Jane Austen's Pride & Prejudice Sequel Bundle: 3 Reader Favorites (60 page)

Elizabeth’s ever-growing belly had become cumbersome to her by autumn. As was expected of her, she kept herself cloaked in great folds of clothing and withdrew from society once her condition became obvious. Seldom did she venture beyond the immediate demesne. The single time she ventured to the stables to visit Boots, her husband scolded that the uneven ground was too treacherous for her. He even feared her negotiating the stairs and suggested they room downstairs until after her confinement.

Exasperated, she reminded him, “I am merely with child. I am not suffering from dropsy!”

In the presence of company (the very narrow circle that her confinement allowed), Mr. Darcy never spoke of Mrs. Darcy’s health or the impending
accouchement
. It might have been presumed that he chose to ignore it, as it was a woman’s province and not a subject on which gentlemen concerned themselves.

However, as Elizabeth had come to understand, the more detached from a topic Darcy appeared to others, the greater was his private emotion. For when they were alone he was immersed in pleasure and overwhelming pride. In the privacy of their bedroom, he uncovered her stomach, marvelled at its girth, and bedevilled her about her protruding navel.

“If you get much larger, I fear it will explode,” he said to her with such seriousness, it took her a minute to know it was a tease.

Weeks were spent summoning him to her side in anticipation of foetal activity. And for weeks, all went for naught. Their shy child became still as a mouse the moment its father laid his hand upon her stomach. (“Are you certain you are with child and it is not simply gas?”) However, after the initial kick, the baby gyrated relentlessly whenever Darcy was near. So rambunctious a bundle was it, Elizabeth complained she had been undoubtedly impregnated with a whirligig.

As blithesome as were most of their days, all was not frivolity. For some reason her husband did not fully understand, Elizabeth favoured wearing his night-shirts yet. And, although she did not tell Jane, she and Darcy continued to share a bed. If their desire for intimacy was not discouraged by her menses, neither would it be by the lack of them nor the resultant child. Even so, they were not so certain that such intrusion in her body would not harm the baby as to risk it. However, they did continue to find methods of pleasure not hitherto discovered (and both firmly believed it was but with practise that perfection could be achieved).

A particular delight was to lie amidst tousled bed-covers long after all decent folk had arisen to meet the day. Upon these occasions, he undertook a preoccupation with her maternally-enhanced trinity of breasts and belly. These mounds were kissed, massaged, and caressed assiduously. This relentless manipulation eventually resulted in his discovery that her belly was not the only part of her person that was fecund. Her gown became wet.

She laughed at his expression as he turned and looked to her saying, “Madam, pray, just where did you acquire that? I thought there was milk but after the baby was born.”

“’Tis not milk, just the preparation for it,” she explained.

Had Jane not gone through the process first and enlightened Elizabeth, she knew she might have been as surprised as was Darcy. And because she witnessed baby Eliza’s birth, Darcy insisted she describe it in messy, bloody detail. He listened intently, but with great abhorrence. Having seen any number of animals give birth, he did not quite want to envision such messy disorder of his dear Elizabeth.

“I do not think it fair for me to have enjoyed such pleasure putting the baby in you while you should have to endure such pain to get it out.”

“Fairness has nothing to do with it, for if it did, men would certainly give birth to half of the babies.”

Daintily, he touched the end of his tongue to her nipple and then took it into his mouth. Although he had pressed his lips to her and suckled before, never had he expected to taste the fruit of her body. He was all astonishment at the achievement.

His lips’ insistent drawing of her breast bestowed upon her an odd sensation. Much in fascination of this new ability of hers, he was unwitting of her rumination.

He mused, “It does not taste of milk.”

Thereupon he tried it again, looking puzzled, as if it was demanded that he assign it a flavour.

She nestled against him, then sighed and said, “My mother says I need to find a wet-nurse now. I am to begin interviews.”

He stopped the investigation of her colostrum-in-the-making and, with all due consideration, asked, “I wonder if my wet-nurse is yet about here. What was her name…?”

“If she is, and by some miracle producing milk yet, I think we must have her. But you no doubt drained the poor woman dry.”

She laughed, but was soon overtaken by a bit of melancholia. Happy in all other aspects, she was not happy about this. Thus, a small annoyance inflated to unreasonable proportions. He sensed her unease and gave her his full attention.

She sighed and said, “Mama says modesty demands that a lady must have a wet-nurse. Perchance you shall think ill of me, but I do not wish to think of our baby feeding from another woman. She says it is common to be suckled. But I know mothers who nurse their own babies. The doctor says men of medicine today believe it is good, if I so choose it. But Mama is adamant.”

The more she thought of it, the more senseless it seemed.

“Jane listened to Mamma and had to bind herself to belay her milk. The pain was unbearable…”

She looked at her husband. He appeared to have heard of more womanly distress than he could bear at one sitting.

“You will not have to do anything you do not wish. You will not,” he stated emphatically.

There existed within him yet a serious lack of humility in understanding how little Providence fell under his sway.

That he refused she endure any distress was of particular pleasure to her. However, he was unburdened by much other bother on her behalf. For her pregnancy was an
easy one, with no more concern than musing over nursery and nursings. The doctor pronounced her indecently sturdy for a woman with child.

Nonetheless, Georgiana was banished for the duration of Elizabeth’s term. Her brother was adamant that being under the same roof as a knapped woman would sully her virtue. When this pronouncement was made (using those exact words), Elizabeth had to slap both hands over her mouth to keep from sniggering out loud.

By that time, Jane was knapped again herself, and her frequent visits bade Darcy, with considerable self-righteousness, point out that Georgiana must be unwitting of such unseemly doings.

“Yes,” Elizabeth agreed in overt facetiousness, “she might wonder just how these babies were deposited in the first place.”

As was often when he believed himself accused of overindulged compunction, he chose to rise above it. This forbearance was suffered in pitiable silence. Usually he allowed himself to be cajoled from it within the half-hour.

With Jane often came her youngling, Eliza, who drooled constantly and jabbered incomprehensibly. Her namesake, however, pronounced her adorable and interpreted every syllable for her somewhat sceptical uncle.

“She said my name, Darcy! Jane, did you not hear her? She said ‘Elizabeth.’”

“No lack of affection for you upon her part I am sure, but I do not believe ‘Elizabeth’ will be her first word,” Darcy said a bit too dourly.

“Here, Mr. Darcy, you must practise this,” Elizabeth announced, unceremoniously plopping Eliza in his lap.

He made a face of great imposition and said, “I have no intention of practising something which I intend not to do.” Thereupon he added, “I shall look upon your baby, Elizabeth, but just from a distance sufficiently safe from any unexpected discharges.”

Jane and Elizabeth sat with their arms folded, unswayed by his profession of distaste of babies. He held Eliza up before his face and talked to her quite seriously.

“You did not say Aunt Elizabeth, did you Eliza? You were trying to say Uncle Darcy, were you not?”

Enthralled, Eliza put her fingers against his lips as he spoke and giggled when he pretended to nibble them. Glancing at Elizabeth and Jane watching this exchange, he stood and awkwardly handed Eliza back to her mother. He checked his pocket watch. Noting that there were any number of manly things to which he must attend, he said he had no further time to spend with expectant women and babies. Pausing to kiss Elizabeth’s cheek before he departed, she whispered that his ruse was ineffectual.

“You have been quite unsuccessful at disguising yourself a curmudgeon.”

“I fancy I shall have to practise that as well,” he said as he strode away.

As early autumn brought a chill to the air, Elizabeth awoke one morning with a cramp. She thought nothing of it, for it was weeks until her expected laying-in. With that in mind, Darcy planned to ride out with Mr. Rhymes to inspect the fields, for a wet spring had delayed harvest and the scythes had just begun to reap. The nearer the calendar drew to All Saints, the more he would limit how far he ventured.

When he came to her to bid her good-bye, she was yet atop the bed. To her husband, her stomach looked as if it was one more voluminous pillow amongst the covers and he gave a slight tug of affection to her braid and kissed her forehead. (Darcy had told Elizabeth that her body was mimicking the land, sown in the spring and ripened in the fall. He thought that a fit analogy and she was grateful she was not to deliver in the spring, lest he liken her to a cow.) With a promise that he would return before the gloaming, he departed.

Early afternoon saw Darcy a number of miles away overlooking a just-harvested field. The measure of the crop was reckoned by counting the ricks in each meadow. By the number upon which they gazed, it was an abundant year. Already those in the pinch of want had moved in behind the reapers, womenfolk and children scavenging for what was left of the corn. Some of the more penurious landowners imposed a levy upon what the poor winnowed from the soil, but Pemberley did not. If a family was so poor as to seek relief from the parish, they were free to take all they could find.

A billowing cloud of dust announced a rider coming fast down the lane. He rode with such haste that it stole Mr. Darcy’s attention from the gleaners. He recognised one of his own horses and upon it, Edward Hardin. He did not wait to be told.

He turned Blackjack and spurred him hard toward Pemberley.

Skidding into the courtyard, he slid off Blackjack before the horse stopped compleatly and tossed the reins and his crop in the direction of whoever happened to be standing by the entrance. He burst through the doors with such force, it sent them vibrating backwards, which startled even Mrs. Reynolds, who stood in anticipation of his entrance.

“Where?” he demanded.

She pointed up the stairs, to the room that had just recently been prepared for labour. He took the stairs two at a time, his boots hitting them loudly.

Over his shoulder he inquired, “Is this not early?” Then to no one, “This is early.”

When he reached the door to the birthing room he stopped and hesitated. The voice he heard told him he had arrived tardy to Jane. Hannah, literally wringing her hands in anxiety, stood outside. When he asked if the doctor was in with Elizabeth, she shook her head.

“Get him here!” he demanded, almost startling Hannah into tears, for she had never heard him raise his voice.

His outburst notified Jane of his presence. She came to the door to apprise him of Elizabeth’s situation. Calmly, Jane said yes, it was a little early, but assured him it was not too early. In that Jane was not one to alarm anyone unduly, he listened to that reassurance without compleatly embracing it. She warned him that Elizabeth was in some discomfort, but that was to be expected. He nodded his understanding, but steeled himself for her suffering as he entered the room. He wished for a reprieve to prepare himself for it.

Her eyes were closed and she looked pale. Stopping just inside the door, he wet his fingers and smoothed down his hair in an attempt to present a composure he did not feel.

Walking stealthily, he approached her bed and carefully perched upon the edge. He pushed an imaginary curl away from her face, an excuse to stroke her. She smiled and grasped his hand.