Chapter 64 #2
“Anything, love.” He was growing alarmed by her mood, as well as the reminder of the risks of childbirth.
“Never lose those naughty pictures you drew of me, for if I should die, they are the most flattering to my person. I looked at them just the other day, and I must say, I appeared quite pretty in them. My waist was so small and trim, especially in the one where I am sitting on—”
“Yes, yes,” Darcy interrupted her, laughing. “I know the one. It will be a funeral of note as I show my sketches with a solemn explanation that it was your express wish to be remembered as shown.”
Elizabeth would not laugh. “I never thought myself any great beauty, but I at least had a nice enough figure with which to console myself.”
“My love, I assure you”—He kissed her once more before lending his hand to assist her in rising from the bath. Taking a towel, he wrapped her in it, gently rubbing her dry—“I have long admired your beauty, including your figure, as you well know, yet you are never more beautiful to me than now.”
“You are mad,” she whispered.
He pulled the towel tightly around her so she would not take a chill. “I am indeed madly in love with you, particularly when I see every part of you marked by the life of my child within. You see a large, rounded stomach that obscures your toes, but I see you love me enough to bear my child.”
Her eyes grew soft as he reached for another towel and dried her hair, pausing to inhale its scent. He heard her sniff a little at his ministrations.
“Fitzwilliam…”
“Yes?”
“I love you enough to bear you ten children.” She wrapped her arms around him the best she could, and their child kicked frantically between them.
“I beg your pardon, sir?” Pemberley’s butler stood nervously in the doorway of Darcy’s study one afternoon in March
Darcy looked up.
“It is Mrs Darcy, sir…no, no, not that, not yet.” He quickly realised Darcy might suppose that his wife was beginning her labour.
“Yes, what is it?”
“Mrs Reynolds asked me to tell you that Mrs Darcy is moving furniture in the music room.”
Darcy shrugged. Odd perhaps, but then, much of the time Elizabeth had been increasing was marked by unusual behaviour. “She may rearrange as she wishes.”
“Forgive me, sir, but I mean to say she is moving it herself. The footmen are trying to keep apace of her, but as soon as she puts one thing down, she is on to the next. Perhaps you might be better able to stop her?”
Darcy ran to the music room and found his wife lugging a harp to one side as several of the footman scurried around, taking things from her.
“Fitzwilliam!” she exclaimed happily. “I cannot think how I did not notice it before but this room is arranged entirely wrong! You see, I have had the men move the pianoforte over to that corner, which will better allow more room for dancing should we wish for it, and then the harp seemed awkwardly placed, and—”
“Mrs Darcy.” Darcy glanced at his footmen, who were admirably courteous and sweating through their labours. Evidently, Elizabeth had been at it for some time. “I do not think you should exert yourself in this way just now.”
“Nonsense. I am strong as an ox—nay, stronger than an ox. In any case, I shall have no time to redecorate once the baby has come. I must get these rooms done now.”
“Perhaps if you made up some sketches…”
“Sketches will not do because, when one item is moved, more changes become evident. I must move a thing before I know best how to do another.” She smiled and pushed a damp curl off her face.
Mrs Reynolds entered and motioned to Darcy. He stepped aside with her for a moment. “It is not uncommon for a lady to become unusually energetic and desirous of change to her home as her time approaches. We shall set it to rights later. Perhaps you might turn her mind to a different activity?”
Darcy returned to Elizabeth, who had lifted a heavy footstool to move it towards the window. He took it from her and handed it to a footman. “My dear, it is so nice today that I long for a walk by the gardens. Shall we see whether the roses show any signs of life?”
Thus was Elizabeth diverted, though Darcy had to admit that his effort that day was exhausting as they walked for several hours.
It was only two days later, that the day was upon them. Jane and Bingley were visiting Pemberley so that Jane could be of use to her sister. Mrs Bennet was told that the child was not due until May to avoid her ‘assistance’, but Lady Gardiner knew the truth and joined them as well.
Lord and Lady Saye also arrived with their infant son. They had named him Edward Jonathan Fitzwilliam. He was a fine-looking, healthy boy, and he had weighed nearly ten pounds at birth. Elizabeth went a bit pale when she saw him.
“A strapping lad, is he not?”
“The size of his head…” she trailed off nervously, then looked at Lady Saye with a bit of relief. “She seems to have recovered nicely.”
Elizabeth laboured for some time—through an entire day and an exceedingly long night.
It was a night unlike anything Darcy had ever endured as he was plagued by unceasing worry for the lives of his wife and child, and he was impatient to meet, at long last, his son or daughter.
He remained with Elizabeth for as long as he could before he was banned to pace his study and snap at his cousin and Bingley, each of whom made various attempts to distract him.
“Perhaps if you have a daughter, Darcy,” Saye suggested, “we might arrange a match between her and my son.”
“Not if you raise him to act anything like you, we shall not,” Darcy retorted.
“What does that mean?”
“You know exactly what I mean, and if you think I shall permit my little girl to be subjected to—”
“The future Earl of Matlock is not good enough for you?” Saye scoffed.
“Now, now,” Bingley interrupted nervously. “There is, as yet, no daughter to argue over. Let us await the child and then we may begin to arrange the matches.”
“Easy for you to say, you have a son,” Darcy muttered to the window.
“And you might too,” Bingley consoled him.
It was nearly midnight when Mrs Reynolds came for him. “Mr Darcy, a young gentleman awaits your call in Mrs Darcy’s bedchamber.” She smiled her assurances at him. “Mrs Darcy has done very well and is in good health.”
He stopped for a moment, allowing the idea to settle over him. I have a son.
Elizabeth was looking remarkably well when he entered the room, albeit a bit tired. He could not deny the happiness that marked her features and knew it was mirrored in his own silly, enormous grin.
He joined her on the bed, kissing her forehead as she moved the small bundle into his arms. For a moment, he could not speak; the future of Pemberley, of the Darcys, his own child, rested in his arms. It astonished him that such a tiny creature could embody so much.
The baby opened his eyes—beautiful dark eyes, just like his mother’s—and simply stared.
Father and mother gazed at him in bliss. “Did we settle on Thomas?” Darcy asked, referring to the many conversations they had had about their favoured baby’s names.
“I think it suits him,”
“Then it is settled. Mr Thomas Darcy, welcome to the family.”
They sat admiring his tiny hands and feet and touching the downy curls atop his head. Although exhausted, Elizabeth seemed unable to sleep, and Darcy was content to sit with her, caught up in the elation of the moment.
There was a small knock on the door, and Elizabeth bid the visitor to enter. It was Henry.
“Henry!” Darcy was shocked. “What do you do at this hour, Son? You should be resting.”
“I heard my baby was here.” He peered at the child in Darcy’s arms, climbing onto the bed beside his parents. “Is this my brother?”
Darcy smiled and held the baby so Henry could examine him. “This is Thomas.”
Henry stared a moment, none too impressed. “You may play with my things but do not pull Annie’s tail and do not rip the pages in my books.”
“You must be his protector,” Darcy informed him seriously. “That is what big brothers do most of all.”
“Yes, Papa. See how dangerous I am?” With that, he leapt from the bed to the largest space in the room and embarked on a series of frantic and poorly executed kicks and punches designed to take down an invisible assailant.
His nightshirt tangled around him, and just as Darcy was about issue a warning, his shirt bound him, causing him to fall face first on the floor with an undignified thump.
Darcy moved to assist, but Henry jumped up in a trice with a big smile on his face. “I am well!” Then he burst into laughter, which made Darcy and Elizabeth laugh. Even little Thomas opened his eyes, peering sleepily at the loud noises.
Darcy handed the baby back to Elizabeth and lifted Henry onto the bed. Henry again looked at his new brother. “You see, Thomas? You have come to a very happy family. We even laugh when we fall down.”
“We are a happy family indeed,” said Elizabeth. “And so shall we always be.”