Chapter 9
“Am I disturbing you? Chandrika thought you might be resting,” Darcy whispered.
“Not at all. I was just reading.” Elizabeth spoke in her regular tone, having already learned that Jenny was not easy to awaken. Rana Akshaya had said the infant would need a great deal of sleep, and it was true.
She set the book aside and moved into Darcy's arms, letting his familiar scent of soap and spice wash over her.
The sheer joy of feeling his body against her, the absolute rightness of it, overwhelmed her.
Oh, how she had despaired of ever having this again!
She laid her head on his shoulder, letting the strength of him flow into her.
How long would it take until she truly believed he was here and safe?
Or at least as safe as the wards could keep him. Her arms tightened around him as if somehow she could keep him from harm. Even that pressure made her breasts, heavy with milk, ache, so she pulled back quickly.
Darcy's brows drew together. “Is something the matter?”
She could not help smiling at his concern. “Simply sore.” She gestured at her chest. “Our daughter's appetite matches her desire for sleep, and my body is responding.”
“I wish it did not hurt you.”
She reached up and brushed her lips against his. “It is common for a woman after childbirth. And my strength is much better.” Especially after Cerridwen had done something to her this morning. Not a healing, she had said, but a sharing of energy.
“I am glad of it.” Another kiss, a glorious one. If only her body was ready to take the next steps with him! But the midwife said she should wait a little longer.
Now, though, while his eyes were soft and ardent, perhaps this was a good moment to break the news to him, or at least a little of it.
“Since I am more myself, I will be resuming training with Cerridwen. There is a particular skill she says I need to master, something from her visions. I do not fully understand it.”
He frowned. “What of Jenny? She needs you, and you have barely recovered from her birth!”
As if she had not been arguing with herself about that every minute!
But it always came down to the same answer.
“If I did not need to protect her from a mad dragon, I would like nothing better than to stay by her side. It breaks my heart a little, but other people can watch over her for now. I must do my part to protect her world.” Her voice wobbled a little.
He studied her for a moment before he said, “I understand.”
Darcy's long fingers entwined with hers. “I cannot help but worry that the least breeze could break her. And she is so very, very precious to me.”
She could not agree more. “Perhaps you would come with me to interview the nursemaid Mrs. Reynolds has brought in?
It is not a husband's duty, but I know you want her to be in capable hands, too.” Though she doubted it would be this candidate.
Someone who had been found at the last moment was unlikely to meet her high standards.
He tore his eyes away from Jenny. “I would be glad to, for your company if nothing else.”
As Darcy held the nursery door open for her, Elizabeth walked in on a scene of chaos. Three maids were scurrying about, moving furniture and folding linens, while a stout, elderly woman stood in the middle of it, directing the action.
“No, not there! By the window. Babies need to see sunlight, not be hidden from it!” she said, pointing.
Behind Elizabeth, Darcy drew in a sharp breath. Then he moved past her. “Nelly, what are you doing here? I thought you were in York with your daughter.” He embraced the old woman with obvious affection.
And something in him changed, as if some of his tension had finally thawed for the first time since she had known him.
The woman hugged him back tightly, something Elizabeth could not imagine from any other servant at Pemberley. Finally she stepped back, clutching his arms. “Let me look at you. A father now, and about time!” she said tartly.
He grinned at the old woman. Her William, grinning like a boy! Elizabeth could hardly believe it. “You would have had me making babies when I was barely out of the schoolroom.” It was clearly an old argument. “But what are you doing here? Mrs. Reynolds did not tell me you were coming.”
“Of course not. We knew you would insist that I stay home in my well-deserved retirement.” She cuffed his arm as if he were an ill-behaved child. “Pension me off, will you? As if I would let anyone else care for your baby!”
He made a valiant attempt to look stern, and then gave it up and shook his head with a smile. “Mutiny in my own household.”
The old woman reached up to pat his cheek. “In truth, she only asked me to come to set up the nursery, since your babe came untimely early and nothing was prepared. But that is nonsense, of course. Where is your little one? I want to meet her.”
“And so you shall.” He put his arm around her. “But first I must make another introduction. Elizabeth, may I present Mrs. Nelly Brown, my old nursemaid? Nelly, this is my wife.”
Elizabeth nodded her head in acknowledgement. “I am very glad to meet you.”
Nelly stepped closer to her, examining her from head to foot in a very un-servant-like manner.
Perhaps any wife of her old nursling must be a child in her mind, too.
“Mrs. Darcy, I'm guessing you're thinking that I'm not strong enough for this work now, but I can manage. Especially if I have a young helper.”
“That seems like an excellent solution.” Elizabeth usually took time to think through her choices, but she already knew there was no one she would rather entrust Jenny to. “I will interview some candidates.”
Nelly stuck out her chin. “No, I will do so, and then you may decide between the ones I deem acceptable.”
A light scratch came at the door, and Chandrika stepped in, cradling Jenny carefully in her arms. “I believe she wants you, Mrs. Darcy.”
Before the maid could even reach Elizabeth, Nelly came between them, lifting the swaddling from Jenny's forehead with a gentle finger.
“Oh, look at you, little one! So small,” she crooned.
“And you have your father's eyes, yes, you do.
Though not his nose, which is a fine thing as it would look silly on a little girl's face.”
Without even looking up, the nurse made a shooing gesture towards Darcy. “Off with you, then. You are not needed here. I want to see how this wee one feeds.”
Darcy held his palms out in front of him in apparent surrender, but gave Elizabeth a secret, warm smile. “As you wish.”
“Now, Mrs. Darcy, sit there by the window, and we shall see how this goes,” the old woman commanded, plucking Jenny from Chandrika's arms. “Why, you weigh nothing at all, little one!”
Elizabeth obeyed. This was the solution she needed, a nurse she could trust with Jenny, who already cared for her simply because she was Darcy’s daughter. Now she could train to make her baby’s world safe. Relieved, she untied her bodice and held out her arms for her beloved Jenny.
Frederica paced the confines of her bedroom, wishing she were any creature other than a human. Preferably one with some method to shut off pesky thoughts and feelings. Perhaps an earthworm? They would care about nothing but rain and soil.
It sounded heavenly.
But instead, she was trapped in her own head, locked in with memories of Roderick and the tearing, aching pain of knowing she would never see him again. And that in a few hours she would be expected to put a smile on her face and go down to dinner, pretending nothing was wrong.
Elizabeth must have guessed, in any case.
She had been going out of her way to be all that was kind and solicitous to her, which was unfortunate as what Frederica wanted was to rage and scream and demand that the world be changed.
When Frederica had hidden herself from the world in the conservatory, Elizabeth had sought her out there and sat with her, making light conversation clearly intended to distract her.
Frederica had wanted to slap her. Instead she had pleaded a headache and hidden away in this damned room, where everything reminded her of Roderick, of his body beside her in the fourposter bed, of his figure slipping in the door late at night, of his hands caressing her skin....
Oh, if only she had something to hit, to make these memories stop!
A sending from Quickthorn broke into her whirlpool of misery. Come to the ballroom so I can talk to you. Those were her words, anyway. There was a strong undercurrent of “Stop sulking - it's not good for you.”
At least Quickthorn would not treat her like some fragile piece of porcelain who might break at the slightest touch.
Because even if Frederica felt that way herself, she despised thinking anyone else would believe that.
No, Quickthorn would be much more likely to give her sharp words, which was much better.
And it was a reminder that she was not all alone. She had Quickthorn, whom she trusted more than life itself. After all, life had let her down far too often. Quickthorn would always be there for her, unlike Roderick.
But she did not have to like being told she was sulking. Very well, she sent back, with a sharp edge of her own. But Quickthorn would know what she meant. Her dragon always understood.
She did not want to be seen by anyone she would have to talk to, so she took the servant stairs to the ballroom.
Or what used to be the ballroom, and was still called that, even if it now functioned as sleeping quarters for Quickthorn.
It was the only room big enough for her to take her dragon form.
Or to pace in, which is what her dragon was doing at present. She swung her enormous head to face Frederica and said, “I want to go to the moors and shoot dragonfire while flying.”
Frederica blinked. “You want to do what?”