Darcy and Fitzwilliam: A Tale of a Gentleman and an Officer (29 page)

The baby, looking baffled at all this intense scrutiny, gave a tiny sneeze, and Darcy began to laugh all over again. He took the child toward the window for better light.

"Mr. Darcy," Amanda called out. "Excuse me, but I suggest you bring that child to his mother before she leaps off the bed. We are not quite finished cleaning the afterbirth yet."

"Oh, Lizzy, forgive me." She had already squirmed to the edge, about to launch herself across the floor and claim her son in another moment. He swiftly brought the child over to her eager arms, and she reached out, bringing the tiny bundle into her embrace. Darcy sat behind her and held them both, the new parents gazing lovingly together at their child.

Darcy took off his neck scarf, wiping the perspiration from Elizabeth's face, kissing her over and over, hugging her head to his chest. "I love you, William," she whispered. "Thank you for my son."

***

It was over.

With the new family huddled together on their bed, the very proud and proper Mr. Darcy finally gave in to his own tears as his arms wrapped around his world.

His wife and his child were alive.

After allowing them their first few moments as a family, Amanda took the baby to the side table where a basin of sudsy warm water was waiting. She washed the child gently, checking that his cord was securely protected, carefully cleaning between each finger and toe, then wrapped him in a soft blanket and placed the bundle back into the couple's waiting arms.

Darcy took her hand and squeezed it tightly. "Forgive my actions, Amanda. How can we ever thank you enough?" Amanda wiped away a few tears of her own as she laughed at the disheveled man before her, his hair flying every way, his neck cloth gone, his shirt half pulled out and hanging at the sides.

"You have a beautiful child and a wonderful wife, William. Be good to them both, and that will be payment enough." Darcy surprised her then by suddenly cupping her neck and pulling her face down for a proper kiss firmly on the mouth, and she giggled as he instructed her never to tell Fitzwilliam that he had done that.

A timid knock on the door by a maid brought the information that the doctor had arrived. He entered the room much like an avenging angel, striding over to a chair, flipping off his heavy cape, furious over his disturbed evening at the opera, and unmoved regarding the seemingly early arrival of the infant. "This was most inconvenient, most ill-timed," he announced to no one in particular as he gave the tiny child a cursory examination. That it was not a tiny, premature infant, but a healthy seven pounds plus, put him further out of sorts, and he placed the blame for any incorrect calculations solely on Darcy and Elizabeth, who had thoughtlessly misled him.

After this pronouncement, he ordered everyone from the room so that he could examine Elizabeth. The last thing Amanda heard as the door closed behind her was Darcy's furious voice saying it would be over the doctor's cold, dead body that he would ever leave his wife or his son again.

At that moment, Amanda realized she was exhausted, wanting nothing more than to see and hold her own little boy and to see and hold her own husband. She washed off her hands, removed her stained apron, and made her way downstairs.

The staff was milling about the ground floor, accepting glasses of the champagne Fitzwilliam had ordered opened. Some were emerging from their safe haven below, while others had just arrived back from their Boxing Day holiday with their families. They were thanking her and congratulating each other as she passed by, relief evident throughout the house. "Where are my son and the colonel?" she asked Mr. Winters at the foot of the stairs.

"We're in here, Amanda," Fitzwilliam called out softly.

She entered to find little Harry sound asleep in Fitzwilliam's embrace and her heart was touched deeply by the sight; this was her whole world. Her only reason to exist was there before her--a child looking so small and safe in a gentle husband's arms. Crouching down next to the settee, she rested her cheek on Richard's shoulder and thanked God silently for his goodness.

"Has he been asleep long?" she whispered, softly stroking her son's hair.

"Yes, well, a good bit of the time." Fitzwilliam tenderly laid his arm across Amanda's shoulders, concerned at how weary she looked. "Before he grew bored and fell asleep, he
was
curious enough to ask me where babies come from."

"And what did you tell him?"

"Cornwall."

As tired as she was, he still could manage to make her laugh.

"Well, what did we have?" He spoke softly, loving the tender look in her eyes whenever babies were involved. "It is over, I take it? I heard an infant's wail. I figured it was either the babe, or Darcy discovered I spilled brandy on his better night robe."

Amanda nodded. "A little boy... quite large... very loud."

"In other words, a typical Darcy. Excellent! How is Elizabeth?"

"Blissfully happy and relieved that it is over. We had a spot of trouble at the end, but God was with her."

Fitzwilliam tucked a few stray hairs behind her ear, then he wiped a tear from her cheek. She brought his palm to her lips to kiss.

"You look tired," he whispered, and she nodded.

"And how did the imperturbable Darcy manage?" His eyes had taken on a dreamy, emotional quality as he watched her.

"Wonderfully. They should force all fathers to be present at their children's births."

His hand moved lovingly across her back, caressing her body. "I suppose that now you will want me to do that for our child?"

"Would you?"

"I imagine it would depend on when I felt I was up to the task."

"And you would be up to the task... when?"

"When pigs throw pies..."

She laughed softly. "Well, it would be only fair, wouldn't it?" She whispered. "After all, you were there for the ecstasy of the conception. You should be there for the agony of the birth." Her sudden smile was filled with such tenderness and wonder that his heart nearly burst.

He was overwhelmed as always by the depth of love that he felt for this woman and with his concern for her own pregnancy. His fear for her upcoming labor and delivery had been churning up within him from the moment she told him. Hearing Lizzy's screams this night had merely given that fear a terrifying substance. Never again, he vowed, would he allow her to get with child--never would he place her life in jeopardy.

His hand came up to caress her cheek. "You know, I think I've loved you for years, from the moment I first saw you in the distance, walking across the park in St. James Square. But I never loved you more than I do this very minute."

Her manner turned very serious. "It appears our carefully laid plans for escape tonight have been ruined. What do we do now?"

"I would say sleep. I'm exhausted. I don't know about you."

She nodded and allowed some of her tension to disperse. "Good. I don't know that I'd be up to traveling right now. It's been quite a day."

"I went to the house, and they said you had already left. Why didn't you wait for me? Did your mother-in-law return unexpectedly?"

She picked lazily at strands of Harry's hair and grunted. "We evidently had another miscommunication concerning time."

Knowing his protest of innocence would be futile, he let it go. "I dismissed the coach I had hired to take us to Portsmouth in the morning. I told him I would send a message when to return. I think it best if we cross over to Copenhagen as soon as possible, though. I have several friends still living there. And then, when you are safely delivered, on to America, perhaps." Her returning smile could not disguise growing apprehension, and she sighed. He was giving up so much for them--his career, his family, his friends... his very country.

"Here, come up and sit by me and let me take care of you now. You look like you're about done in."

She stood slowly and settled into the seat next to him, snuggling under his arm and resting her head on his shoulder. Pulling her closer, he leaned down for a kiss, first lightly on her forehead and then deeply upon her mouth, their tongues stroking slowly and gently, thoroughly caressing each other.

It was two hours later, and Darcy was strolling around their bedroom, unwilling to return his son to the family cradle. He was enraptured with the small, sleeping bundle in his arms, so warm and soft and defenseless. This was his heir, the man who would carry the Darcy name and heritage and fortune into the future, the comfort and pride of his parent's old age. It was heavy baggage for such tiny shoulders, but Darcy would be there to help his son every step of the way, every moment he was needed, until his last breath. He kissed the little head, enjoying the innocent scent unique to babies, his life already in forfeit, never to be the same.

Lizzy kept drifting off to sleep, however, unable or unwilling to concentrate on her husband's excited chatter, so he made his way soundlessly down the stairs to the front parlor, where he found his cousin sleeping. Both Richard and Amanda were snoring disgracefully, and the colonel did not immediately respond to Darcy's initial gentle requests to awaken. Finally, an exasperated Darcy gave the bottom of his cousin's boot a very hard and swift kick. "Fitz, you pathetic sloth, wake up and meet your new cousin."

"What!" Fitzwilliam awoke with a start, snorted and then gasped. He shook his head to clear it from sleep. "What time is it?!"

"Half past three in the morning."

"You bloody bastard! You're lucky I didn't have a... a pistol in my hand or... a sword... sharp object... lightning-fast reflexes... lethal..." His snores resumed before his head fell back onto the settee.

"Wake up!" Darcy hauled off and kicked his boot again, much harder. "Get up, you imbecile. Meet my son."

Fitzwilliam's eyes finally blinked open and focused on the bundle in Darcy's arms. Yawning broadly, he slowly stood, hoisting the still-sleeping Harry higher onto his shoulder. "Never tell me this is the brute that woke up the entire of Mayfair with his bellowing?"

"Hellacious, wasn't he?" Darcy beamed as he pulled back the blanket.

"Well, I'll be damned. What's he calling himself these days?"

"Bennet George Darcy."

"Benny Darcy?"

"Good God, no! Sounds like a public-house proprietor. We'll call him George."

Fitzwilliam was very impressed, already feeling the bonds of family for the tiny fellow. "He's rather immense to have come out of our little Lizzy, isn't he?" he whispered. "Ooh! Look at that head! Fitzwilliam proportion head--very promising. He'll be a brilliant scholar."

Darcy nodded proudly. "Yes, and Lizzy assured me that this is our last child and that I can never touch her again." By the smile on Darcy's face, Fitzwilliam knew she would soon be required to revisit that declaration.

"God, but he looks a great deal like your father, doesn't he?"

"That's because he's bald."

"No, don't be absurd. Look at his nose and the drool on his chin. Uncle George is stamped all over this face. I think I'll get him a little powdered wig for his christening."

"You would be godfather, you know."

"The immense good fortune of this child just keeps accumulating."

Darcy laughed. "The doctor examined him and Elizabeth and said they are both splendid." He tenderly kissed his son's head. "Although, I could have said as much."

"I'm surprised you allowed that glorified barber anywhere near them after this evening."

Darcy cooed at his child. "The fucking bastard is lucky he left with his manhood still attached, isn't he, little one? No, he'll not come anywhere near this house or my family again, I can guarantee that." Darcy rubbed his nose against his boy's tiny mittened fist. "Not if he wants to retain possession of his spleen." He then continued relating to the child all manner of bloody things he would visit upon the good doctor. "Amanda's friend, Anthony Milagros, will be called for tomorrow. I've heard very good things about him."

Nodding, Fitzwilliam leaned down and kissed the child's forehead, then discharged another loud, lusty yawn in the baby's face. The baby wrinkled his nose and shook his head in disgust, making the two men laugh uproariously.

"Go on upstairs and get some proper rest. Should I send a note over in the morning to Lady Penrod about Amanda?"

"No. I believe we have burned that bridge this night. Evidently, Amanda's maid ran off with one of your footmen, probably back to the old woman to report. In fact, we may have no place to go after tonight, Fitz. Is it still all right if we stay here on a temporary basis?"

"Do you even need to ask?" He shook his head. "She saved Elizabeth's life tonight, Fitz, as well as my son's. I'm sure of it. You both can live here as long as you desire."

As Fitzwilliam was stretching his arms and long legs, he barked his laughter. "Thank you, Cousin, but I'm certain you'll wake to regret that offer. The fact is, though, that the marriage cannot be hidden anymore. We're well in the soup now, and in a way, I am glad of it."

"I don't know how we can ever thank you, and especially Amanda. When I think what might have happened here last night..." Darcy's voice began to break when suddenly he laughed. "He is so big, Richard! You have to see his skinny feet. I can't believe he came from my little Lizzy. He'll tower over you and me one day."

"He is here and healthy, and that's all the counts, brat. Thank God this ordeal is over." When Fitzwilliam turned to wake Amanda, he found her sleeping soundly. She had fallen facedown and was snoring on the spot where he had been sitting. He shook her shoulder to wake her. "The entire household was vying for the happy task of blowing your brains out if this had gone on any longer."

Wearing a borrowed nightgown from Elizabeth that was both too short and too tight, Amanda fussed about Harry's bed for a final "tuck in and hug tight," although the recipient of all her motherly attentions was already dead to the world.

The little boy had not awakened when Fitzwilliam carried him up the stairs--so exhausted that he did not wake when he was laid down on his little bed or when his mother undressed him and slipped a nightshirt on him. Amanda watched her son as he slept, an angel still new and innocent and sweet. If only they had been able to slip away tonight
.
If only she could be free, even for a moment, of the terror of losing him, a terror so overwhelming that she was sorry her husband had even awakened her.

She was both emotionally and physically exhausted from the day's events, her mind a jumbled mush with nightmarish visions of her boy being ripped from her arms, her boy screaming for her, her boy suffering because of her weakness of loving another.

The reality was that any hope for escape was probably finished. She had long suspected that servants had been watching her, waiting for her to cross the mistress. Someone would be rewarded handsomely this night. They would not wait until the mistress returned from her holiday party, she would be told immediately. The authorities would come in the morning to take away her son, and she would be forced to beg permission to return with him to Penwood House.

Once more her existence would be solitary, alone for years in that wretched house. In fact, the loneliness would be even worse now. Richard had opened a door for her to a life unimagined, a life with a passionate, caring partner. It was a life she could not openly live, if at all, for years to come, and then only if Richard was willing to wait for her.

Who was she trying to fool? After this night, they would be lucky to meet at all, let alone like thieves, sneaking around to steal forbidden moments. How long could he wait for her? Why would he wait for her? She ached only for what every other woman seemed to have and she could not: a home and a family. With growing melancholy, she steeled herself to the obvious. There could only be this night as a family, as a normal couple together.

***

Fitzwilliam looked distracted and tired after having spoken at length with Darcy. He was wearing Darcy's borrowed night robe, brandy stains and all. He reached his hand out to Amanda. "Come on to bed now, love." After kissing Harry's cheek, she nodded kindly to the nursemaid who would keep watch over her son during the night, and then they walked silently into Richard's usual room.

He closed the door and went immediately to the desk to take up a large stack of letters waiting for him, turning up the lamp light to read them. There was correspondence from the War Department, from Wellington, from his father. All demanded his immediate attention, all were questioning his whereabouts for the past month, all had their own anxieties, their own requests of him.

"Are you coming to bed soon, Richard?" Amanda sat on the edge of the bed, watching him, seeing the concern in his eyes, or the humor, or the aggravation, depending upon whose letter he was reading. Her heart calmed suddenly when she realized there was one good thing to come of all this tragedy. At least he would be safe. At least now he would not be made to sacrifice so much.

"In a moment, dear." He pulled his chair out and sat, taking up his pen to give his response to the more urgent of the letters.

Amanda retrieved his clothes still lying where he had dropped them. She folded them and placed them neatly onto the chair. She waited and watched for her husband to come to bed, refusing to sleep this last night.

***

There were only a few hours until dawn when he finally pulled the covers back. Although a fire blazed, the room felt damp and cold. Amanda's gentle fingers touched his mouth.

"I thought you were asleep already, Amanda. You were so tired. Why don't you try to rest?"

Instead she reached for him, pulled him down, began to kiss his neck, his ear, and then began to nip at his shoulder, her hand moving slowly down his chest and stomach.

His breathing stopped. Concern fought with lust as he gathered her tightly into his embrace. "Amanda, you're trembling." His voice sounded rough. She had been through so much, and this boldness was very unlike her. He smoothed the hair from her face, sighing and confused. She had so many different moods, this new wife of his, with so many mercurial emotions concerning sex that they baffled him. Sometimes, when she seemed the most amorous, it was actually just a plea for comforting. Sometimes it was simply from insecurity, sometimes lust. There were preferences for how and where, preferring curtains pulled tightly and total darkness, clean sheets, a tidy room. Certain positions took a little coaxing, but with enough prior notice could be accommodated.

On the other hand, he knew that men needed absolutely no excuse for sex nor did they care a whit where or when or how. It was all to the good and very basic.

Her hand continued its achingly slow descent.

The South of France saluted.

Responding immediately, Fitzwilliam moved her body beneath his, gently drawing her long, silky legs about his waist. He grasped her bottom, and his breathing quickly turned to panting. She whispered his name over and over, reverently, like a prayer between kisses that rapidly became fierce and savage and hungry.

He rose up on his elbows to take some of his weight from her, but she urgently shook her head. "Come back," she whispered.

"Amanda," he said hoarsely, "I'm too big... the baby. I'll smother you both. Let me at least support myself a little."

She grabbed at him, clutching and pulling until his beautiful mouth was again on hers, and then he was inside her again and carefully pressing her deeply, rhythmically into the bed, but she wanted to feel covered, protected, possessed. She grabbed at him desperately, moving her hips until it rendered him helpless and unthinking, and he soon forgot his much larger size and weight, forgot her delicate condition, forgot the boy and nurse in the next room, forgot that he was a guest in his cousin's home or that there were innocent people living in respectable homes outside their window. He growled and yelled, and his body soon trembled its release. Finally, they lay there, breathing as one.

It was several moments before he raised himself onto an elbow to gaze down in the moonlight at her, a look of stunned appreciation on his face. "Good God, woman," he whispered. "You'll have me burst into flames one of these days." He smoothed some hair from her face and kissed her nose then laughed softly. "I don't know why I am bothering to whisper, I'm certain shutters are being slammed all over Mayfair from the racket we just made."

Her fingers caressed his face, fingers tracing each line, each crevice, while she skimmed her hand across the scar on his jaw and she smiled briefly at the memory of their lovemaking.

"Amanda, stop," he said gently, capturing her hand. "You're touching me like I'm going to disappear. I am not, you know." He tried to laugh it off and kissed her forehead, beginning to remove himself from her. "I wish you would have faith in me, trust that all will be well. I won't let anything happen to you or the boy."

"Don't leave me yet," she pleaded. It would be hard for him in the shadows to see the panic in her eyes or know how fiercely it rose in her chest.
This could be our last night together, my darling, for many years to come
. She forced her voice to sound cheery. "It feels much better to make love properly, I mean in the dark like this, doesn't it? Making love in the afternoon light felt rather badly behaved. I was always embarrassed to know that you could see me when I called out your name."

He enveloped her again with his body and arms and whispered into her ear, "I believe shrieked would be more accurate." She cuffed him affectionately on his shoulder, and they both laughed softly.

They remained in each other's arms, talking in whispers, laughing and touching intimately. It was a while before he slowly began to feel the stirring again and once more began to kiss her mouth, her eyes, her throat... feeling the madness in them both returning.

***

Darcy still could not sleep and restlessly paced, his gaze falling across the broken door handle to Lizzy's dressing room. Whenever he passed, he felt a tremendous stab of guilt strike at his stomach. Tragedy had ventured so easily into his home and had nearly taken all that was dear to him. His thoughts punished him, endlessly replaying the fight they had had and how this evening could have turned out so differently if not for Amanda.

His eye caught torn pieces of paper surrounding the dressing-table chair. Reaching down, he picked them up and patiently assembled them upon the table, finally reading Caroline's note to Elizabeth, finally understanding what had happened.

"So this is what started the whole thing," he sighed raggedly. "A nasty bit of revenge from a rejected woman." He sat down heavily on the chair and reread the letter again.

I have to accept my own part in this. I kept the truth from Lizzy when I might have avoided this whole trouble by only being honest with her. I certainly was no gentleman; she was right about that
. His disappointment with himself was tremendous, even greater than his anger at Caroline, but he would not lose his control again. Never. Least of all over that vain and silly trollop.

"William?" Lizzy raised her head upon hearing him enter their bedroom.

"Why are you awake? You are supposed to be resting."

"I heard you sighing in there and grew concerned."

"How are you feeling?" He took her hand in his and kissed her forehead.

"As if I'd been hit by a runaway carriage. Is everything all right? Good, then I need to see my son again."

"He is beautiful, Lizzy." Darcy picked the child up from the large cradle and brought him to her. "Have I mentioned that before?"

As she smiled, he lay down beside her, the baby nestled between them in her arms. "I am so sorry, Lizzy, for this whole evening," he finally said. "What a mess I created with my temper. I will never forgive myself."

"Oh, of course you will, at least you should, and probably sooner than I will consider appropriate." She patted his arm lovingly. "Remove your boots, please, dear."

She is feeling better
. He laughed to himself as he pulled them off.

"William, you must stop whipping yourself. We will have many more fights before we are finally too old and infirmed even to recognize each other. When that time comes, we shall, hopefully, be polite acquaintances."

He snuggled back into bed beside her. "I am normally such a sane, dignified gentleman of the world. Why is it that around you I completely lose my wits?"

"Your wits are merely the first of many sacrifices to come."

The quiet warmth of the room and the strong bonds of love and family kept them quiet and content for a long while. Then, suddenly unwilling to delay a moment longer, he hugged her tight and said a silent prayer before delivering his long-overdue confession. "I found the letter from Caroline," he whispered. "I never realized before how evil and cruel she could be. I must confess to you, Elizabeth, that I did see her at Netherfield, but only because she had tricked me into going there. She forged a message to me from Charles, saying he needed help with a problem. I thought it concerned Jane and didn't want to stress you if it was something I could handle alone." He scrubbed his face roughly. "So much for my consideration. Anyway, I left immediately upon learning of her deceit."

Stunned for a moment, she said nothing. "But you could have told me, William. I would have understood." She then remembered her sporadic pregnancy ravings and sighed. "... Or not. Well, perhaps it
was
best that you said nothing. But that trip was months ago. Why send the note now, when we are so vulnerable? Could she have deliberately timed the letter's arrival?"

He could not speak for a long while. "If I thought that, I don't know what I would do to her, can't even let myself think. But I tell you we won't ever again see or hear from her. I will have to tell Bingley the whole story, and you will need to confide in your sister Jane so that we can arrange our visits with them without coming into contact with Caroline. Is that all right with you, Elizabeth?"

She nodded. "I would never lose Jane through this. I think they will both understand. I hope so, at any rate."

"Now, go to sleep. I'll put the angel back into his cradle."