The Trouble with Mr. Darcy (10 page)

***

Considering the probable conception time, when Lizzy began experiencing symptoms and quickening, and how the pregnancy was advancing, Dr. Darcy’s professional calculation was for a date of confinement roughly one month before Alexander’s second birthday, November 27 of 1819.

Of course, they were wrong. In fact, they would be proven wrong on numerous counts regarding the outcome of their second child’s arrival into their happy family.

Aside from the fact that Michael delivered on September 14, nearly one and a half months before anticipated, labor onset took Lizzy utterly by surprise. She hummingly proceeded to sew, decorate, and arrange household matters in the days prior to his birth, sure that she had over a month yet to go. She suffered none of the weariness, backaches, or false contractions that had been rampant toward the latter months of Alexander’s gestation, and aside for a mild ungainliness, she was healthier than ever before.

On the day of his birth there was absolutely no warning. She serenely wrote a letter to her mother while Alexander played with his Noah’s Ark on a rug by the window of her parlor, ignoring the minor irregular cramps that did not cause her to breathe heavily. In fact, she was more than halfway through the process before she believed it was real, calling for Dr. Darcy a bare four hours before the infant made his appearance.

Nearly every groomsman in Pemberley’s employ was sent to scour the estate for its Master and Mr. Keith, who had not thought it essential to share their agenda with anyone. Darcy was found and did arrive before the blessed event, relieved of his considerable self-reproach by a barely sweating Lizzy who assured him with a smile that she was feeling fine!

“Is it not too early, Uncle?” Darcy’s voice cracked, his face screwed into a worried frown with sweat beading on his brow worse than Lizzy.

“Babies come on their own timing,” George answered with a jovial smile. “Early or not, your son is coming, so let’s not worry about that right now. Fortunately you have me, the best physician in all of Derbyshire, if not England, and since it appears my formidable skills will not be called into play for the deliver of this precocious infant, I may prove my worth after he is born.”

“No offense, Uncle, but I hope not.”

“You worry too much, William.” Lizzy patted his cheek, gazing into his face with shining eyes from her perch against his broad chest. He was trembling, partly from the frantic ride back to Pemberley and pell-mell dash up two flights of stairs, but also from excitement mingled with fear. He could not believe it was happening today! Lizzy, conversely, was calm in between contractions. She spend more time trying to comfort him than the other way around, only losing her composure once it came time to push the baby out.

The wild drama was somewhat anticlimactic as Michael slipped into the world with minimal effort on Lizzy’s part. That was a miracle it would take her months to fully appreciate due to her and Darcy’s all-consuming preoccupation over his survival.

Michael was a fragile infant who required careful handling. The respiratory distress that George most worried about never transpired. Michael’s lungs were healthy, as he would display in due course. Rather, his delicacy arose in the vicinity of his gastrointestinal area, Dr. Darcy indeed proving his worth. The initial month was a trial, no other way to state it. Lizzy produced copious amounts of milk, but Michael simply did not have the strength to nurse on more than one side at a time and often was too sleepy to do even that. In the first week he lost precious ounces he could not afford. George encouraged the anxious parents to wake him every two hours for feedings, a schedule that did work in filling his tiny stomach, but was exhausting on Lizzy and irritating to an already finicky newborn.

Additionally, he was extremely sensitive in the amounts he could consume. Vomiting after each feeding became the norm with the fussiness of true colic following. Lizzy monitored every bite that passed her lips, obsessed with discovering what foods were most distressing to his stomach. Lizzy insisted on keeping him close and attending to caretaking since no one else could feed him, and he notably slept and digested better when nuzzled onto her chest. Darcy barely managed to touch his son in those early weeks, Mrs. Hanford even less. Without realizing what was happening, Darcy gravitated toward caring for Alexander since Lizzy seemed to have forgotten the toddler’s existence.

George experimented with numerous herbal tonics, not finding the precise combination that allayed the worst of the messy symptoms for nearly three weeks. It was only then that the babe began to gain weight and achieve a healthy, ruddy glow with plumping cheeks, softening skin, and brightening eyes. By his one-month birthday he had reached six pounds, a day of rejoicing for his frantic parents.

It was not until Michael began to improve and life settled into a semblance of order that the exhausted Master of Pemberley gazed beyond the confines of the nursery, Alexander’s room, and the bedchamber. The first shocking revelation was the physical appearance of his wife. The weight gained during her pregnancy had gone, leaving her gaunt and pale. Gray circles rested under her troubled eyes. Once rosy, full lips were chapped and dull.

Darcy’s aspect was not much better, he too having missed more meals than normally required to keep a man his size functioning, but he was hale compared to Lizzy.

Dr. Darcy watched them closely during those stressful first weeks and did his best to encourage rest and an adequate diet. A couple of thorough examinations determined that Lizzy was recuperating speedily from the birth itself, so other than plying her with strengthening teas and trays of hearty meats and fruits—most of which were left barely touched—he took no overt action, confident that once Michael improved they would as well.

Darcy, however, was profoundly disturbed. He was also disgusted with himself, engulfed with guilt at what he perceived as failing in his obligations. Therefore, in true Darcy form, he took charge of the situation.

“Elizabeth, Michael is past the crisis. His temperamental nature and crankiness is probably here to stay. You, however, are becoming increasingly cranky. I am ordering you to rest more often.”

“Ordering?”

“Do not bristle, darling.” He smiled at her scowl. “I am not demanding anything untoward. You need to rest and consume healthier meals for Michael’s sake as well as your own.”

Initially she complied. She left the nursery from time to time, dined in the dining room with Darcy and George, took walks in the hallway, and twice was enticed into the private garden with Darcy. She slept better at night and napped during the day with Michael. She refused to leave the bedchamber close to the nursery—this was extremely annoying to Darcy—and she always hurried back after any absence. But the improvements were pleasing to him, and to George, and for a week or so it seemed as if the tide was changing.

Yet on one point she stood firm and that was her unwillingness to abdicate Michael’s care to his nanny. She was compelled by some untamable force to touch him and check on him constantly. The fear of losing him had taken hold of her heart and she could not yield. Furthermore, she guiltily plunged into an urgent desire to care for and be with Alexander, thus consuming more of her time and energy.

Rapidly, her tenuous grip on health faltered as the stress of her set demands took a toll. When Darcy attempted to reassert his authority she refused to listen, no matter how calmly or rationally he spoke. Frustration mounted and petty spats were the result of nearly every conversation. Darcy’s natural patience held for a time, but the first in a series of intense arguments transpired over Michael’s christening.

“He will be six weeks old tomorrow, my love. He is healthy and strong, the weather is relatively fair, and it must be done before Richard and Simone depart for Europe.”

“No. He is still too small.”

“Elizabeth, be reasonable! He is nearly eight pounds now. He eats well, rarely regurgitates, and the colic is lessening with Uncle’s tonic. You are allowing your fears to rule your judgment.”

“If anything happens to him…”

Darcy gently clasped her arms, speaking softly. “Nothing will happen to him, dearest. He needs to be named and blessed. This is important…”

“More important than his life? Would you doom him to an early grave?” She spat, shaking off his comforting hands.

“Elizabeth! That is unfair and ridiculous! I would never do anything to jeopardize his life. How can you intimate such a thing?” Darcy was truly aghast.

“I will not allow him out of the house. That is final, William. It can wait until spring.”

“His christening will not wait until spring.” He spoke flatly, anger constrained and simmering. “I will grant one more week, that is all.”

“But…”

“There are no buts, Elizabeth.
That
is final.”

Lizzy stared furiously, trembling in rage, eyes filling with tears. Darcy sighed, moved despite his anger by the emotions he knew controlled her logic. He reached to caress her cheek, but she stepped away. “If he dies it will be entirely on your head, Mr. Darcy.” And she pivoted, exiting the room without a backward glance.

C
HAPTER
F
IVE

A Marriage in Crisis

The tension was thick on the air for the following days, but Darcy stubbornly proceeded with the christening plans. Lizzy’s emotions grew wildly unstable and dozens of trivial disagreements and major rows broke out between them, when she talked to him at all.

Darcy was in a constant state of turmoil. Vexation battled with disquiet. That Lizzy was irrational in most matters was obvious, but he seemed unable to calm her or appeal to the analytic intellect he knew she possessed.

When Lizzy was not riled over some perceived slight she was crying. More than once Darcy walked into the room to discover her curled in a ball weeping. These moments, fleeting as they lasted, were the few times she permitted him to embrace her.

And therein lay another point of contention.

As the weeks turned into months, they had yet to resume their intimate relations. Far more important than the purely physical annoyance of sexual deprivation, Darcy was deeply concerned by Lizzy’s total disinterest in any form of contact. They shared the bed in his mother’s old chambers—Lizzy still refusing to return to their bedchamber and the contention over that subject ongoing—but she spurned all affection. Naturally, he had expected nothing more than cuddling for the first weeks, truthfully too fatigued and anxious even to think about the matter, but as time marched on and the danger passed, he began to dwell on the topic quite a bit!

Yet, as his desire escalated, hers waned into nothingness.

She drew away from his kisses, no matter how gentle or light. Any caress was met with stiffening or evasion. She slept curled on her side of the bed, clothed in the concealing nightgowns of a maiden, and extended no overtures. More than once he was awoken from a sleeping state by a sharp jab from an elbow or forceful shove as a result of dreamily straying toward her body.

Darcy’s confusion grew, as did his anger. He tried to understand her reluctance, but it was impossible to comprehend, especially since she refused to talk about it. When he cautiously advanced the subject, she flared, accusing him of only thinking of his needs and ignoring what she and the children wanted. Obviously this was ludicrous, but Darcy was wounded and guilt-ridden nonetheless.

The combination of her vacillating moodiness and bodily detachment caused an ever-widening breach to separate them. Darcy watched it happening but was powerless to halt it. Lizzy did not seem to care.

Michael’s christening took place on the Sunday before Darcy’s thirty-second birthday. The ceremony was a minor affair compared to Alexander’s. Most of their family was not present, so it was mainly a few friends from Derbyshire and those relatives who lived close by. Michael cried through the entire procedure, but Reverend Bertram managed with aplomb, even while hastening the obligatory rituals. There were some private comments regarding Mrs. Darcy’s unusual somberness, but the couple presented a united front that no one suspected was false.

George’s perceptions pierced through the façade, noting the tension underneath. Medical matters had kept him away from Pemberley a large portion of the time, the christening bringing him back to the Manor for a handful of days. Yet casual inquires to his nephew yielded nothing, Darcy rigidly uncomfortable discussing his marriage with anyone. It disturbed George, but even his discerning eye could not penetrate the mask or deduce the troubles as severe.

The days following the christening were oddly calm around Pemberley. The persnickety infant settled into a standard routine, his health robust and growth steady. George was again consumed with medical needs in the surrounding communities and was rarely home. The cold of winter settled in, further isolating the traumatized couple.

Darcy’s birthday came and went with minimal fanfare, the birthday dinner and “party” arranged by Mrs. Reynolds. Well aware of his wife’s distraction and disinterest, he was thus shocked that she spared him enough thought to provide a gift of several books he desired and a stunning pair of abalone and silver cuff links.

“Elizabeth,” he breathed, truly moved, “these are wonderful. I love them! Thank you.”