There was a gentleness in the night air as Mr Darcy, Master of Pemberley, husband of Elizabeth and proud and overprotective father of Bennet George Darcy, cradled his crying son. The tiny, seven-day-old baby had awoken soon after Mr Darcy had finally fallen asleep with his exhausted, brilliant wife in his tired arms.
Aware that Elizabeth dearly needed to recover from her earlier ordeal and wanting to have some private time with his small family, he did not call for the nurse but instead swaddled George in a muslin cloth and opened the gilded glass door to the balcony. Stepping across the threshold into the still night air, he soothingly rubbed circles on his son's tiny back. The infant still murmured his discontent and Fitzwilliam could do little but rock him gently, feeling that his long arms were all of a sudden too large. Gently humming, he eased his son to sleep.
Unwilling to place the baby back in his bassinet just yet, he pulled him close to his warmth and began to talk to him of the constellations framed by the great house behind them and the gentle hills in their environs.
...
Engaged in his one-sided conversation with his son, he did not notice Elizabeth remove herself from under the counterpane and softly pad to the doorway to espy her husband and son. Her mein softened to see them so gently placed within the mildness of the early morning. Had Mr Darcy been looking, he would have seen a glowing adoration in her eyes such that had graced her elegant features when he came to her shortly after the birth. He was, alas, absorbed in his own paternal adoration.
She could hear a soft murmuring in his calming baritone, and realised that he was conversing with baby George. She padded gently over to where her husband was rocking her newborn son and slowly, so as not to startle the baby, placed a delicate palm on his lower back and laid her rosy cheek just below his shoulder in order to see the small but perfect face of her darling son. His eyelashes fluttered as if acknowledging her presence, though he did not awaken.
"Good morning, my love," she whispered joyfully.
"Indeed, it is quite radiant," he returned, "as I daresay are my family." He took great pleasure in saying those words, hardly believing that he was allowed such a declaration to be true. He had a family, he was a father! Lizzy could hear the happiness in his tone, and her hand squeezed his long fingers underneath the swaddled infant.
"Pray, do not let me interrupt you, Fitzwilliam," she breathed. "I could not resist the happy picture that you paint, framed as you are by the beautiful sky and cradling our beautiful son."
"Funny you should mention that, Lizzy," he replied softly. Her brow furrowed in that adorable way it always did when she was perplexed.
"Mention what?" She asked, taking care to keep her volume to a minimum lest they awaken George.
"The sky," he said, as if it were obvious. "I was just educating our sleeping son in celestial matters." He was ridiculous, she thought fondly. Celestial matters indeed! Her infant son was sleeping peacefully, blissfully ignorant of the world around him, and yet her husband wanted to point out the many constellations above them.
"Fitzwilliam," she chuckled. "He is but a se'nnight old. Perhaps his education may be put on hold for a year or two!" Mr Darcy was too clever by half to leave this quip unanswered, as he hoped his son would be also.
"My dearest Lizzy, it is never too soon to spend time with my son. If we are to ensure he is as clever as his darling mother, then I must start him early!" It was amazing how he could turn a tease into a compliment with such supposed ease. She rolled her eyes at his stubbornness, but there was a softness about her face which belied any actual annoyance. She instead tightened her hold around his back, fingering the white fabric of the nightshirt he had hastily flung on - back-to-front- in his hurry to remove the braying baby from her presence.
"Well then," she said conspirationally, "would you care to enlighten your clever wife in this matter of which she is shamefully ignorant?"
"Hmmmm," he pretended to consider her proposal. "I guess such an education can be arranged dearest, though you may need to relieve me of my precious cargo." Elizabeth did as he requested and gently transferred the sleeping babe from his large embrace into her more delicate one. He stirred at the movement but soon settled into her already familiar embrace. She was enchanted by her tiny son and, tearing her eyes from his tiny, perfect face, followed the hard lines of her husband's arm to see the constellation he had chosen to show her.
...
"We shall start with the most important seven stars in the whole sky," he said in a low, even tone, "of course, navigationally speaking. In conjunction with good sense and a knowledge of one's aim, they prevent any good sailor or horseman from becoming lost." Despite her professed ignorance of the whole subject, Lizzy had heard of this particular constellation from her father when he was explaining night-time hunting practices to her one evening in the comfort of his library, where her mother dared not intrude on their private audiences. She smiled at the bittersweet recollection of her past life as Miss Elizabeth Bennet. That she was overjoyed with her life at Pemberley she could not deny, but there were pieces of her past that she dearly missed.
"Ah," she remarked, still cradling her son. "Could that be the one that is shaped in the same manner as a plough?"
"Indeed, well done, my love," he responded, genuinely impressed at his lovely wife. "Although, owning to the truth, it is part of a larger constellation Ursa Major, the great bear. If you extend the line that joins the furthest two stars," he said, drawing the aforementioned line to demonstrate his point, "you will reach a particularly bright star which just so happens to sit above the north pole in the celestial sphere. Therefore, if you are ever lost without a compass, you need only seek out this star and you shall know which way to turn." She hummed her approval.
"Incredible, isn't it. What a happy coincidence, to be sure."
"And can you make out the 'w' over there, above the cascade?" He breathed. He watched for the sparkle of her eyes when he mentioned the cascade. They had passed many a pleasurable afternoon around its calming waters. As anticipated, her features morphed into a mask of mischief as was so often her wont of late. "That is Cassiopeia, named after the mythological queen of the same name who boasted about her unrivalled beauty. Shame really, that she were not alive now, for they would have to call the constellation Elizabeth instead."
She rolled her eyes again.
"Fitzwilliam," she chuckled, "I shall return to bed if you are going to use this exercise purely to compliment me at every turn. For perhaps then I may become as vain as queen Cassiopeia, and that would not do anyone much good."
"As you wish, my love," he replied, nodding his head and smiling. "We shall spot one more picture in the sky, and then I must insist upon returning Bennet George to his bassinet. I do not want him to catch cold and I feel you would well benefit from some sleep. For all of your trials last week you must treat yourself with kindness and rest."
"As you wish, my love," she imitated, smiling mischievously. Sleep was far from her mind, although she could not argue with her husband's logic in returning the baby to the warmth of their chambers. He would soon be sent to the nursery to afford the young parents some sleep - and privacy - but for now they were both content to be awoken by their newborn son.
"Pay close attention dearest, for this is the most exciting constellation of them all, Orion." His face betrayed his excitement and she smiled to see him so altered from that awful assembly in Hertfordshire. Had she not witnessed his transformation herself, she would never have believed her eyes. "Can you see the three stars perfectly aligned over there, above that rise?"
"Indeed I do, above that oak there?" She ascertained.
"Yes, my love. That is the famous Orion's belt. Used to fasten the lesser mentioned Orion's breeches!" She laughed demurely at his awful jest, and tried to make out which stars formed the rest of the man's body. He noticed the furrow between her brows and the pouting of her delicious lips and almost dismissed the 'lesson' to pursue pleasanter pursuits within the comfort of their grand four-poster.
"It is of no use, you shall have to show me to his shoulders and knees, my love," she capitulated. 'Only if you promise to make use of your hands and knees later!' he thought. Shocked at his quite improper thoughts, he shook is head and gladly pointed the particular stars out. He took care to mention the red star around Orion's shoulder and the vague fuzziness around his knee that was his sword.
...
Satisfied that she had enjoyed this silly endeavour, he placed a commanding hand around her soft waist and bade her return to their chambers. She gladly complied and, placing Bennet George Darcy into his cradle, she removed her shawl and crawled back under the counterpane.
Her husband followed shortly afterwards, bestowing his son a gentle kiss on the forehead, as his father had so oft given him throughout his boyhood. The cycle was not lost upon him and he felt a deep and primal joy at having his own family at last.
His wife melted into his embrace and they remained awake only for a brief contemplation of how to best employ Lizzy's hands and knees. Exhausted but content, they noticed that the sun had risen and the blues had given way to a stunning watercolour of reds and purples before watching the dawning a crisp blue winter's morning.
"And in the rising of the sun, those great constellations are gone," he murmured reflectively, "remaining constant for millions of years, yet disappearing in the blink of an eye. It is rather like that horrendous person I was before I met you. That abhorrent mask of disgust which I had practiced for many years, dissipates whenever I am lucky enough to gaze upon your beautiful face."
"Now what did we agree with regards to you and your compliments, Mr Darcy?"
"Apologies, Mrs Darcy." He chuckled. "But it would seem that you are also guilty of forgetting your earlier promises. I was under the impression that you would not call me Mr Darcy when we are alone."
"And I thought that particular appellation was only for when you are completely and perfectly and incandescently happy," she teased.
"Indeed, my dearest Mrs Darcy, I am."
He was, with sunlight tickling the window, his son sleeping in his bassinet and his glorious wife in his arms. He was, when they awoke a few hours hence, to rise and spend the day with their family. He was, he was, he was so happy.
