AllFreeNovel
Share Us
By 1832, I was forty years of age and had birthed ten children. It took some creativity to avoid having a child every year and a half, as was evidenced by our sons Richard and Alistair, who were not quite fifteen months apart. But Fitzwilliam and I were willing to make the effort and we did not take ourselves too seriously, which was imperative in trying some of the more unusual methods of avoiding pregnancy.
I will never forget how he laughed at me the first time I looked at a sponge in horror, or how bewildered he was when he opened a box of French letters Richard had sent him after the birth of his namesake.
We loved and laughed our way through all the squabbles and troubles that arose in a growing family. Fitzwilliam did occasionally regress into stupidity, as he referred to it, and I had a beautiful keepsake box filled with his letters of apology.
I will tell you, dear reader, that in some instances, I had forgiven him sooner and was prepared to allow him back into my good graces, but I so loved his letters that I waited until I received one to officially end the quarrel. I think he knew what I was about, for the letters were often more love letter than apology, but he did not seem to mind. The reunion was worth the trouble we went through to get to it.
By my fiftieth birthday, I began to worry. I was not aging as the women around me were doing. I looked older than I had when I was five and twenty, of course, and my face had thinned out as happens when one is no longer a blooming debutante. But my eyes were free of wrinkles, and my mouth had no lines about it. My neck remained firm, though my younger sister lamented in her letters that she had begun wearing thick necklaces to cover hers.
I began looking for ways to age myself, and even tried wearing cosmetics to accomplish the job, but I looked ridiculous and promptly washed it off.
Fitzwilliam also did not look his age. He was nearing sixty, but he was as trim and active as he had ever been, and his hair did not have a spot of grey. Our eldest daughters, now eight and six and twenty, also looked younger than they ought. It was understandable with Jane. She had inherited my gift, but Ida’s was likely due to constant healing and the family good looks.
It was a great relief to me to know I was not the only one who could heal. I could let the children run wild over Pemberley, knowing Jane was there. I taught her all the things it had taken me years to learn, and by the time she was twelve, she had the control I had not achieved until I was twenty.
All our children were special in one way or another. Ida was like my brother Henry. She could sense the feelings of others and always knew when someone had ill intentions. Thankfully, my brother was willing to come and stay for a time and guide her along.
(Henry had gone into business with Robin and the two of them were enormously successful. Jack had become a solicitor as I thought he might and he lived happily in Town with his wife—an heiress who took one look at his handsome face and convinced her father she had to have him. Great Aunt Ida was vastly amused.)
Richard, our third child and eldest son, seemed to have the gift of intuition. He did not have clear visions, he simply knew when something would or would not happen, or who was at the door before it opened. He found it no more useful than a parlor trick, but I looked on it as proof that he was mine.
Alistair, our fourth child, was like Ida and Robin and joined their group. Charlotte, named for my dear friend who lived at least half the year with me at Pemberley, was a musical savant. She said it was not a special power, but I disagreed. A six-year-old child who could play music adults struggled with was special. She could also play anything she picked up, from the violin to the flute to a drum her uncle bought her.
Mary could sense energy in others in the form of colors, not dissimilar to my brother Robin. Margaret was a born mathematician. Harry was so good with animals I wondered if he could actually speak to them, and Joseph had a gift for languages. He was fluent in five by his tenth birthday, and was learning more every day.
The only one who did not seem to be unusual in some way was our youngest, Silas. He was a sweet boy, kind, gentle, quiet. He held my heart in his tiny hands. He always seemed to be watching his elder brothers and sisters, absorbing everything around him. Perhaps that was his gift. He noticed everything.
It was not until Silas was nine years old that I understood how wrong I had been. Harry fell out of the hayloft and Jane was away with her new husband. I had been out on a call, so while they waited for me, Silas tried to comfort him. When I arrived back at Pemberley, Joseph was bouncing like a spring and telling me to follow him. I found Harry on the back terrace, staring at his leg in amazement, while Silas had his hands on his brother as he had seen me do dozens of times.
Harry met my gaze and we both watched Silas in awe.
“Darling, are you healing Harry?” I asked gently.
Silas looked at me with a bright smile, more excited than I had ever seen him. “Mama! I did it! I am a healer!”
I smiled tremulously, feeling unexpectedly emotional. I do not know how we missed it for so long, but we knew now, and I undertook teaching Silas everything I knew about healing—and how not to get caught doing it.
Darcy
I am five and sixty years of age now, and I cannot believe the life I have been privileged enough to lead. My wife is nothing short of a wonder. She is brilliant and beautiful and one of the funniest people I know. I cannot imagine my life without her.
We have been getting a great deal of comments lately on how youthful we look, especially my wife. I have even caught people poaching the spring water at Pemberley, thinking it is some sort of fountain of youth. It was laughable, but also concerning.
More than thirty-five years ago, I promised my wife I would protect her at all costs. To that end, I have left Pemberley in the hands of my two eldest sons. Richard could handle it on his own, but I did not want him to feel the pressures I had when I inherited young. He and Alistair make a good team, and my cousins have promised to look in on them regularly. Jane is nearby to ensure everyone is healthy, and Mary and Ida will not allow anyone with ill intentions near the family.
I have taken Elizabeth on a tour of Europe. We have no need to tell anyone our ages, and they may believe what they like. We shall never spend more than six months in one place, and we plan to be gone for several years. The children will visit us in various locations and we will see Silas at some point, depending on where he is located.
He surprised us all and joined the army as a surgeon. It was an unusual choice for someone of his rank in society, but our family shunned ridiculous restrictions years ago.
The first stop on our trip was Longbourn. Mr. Bennet had died peacefully in his sleep a few years ago, but Mrs. Bennet was still alive. One look at how kind the years have been to my wife’s mother, and I challenged anyone to say they do not understand where Elizabeth comes by her youthful appearance. Mrs. Bennet was eight and seventy when last we saw her, but I told her she did not look a day over sixty-five.
We spent a week in Hertfordshire, then moved on to the coast to catch our ship. We have begun with Italy and will spend the next year at least seeing what there is to see here.
Elizabeth is enchanted with it, and I am enchanted with Elizabeth. After nearly forty years together, she is still my favorite person to laugh with, and the one I want sleeping beside me for as many years as we are blessed with.
In short, she is my everything.
The End
