Page 28 of Old Boots (Pride and Prejudice Variations #3)

I rose early and went to the mews for a moment of tranquillity.

We had a houseful these days what with the impending addition to our family.

Bingley and Kitty came with Richard and Jane, bringing with them a score of babies—or so it seemed to me, judging by the commotion alone.

The noise that lately came from the upper floors at Pemberley was a constant babble, punctuated by cries, screams, squeals of delight, and occasionally, deafening howls.

Mr and Mrs Bennet were also here with their youngster, a sober little owl of marked intelligence who seemed not to know what to make of the barbarians that had suddenly invaded the nursery.

They brought with them Mr Bennet’s middle daughter and Mr Thornhill, a man perpetually on the verge of offering for Mary, and who must surely come to the point now that he was part of our family party.

Georgiana looked upon their prolonged courtship with a protective, irritated glare of disapproval.

She and Mary had been bosom companions, and my sister did not like the idea of relinquishing Mary to such a ‘wiffle-waffle,’ as she classed the poor man.

Her own suitors, of which there was a veritable parade, were equally subjected to such high standards, and I felt quite sorry for them.

But Georgiana had lived in close proximity to genuine marital felicity and had more than once sworn that if she could not sit in affectionate silence over breakfast as Mr Bennet and her former companion now did, she would rather not marry at all.

She also cited the lively, convivial atmosphere at Netherfield Park, where Kitty and Bingley hosted parties every week of the year, seeming to thrive on their mutual love of society almost as an expression of their love for each other.

And when she watched the tender, protective regard in which Jane and her children were held by our cousin Richard, Georgiana claimed she could never tolerate a man who could only offer her mere affection.

But I knew because she had once confided it, that what my sister most wished for in a match was what she saw between Elizabeth and me.

“It seems to me you have never yet spent a day in which you have not laughed together,” Georgiana had told me wistfully, “and I have seen you speak to one another in such a way and for such prolonged conferences as to make me believe you think you are the only two people in the world.”

I smiled to remember my sister’s words. Elizabeth and I had indulged in one of those prolonged conferences the evening after the last of our guests, Mrs Fields—Lydia—had arrived.

“Your sister was much changed from when I last saw her,” I said, as I sipped my wine. Elizabeth sat curled up beside me on a sofa in front of the fireplace in her room.

“Who would not be the picture of elegance draped in black satin?” she grumbled.

I chuckled, lovingly caressed her enormous belly, and said, “Are you wishing me dead?”

“Only when I waddle and creak down the stairs.”

“So often?”

She laughed and settled more deeply into my embrace. “Well, you must allow that my sister emits that worldly confidence common to happily widowed women everywhere,” she said.

“Indeed. I imagine she already has a dozen devoted followers who anticipate the end of her required mourning.”

“Oh lord, are we to entertain every sort of speculator, adventurer, and émigré Lydia can attract?”

“She is a young widow, and as such, she is destined to be a great favourite of rakes everywhere.”

“Lucky girl,” my wife said wistfully, causing me to retaliate such a horrid sentiment with a pinch.

She squealed in playful outrage before pinching me ten times in quick succession in return.

Soon, we were in a tussle of a physical nature that may not have been wise considering her condition.

But even though this was to be our first child, Elizabeth had never allowed me to coddle her as Richard had Jane.

“Hush,” I said eventually, when I realised we had been laughing at the top of our lungs for quite some time. “We are likely to wake the house. The noise from our room sounds a great deal like the nursery did earlier in the day. I have never before heard such a din.”

Elizabeth chuckled and suggested I had better become used to the cacophony of infants, which gave me a delightfully warm feeling in my chest.

We continued to talk, albeit quietly, for another hour. We sat together, alternating between kissing and staring into the fire until there was a knock on the door.

I had been expecting this interruption, having convinced Elizabeth that breeding two of Bandit’s pups was exceedingly unwise and had acquired a fine-mannered English setter to carry Bandit’s line.

“What news?” Elizabeth asked as I read the note Carsten handed me.

“Six pups,” I said with a grin.

“Oh, I long to see them!

“Shall we go look at them?”

“So far? The stairs alone! I have never resented living in a palace more than I have lately.”

“I could carry you.”

“You could not.”

“Do you doubt my strength, Elizabeth?”

“What I doubt is whether I could submit myself to such an indignity.”

“Not to mention the appearance of frailty?” I suggested.

“God forbid!” She laughed in pure delight, a sound so precious to me my heart skipped a few beats.

“Go to sleep,” I said, helping her to settle into her pillows.

“Will our puppies be as insensible as Bandit?” she asked sleepily.

“Never fear, love. Our dogs will be unruly, and our children will be devils,” I said in a whisper. She grinned, and only after I offered to bring the pups to her in a basket when they had opened their eyes, did she finally fall asleep .

“Good morning, sir,” said the head groom, pulling me out of my amused recollections.

I greeted him and went to the loose-box where Biscuit lay thumping her tail in an affectionate greeting. My dog stood up as I came close, causing her pups to tumble pell-mell off their teats and into the straw.

“That was not so well done, now was it?” I murmured as she came over to kiss me properly on the chin.

“Your mate is napping in the library just now and has not asked after you at all, the dolt,” I said, picking up each of her pups, looking them over minutely, and stroking their tiny, velveteen muzzles.

Biscuit sniffed at each representative of her litter as I held them, and in a few moments, settled herself back down to the business of motherhood.

“Carry on,” I murmured, ruffling her ears. “Your nursery is certainly quieter than mine will ever?—”

“What an affecting scene!” Elizabeth cried, having tiptoed up behind me to catch me in the act of cooing at a dog.

“Elizabeth! What are you doing? Did you come all this way alone?”

“By no means. Half the house fluttered around me as I lumbered down the stairs. If I had stumbled, at least three footmen and two maids would have cushioned my fall. But, make way, sir. I long to see these little sausages. And dear Biscuit. How is it you look none the worse for wear?”

I brought a stool forward so my wife could sit and properly fuss over our new pups. At last she looked up at me with a rueful glint in her eye and said, “Husband, how is your back?”

“Strong enough to carry you, if that is what you are asking. Are you feeling frail this morning, love?”

She chuckled and then winced. “Not particularly. But if you do not carry me up to my bed, I am afraid I shall give birth to your child in a kennel—oof!”

Before she could finish speaking, I had scooped up my wife and was halfway across the yard, exercising the commanding roar for which she has often teased me. Thus, our family life began—in the midst of my shouts, the barking of dogs, and Elizabeth’s enchanting laughter at the spectacle we made.