Chapter 64
CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR
Darcy entered the house after an early morning ride, greatly anticipating his breakfast. He was surprised to find that his wife was not yet downstairs.
Soon after, Mrs Reynolds entered the room. “Sir, Burney has informed me that Mrs Darcy is not yet risen.”
“Not yet risen!” Darcy was shocked. Rarely had he known Elizabeth to sleep beyond half past seven, and here it was nearly ten o’clock. He finished his coffee in a gulp. “I believe I shall go see whether she is unwell.”
He took the steps in twos, arriving in Elizabeth’s bedchamber in minutes. As he had been told, she was still slumbering peacefully. He sat next to her on the bed and felt her forehead. It was cool.
His touch woke her. “Fitzwilliam,” she said sleepily, opening her eyes a crack and allowing them to drift closed again. “Good morning, love.”
“Good morning. Are you unwell?”
“No,” she replied, her eyes still closed. “I just cannot wake today. I am so tired.”
“Well,” he said doubtfully, “you have been busy.”
At last, she opened her eyes. “Not so much busy as lazy.” She smiled. “What time is it?”
“It is just gone ten.”
“Ten o’clock!” she exclaimed, sitting upright. “Dear me! How could I sleep so long?” Darcy was relieved to see her languor dissipate as her customary spirit emerged.
He captured her lips, murmuring against them, “Not so hasty, Mrs Darcy. After all, I have you here looking so charmingly dishevelled…” He deepened the kiss and moved over her.
His amorous feeling was quickly quashed by a gagging sound coming from her throat. Pulling back, he saw an odd expression on her face. “What is it?”
“Nothing! Oh, nothing at all, love, come here.” She pulled him to her, but at the last, could not manage and turned her head. It looked as though she was trying not to breathe.
“I have been for a ride.” He spoke uncertainly. “Perhaps I ought to have freshened myself before coming to you.
“Of course not.” She turned red, obviously dismayed to have offended him. “I do not know why, but smells are troubling me this morning. I feel a bit nauseated, that is all, and the smell of the horse… And I believe you had coffee? It does not sit well with me.”
“You are ill.”
“I assure you, I am well. A bit of a stomach upset. It will pass.” She moved to get out of the bed. “I am so sorry. It will be much better later.”
He could not deny he was a bit offended. To have his relations with his wife cut short because he smelled of horse and coffee? It was humiliating. Rising he went into his bedchamber straightaway, intending to ring his man for a bath.
Elizabeth could see he was upset when he left her, and who would not be?
She felt mortified to have embarrassed him.
She had tried to suppress her gagging, but when she smelled the coffee on his breath and the horse on his person, it felt as if someone had reached a hand down into her stomach, clenched it in their fist, and twisted it mercilessly.
At one point, the sensation was bad enough that she believed she might vomit.
Should I tell him of my suspicions? It was early, too early. Her courses had been missed twice, but there had not been a quickening, nor could she expect one for another six weeks or so. He had been so hurt. Perhaps she would tell him, emphasising that nothing was certain yet.
He was in a bath when she went to him, causing her greater dismay.
“May I rub your back?” She had come to know in the brief months of their marriage that after a long ride, he enjoyed having his back rubbed vigorously. He looked sulky so she set to work, leaning her body against the tub. “I am so sorry.”
“I suppose I smelt dreadful.”
“Not really.” She paused in her ministrations. “However, I can recall another time when I was excessively affected by smells.”
“When?” he asked, still sounding glum.
“When I was increasing.”
His offence was forgotten immediately, and he turned in the bath so quickly that water spilled all over her and the floor. “Lizzy!”
“Nothing is certain,” she told him quickly. She laughed as he splashed more water on her, rising up over the edge of the tub to capture her in a kiss. “The early signs are there, but we have some weeks until the quickening, and until then, anything can happen.”
He kissed her again, spilling more water over the floor while murmuring endearments and exclamations of joy.
“Pray, do not be excited yet. I told you so you might understand that I could be more sensitive than usual to smells or tastes. It will eventually go away.”
“I shall be understanding of that.” His grin could not be suppressed.
“I am excited too,” she replied. “But now, we just must wait.”
It was October when Darcy and Elizabeth sat silently against the headboard of her bed.
She wore her lightest nightgown—despite the chill in the air—and it was pressed tightly around her form.
When one looked at her in a certain way, it was clear to see the small mound at the bottom of her abdomen though in her clothing, she still looked much the same.
Her maid had noticed, as had Darcy, but no one else had remarked on it or knew the truth of it.
Darcy had his hands pressed tightly against the small mound as they silently waited for some movement.
“There!” He exclaimed excitedly. “Was that it?”
She shook her head. “I am hungry. That was my stomach growling.”
He gave her a quick frown. “Let us ring for a snack for you then. You must eat.”
“If I ate as often as I wished it, I would soon be as large around as I am tall. I believe this child must have your appetite, for such a hunger I have never before known.” They grinned at each other, and Darcy again concentrated on her abdomen.
When five minutes more had elapsed, Elizabeth said, gently, “The babe is asleep.”
Darcy spoke to her stomach. “This is your papa speaking. While I would not take you from your nap, if you could oblige me with a kick, I would be most grateful.”
Elizabeth had felt the baby quicken a week or so earlier, and in the time since, it had become Darcy’s dearest wish to feel the growing limbs of his child moving about within her. Evidently, this was not the night.
“Shall we meet here at the same time tomorrow?” he teased his wife.
“I believe I can accommodate you, sir,” she teased back. Then she said seriously, “How I long for you to feel him!”
“In time, I shall.”
They settled into the bed, and both were soon asleep.
Darcy awoke a little after two in the morning. Elizabeth did not move as he left the bed to throw another log on the fire. With only three days until November, the chill of autumn was full upon Derbyshire.
He returned, now feeling fully awake. His wife slumbered on her side facing him, and he beheld her, feeling the now-familiar sensation of peaceful joy that he had finally regained after their long ordeal of the previous winter.
The anniversary of Wickham’s capture had gone unmentioned, and no other dates significant to those events would be marked.
Both he and Elizabeth had resolved to forget it all.
Elizabeth was deep in sleep, and he slid closer to place his palms on her abdomen. He watched her face anxiously, but she did not stir.
“Darling child,” he whispered into the darkness. “I am impatient to know you, and it will be an eternity until I shall meet you, so please, let me feel you. Just a little kick or a punch will suffice.”
It took several minutes, and Darcy waited patiently in the dark…until, suddenly, he felt it. An unmistakable, firm thump, not once, not twice, but thrice upon his hands. He could not help himself—tears sprang to his eyes, and he laughed aloud, forgetting that Elizabeth slept.
“You did it! You kicked me!” He crowed with happiness, all the while keeping his palms on her abdomen. “How marvellous!”
“Fitzwilliam,” Elizabeth spoke sleepily. “Are you shouting?”
“I felt the baby!” He moved his voice to a hush. “I am sorry to wake you. I felt the kick, and I could not restrain myself! Oh my dearest! We shall have a child together!”
Elizabeth gave him a sleepy smile. He moved his hands from her stomach to cup her face, and he kissed her. “I love you, Elizabeth Darcy. You are an amazing woman.”
In February Elizabeth was in her bath, and Darcy removed his coat and waistcoat, eagerly imagining joining her. His cravat was tossed onto a nearby chair.
She was staring sullenly at her body when he entered, and he moved behind her and lifted her hair to kiss her neck. His hand slid around to her breasts, which had grown tantalisingly generous in the past days.
“Surely, you are not serious.”
“My desirable wife reclines naked before me.” He kissed her neck again. “I assure you, I am quite serious.”
“Desirable?” She turned to look at him, and he did not miss her incredulous stare as she gestured at her rounded form. “What part of this can you possibly find appealing? I cannot see my toes, Fitzwilliam!”
“You are beautiful,” Darcy protested in surprise. He had never seen her distraught over her looks, and he did indeed find her ripe figure enticing.
“I walked in the garden this morning.”
“I hope you were warm enough.”
“I was plenty warm, I assure you, sweating and heaving like some miserable old farm nag. You know the little fountain, the one that marks the entry to the maze?”
He nodded.
“By the time I reached it, I had scarcely the vigour for one more step. I looked back at the house and could not imagine how I might return to it. The fountain! A scant half a mile from the house! Yet I required a rest before I was able to return.” She shook her head in disgust, staring down at her stomach.
“One month more, my beloved. Our child will be here before long.”
“What if I die?” She looked up at him. “What if I die and your final memories me are looking like this?”
“Please do not say such things, even in jest.”
“I assure you, I do not jest! I could die and these will be your final memories of me, looking as I do now! Please, darling, promise me this…”