the congregants. Lizzy and Darcy shared a private smile and loving glance, hearts swelling with immeasurable pride and happiness.

  Resplendent in his formal vestments, black cassock covered by a delicate white surplice and accented with a stunning cross of gold and green satin stole, Reverend Bertram stood in regal command behind the pulpit. The kindly face of the grey haired elderly gentleman shone upon each person equally, caring eyes touching every face. He signaled his wife, who sat at the five-year-old pianoforte which was a gift from their patron when the prior one grew impossible to tune adequately, and she applied competent fingertips to the ivory keys for the initial bars of “Come, and Let Us Sweetly Join” by Charles Wesley as the white robed choir entered to stand in their designated location.

  Alexander’s eyes opened as the first voices rose in song. With the serious expression typical of the weeks old infant, he gazed up at his father, who was concentrating on the choir, and quietly settled in to listen to the disembodied singing and cadenced music as it lifted, harmonized, and swirled about the chamber.

  The good reverend had long ago learned the necessity of keeping the introductory worship as short as feasible in hopes that infantile fortitude would persevere throughout the ritual itself. Even at that, there had been many a child whose wails nearly drowned out the verbalized blessings well before the assault with tepid water to a delicate forehead. Thus it was that as soon as the final strains of echoing music died, he lifted his hands and requested the congregation join him in prayer.

  With bowed head, Darcy listened to the invocation while smiling at the blue-eyed stare fixed on his face. One chubby hand was wrapped around his thumb, and it was no surprise when Lizzy’s soft hand crept over, fingers lacing and simultaneously caressing both husband and son.

  “Gentlemen and ladies of Pemberley Parish, welcome to this first Sunday of the year of our Lord eighteen hundred eighteen. Every day and every year granted to us by the gracious Hand of our merciful God is to be treasured and accepted as a gift. Nonetheless, there are certain days, certain years, and certain events that are marked as momentous. Supreme over all human celebrations are those that exalt our awesome Father, sacrificial Savior, and renewing Spirit. Yet, in the process of uplifting our hearts and minds in honoring and commemorating human occurrences, we are also reminded of the grace and mercy of the Creator of all. Today is such a day.”

  Reverend Bertram paused, eyes sweeping the assembly and resting lastly on the Darcys. He smiled, continuing in his ringing voice, “Of all the miracles we daily witness, second to the reawakening of a lost soul finding Christ is the miracle of a new life created in the union between two who love and are joined in the Holy State of Matrimony. Today, this Fourth day of January, we gather here in God’s sanctified House to welcome a new life. Further, it is our joy and honor to perform the sacred ritual that will set this innocent babe, born into sin and darkness, upon the true path of Light and forgiveness.

  “The Christening Sacrament, baptizing a soul in need of redemption, serves numerous functions. It is a welcoming of the child into the family, community, church, and the world. It is a formal blessing of the child, just as Jesus blessed the children in Mark chapter ten, verses thirteen to sixteen. It is a celebration of the life given, a life that is treasured and loved, a way to publicly thank God for this transcendent joy. It is to dedicate the child to God, vowing to raise him in the tenets of Christian faith. It is to purify by the washing of water, symbolically cleansing of the stain of Original Sin and imparting rebirth through Christ and the power of the Holy Spirit. It is a time of formal naming and presentation of the reborn Child of Christ to God and the parish community.

  “All of these functions are willingly and wholeheartedly entered into today by Mr. and Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy. With unification of purpose and free submission to God, they bring their first-born child, a son, before us now to receive the Sacrament. Mr. and Mrs. Darcy, if you will join me here with the godparents as well?”

  Darcy rose, heart surging with joy. Glancing to his misty-eyed wife, he fleetingly envied the societal custom that said it was acceptable for women to shed tears but not men! The five of them, with Alexander quietly awake from the comfortable position nestled against his papa’s solid chest, gathered next to Reverend Bertram on the elevated chancel where he now stood beside the baptismal font.

  Darcy stared into the beaming faces of each godparent, one by one meeting their eyes to convey an unspoken message of thankfulness and abiding affection. Jane Bingley, serene and beautiful in a pale yellow gown, golden locks shimmering in innumerable curls upon her head, cerulean blue eyes shining and brimming with steady love. Charles Bingley, stately in a tailored suit of brown, red hair gleaming in the sunrays through the high windows, eyes wide with lingering traces of amazement, but tender with eternal friendship. And lastly, George Darcy, resplendent in a modern suit of vivid blue with long fitted trousers and waistcoat of cream velvet, brown curls lying impishly over a high noble brow, dimpled and toothy grin extending to identical Darcy blue eyes with fathomless depths of compassion, twinkles of humor, and profound familial devotion.

  Darcy and Lizzy turned their attention to Reverend Bertram, confident in the certain knowledge that Alexander was to be perpetually surrounded by the best of souls.

  Reverend Bertram’s elderly but trained speaking voice rang out, easily reaching to the farthest ear and readily commanding the attention of the vigilant flock. “Loving parents, family, and friends, you have come to witness the dedication of this blessed child to God. Realizing that this baby is special because by his birthright he is a Child of God.”

  He turned to Darcy and Lizzy. “Mr. and Mrs. Darcy, your gift of love for each other made this child possible, and your guidance, wisdom, and love assures the happiness of this new life. May you remember to listen with your heart to the indwelling Christ as you nurture, love, and watch this loving Child of God grow into his divinely inspired potential. Do you receive this child as a gift from God?”

  In a clear voice they both responded, “Yes, we do.”

  “Do you wish to give thanks to God and receive His blessing?”

  “Yes, we do.”

  “Then let us pray. God our Creator, we thank you for the wonder and miracle of new life and for the mystery of human love. We thank you that we are known to you by name and loved by you from eternity past. We thank you for Jesus Christ who has shown us the way of love. Bless these parents that they may cherish their child. Make them wise, patient, and understanding to help him grow as he ought. Surround this family with the light of your truth and the warmth of your love. We praise you Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. Amen.”

  “Blessed be God forever,” the entire assembly intoned.

  “What name have you given to this child?”

  “Alexander William George Bennet Darcy,” carefully articulated in ringing tones by a proud father.

  “Who stands with you as persons of testified faith to offer their willing services as support in bringing Alexander to a conscious knowledge of Christ at the earliest possible age?”

  Each godparent answered by stating their names, Reverend Bertram then asking, “Do you vow to withhold the tenets of your faith, set an example of Christian life and behavior, do all within your power to maintain a lasting relationship
with Alexander and the Darcys, and be a support to them in the fulfillment of their vows until such time as God releases you when called home to Him?”

  “I do.”

  “I do.”

  “I do.”

  Lizzy was furtively dabbing at her teary eyes. She was afraid to look at Darcy, who she felt standing stiffly beside her; one glance at what she knew for certain was his patented rigid expression when overcome would surely send her over the emotional edge. She was correct, of course, as Darcy’s jaws were beginning to hurt from the tight grip he forced upon each muscle and bone. Alexander, in contrast, had accidentally wrapped his fingers around the ties to his bonnet and was happily ignoring all the drama about him in the delightful contemplation of flapping lace.

  In fact, he was noticeably more disturbed by the sudden interruption to his play when passed from the familiar location next to the strongly beating heart of his father into the strange arms of another man than by anything that had transpired thus far. The surprising motion caused his arms to flail and partially lose their clasp on the entertaining ribbons, and then to make matters worse, his mother leaned over and removed the bonnet entirely! The indignity and annoyance of it all was almost too much to bear and his face screwed up in preparation to vocalize his opinion on the subject.

  Fortunately, Darcy could read his son’s thoughts quite well and placed a firm hand onto his chest, leaning slightly to hush placatingly and capture Alexander’s gaze before it was too late. His timing was impeccable, Alexander calmed and distracted by the beloved face and voice.

  Reverend Bertram chuckled, beaming upon the assembly. “Father to the rescue! Thank you Mr. Darcy for saving me from the arduous task of raising my age-crusted voice above the din!”

  Darcy bowed slightly with a soft smile as the crowd rippled with quiet laughter. Reverend Bertram stepped behind the venerable baptismal font, a thick pedestal of white marble with curved inlaid strips of black marble and beaten copper between the four sides richly carved with images of Jesus blessing the little children. On top sat a bowl of intricately scrolled sterling silver, very old with aged tarnish spots impervious to the diligent efforts of numerous Pemberley servants on down through the centuries. This bowl served one purpose only: to hold the blessed water for christening Darcy children. Last used for Georgiana, the bowl had nonetheless been polished regularly and stored safely awaiting this very day.