Elizabeth coddled the tiny dark-haired child in her arms; he had her unruly curls and his father's piercing grey eyes. Now three months old he was getting stronger every day, the frightening nature of his early birth assuaged by his good-tempered nature. He was, Elizabeth thought, the most amenable child that she had the fortune to meet, and she counted herself lucky that he belonged to her; holding him close, she rested her head on her husband's shoulder as the carriage rumbled on towards Pemberley.

The quick delivery of their son had astonished both Darcy and Elizabeth, but despite being perfect in the eyes of his parents, there was nothing to hide the fact that he was incredibly tiny and at least a month early, indeed Ellen had never seen a baby so small, and she swaddled him in cotton and blankets to keep him warm on this cold December night. Darcy had gone downstairs to inform the waiting party of the arrival of his son and heir to find everyone had gone to bed, with the exception of his sister, who was uncomfortably asleep and perched on a chair, and Bingley and Jane who were asleep on couch, their heads resting on each other in a display of comfortable matrimony. Internally he scolded himself for ever doubting the sincerity of Jane's affections towards his friend; they were the most content and amiable couple that he had ever had the pleasure of spending time with and he delighted in seeing Bingley so happy in his marriage. He walked over and poured himself a glass of brandy – it had felt like a long night, however, after checking the clock on the mantelpiece he could see that it was a little after 3am. The whole process had taken just over four hours, and in that time, he had become a father. It was an exceptional feeling, and one that he felt overwhelmed by. For all his emotional reticence in public, or in the presence of strangers, Fitzwilliam Darcy was a passionate and caring man who loved his wife, his sister and now his son to levels of extreme. Standing at the window, looking down on to the snow scattered cobbled street below, he shed a small, significant tear of happiness for his fortunate position in life.

Darcy slowly creeped back into the room where his wife was nursing their newborn son; she looked so vulnerable and so unlike his normal resilient Elizabeth that he felt a sudden rush of tenderness and feeling, wishing that he could hold her inside his heart and keep her there forever. Master Fitzwilliam Darcy was tiny; barely bigger than a pup, but he would be strong, and he would be loved beyond measure. Elizabeth gazed at her husband with a look that he had never seen before; it was the contented love of a new mother. She nuzzled into him and he kissed her gently as they gazed at the pink perfection of their baby for a long time. When Ellen came back into the room an hour later, the Darcys were asleep on the bed and now they were three.

Jane was the first to hold Fitzwilliam and declared him absolutely perfect, followed by his Aunt Georgiana, who promised, after observing his long fingers, that she would teach him how to play pianoforte to such a high standard that he would be the most accomplished gentleman in England, as well as being the most handsome. Mrs Bennet, who took it upon herself to hold both of her grandchildren at the same time, found herself predisposed to grand-motherhood, much more so than raising her own children. This was helped by the knowledge that both had fathers who were considerably richer than her own husband and would want for nothing, in addition, the most rewarding delight, she found, was that she was able to hand both Charlotte and Fitzwilliam back to their respective parents as soon as any sign of inconvenience was displayed by either. The first morning of his existence was a busy one for the smallest Darcy, who found himself coddled and sang to by all four of his aunts, with Georgiana and Kitty taking the time to perform a duet, the latter's own playing recently being much improved; Mary commented on how fortunate they all were to be together after a tumultuous few days and everyone agreed that for once she was completely accurate in her assertions.

Elizabeth did not ever think that she would have been able to love someone with such an overpowering and deep love; not even the love she felt for Darcy – as tremendous as that was – compared to the emotion she experienced when she held their son in her arms. Indeed, watching her Darcy men observe each other over the past month with their soulful grey eyes made her weep with joy, much to her chagrin.

"Darcy," she murmured softly. "When can we return home?"

He looked at her, still fragile, still more delicate than he would have hoped, she was drained; even though Master Fitzwilliam was relatively undemanding child, compared the fractious Charlotte, whose temperament was completely at odds with that of her parents, he was still a small child who needed his mother. He took the baby from her, taking a moment to hold the tiny smallness of him close to his own chest, then he called for the nursemaid to take him to the nursery, for tonight his wife needed to rest, and he was determined that she would. For once in their short marriage, Elizabeth Darcy did not protest or argue with her husband and as Darcy climbed into bed with his wife, she snuggled into the crook of his arm and settled.

"You did not answer, Fitzwilliam," she persisted. "When can we return to Pemberley?"

The fire at the house in Derbyshire had not caused considerable damage; most of it was superficial, excepting a few destroyed tapestries and a scorched painting of a distant ancestor that had once hung at the top of the stairs. Darcy was confident that the repairs would be completed in time for the family to return before Spring and, even though he rode up to survey the damage for himself when Fitzwilliam was two weeks old, he left the management of the refurbishment to his staff. He requested that the nursery be repainted in a fresh cornflower blue that he knew his wife would approve of, it being the same colour as the waistcoat he wore on their wedding day, Elizabeth always taking the time to comment on how much she loved the shade. Darcy took the time to thank his steward and butler again for their continued service before riding back to his wife with a small token of his love and devotion in his pocket.

On the occasion of the birth of his son, Fitzwilliam, George Darcy presented his wife, Lady Anne, with the traditional gift given to each Darcy wife in the days following the successful delivery of her firstborn son. The necklace consisted of a simple chain, and from it hung a pendant made of diamond and pearls – the pearls themselves were Darcy heirlooms having been in the family for at least three generations. Although no one was exactly sure, it was Pemberley lore that these pearls had once belonged to Mary, Queen of Scots, who had once been held at a nearby and long-gone manor called Moreville, and gifted to the lady of the house for her kindness. Nobody knew the truth, the facts of which had been lost to history a long time ago, but regardless of their origin, the Darcy Pearls were a important gift to give. After the birth of a Darcy heir, three of the gems were carefully removed from the tripled-stranded necklace, remounted in gold, and encased with diamonds, before being returned to the family safe for another generation. Anne Darcy received her pendant with the greatest of pleasures, wrapping her arms around her husband and enveloping him in the deepest of embraces.

"Jane! Jane!" Georgiana Darcy was beside herself with excitement as she witnessed Charlotte Bingley sitting up on the floor completely unsupported. Her mother arrived too late, and the baby fell over, crying out as her face landed on the chenille rug. Jane laughed and gathered the child up into her embrace, whilst Georgiana was mortified.

"I am so sorry, Jane," she apologised. "That was all my fault."

"Not to worry, a little falling over hurt no-one and Charlotte is perfectly alright. Do not concern yourself, Georgie, you did nothing wrong."

Jane had come to visit the house in Grosvenor Square for the afternoon, to take tea with Mrs and Miss Darcy and discuss their mutual plans to visit Hertfordshire for Mary's wedding the following month. It was also decided that the Darcys alone would call to visit their Aunt De Bourgh and take the newest family member to be introduced to their formidable relative.

"I must say, Lizzy, you are very brave to visit Lady Catherine," Jane stated, whilst sipping tea and rocking Charlotte on her knee.

Elizabeth smiled with good humour, "why not at all, Jane. I find that Lady Catherine is a very pleasing sparring partner once one has married into the family and already polluted the shades of Pemberley."

Jane laughed at her sister's humour; she did not envy Lizzy for the visit – Lady Catherine terrified her, and her first meeting with the noble mistress of Rosings Park had left her stomach in knots. Georgiana too felt similarly wary of her Aunt and her sudden demands for attention and gratification; it was because of this that she asked Jane if she were able to reside with the Bingleys for the duration of the Darcy visit to Kent to which Jane kindly obliged, the younger Darcy lady content that her remaining time away from Pemberley would be spent in their happy home.

Darcy was in the nursery of Derbyshire House, his cravat loosened, his boots off, and he was sitting in the rocking chair in his stockinged feet, cradling his son in his arms whilst simultaneously telling him an incredible story of pirates and shipwrecks. Fitzwilliam cooed and smiled at his father, which caused him to smile to himself. The youngest Darcy was now strong enough to travel; the doctor who had been unable to attend the birth and who was now outrageously apologetic for his absence, had deemed the child perfectly healthy and progressing at the correct rate. It was a relief for Darcy, who had treated the child and his wife with the utmost care and most observant of attentions in the ten weeks since the birth. Elizabeth was now herself again and, although he had been as traumatised as any other gentleman would be after witnessing the birth of his child, he professed to her one night, when the candlelight was dim and they had drunk lots of wine, that he would like them to have enough babies to fill every room at Pemberley. Elizabeth had laughed, knowing full well that her husband had drank far too much port, and that there were over twenty-five bedrooms at their home, but as he had kissed her slowly, almost reverently, and passionately for the first time since the birth, she knew, submitting to his desire as well as her own, that she would happily have as many children as he wanted, and fill their house with laughter, love and life.

The carriage passed through the gatehouse and over the bridge which crossed the river, Darcy felt relief as he saw the illuminated outline of his own great house on the horizon. The beacons were lit, and he could hear the excited hum of a house waking up from the enforced winter slumber. Elizabeth was resting against him in the carriage and he leaned over to gently kiss her on the forehead, and she stirred and opened her eyes momentarily. The carriage rumbled over the cobbled driveway, clattering as it did so, the heat and smell from the torches drifting over towards them as they pulled up the gatehouse, just as the clock in the tower struck eight o'clock.

"Mrs Darcy", came the whisper. "We're home."