In the Arms of Mr. Darcy (9 page)

The wrapping hid a roughly cigar box-sized, highly glossed, cherry wood musical box! The glass panel in the ornately carved lid displayed the copper cylinder and shiny mechanical devices required to turn the cylinder and elicit the sounds. Lizzy gasped, hand instantly over her heart in awe and delighted expressions of thanks pouring forth. It was a stunning piece of workmanship, instantly drawing the attention of most in the room, especially the ever invention-fascinated Darcy.

"Incredible! Where did you acquire one so large and sporting a cylinder rather than disk, Mr. Bennet?" He was already lightly touching the internal springs and motor.

"One of the advantages to having a brother in trade," he answered with a smile and nod toward Mr. Gardiner.

"I have an associate who deals with various Swiss manufacturers of timepieces. He occasionally acquires musical boxes as well. These are new, Mr. Darcy, created by Recordon and Jundon. This one plays a compilation of Mozart's sonatas."

"I have two musical snuff boxes purchased in Paris and London, one of which I gave to Elizabeth to listen while at her desk. I dismantled a third in an attempt to figure how it worked, failing miserably as I was unable to completely fathom the mechanics nor reassemble properly." His voice dropped to a tone of inner musing as he intently investigated the visible parts, Lizzy playfully batting his hands away with a laugh.

"Get your own musical box to dissect, Mr. Darcy! This one is mine."

He straightened with a faint blush. "Of course, dearest. I was merely looking."

Several snickers erupted, Colonel Fitzwilliam returning to a room of polite twitters and flushed cousin. "What have you done now, Darcy?"

Darcy, however, had no response forthcoming. Rather, his gaze was riveted to the wooden case Richard held in both arms. It was well over five feet in length yet only a foot wide, which would have strongly hinted to Darcy what it contained even if it was not branded with the label Knopf Bros. of Shenandoah Valley, Virginia. His mouth fell open and immobility gripped all four extremities.

"How did you...?" He stopped, speechless.

Lizzy was grinning broadly, face rosy with delight as she jumped up to stand beside her paralyzed spouse. Placing one hand tenderly on his arm, she explained, "I know you have coveted one for your collection. Richard was able to acquire an original, dated 1786. I have yet to see it myself, not that I would know what I was inspecting, so I pray it meets your expectations. Open it!"

Richard laid the case onto the table, stepping back as Darcy approached with reverence. "This is unbelievable. I cannot thank you both enough."

"I should have thought of it myself and claimed all the glory," Richard said. "After all, years of immersing yourself in the journals of William Bartram and Jonathan Carver, as well as other American frontiersmen, and the undoubtedly embellished tales of Daniel Boone, should have enlightened me."

Darcy had opened the case, nearly the entire room's occupants now clustered about to watch, revealing a pristine condition rifle. But not just any rifle. A uniquely American invention of the 18th century frontiersman: a long rifle. This one sported a stock of beautifully grained wood, lacquered and decorated with silver and brass inlays fancily scrolled, the stamped and dated emblem of its makers, and a barrel easily four feet in length. Every surface, both wooden and metal, gleamed. It was exquisite.

Collectively, the men in the room, even Mr. Hurst who had left his vigil by the liquor cabinet, whistled in appreciative awe. The women, unschooled in the artistry of firearms, nonetheless could readily grasp the fine quality and sheer beauty of the displayed specimen.

Darcy grasped the weapon, lifting with steady and competent hands, as Richard continued his narrative. "This one reputedly has a range of nearly four hundred yards in the hands of an experienced marksman. You should be able to achieve that, Cousin, with practice."

"Four hundred yards!" Mr. Bennet gasped. "I would love to see that!"

Colonel Fitzwilliam turned to the skeptical Mr. Bennet. "A general I know has a long rifle and has reached four hundred seventy yards. Of course, he is our regiment's finest marksman, actually trained as a sharpshooter, but Darcy here is quite an excellent shot. An English Baker rifle can nearly attain that distance, but not as reliably. Nor are they as imposing in appearance or as beautifully designed. I daresay these American rifles are the most elaborate I have ever seen, as painful as that is to admit."

Darcy's eyes were glittering as he sighted down the barrel, stock end nestled flawlessly against his shoulder. "I do not know about four hundred yards, but I certainly will attempt it. The balance is excellent, weight perfect, and you are correct Richard, no English or German firearm compares. Damned Americans!"

"Do you like it then?" Lizzy asked teasingly. "I am sure Richard could get my money back."

He lowered the weapon to his side, encircled his surprised wife's waist, and drew her in for a firm kiss. "I love it almost as much as I love you. You keep your paws off my rifle and I shall leave your musical box unmolested. Agreed?" Lizzy nodded, several eruptions of laughter ensuing around the massed observers.

An hour later, all the gifts were finally unwrapped and organized in individual piles. The strewn papers and ribbons were discarded, and the satisfied Pemberley inhabitants relaxed as they awaited the call to dinner. Select items were inspected and shared with others while the men loitered in a knot around the corner table where the rifle case now sat. The rifle itself was passed from hand to hand, all delighting in the temporary joy of imagining firing the stupendous weapon at unsuspecting game. Darcy was already arranging a target session for the morrow, graciously offering to allow each man the opportunity to test his skill.

Jane sat next to Lizzy, admiring the locket lying on a pillowy cushion of velvet. "This truly is exquisite, Miss Darcy. You must whisper in Mr. Darcy's ear to casually mention to my husband where it was purchased. I would dearly love one myself."

Georgiana smiled. "I shall tell Mr. Bingley myself! It would make a perfect Christmas gift next year or perhaps for your birthday. The jeweler in Matlock, Mr. Ingalls, is quite excellent and reasonably priced compared to most found in Town. He has quite an extensive selection of lockets, in fact. I thought Lizzy would like this one," she finished shyly.

"And you are absolutely correct, Georgie. I adore it! In fact, if it is not a bother, can you clasp it on for me? Fortunately, I did not take the time this morning to don a necklace. A fortuitous oversight on my part."

The locket in question, a gift from Georgiana to her new sister, was of silver. In size it was only a half-inch diameter with a raised and exceptionally detailed picture on the lid of a sleeping infant in profile with tiny hands folded by his cheek. Georgiana had presented it with the humble suggestion of placing a lock of Alexander's hair inside. Lizzy was still choked up and Darcy quite smug in that he knew of the gift before her, although hastening to clarify that it was entirely Georgiana's idea and chosen without any input from him.

Not a soul was left wanting or dissatisfied. Lizzy played hostess, engaging and gregarious so that even Lady Annabella was drawn into frequent conversation and stilted laughter. Dinner was marvelous, a dozen courses served over nearly two hours as humor and conversation raged. The Master and Mistress sat at opposite ends of the long, elegantly adorned table sharing frequent warm gazes. The weather held fair if bitterly cold, permitting after dinner walks in the waning light. Early evening entertainment lapsed in the music room with a splendid array of instruments played and vocal ranges lifted to the delight of all. Alexander joined the group for a spell, awake and happily passed from embrace to embrace until eventually falling asleep in his grandfather's arms.

It was late in the evening, music and singing issuing forth gaily, when Mr. Taylor circumspectly approached his Master and leaned for a whispered conference. Darcy's face instantly tightened, lips a thin line as he nodded brusquely and rose, leaving the room without a word.

"How extraordinary!" Mrs. Bennet exclaimed. "I thought Mr. Darcy's former rudeness was extinguished with marital felicity."

"Mother, please," Lizzy said. "Remember that my husband manages a vast estate which occasionally requires problem solving of a serious nature. Papa, do you mind holding Alexander for a bit longer? Good. Excuse me please." And with a nod toward the group in general, she followed her husband.

As suspected, he had removed to his study with Mr. Taylor and Mr. Keith and was standing before the desk where he sat scribbling on a piece of parchment, another lying by his left hand.

"Mr. Keith, I should be no more than a few days. These envelopes here"--he tapped a stack with the end of his pen--"are ready to post. These papers here are signed." He tapped another pile. "Issue payment draughts as necessary, address and post. I will be staying at the Georgian as usual."

"Very good, sir." Mr. Keith replied.

"Mr. Taylor, alert Samuel to pack a small travel bag for me, then inform the stables to prepare Parsifal. I will depart within the hour."

"Depart! Where?" Darcy glanced up in surprise, not aware Lizzy had entered the room.

"Derby," he answered shortly, eyes returning to the parchment.

"William, it is already dark outside..."

"I am well aware of the time, Mrs. Darcy!" He snapped, eyes troubled and blazing as he glanced at her briefly. "Thank you, Mr. Taylor, Mr. Keith. Follow my orders. You are dismissed."

"Yes, sir." And with a bow both men left.

Lizzy stood in silence, embarrassed, angry, and worried. Darcy seemed to be ignoring her. She bit her lip, slowly stepping toward the desk. "William, what has happened?"

He sighed and melted at her tender tone, falling into his chair and running one hand through his hair. He closed his eyes and gesticulated to the left hand paper. "There was a fire today at my mill in Derby. Much has been destroyed, two men badly wounded, and three dead. Thankfully, as it was Christmas, most were home with their families," he finished flatly.

Lizzy's breath caught, eyes glazing with tears. "Oh, love! I am so sorry!" She crossed quickly, placing a hand onto his shoulder. The gesture woke Darcy from his stasis, and he stood up briskly and stepped past Lizzy impatiently.

"Thank you. I am afraid I must attend to the aftermath personally. I am sorry, Elizabeth, but there is no choice."

"I understand, dearest, I truly do and would think less of you if you did not go. However, must you leave tonight? Traveling in the dark is not safe and I would worry so. Nothing can be accomplished until tomorrow in any case."

"I have traveled in the dark many times before. I can be there in a few hours, attain information, and be on site at first light. Time is precious in situations such as these, Elizabeth."

"William, please be reasonable..."

"There is nothing to discuss! It is my decision and I am in no mood to argue the matter."

"At best you would arrive by eleven, far too late to do anything of consequence. I am merely asking you to stay safe with us tonight and leave at first light tomorrow. What difference can a few hours make? The damage has already been done, dearest."

"I cannot stay here, laughing and amusing myself when people in my employ are suffering. It is unconscionable!"

"What is unconscionable is the possibility of injury while galloping full bore, as you would, on a dark and muddy road for two hours! What is unconscionable is that you would not rationally consider your safekeeping and the anxiety of your family!"

"I am an excellent rider, madam, as you know. Nothing will happen to me."

"You can assure this, sir? You have the gift of foresight? How delightful it is to know this! Or is it that you are immortal and I was unaware? Whatever the case, thank you for explaining. By all means then, ride on! I shall return to our guests with a cheery heart knowing that I have no fear of surviving without you and raising our son fatherless!"

And with that ringing impeachment, she stormed from the room, slamming the door behind. Darcy stood rooted to the floor, furious, but also stricken by her horrifying allegation. Lizzy, meanwhile, was pulled up short five steps past the still reverberating door when she realized she did not know where to go. Lost in confusion with rage and terror warring, she did not readily note her father lurking in the hall several paces away.

"Lizzy?"

She started, glancing upward and instantly losing control at the sight of her concerned father and sleeping baby. With a choking sob, she spun about and dashed down the corridor to her parlor. Naturally, Mr. Bennet followed, laying Alexander down onto a settee and walking to where Lizzy leaned against the windowsill weeping. He stood silently, concerned, but he was not one who easily dealt with women's hysterics despite, or probably because of, long years in a household with six women. Reverting to the simple comfort of patting her shoulder and uttering a sympathetic
there, there
, he waited.

Eventually, Lizzy calmed enough to relate the dilemma. Mr. Bennet offered no answers or advice, being of the mind that marital difficulties were of an intimate nature beyond parental purview. He had only one statement, convincingly presented.

"As painful as Mr. Darcy's decision, Lizzy, it will be compounded if you do not talk to him prior to his departure. The affection you two have for each other is too great to easily endure days apart under misspoken words and emotional estrangement."