Part III
The door of the nursery was left ajar. Slowly, and very quietly, he widened the opening of the door. Without making a sound and before walking in, he peered into the room, and instantly, his senses were greeted by soothing tranquillity. The peace and calmness in the room were indubitably an ointment to his soul, but the object of his heart's true contentment was not the serenity of his domain, but the marvel standing serenely by the infant crib.
The white cambric curtains were swaying lazily in the summer aromatic breeze. The filtered sunlight of a warm August day was painting sparkles on the window sill and the oaken floor. And in between the window and the floor, the same seraphic light was gently stroking the beauteous locks of his marvel, his awe, his veneration.
He was pleased to see that she had pinned her hair up loosely, rather than hiding them under a cap, and adorned it with the emerald comb that he acquired for her in his last journey. The way the ethereal sunlight illuminating the tendrils fallen from her hairpins, grazing the smoothness of her elegant neck, caressing the enchanting curves of her graceful figure was made for a heavenly sight! His heart skipped at the sight of his lover, and he could not take his eyes off of her. He had loved looking at her long before she was his to look at, and each day that passed, had only made his thirst for her sight stronger, his love for her deeper.
This most sensible, most fortunate, most deeply-in-love man could no longer stand there at the door, his feet followed the command of his eyes and the desire of his heart, and treaded quietly to where the heavenly light was shining upon his heavenly sight.
With the swiftness of a swordsman wielding his sabre but the gentleness and skill of a horticulturist nursing a delicate flower, the husband swept the alluring waist of his wife, wrapping her tenderly in his arms, burying his face in the elegant turn of her neck, indulging in the sweet lavender scent of her hair, her person.
She did not notice him entering in; it was her back which had been facing the door all this time. Though the sound of her husband walking into the nursery had escaped her, for she was completely absorbed by the cherubic sight of their slumbering son, his strong arms, his masculine aura, his devoted love were instantly recognized the moment he engulfed her.
The sensation of his embrace, the surging warmth in his secured arms, the musky scent of her husband that coddled her nostrils, and his sensual lips scattering kisses on her neck had such an instantaneously heady effect on the wife that she simply shut her eyes, exhaled luxuriously, and indulged herself in her lover's cradle.
It had taken some time and much of his self-restrains to tear his lips from her downy skin, but the father in him was equally anxious to see his infant son. After a trail of kisses floating up from the base of her neck to the corner of her lips and to her porcelain eyelid, the husband pressed his cheek affectionately on his wife's temple, inhaled deeply her alluring scent again, and then opened his eyes to the first sight of their son in a fortnight.
Just as the husband was spellbound at the sight of his beloved wife, the father was immediately captivated by the cherub sleeping in the crib. Adoring sparkles were shining through his eyes and the most affectionate of smiles had taken over his features. Standing there wordlessly and in each other's arms, sharing the deepest of love in mankind, for their family and for one another, both father and mother gazed lovingly at their son. They were greatly amused by the suckling motion of their son's mouth, as if the babe was partaking nourishment from his mother in his slumber. For a long moment, the contented silence was simply enough to the couple, until the dulcet voice of the wife broke it tenderly…
"William is looking more like you every day, George!"
She had kept her eyes on their son, and so had he.
"You should see his eyes when he awakes – he has your brilliant dark eyes, and the dimples on his face when he smiles look just like yours!"
Even without looking at her lovely face, he could tell she was smiling the most beautiful smile.
He clasped her even closer to him and lowered his voice to almost a hush, "Has our son been treating you well, Emma?"
"Hum, hum," she had uttered these two syllables with tenderness and a very small nod, careful not to remove her temple from his cheek.
After another prolonged gaze at the wonderment in the crib, "William is" she finally added, however, with a slightly troubled tone, "so... different from Grace, George..."
"Well," the husband's mouth quirked, "I would expect that should be the case, my love. After all, he is a boy!"
"No…" she protested softly, "that is not what I meant…"
"You meant he had far less hair than Grace when she was born?"
"No!" she cried, keeping her voice low, pinching the hands that wrapped around her (and there was a quiet yelp coming out of him!).
"Stop teasing me, George…" she demanded a little more firmly, and was about to extricate herself from his cradle to turn around.
He stopped her in time from escaping his arms and held her even tighter to make amend.
"I am sorry, Emma!" the husband repented sincerely, willing to be complaisant. "You mean he does not cry as Grace used to?"
She nodded with a frown, as if a shadow had moved over her, casting away the tranquillity and taking her mind on a swift turn, "He seldom cries, George!" and she sounded anxious.
"Is it so bad that our son seldom cries?" he asked, matching her anxiety with calmness.
"No..." she murmured, "but... he is so… different... from Grace..."
She was silent for a moment. He could feel the tension of her back against his chest. Then, she suddenly jerked, broke off his arms and turned around, "Could there be something wrong with William, George?"
He knew what she was thinking. He placed his hands on her shoulders and looked steadily into her eyes.
"Emma," he said, "the fact that Grace had cried incessantly during most of her first year does not mean that William would be the same." He saw her imploring eyes, "Has he given you any reasons to worry since I was away?"
"No..." she replied almost immediately, yet, she looked unsure.
"But he has not been crying at night... and it worries me when I don't hear his cry... so I went to him... to see how he was..."
"Was he asleep when you went to him?" asked he.
She nodded, silently.
"Would not Mrs Wright come to you if William was unwell?"
She nodded again, with a faint blush.
"What about Mr Perry, Emma? Does he have concerns over William's state of health?" the husband asked.
She shook her head, quite bashfully. "No," she replied, eyes casting down, "Mr Perry says that every sign shows that William is in good health..."
"And you," he did not think twice of her unnecessary worries, only wishing to help her see things more sensibly, he removed one hand from her shoulder and cupped her cheek, "from your own experience as a mother, what do you think of our son's state of health?"
"Humph..." the worried mother contemplated for a moment, and then began slowly, as if speaking a soliloquy, "William has been growing steadily since his birth... he has an insatiable appetite... and is contented to be fed every three hours and as long as his bottom is dry... He could see better now, he recognizes my face and Grace's, I could tell!"
Her pensiveness began to dissipate, she was growing animated and looking up at her husband with sparkles in her eyes, "He loves to wrap his little arm round my side when I suckle him; his little fingers make tiny tingles on my skin! And he gets excited when he hears my voice, he makes these adorable gurgling and cooing sounds when I talk and sing to him!" The mother was smiling brightly by now.
And her smile could melt icebergs in the Arctic sea!
The husband smiled a similarly bright smile at his wife, "It sounds to me that our son is growing perfectly, Emma; there is nothing you should be worried about!"
"You really think so, George?" Wishing to be reassured, in the same way that she had done a thousand times before, she looked up at her husband, the one person in the world whom she trusted with all her soul.
"Yes, Emma, I really think so," he gave her his honest answer. Tucking her fully back in his arms, he nestled her head on his chest, stroking her hair tenderly as she listened to the gentle beating of his heart and the soothing calmness of his voice.
"My dearest, dearest Emma," he said, "we had endured some difficult time with Grace when she was an infant, but by God's grace, those times are behind us. God has given us an easily contended son, had he been crying incessantly as Grace did, we would have loved him just the same. But we have been given two beautiful, healthy children, rather than letting the past marring our happiness, we should be grateful and rejoice in our blessings, do not you think?"
The tension in her person had all been removed, she felt fluid in his arms, and her nod was one that was assured.
"Besides..." the husband spoke and paused. She could detect that hint of mischief in his voice.
She looked up at him and saw the playful twinkles in his eyes.
"I would be contented" he continued, "if I get to be with you every three hours, Emma!"
She giggled, lifting a beautiful teasing eyebrow, "Are you telling me, Mr Knightley," she had said his surname with her marked sauciness that he loved so much, "that you are jealous of your own son?"
The husband returned a sheepish smile, "I am not jealous of my own son, Emma," looking soulfully into her bewitching eyes, "I was once a jealous fool; I know how jealousy feels. I am, however," speaking low into her ear, "extremely envious of our son for being able to spend most of his waking hours with you, when I have not even kissed you..." from her ear he had moved his lips only a breath away from hers, "for so… very… long..."
Without further delay, he closed the minuscule gap between their lips.
But right when she wrapped her hands eagerly round his neck, returning his passionate kiss with her own fervour, the nursery door creaked. Instantly, her hands fell from his neck, his hold on her waist loosened, and in spite of their unwillingness, the couple's lips came unsealed.
The wife took a deep breath to steady her feet, staggered one step away from her husband and another to the side to face the person, who seemed aware that she had intruded upon something important, whose eyes had turned to look at the wall, was presently standing awkwardly at the threshold of the nursery.
"Ahem..." the mistress cleared her throat soundly, but not too soundly to stir her son.
The Donwell Nurse turned and caught the eyes of her mistress gesturing her to come in.
"Good afternoon, Mr Knightley, Mrs Knightley," curtsied the nurse.
"Good afternoon, Mrs Wright," the master returned the greeting cordially.
"Mrs Wright," said the mistress, "We shall be going to Hartfield in half an hour, when William awakes, please bring him to Hartfield, I shall send the carriage back to Donwell for William and you."
"Yes, Mrs Knightley."
"And please remember to bring two additional blankets when you come, one lighter and one thicker. My father would not be easy if he sees William without an extra blanket in the house. The lighter one would do inside, but the thicker one shall be for the journey home tonight."
"Of course, Mrs Knightley."
Once the instructions were given, the Donwell Master and Mistress stood by the crib, sharing quiet adoration for their son for few more moments before leaving him to the care of the nurse.
~o~o~E~o~o~M~o~o~M~o~o~A~o~o
They had walked out of the nursery into the hallway, and were walking, arm in arm, towards the Mistress Chamber.
"How was the Assize Court?" Emma asked George.
"Long and crowded," George replied soberly. "As usual, there were murderers, poachers, and shoplifters; and too many punishments that were far too harsh for the offense, too many men who stole to keep their families alive were sentenced to the scaffold!"
Emma could hear the anger in George's voice.
As the wife of a kind-hearted magistrate, Emma knew the frustrations George suffered for England's judicial system. She saw the formidable crease between his brows and felt the injustice he had to endure. Though the loving wife was helpless in altering the unjustness of the justice system, she had always been instrumental in lifting her husband's spirit whenever it was low.
She twined her fingers with his, tucked herself even closer to his arm, while smiling her most brilliant smile for him, "Have you seen Grace yet?"
The brows on George softened instantly, for his wife and children had magical power over him, the thought of just one of them could cast away his dreariness and brightened his gloomy days.
He chuckled, "I have you know, Emma, that our daughter was running half naked in her room just now!"
Emma laughed, "Did she make Lucy catch her before she would dress again?"
"Oh yes," he nodded with a wide grin, "and you well know what happened..."
In one voice, the husband and wife, the father and mother, cried out, "Poor Lucy!"
They were both laughing, shaking their heads, looking at each other in the most endearing, the most amusing way. Their daughter, who could bring endless troubles to all the servants at Donwell Abbey and at Hartfield, also brought laughter and cheers to everyone around her, had given the two people in this world who loved her and adored her with all their hearts, her father and mother, boundless pride and joy.
Their gaiety had followed them to the chamber, Emma asked George as he opened the door for her, "Do you sometimes wish Grace were a little less spirited, George?"
"Less spirited?" he sounded incredulous. "Never, Emma!" he had shut the door behind and followed her to the centre of the room.
Turning her to face him, the husband slipped his hands about his wife's waist again, but this time with just the two of them in the chamber.
"I would not change a single thing in Grace, my love!" his thumb caressing her cheek as he spoke, "I am grateful that our daughter is every bit like her mother, every time when I see her I see her lovely mother in her!"
"You mean," she looked at him mischievously, "you don't mind having two Emma's in this house?"
Pressing her intimately close to him, "Two Emma's are not enough..." the enamoured husband confessed sensuously to his wife, "I could never have enough of you… my love…"
The sensual way that he spoke was making her dizzy!
"Now, let us speak no more, my darling, and..." he whispered into her ears, "let me kiss you properly at last..." and he sank his lips deep onto hers.
Unfortunately, as if the Divine Omnipotent wished to tease the couple or torment the gentleman for desiring his wife, a child's sweet voice, along with sounds of her blithesome padding, rapidly approaching the chamber had caught Emma's ears.
While the husband was lost in the exquisiteness of his wife, the wife began to wriggle uneasily in her husband's arms.
"Grace...is... coming..." she muffled breathlessly in the midst of his fervent kiss.
As soon as those words were uttered, and before George had time to unclasp his eyes and loosened his hold on Emma, the door was pushed open, and a songlike voice came flooding into the room.
"Mama, Mama, I am dressed, I am dressed! May we go see Grandpapa now?" In a blink of an eye, the bubbling two-year-old had bounced and leaped and squeezed herself between her parents' knees.
The husband, at this time had finally let go, unwillingly however, of his wife from his arms. He opened his eyes to look down to see their child grinning up at the both of them.
Emma quickly straightened the bodice of her gown before bending down to smile at their daughter, "Not yet, Grace, Mama has to change."
"You have not changed, Mama!" little Grace sounded disappointed. "But you said that as soon as I bathed and dressed we shall go see Grandpapa!"
"I am sorry, Grace... Mama... was..." the mother hesitated, her eyes wandered to her husband's bright red lips and she was certain that her own must be very much reddened. "I was... er... doing... something..." but she could hardly reveal what that something was to her daughter.
"It was Papa's fault, Grace," George interjected hurriedly and bent to scoop Grace in his arms. "Papa had been keeping your mother from changing."
Little Grace's knitted her adorable brows, "For shame, Papa!" and squeezed her father's nose between her small fingers.
George chuckled, "Papa had detained Mama for good reason, though!" he added playfully.
"What were you and Mama doing, Papa?" the curious child asked.
Emma gaped at George, fearing what he might tell their two-year-old.
"Something very important," George said to Grace as he winked at Emma, "but you are too young to know!" and he saw his lovely wife took a breath of relief.
"Now," he gave a sound kiss on Grace's dimpled cheek, "let us take leave of your mother so she could change to go to Grandpapa's with you."
"Are not you coming with us, George?" asked Emma.
"I have been away for too long," said the husband, "I must meet with Larkins first, I shall come to Hartfield with William and join you and Father at supper." Turning to Grace, "Would you like to kiss your mother before we take leave?"
"Yes, yes, yes!" little Grace squealed in excitement and immediately reached her hands for her mother's neck and planted a resounding kiss on her mother's lips.
"And now it is Papa's turn to kiss your mother," announced the father, and the child nodded with approval.
With Grace still in his arms, George leaned into Emma, pressing a deep kiss on her cheek, but before turning back to Grace, he whispered something in Emma's ear that made her blush very, very prettily.
"Do you want to see my frog, Papa?" the child asked as her father bounced her out of the Mistress Chamber.
"You have a frog?"
"I caught him today!"
"And you did not eat him?"
The two-year-old giggled, "You silly goose, Papa!"
"You mean I am a bigger silly goose than you?"
"You are the biggest silly goose in the whole world, Papa!"
"I am?"
More giggles, as a result of her father's tickling fingers, emitted out of the lively child.
"Does your frog have a name?"
"His name is Mr Larkins."
"What?" the father burst in chuckles, "You named him Mr Larkins?"
"He frowns like Mr Larkins, Papa!"
"What would Mr Larkins – the human – Mr Larkins say when he hears you name a frog after him?"
"Mr Larkins says I could name my creature friends any name I wish!"
"Are you sure..."
"Hum, hum..."
As the conversation between the adored child and her doting father fading into the corridor, Emma drew a long happy sigh. George had always had an incredible fondness for children; he was excellent with their nephews and nieces long before they wed. But watching how he loved their own children, how at ease and playful he was with Grace and William just made the heart of this wife and mother full. How blessed she was to be married to such upright, kind, charitable, and the best of gentlemen and fathers!
Even after more than three years of marriage, each day this woman with the best blessings on earth found herself more in love with her husband than the day before. Her heart fluttered as she relished what George whispered in her ears before he left with Grace, and her ravishing, yet, demure smile, and the beautiful blush of a woman in love betrayed what was presently dwelling in her mind – for she, too, looked forward to the night to come!
A/N: Thank you for reading! :)