My Dearest Mr. Darcy: An Amazing Journey Into Love Everlasting (48 page)

Only once, when he turned two-and-twenty, was there a memory attached: Richard and Stephen Lathrop had conspired and surprised him at White's. The gents there had toasted to his birthday, his health, his prosperity, his future, on and on until the toasts declined to the realm of drinking a shot for his horse, his hair, his teeth, his boots, and so on. All he really remembered after that was waking up the next morning, shockingly actually in his bed at Darcy House, with the headache to beat all headaches. For the successive years he was blessedly content to forego any revelry.

This birthday was sedate, Lizzy certainly not physically able to tolerate an exaggerated affair and Darcy content to sip brandy while conversing and listening to his sister play and wife sing. All things taken into account, turning thirty was a blissful transition, Darcy glad to put the pain of his twenties behind and embrace the promised joy of his thirties and beyond.

T
HE FOLLOWING WEEKS WERE quiet at Pemberley. The weather grew gradually colder with frequent sprinkling rains. The leaves continually fell from the deciduous trees, barren skeletons remaining dotted about the grounds. Little by little the autumn blooms faded and died, the colors about the house transmuting from vibrant to dingy. The excellent Pemberley groundsmen, under the tutelage of Mr. Clark, fabulously maintained the gardens and lawns, keeping all immaculate and as colorful as possible. Lizzy was actually quite amazed at how even the intermittent haziness could not totally subdue the picturesque landscape. Nonetheless, the gradual tapering toward the monochrome of winter occurred.

Dusk daily fell sooner, extending the evenings. What warmth was attained during the day was rapidly dispensed as the sun set, requiring the servants to light the lamps and draw the drapes earlier. Fires blazed nightly from all the inhabited rooms, allaying the cold that insisted on creeping through the thick stone walls and driving the chill into the hallways. Stored winter wear was pulled out and thoroughly cleaned. New boots and thick slippers were purchased as needed. Lighter weight pelisses and shawls were consistently utilized even during the remaining fair days.

There was the occasional day of milder climate when Lizzy and Darcy would take short walks about the grounds, but generally they remained secluded in the manor where it was warm and safe. Darcy's residual cough dissipated completely, leaving him as robust as prior. He resumed his typical activities with long rides on Parsifal leading the agenda, his uncle ofttimes accompanying. Work was minimal and easily finished, allotting him plenty of free time. He became fanatical about keeping the staff and his wife abreast of his whereabouts. Never did he wander farther than the immediate surrounds or into Lambton, and that rarely. Even his gallops followed a standard route so he could be swiftly found if necessary.

He observed Elizabeth's every breath, driving her insane at times, but it was a compulsion uncontrollable. For her part, she essentially felt quite well. Her back ached to some degree almost constantly; the mild, sporadic false labor pains escalated to a frequent phenomenon; her feet swelled slightly, enough to prefer loose shoes for comfort; and she was forever short of breath as the baby seemed to press farther and farther up into her lung cavity.

Mrs. Hanford moved into her newly renovated apartments on the far side of the nursery. Lizzy discovered the joy of sharing infant-related discussions with the kindly woman. The nanny was thrilled by the nursery, having never seen a baby's room decorated so elaborately, and delighted in all the delicately knitted and sewn garments and blankets. She humbly gifted Mrs. Darcy with numerous tiny articles that she had created over the past months, Lizzy happily adding them to the piles waiting in the drawers. Lizzy visited the baby's room several times each day for no other purpose than to touch the clothing and items sitting about. Darcy twice looked all over the manor for her, reaching a point verging on hysteria, only to discover her rocking placidly in the chair and stroking her belly.

Dr. Darcy insisted Lizzy drink the tea for three weeks, after which he figured the baby could safely be born if he so desired. George never asked outright if he could deliver the baby, simply assuming control of the situation. Neither of the Darcys gave it the slightest thought, frankly never having it cross their minds that he should probably have formally asked their permission or that they should have formally requested his services.

Mrs. Henderson, the midwife, was informed of Dr. Darcy's planned attendance, as well as Darcy's. Darcy and Lizzy fretted that she would feel slighted and outraged, and they did not wishing to insult the premier midwife of mid Derbyshire. But true to his prediction, the charm of George Darcy prevailed. He won her over with smooth flattery, swapping outrageous birth tales and medical expertise. It was agreed between the two that the physician would deliver the Darcys' baby with Mrs. Henderson assisting.

Lizzy was observed closely and regularly questioned on her current state of being. Only once more did Dr. Darcy examine her, about a week after the initial scare. It was only an external exam, his sensitive fingers carefully palpating over her bare abdomen. Darcy watched the procedure avidly. His diagnosis was that the baby was positioned correctly, of a sufficient size but not too large, and would likely soon lower himself into his mother's birth canal. Lizzy, especially, was thrilled about the latter as breathing was increasingly problematic. As the frightening symptoms of premature labor had not recurred, even with Lizzy resuming her usual activities, the physician's opinion was that all was safe.

Darcy presented the world with his typical calm demeanor, not even his wife fully aware of the rising anxiety as December approached. He read through the textbook entries addressing the birth process so many times that he had them memorized. As if magnetized he was drawn to the shelves in the library devoted to animal husbandry and medicine, vainly imagining that the one book with all the answers had miraculously materialized since the last time he looked. The fact that he planned on never leaving his wife's side once labor was initiated was not discussed in so many words, it, like Dr. Darcy's obstetrical service, simply a matter of course.

Roughly a week and a half after his birthday, Darcy and his uncle were mounted on their horses. The day was cool but clear, the soft fluffy white clouds scattered in the azure sky were stationary as the winds were nonexistent. It was an excellent day for racing and the two men had taken advantage of the respite. George, like any Darcy in recent generations, had been placed on a horse before he could walk steadily. Although his professional duties did not allot him the time to ride for pleasure, he managed to adequately maintain his aptitude. Therefore, the two greatly enjoyed these excursions when they could embark on friendly wagering as to who would reach a designated point quickest. It was all in good fun, Darcy the younger inevitably winning, but George's rusty equestrian skills were improving.

Today they crossed the northern bridge spanning the river, bypassed the Village, and headed due east across the moor in a flash of black and brown with coattails flying. The final destination, a clump of trees on a small rise, was reached essentially simultaneously with the good doctor ever so slightly in the lead.

"Ha! I finally beat you!" George declared breathlessly. "Good boy, Aristotle, very good boy." He rubbed his mount's sweaty neck, reaching into a pocket for an apple.

Darcy was grinning, face flushed from the cool air, the picture of health and happiness. Parsifal, on the other hand, appeared decidedly out of sorts, not at all pleased with being displaced by the upstart Aristotle. "Do not fear, old man," Darcy placated, stroking and administering treats. "You are still my favorite."

They dismounted, allowing the horses to wander a bit and graze. George pulled a cigar from his breast pocket, leaning against a tree to puff in contentment. Darcy absently picked up a branch fallen to the ground and peeled at the loose bark, his gaze fixed dazedly on Pemberley nestled across the valley. Silence reigned for a time, both men lost to individual thoughts. It was Darcy who broke the quiet.

"I was reading in the book yesterday," he began, no need to clarify which book he was referring to as these sorts of introductions were becoming common, "and it was talking about the final stages of the labor process and how irrational the woman becomes. Have you seen this often?"

"It is as I told you months ago, William. Labor is intense and very painful. Women often lose sight of rational thought toward the end. It is why having someone dear who can retain that calm is so vital. Are you sure you are up to the task?"

Darcy continued to peel the bark strips, tossing randomly as he thought, finally speaking very slowly. "I want to answer with an unequivocal 'yes,' but the truth is I do not know what to expect, either of Elizabeth or myself. I cannot well tolerate seeing her in pain. So, I vacillate between wondering if I will faint dead or dash away in fright, or be strong and the calming influence she needs. Normally I do not doubt my backbone, but it is all so different where my wife is concerned."

"Of course it is ultimately up to you, William, and none will think less of you if you opt to stay away as most husbands do. However, imagine it this way. You are in the sitting room or library or parlor, wherever, sipping brandy while your beloved wife is screaming and in intense distress. Pemberley is large with thick walls, but probably not thick enough. Even if you cannot hear her, your knowledge of the subject is too inclusive to not know what is transpiring. How would you tolerate that?"

Darcy shook his head, throwing the denuded branch away. "Not well."

"For what it is worth, nephew, I think you will be amazing. Additionally, there is no doubt in my mind that Elizabeth will want you there and will respond to your presence." He chuckled lowly. "You are becoming quite the trend setter, Mr. Darcy. Marrying for love not once but twice, wearing a wedding ring, sharing one chamber, and now attending your child's birth. Folks may write books about you!"

"Terrific. My life's goal."

George laughed in earnest, inhaling deeply of the cigar and releasing a satisfied sigh. "Ah! Nothing like the taste of fine tobacco. Comes from our former colonies, Virginia grown. Do not worry so, William. Elizabeth is very strong and all seems well with her and the baby. One can never be certain, but I do not foresee any major difficulties."

"Yes, she is very strong." Darcy spoke softly with a tender smile. "Nonetheless, I am very thankful that no further serious labor pains have reinitiated with her resumption of physical activity."

"Indeed. Including such activity of which I believe I recommended you two avoid."

Darcy spun around in shock, eyes wide. "We have not... that is I have not...! Uncle, I would never do anything that might harm my wife or child. Never! I am not a beast!" His face was stricken, blanched, and jaw slack, but eyes igniting with flickers of anger.

George, for one of the few times in his life, was mortally embarrassed and ashamed. "Fitzwilliam, forgive me! Of course you would never hurt Elizabeth. I should not have assumed anything."

"Why would you think this of me?"

"I do apologize, son. It is just that... well, if you must know, you and Elizabeth do not hide your physical attraction for each other very well." He paused, Darcy too confused and irritated to be discomfited by the intimate topic, but George abashed and reddening. He glanced away. "The poorly repressed desire notable when you returned from Town miraculously disappeared on your birthday and since. I... well, I concluded wrongly, obviously." His voice trailed away. It was an odd situation for the physician, normally being quite adept at holding blunt, personal conversations with patients. This was his nephew and niece, however.

Darcy flushed slightly, anger fading. "Yes, well," he cleared his throat roughly, "there are alternatives." His lips clamped shut, simply unable to continue. In no way could he verbalize the fact that his wonderfully giving wife gratified his physical yearnings. As blissful and relieving as it was to be loved in such manner by the woman he adored more than life, the activity was mixed with emotions of dismay as he could not fulfill her desire. Besides, nothing compared to making love to her in complete unity and his body ached to bond with her wholly.

He glanced at his uncle. George leaned against the tree trunk, cigar burning forgotten at his side as he stared downward. Assuming a neutral tone, Darcy spoke, "So, your professional opinion is that our child is healthy and could be born safely at any time?"

"Dates of confinement are not an exact science, William," George spoke in his most authoritative pitch, relieved to be on firm ground. "Based on the information provided as to Elizabeth's cycles, when you first suspected her pregnancy, and her current condition, the baby could be born anytime between now and early December. In fact, I think I will halt the tea as she hates it so." He chuckled, finally inhaling from the butt of his cigar. "Actually, I imagine we would all be thrilled to meet your firstborn as soon as he, or she, is willing to join the family."