Page 101 of A November to Remember

Arthur, Richard’s eldest boy, leaped onto the nearest armchair, creating the loud thud, before scrambling down to do it again. Two-year-old Edward sat on Richard’s stomach, clapping his hands and drooling onto the wool coat.

“Have mercy!” Richard roared from beneath the pile. He managed to free one arm, pointing a finger to the ceiling. “The toddlers are swarming! Grab the twins before they reach the sugar bowls!”

Robert strolled into the room, wearing a morning coat of deep claret, his neckcloth tied in a flawless arrangement. He stopped, assessing the tangle of children on the floor. He shook his head and then, decision made, he unbuttoned his coat and tossed it over the back of a chair.

“Treason!” Robert fell to his knees on the rug, wiggling his fingers. “You attack a fallen man! The tickle monster has arrived!”

The horde redirected its attention. The twin girls shrieked, abandoning Richard’s ear to throw themselves at Robert’s legs. Henry, Robert’s four-year-old heir, sprinted across the room and launched himself at his father’s back. Robert collapsed sideways, pulling his son over his shoulder, disappearing under a tidal wave of laughing toddlers.

Darcy leaned his shoulder against the doorframe. Richard and Robert were both red-faced, breathing heavily, their tailoring ruined by wrinkles and crumbs. They laughed so hard they produced no sound, clutching the children to their chests.

Mr Bennet drifted into the doorway, stopping beside Darcy. He held a folded newspaper under one arm and a teacup in his free hand. He watched the mayhem on the rug and winced.

“I traded three daughters for seven grandchildren,” Mr Bennet told Darcy. “The mathematics of my life are flawed. I appear to be multiplying.”

“Take heart, sir. You have two more daughters.”

Mr Bennet took a sip of his tea. “I found a sticky handprint on my copy of Pliny the Elder. I suspect the viscount’s heir. The boy lacks respect for antiquity.”

Robert’s muffled voice emerged from under the pile. “Henry appreciates the classics. He was attempting to read it.”

Mr Bennet tucked his newspaper more securely beneath his arm. “He was attempting to eat it.”

Elizabeth came in, wearing a morning gown of dark green. She took one look at the tangled knot of men and offspring on the floor and halted, resting her hands on her hips.

Jane and Mary followed her and behind them trailed Georgiana, Kitty, and Lydia.

Mary snapped her fingers, her voice cutting through the din with absolute authority. She was accustomed to managing a country estate and bringing two wild boys and a very large husband to order. “Richard. Have you any intention of getting up?”

Richard’s head popped up from the pile. “Every intention, Mary. Very little opportunity.”

Darcy suspected his uncle would have found the spectacle reassuring. On the birth of Richard’s first child, Lord Matlock had given him a small estate he owned in Staffordshire, with sufficient income to leave the army and a strongly expressed preference that he should do so. He had spent enough years waiting for news of his son and had no wish to watch Mary endure the same anxiety with a child in her arms. Richard had obliged him, though, judging by the small boot currently pressed at his throat, retirement had offered fewer guarantees of personal safety than his father had intended.

Jane moved to kneel on the edge of the rug, her skirts pooling around her. “Eleanor. Victoria. Unhand your father’s cravat. He needs to breathe.”

The twin girls released Robert, giggling wildly, and threw their arms around Jane. Robert sat up, his hair standing on end, his neckcloth a ruined, crumpled rag. He wiped a smudge of dirt from his cheek without looking away from his wife.

Darcy moved to the fireplace as the ladies gathered round the children. Elizabeth joined him and slipped her hand into the crook of his arm. “You did not attempt to rescue them.”

Darcy covered her hand with his own. “I value my shins. And Richard requested no rescue.”

Anna, Darcy’s three-year-old daughter, detached herself from the wrestling match. She smoothed her rumpled pinafore, and walked to her parents. She ignored her mother, stopping in front of Darcy and holding up her arms.

He bent down, scooping the little girl up. She settled her head against his shoulder, and he breathed the scent of jam and soap in her hair.

“She has you entirely trained, Fitzwilliam,” Robert called out from the floor, while prying his own son off his waistcoat.

Darcy held the little girl tighter, burying his face in her curls until she giggled.

Mary lifted Edward from Richard’s stomach while Thomas scrambled off his chest. Richard hauled himself to his feet and dusted his breeches. “You are a captive. The women in this family have a dangerous level of influence.”

“Do not tease my brother,” Georgiana said. “He is the best father.”

“Thomas! Come to Aunt Lydia!” Lydia beckoned to the boy. “I have smuggled sugar plums from the kitchens!”

Thomas left Richard’s side and sprinted to Lydia.

Elizabeth fixed her youngest sister with a stern glare. “Lydia. Mrs Reynolds will murder you. We are hosting a ball tonight. The kitchens are a madhouse, and you are plundering the sugar.”