In the sumptuous master bedchamber of Northumbrella, Fitzwilliam Darcy lounged abed while his wife of two months stood nearby at her easel and observed him.
“May I ask to what this scrutiny tends, Elizabeth?”
“Merely to the illustration of your physique,” said she easily. “I am trying to capture it.”
“And what is your success?”
She shook her head. “I do not get on at all. My subject is far too distracting.”
“I wish, Lizzy, you would not sketch my anatomy at the present moment, as there is reason to fear the performance would reflect no credit on either of us.”
“But if I do not take your likeness now, I may never have another opportunity.”
“As my wife, I assure you there will be ample opportunities for you to see me thusly; but I would by no means suspend any pleasure of yours. Come here,” he warmly invited; and Lizzy put her paints away and climbed back into bed.
Several mornings afterward, Fitzwilliam Darcy, in a midnight-blue silk dressing robe, stood before the easel that held the canvas his wife had completed the previous evening. “Well, this is unquestionably one painting which will not be placed in the gallery at Pemberley.”
“I am offended, husband. I rather thought it should look well hung next to that of your great uncle, the judge.”
“I cannot judge … is this a very striking resemblance of my form, Lizzy?”
“Do you not think I did it justice, darling?”
“How near it may be, I cannot pretend to say. You think it is a faithful portrait undoubtedly.”
“I must not decide on my own performance, Fitzwilliam. But, if you will come back to bed, I may offer many compliments on yours,” she warmly invited. The effect was immediate, and a deeper shade of colour overspread his features; Darcy said not a word, cast aside his robe, and climbed in alongside her.
During the third year of his marriage to Georgiana, following the birth of their second daughter, Leanne Georgina Fleming, Ellis worked diligently to write the first book on the production of watches and clocks; and when it was finally published, everyone thought it was about time. The opening sentence was, ’Contrary to popular belief, people who work in watch factories do not stand around all day making faces’.
While doing research for his publication, Ellis Fleming came across the following anecdote. The Tates Watch Company of Massachusetts, America, wanted to manufacture other products; and since they already made the cases for pocket watches, they decided to market compasses for the settlers traveling westward. Although their timepieces were of the finest quality, the company’s compasses were so faulty pioneers often ended up in Canada or Mexico rather than California. This, of course, was the origin of the expression, ‘He who has a Tates is lost.’
Darcy Ellis Fleming was born in the fourth year of their marriage. Darcy was a happy babe and continued to be good-natured, albeit very active, as he grew into boyhood. In the mornings Georgiana and Ellis watched their son rise; in the afternoons they watched their son shine; and after their son was set for the night, they could finally rest.
Fitzwilliam Darcy entered Northumbrella’s west-facing sitting room as the mid-afternoon sun slanted in through tall windows and cast its meagre light on his lovely wife. To him it seemed Elizabeth radiated a warmer glow than that late-February sun. He stood behind her chair, placed his hands gently on her shoulders, and kissed the top of her head. “What manner of project are you working on so industriously there, Mrs. Darcy?”
She bent her head back to look up at his handsome face as he leaned over her. “It is a beaded macramé item for the child of someone I love very dearly. Would you care to lend a hand?” Elizabeth passed him a ball of cream-coloured yarn and demonstrated the particular knots she was using.
Darcy took a seat across from her and smirked as he tossed the ball from one hand to the other. “You are exceptionally skilled at macramé, Lizzy. I very much enjoy engaging in the knotty thing with you and look forward to filling our own home with the fruits of our labour produced by such joint efforts.”
“I am not entirely naïve, you know, sir.” Elizabeth said primly. “Therefore, I do not, for a moment, believe you are speaking of creating knotty macramé projects at all but are just being plain naughty. As such, any labour of love involved will be mine alone; and our first creation should, in fact, be produced, or should I say reproduced, in about six and a half months.”
Darcy instantly dropped his smirk along with the ball of yarn. He gaped in wonder at the incredible woman who had been his wife for a mere two and a half months. Elizabeth giggled at the shocked expression on her beloved husband’s face and tossed another ball of yarn at him to bring the poor fellow out of his stupor. It bounced off his forehead, and she said, “Well, that was quite a pregnant pause, Fitzwilliam. Is this all the reply I am to have the honour of expecting? Have you nothing to say?”
Darcy’s astonishment was beyond expression. He stared, coloured, doubted, and was silent. Finally he gulped and stuttered, “Are you … are you … spinning another yarn, Lizzy? Your mother once told me she does not believe everything your father says, and she also informed me you take after him. Truthfully, are you … are you … ?”
“Spinning another yarn in the Bennet family way?”
“Elizabeth!”
“Darling, I shall not tease you any longer over such an important issue since you are expecting an answer. Prolonging your anticipation would just be breeding contempt. Hmm, I wonder whether our excellent cook has finished baking rolls, or if there might still be a bun in the oven.”
“Elizabeth!!!”
It was already established Mr. and Mrs. George Wickham did not produce offspring; and their relationship was certainly unequal to the grand passions of the Darcys, the Fitzwilliams, the Flemings, or even Mr. and Mrs. Charles Bingley. Caroline and her wickedly handsome husband got along tolerably well; and Wickham was kept under the watchful eye of his godfather and namesake, George Darcy.
Upon the demise of the elderly Mr. and Mrs. Bartlett Piers, who both succumbed to a virulent influenza, their only male relative, Charles Bingley, inherited their Staffordshire estate. So Charles and Anne sold their London townhouse and settled within a three-quarter-hour ride to Pemberley. George Wickham then also had to contend with and answer to his wife’s brother, which was a rather awkward situation since the two young men had been friends for some years. The Bingley brother and sister, whose family had made their fortune in footwear, often made George feel like a heel; and it is a known fact that time wounds all heels. For her part, Caroline realized she was fortunate not to have fallen on hard tines after having fallen for a rake. She was content to say she lived at Pemberley, and Caroline always accompanied her husband when he had business at the grand house. Mrs. Wickham enjoyed walking the grounds, and she particularly liked to spend time in the orangery.
Like her Darcy nephew, Lady Catherine de Bourgh eventually learned to lighten up; and after ten years in mourning clothes, she finally shed her black widow attire and began to wear shades of charcoal, silver, lilac, and mauve, which looked quite fetching with her grey … er, platinum hair. Lady Catherine’s time was either spent in the dower house at Rosings near Richard and Jane Fitzwilliam or with her dear Annie and Mr. Bing in Staffordshire, and the gutter-mouthed gentlewoman spent as little time as possible in society and in sobriety. For a while her greatest joy in life (beside fruitcake, plumes, and laudanum-laced sherry) was when she became a great-aunt, time and time again, to the Fitzwilliam brood, who were always on their pest behaviour in great Aunt Catherine’s presence.
The brave Colonel (retired) Fitzwilliam was a wreck the day his first offspring was born. The midwife had been attending another birth ten miles away in a different part of Kent, and Richard was in the midst of a mid-wife crisis when the woman finally arrived fifteen minutes before his daughter entered the world. Jane Fitzwilliam presented her husband with a healthy child every year and a half until their brood reached a total of seven. A baby’s sex is a hidden agender until it makes its first appearance; however, the couple seemed to have a set pattern of girl-boy-girl-boy, with Janetta Lily Fitzwilliam followed by Henry Bennet Fitzwilliam, Regan Alexandra Fitzwilliam, Geoffrey Richard Fitzwilliam, Rebecca Frances Fitzwilliam, Cosmo James Fitzwilliam, and Muriel Jane Fitzwilliam.
It was very agreeable to the Bennet family to have Jane settled within so easy a distance of Longbourn. For what was fifty miles of good road? It was little more than half a day’s journey and a very easy distance when there was fortune to make the expense of travelling unimportant. When they visited Rosings, Lady Catherine was always especially pleased to see Robert Bennet, her little bug.
During one of their visits Mr. Bennet was surprised when his son asked, “Papa, is Lady Caffrin an author?”
“No, my boy, not to my knowledge. Why do you ask?”
“She complains about having authoritis in her hand. Is that not writer’s cramp?”
For several years, Robert Bennet continued to create pun-filled stories; and his writing style was like the little boy himself, short and sharp.
Great-nieces and great-nephews, as great as they may be, paled in comparison to when Lady Catherine’s own daughter delivered Catriona Anne Bingley, followed the next year by Lewis Charles Bingley, and then Rosanna Catherine Bingley two years after that. Lady Catherine was positively over the moon and absolutely loved being a granny, even if it meant she had to be very careful not to cuss. To be on the safe side, she adopted and adapted a motto, ’A closed mouth gathers no feet’. Surprisingly, it was not a hard canon by which to live, because at her age, Lady Catherine found actions creak louder than words.
As soon as Richard Fitzwilliam resigned his commission, an opening became available for the rank of Colonel. The former Lieutenant-Colonel John Dun gladly filled the position; and his wife, Charlotte (nee Lucas), was thrilled by the promotion. Their daughter, Mariah Beatrice, was born four months before her parents celebrated their first wedding anniversary. (Charlotte had wasted no time in securing her man.) Mariah’s brother, Arthur Wellesley Dun, named for the victorious commanding General in the Peninsular War, arrived almost three years later.
Fitzwilliam Darcy finally beheld true perfection on September 25th, 1812, upon the birth of his first child, an heir, Bennet George Darcy. The proud papa presented his wife with a bouquet of Damask roses and baby’s breath, while tears of joy and thankfulness filled his eyes.
Perfection was achieved a second, third, fourth, and fifth time over the years upon the births of their sons George Ellis Darcy, followed by William Robert Darcy, Richard Charles Darcy, and then Thomas Fitzwilliam Darcy.
After five perfect boys and five beautiful bouquets of roses and baby’s breath, Elizabeth finally delivered a daughter, Anne Judith Rose Darcy. The flawless baby girl had dark chestnut curls and, at least in her father’s totally unbiased opinion, the most captivating, sparkling, intelligent brown eyes ever beheld in the entire history of the entire world; and he was instantly besotted and head over heels in love. Upon Anne’s birth, Elizabeth’s chamber was filled to overflowing with Damask roses; and the tears in Darcy’s devoted eyes actually overflowed onto his cheeks that memorable day.
Despite being thrown into the path of rich and titled men, Mary Bennet happily accepted an offer of marriage from a tradesman’s son. She had long ago set her cap for young Daniel Burke, who lived across the street from the Bennet London townhouse.
Randall Candel, the Darcys’ Northumberland neighbour, did not win the hand of the lovely Anna Darcy. That honour went to Evan Gardiner, the son of another businessman.
Four years after their elder sisters had so blissfully tied the knot, Miss Bennet and Miss Darcy wed their strapping young tradesmen during a double ceremony in Pemberley’s charming chapel. Those genteel ladies, both gentlemen’s daughters, saw many changes take place in society during their lifetime; and as they reached middle and old age, those transformations and reformations became more evident. Through diligence and merit, many hard-working tradesmen, like Daniel Burke and Evan Gardiner, became extremely affluent. That wealth enabled them to purchase large tracts of property; and the upper classes finally, and begrudgingly, welcomed businessmen into the landed gentry.
George Darcy and Lady Anne invited their extended families to Pemberley every summer, and the grand estate’s manor practically burst at the seams. There were Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth with their five sons and one daughter; the Flemings and the Bingleys each had two daughters and one son; and Richard and Jane brought their boisterous blonde brood of three boys and four girls. In addition, the Bennet family often spent a week or two at the Derbyshire estate, as did the Gardiner clan, Daniel and Mary Burke, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, the Earl of Matlock and his wife, and Viscount Wentletrap with his wife and son.
In the month before Bennet Darcy turned one-and-twenty, his cousin Darcy Fleming was eighteen years of age; and both Henry Fitzwilliam and Lewis Bingley were nineteen. George and Lady Anne Darcy had long ago shuffled off their mortal coils, but Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth continued the tradition of inviting friends and relatives to Pemberley during summer. It was uncommonly hot in Derbyshire that particular season, and the four attractive, virile young men spent a great deal of time swimming and kicking up a lark in Pemberley’s piddling pond. That pitiful little lake had been dredged regularly; nevertheless, the lagoon still managed to generate a healthy crop of lime-coloured slime and a particular stench during late summer.
Ella and Leanne, the lovely daughters of Georgiana and Ellis Fleming, had invited a couple dearest friends from seminary to spend August with them at Pemberley. One sultry summer afternoon the four young women took a leisurely stroll around the grounds; and when the beauty and fragrance of the august estate’s magnificent gardens had been enjoyed to everyone’s satisfaction, they decided to head toward the river and visit the pretty chapel on the manicured lawn near the tall but neatly trimmed seven-foot hedgerow. The two Flemings related the story of how their own parents had serendipitously met at that very spot and about the triple wedding that had subsequently been held in the little church. The four giggled and sighed, thinking it all quite comical yet romantic. As the ladies exited the chapel and opened their parasols against the brilliant summer sun, a bizarre image caught their astonished eyes; and they screamed.
Bennet Darcy paced back and forth in front of the elegant mahogany desk, as he alternately ran a hand agitatedly through green-tinged chestnut curls and twisted the signet ring on his pinkie finger. He had already thrown a coat over the wet cotton shirt that clung indecently to his well-developed torso, but Fitzwilliam Darcy’s eldest child’s appearance still bore little resemblance to his usual meticulous attire and grooming.
Elizabeth set aside a stack of correspondence on the writing desk that had belonged to Lady Anne and watched in amusement as her strikingly handsome son, so similar in looks and temperament to her beloved husband, continued his rant.
“I simply cannot comprehend him, Mother! I have just utterly humiliated myself out there on Pemberley’s lawn in front of four very genteel and, now, traumatized young ladies; and Father has the audacity to consider my situation to be, for some ungodly reason, absolutely, gutbustingly hilarious. I swear the deranged man is sitting in the study at this very moment actually wiping tears of laughter from his face. Has he gone completely stark raving mad?”
Elizabeth Darcy’s beautiful eyes twinkled; and she tried unsuccessfully to stifle a burgeoning impertinent smile as she replied, “Oh, Bennet dear, your father merely considers your dilemma entertaining because it is a perfect example of his-story repeating itself.”
Finis