Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
D arcy carted Elizabeth over the threshold of their bedchamber as if she were still his new bride, nestled in his arms and pressed to his thudding heart. He deposited her gently on the bed while ordering Blake to fetch the local apothecary. No matter how Lady Catherine swore by his methods, Darcy would never put his wife in the care of Nichols; he surely had done Anne no good.
Elizabeth, who had admirably maintained her patience throughout his insistence upon sweeping her up and whisking her away from danger, grasped hold of both sides of his face and forced him to look at her. “I am not injured in the slightest, and there is no need to call anyone to attend me.” Over his shoulder, she repeated this instruction to the maid.
Blake replied in an uncertain tone. “If you say so, madam. Do you require anything? I can fetch you some calming tea or prepare your nightgown.”
“I thank you, no. Go downstairs and see whether they require additional hands to clear up the throne—that is, the drawing room.”
“Very well, if you insist, but do ring if you need me. I shall come directly.”
A door closed behind Darcy, and Elizabeth returned her attention to his face. Her eyes were large and soft, full of concern. “I promise you that I am well. I was nowhere near the portrait when it fell.”
“It crushed the tea table, Elizabeth!” Darcy could hear the shrill note in his voice but could not stifle it. “Had we not leapt back in time—” His conjecture was cut off by the constriction of his throat. What if he had not been in time?
Elizabeth hushed him. “But we did. We are not harmed in any way—barely even dusty.”
He slumped down onto the bed beside her, suddenly aware how difficult it was to remain upright. Elizabeth drew him into her embrace, cradling his head to her bosom while she stroked his hair and cooed endearments in his ear. “There now, all is well. All is well.”
They remained in that position for some time, though Darcy could not say how long. At length, his trembling subsided, and he was able to relieve Elizabeth of his weight—which must have been considerable to her—but his arms remained looped about her waist. “Forgive me, my love. I do not know what came over me.”
Elizabeth stroked his face with the backs of her fingers, her blue-green eyes searching his for further signs of distress. “There is no need to apologise. You suffered a fright.”
“ You were the one to have a fright, not I.” He squeezed his eyes shut as another shudder assailed him. “I can still picture you reaching for your cup, just before…”
“And thanks to your quick thinking, we were both moved out of harm’s way.”
He could not consciously recall doing so, but his body had apparently acted of its own accord and placed them well out of range of danger. The experience had been unnerving, to say the least, and abjectly terrifying when he considered how close he had come to losing his beloved wife to the capricious whims of ugly furnishings. “That is just it—I did not think at all. We were across the room before I realised what was happening.”
“Then I must thank your instincts. Regardless, you gallantly preserved me from injury. I am far more concerned about you.” She paused before tentatively asking, “Ought I to call for the apothecary on your behalf?”
“For something to soothe my tattered nerves?” Darcy bristled. “I am not your mother, Elizabeth. You need not coddle me with draughts and smelling salts.”
Elizabeth sighed, and Darcy thought her patience with him might be waning. “I only wished to help. I suppose we are alike in that respect.”
“What do you mean?”
“I think you know.” She sent him an expressive look, but he still did not understand. She became more explicit. “You have been treating me as if I am fragile ever since learning of my pregnancy. It is wholly unnecessary as I am as healthy as I have ever been.”
“I suppose you are now going to scold me for being overbearing, but I am not sorry for it. You are fragile, and it is my duty to care for you, even when you do not like it. I could never live with myself if I allowed you to come to harm through my neglect.”
To his surprise, Elizabeth did not stubbornly defend herself but rather took his hand within her own and fixed him with a sympathetic expression. “I am not going to scold you, dearest. In fact, it is I who owe you contrition. I have not been as considerate of your feelings as I ought, thinking merely of my own affront.”
Now Darcy was utterly bemused. What could have caused this miraculous reversal of opinion? “What do you mean?”
“The colonel joined me on my walk today, and?—”
“I ought to wring his neck for that.” Darcy would certainly be having words with his cousin later, and if that devolved into fisticuffs, so be it. Fitzwilliam needed to learn a lesson about disobliging a man as regards his wife. “He knows my feelings on the matter of you walking out and ought to have escorted you back to the house immediately.”
“As I was saying,” she continued, a touch of asperity in her tone, “the colonel joined me on my walk today and enlightened me as to why you have been less than joyful regarding my pregnancy. No, do not deny it”—she held up her hand as he had, indeed, opened his mouth to protest; he snapped it closed at her silent command—“for I needed to hear it. I am ashamed to admit that I did not consider what your mother’s death in childbed must mean to you.
“You were old enough to understand the import of her loss but not necessarily the means. You knew that your sister’s entrance into the world meant your mother’ s departure from it, so those ideas have been inextricably linked in your mind. However, you must learn to accept that our circumstances are different.”
“You cannot deny that childbirth is a dangerous business. Women and babies die all the time in the endeavour, and that is a fact.”
“It is,” she acknowledged with more calmness than he could muster, “but remember that my mother brought five healthy daughters into the world and lives on today in robust health.”
“You are not your mother, Elizabeth.”
She clasped his hand tightly. “Nor am I yours.”
This struck Darcy powerfully. If it was unfair to compare Elizabeth to Mrs Bennet, then it was equally—if not more—unfair to compare her to Lady Anne. His fear had blinded him to this rational conclusion.
“So far,” Elizabeth continued, “I have had few complaints as regards my own pregnancy. I shall also remind you that I have been with child for around five months now, and you were blissfully unaware until a week ago. If I had been suffering, do you believe you would have been ignorant of it?”
Darcy’s concession was slow in coming. “I suppose not, but I was not mindful to look for any signs until you informed me of your condition.”
“Exactly my point. You did not see any suffering until you looked for it, and then you largely imagined it. Aside from a few minor symptoms, which the midwife assured us both are common, I have been as well as can be expected.”
“You cannot ask me to stop worrying about you, for I shall not. It is impossible. ”
“I would never demand such an unreasonable thing, but I shall insist that you cease to treat me like a piece of fine china. I know my own strength and am not liable to break.”
He swallowed thickly. “But what if you do? I…I am afraid. Afraid of what I know—and of what I do not. I cannot help myself.”
“You are not the only one who is afraid.”
Darcy sought to meet her gaze at this quiet admission, but she evaded him. “What do you fear?”
“I worry that I am not prepared for motherhood,” she confessed, her tone subdued. “I fear that I shall fail our child after he or she is born. Look at the example I have at home.”
“You are not your mother, Elizabeth,” Darcy reminded her gently but with pointed emphasis.
She laughed softly. “How ungentlemanly of you to use my own argument against me. Even if I am not, I still fret that I am not responsible enough to be a good mother.”
Darcy winced, recalling his execrable behaviour of the previous day. There was nary a tremble to Elizabeth’s voice, but her expressive eyes showed him that he had cut her deeply with his thoughtless remarks. “I should never have intimated that you were irresponsible. I was speaking from my own pique in the moment and not the rational truth. I think you will make an exquisite mother, and there is no one else I should ever trust to raise our children but you.”
Elizabeth leant towards him, touching her forehead to his. “And there is no one else I should ever wish to be the father of my children. ”
They basked in this tender moment for some time before Elizabeth sat back and gave him a look that was both fierce and determined. Their gazes were perfectly aligned as she said solemnly, “My own concerns aside, I hope to at least somewhat assuage yours. I cannot promise you that nothing will happen to me, no one can, but you must begin to regard my condition with more optimism. Think on everything we stand to gain rather than what you might lose. Remember, I am carrying your child within me at this very moment. Is that not incredible?”
“It is,” Darcy conceded, warily eyeing her stomach. A slight protrusion was visible due to the angle at which she reclined.
Elizabeth brought his hand to the convex curve of her belly. Her eyes fluttered closed. “Feel.”
Beneath his hand, Darcy felt the tiniest possible nudge and snatched his hand back, leaning away from her. “Was that…?”
Laughing, Elizabeth recaptured his wrist and tugged it towards her, replacing his hand upon her abdomen. “That was your son or daughter. Is it not—oh! There it was again. Did you feel it?”
Darcy could not honestly say that he had, but—there! Another slight flutter. He blinked rapidly as he felt tears begin to form.
Elizabeth’s wonder escaped her on a sibilant breath. “Is it not marvellous?”
Darcy replied in a hoarse whisper. “It is.”
They were both silent for several minutes as Darcy continued to marvel at the sensation of his child moving within his wife. It felt like tiny footsteps against his palm, or perhaps little pebbles bouncing harmlessly off his skin. At length, the child settled, and the movement ceased, but Darcy kept his hand in the same place he had last perceived it.
“I believe he or she has decided to take a nap,” Elizabeth commented. She was curled up against his side, her head resting upon his shoulder.
“You must be right.” Darcy rubbed her stomach gently, but the baby did not stir for him. “It is incredible, the idea that our child is growing within you at this very moment. That one day he or she will be born and…” This reminder of childbirth stilled Darcy’s tongue, for he was not yet entirely inured to the worry and fear he associated with it. Even now, it rose up like bile in his throat, threatening to make him sick.
Elizabeth placed her own hand upon his, settling its motion. “And all will be well.”
“I still cannot banish my fears entirely. What if you…?”
“I shall not.” She said so on a purring note, one which instantly distracted him from his exasperation. Or perhaps it was the dainty hand inching its way up the inside of his leg that had done the mischief.
His voice emerged as a rasp. “What are you doing?”
“Reassuring you.”
He swallowed as her fingers tickled their way up his inner thigh, though it was the lesser of responses his body experienced. He swiftly grasped hold of her hand, pressing it in place before it could roam farther. “I am not sure this is a good idea.”
Elizabeth slid closer to him across the bedclothes, using her free hand to skate up his chest, over his shoulder, and into his hair. Her lips were a hair’s breadth from his as she whispered, “The midwife assured me that there is no harm in lying together. Let me comfort you.”
Darcy opened his mouth to pointlessly protest, but any words were converted into a groan when she captured it in a sensuous kiss. He was powerless to resist the lure of her seduction from that point on.