Jane Austen's Pride & Prejudice Sequel Bundle: 3 Reader Favorites (114 page)

Looking at her curiously, as if to query, he then gave a slight shake of his head and said simply, “Thank you.”

Abruptly, he drew her to his chest and kissed her upon the forehead. He mounted his horse and dug his heels quite soundly into its sides, encouraging it into a canter away. But Juliette could not see him do it for the tears in her eyes. She had walked half the distance to her own coach before she whirled and called after him. She had compleatly forgotten to tell him his wife was not at Pemberley, but at Longbourn.

“Darcy…Darcy!”

But he did not hear her.

T
he road was dry, hence dust curled behind the pounding hooves almost engulfing his horse and Darcy as he rode for Pemberley. Knowing it was reckless to travel with such haste upon an animal to whose stamina he could not attest, he strove on regardless. He knew the road home in his sleep, and thus, exactly where to stop to obtain another when this one inevitably faltered.

Each time he heeled to stop in a village, horse and rider both lathered and heaving, the event incited a small crowd to gather to see what manner of gentleman was in such a rush.

Dignity, however, was the least of his concerns, thus he paid little attention to the hubbub. The hauteur by which he had always presented himself to the world at large was outright abandoned by the time he reached the farthest reaches of Pemberley. For the summer heat not only caked dust upon his perspiring forehead, it demanded he discard his jacket entirely.

Once upon even more familiar ground, he cut off the main road to find a shorter route by the stables. It was there he saw his coach being unhitched from a team of horses that were lathered almost as generously as his own. He pulled to a stop but did not dismount, for he espied Edward Hardin as he stood before an opened door of the coach with a bucket of soapy water. The interior of the carriage was a bloody mess.

“Who travelled in this coach?” Darcy demanded.

His mouth slightly agape, Edward Hardin stood looking at the dirt-encrusted countenance of his long absent employer as if at an apparition. The man flinched when Darcy shouted the query at him a second time, but remained stunned yet. Too impatient to wait for information (and not certain he was sufficiently steeled to hear the answer), Darcy whirled his horse and kicked him toward the archway to the court and through it. At the doorsteps to Pemberley, he slung his leg over the neck of the horse and jumped down at a dead run.

Servants were by that time swarming and the door was thrown open for him, but only by the smallest margin, for he had taken the steps two at a time. Surprisingly, Bingley met him as he entered the vestibule.

Darcy offered no greeting, but demanded of him, “Is Elizabeth well?”

Bingley started to say something, stopped, looked down, then away. He held out one hand, palm up, and Darcy could not determine if this gesture was in supplication or in asking for help in explanation. That either was a possibility meant Bingley could not answer his question definitively with a “yes,” and Darcy grabbed his lapel to encourage some a response. One came not; hence, he shook him in the hope of rattling his vocal cords loose. Bingley’s vest was so sticky with blood, it caught Darcy’s attention. He held up his stained hand before them, and both looked upon it with horror. A cold trepidation caused Darcy to abandon seeking a determination of
Elizabeth’s well-being from anyone other than Elizabeth, herself.

“Where is she? Where is Elizabeth?”

Bingley pointed upstairs and Darcy’s boots assaulted them. At the top he took the corner by pivoting the newel post to speed himself, much as he did when a boy, and headed toward their rooms. Hannah had heard the commotion and opened the door in anticipation. He came to a skidding stop just inside.

He stood there, his chest heaving, less from exhaustion than emotion, for he could see Elizabeth there, the covers drawn up neatly beneath her chin. She lay still and white as death. No baby was in evidence.

Walking over to the edge of the bed, he kneeled and took her hand, softly calling her name.

“Lizzy,” he said. “Lizzy.”

O
dd, the tricks one’s mind plays. She would have sworn before God that it was her husband’s voice she heard. But that was an impossibility.

Impossible or not, with great effort she turned upon her side and reached out, the allurement of his voice was irresistible. Grasping the side of the mattress, she tried to rise upon one arm, but she was too weak and collapsed upon it instead.

Again, she heard his voice calling her name and she opened her eyes, blinking wildly to clear the haze. The only thing within her focus was the floor, and upon it, a pair of boots. Tall boots. Large boots. Astoundingly large and decidedly dusty boots.

“Darcy.”

Had she managed any tears, they would have been obliterated by the shower of kisses bestowed upon her face by her husband. She endeavoured to say more than just his name, but her voice was weak.

“Do not tire yourself, Lizzy.”

There was little grander reason she could think of to exert herself, and she told him thus repeatedly. He, however, had whirled about demanding someone to tell him of her condition. Elizabeth tugged at his shirt, trying to get his attention once more, but failed. Jane, Hannah, Mrs. Reynolds, and Bingley too stood just beyond the world of her bed, peering upon them, smiling at the reunion. Darcy seemed reassured by such felicity, but confused.

“What?” he demanded. “What?!”

Elizabeth lifted her hand and pointed toward Hannah. Hannah was, indeed, holding a baby.

He looked again to Elizabeth and asked, incredulous, “Ours?”

Weakly, she smiled and nodded.

In another life, he might have rushed to look upon his child, but he did not. He took both of Elizabeth’s hands and kissed the palms. Repeatedly. Thereupon he attended her lips, caressing her face as he did. It would have been expected that those in presence would have known to give their reunion some privacy but no one there was in a mind to take their leave. Hence, Darcy finally rose and walked over to look upon the countenance of his child. He did so not so much in curiosity, but as in believing that what was required. Having not had time to fully appreciate his fatherhood, the magnitude of his altered situation was quite lost upon him.

The tiny bundle swaddled in Hannah’s arms turned crimson as it began a squall of impressive decibel. Jane reached over and turned back the edge of the blanket revealing a dark-haired, red-faced, squirming infant. He threw his head back with a hearty laugh of delight, now compleatly enlightened he was, indeed, a father.

Hannah laughed. Jane laughed as well. Bingley grabbed Mrs. Reynolds by the waist and swung her around, and the startled woman stopped laughing when he did. Bingley put her down a little meekly and walked over to stand behind Jane, his hands resting upon her shoulders.

It was only then that Darcy saw Jane also held a baby.

“My congratulations as well to you and Jane, Bingley,” he said.

Everyone was looking at him so queerly, he was suddenly befuddled.

“Have I admired the wrong baby?”

He turned back to Elizabeth and bid, “Which is ours?”

She said, “Do you mean, sir, that we can keep but one?”

That he looked at her quite blankly revealed his deafness. Thus, she held out her arms, which he hastily reclaimed.

She held his face in her hands and said as clearly and plainly as she could, “They are both ours.”

The rapture with which Darcy embraced not only his wife, but also his new-found fatherhood, transcended mere words. And eventually his reservoir of vigour was compleatly sapped by emotion and he fell fast asleep atop Elizabeth’s covers. She had no way of knowing, of course, but concluded regardless, that it was the first peace he had secured for months. Hence, she was reassured, not affronted, by his relief.

The story of the birth of their babies could wait. That they and Elizabeth had survived the ordeal was all the information he wanted just at that particular moment. Elizabeth needed only to hear the murmured confirmation from him that Georgiana had returned to England unscathed to allow herself a serene rest as well. Hence, the blissful onlookers took their cue and retreated from the room, none realising that Darcy had not thought to inquire if either of his offspring was now heir to the vast fortune of Pemberley.

T
he babies favoured each other prodigiously, hence, their differing gender supplied the most efficient means of telling one from the other. This, as it happened, was of more immediate importance to their family than which would eventually inherit. And assured of lineage, Pemberley and the surrounding countryside feted the births with festivities unparalleled since the Darcys’ wedding.

Whilst Derbyshire celebrated, Darcy embarked upon an individual interview of those present to learn eventually the full story of Elizabeth’s pregnancy and the spectre of childbirth upon the road.

Most post hoc commentary had been jests by Elizabeth about the extent of her recent girth (now able to find more humour about it once her waistline was returned to an approximation of the past). Yet he uncovered that, though Jane actually delivered the babies, the dual birth explained Bingley’s bloodied waistcoat. For his arms were commandeered as the most convenient repository for one of the squalling new-borns. Upon the new father’s behalf, the fright and desperation during that event was ignored in favour of a telling that emphasised excitement and suspense. Much was the same for the tale of his ruptured hearing. The truth would be left to the ingenuity of each other’s considerable imagination of what actually occurred.

It was within these conversations that Darcy learnt that, howbeit the family was blessed with two births, two deaths had occurred as well. When he heard from Bingley the sad news of Mr. Bennet’s passing, he went directly to Elizabeth to console her. Possibly in want of not dwelling on that cheerless subject, she told her husband that Wickham had fallen in battle. She did so hesitantly, uncertain of just how that bit of information would sit upon him. He appeared to take it quite unremarkedly. Her father’s death clearly was the more pertinent of the two.

The next day, understandably, Elizabeth was weak and bedridden yet. Even so, Jane had difficulty keeping her still, for she could not be happy but to have her husband and both babies in the bed with her. So roundly delighted to be home, Darcy was not inclined to leave her even for a moment, and was only coaxed from her side by the bell calling that Miss Georgiana had returned to Pemberley.