Chapter 29
Mid-July, Mrs. Bennet sat down to write a letter to Elizabeth.
She had put a note on her husband’s previous letters, but this was the first she had written on her own.
Her daughter had been married a month and she thought it would be a good idea to inform her of what to look for if she became with child.
If she was anything like the Gardiner women, she would be in the family way before the end of the year.
Mrs. Bennet told Elizabeth that her courses would first seem late before she would realize they were not coming at all.
She may feel overly tired and want to sleep more than usual.
Certain smells and foods could turn her stomach, and she may even be sick.
Mornings could be particularly bad for some women, but her experience had always been sporadic throughout the day.
Her breasts would likely grow fuller and heavier and would be more tender, possibly painful.
Eventually, her appetite would increase and she would notice she was becoming fuller all over, not just in her middle.
Mrs. Bennet told her that with three of her five pregnancies, she had enlarged primarily over her legs and bottom before her belly grew at all.
Her skin would likely change, too, taking on a more milky appearance and her cheeks would eventually fill out, though likely not for some time.
She also told her the signs of a miscarriage, which she had thankfully only experienced once, and informed her that a drop or two of blood was nothing to be concerned about, but perhaps it was a signal to relax a bit more and run about a bit less. If there were painful cramps, call the midwife.
Mrs. Bennet paused in her writing as she remembered the painful miscarriage she had suffered between Kitty and Lydia.
She had been sure it was a boy. Everything in her told her it was so.
Her sister told her she had thought so before, but Mrs. Bennet knew this time was different.
Alas, it was not to be. In her fourth month, she had been gripped with terrible pains, the like of which she had only experienced when delivering her girls.
The midwife was called, and within a few hours, Agnes Bennet was no longer with child.
The tiny babe had been buried in the family graveyard at her insistence. She had not looked at the half-formed child, but the midwife confirmed what she had known all along. The child had been a boy. She called him John, after her grandfather, and wept bitterly for weeks.
Her next pregnancy was very careful and though she knew in her heart the babe was another girl, she did not want to take any risks. Lydia became a much-prized infant after a deeply-felt loss.
Mrs. Bennet sighed and pulled herself together to finish her letter.
Elizabeth would be more successful than she had been, she knew it.
She was fortune’s child, that girl. To be so wild and still catch such a man as Mr. Darcy, she had to be very lucky.
There was no point at all in giving her tips—she did not need them.
Agnes Bennet looked down at her own traitorous body.
The sunlight from the window above the desk where she sat illuminated her clearly and she sighed.
Her bosom was lower than it had been, and her midriff was almost painfully flat.
She would not flush with new life or swell with a child ever again.
Lydia’s difficult birth had made sure of that.
She sighed once more. Her daughters would do better than she had. She knew it.
After a fortnight of glorious weather and excellent company, Elizabeth sat in their private sitting room, finishing her breakfast and looking over her letters.
Darcy had gone for a morning ride and she was enjoying a few moments to herself.
She had learned her new patterns well enough now to know that while she needed this time to remain equable, she would begin to miss him after an hour or two spent in solitary pursuits.
She opened the letter from Jane, nearly shrieking when she read of the engagement. She was thrilled for her sister. She experienced many thoughts and feelings but was surprised by the lack of one she had been expecting. Loss.
Elizabeth had been sure Jane’s marriage would remind her of the sacrifice she herself had made and that she would be both happy for her sister and a little sad for herself.
But she did not feel so. Yes, she was happy for Jane, but to her very great surprise, she was glad her sister would also have a good marriage with a man she esteemed.
Choosing not to dwell overlong on that thought, she opened the letter from her mother.
Slightly shocked by the content and its delivery, she was surprised at how helpful and informative it was.
There was no talk of lace or advice on how to keep her husband happy—just womanly advice from mother to daughter, and good advice at that.
She knew not what to make of it, but sat down immediately to respond.
As she was writing, she thought about having a baby.
Specifically, having a baby with Mr. Darcy.
Of course, she had known for some time that if she had children, he would be their father and the likelihood of having them was extremely high.
But still, it was a very different thing to think about after the wedding than it had been before.
She found herself wondering what their children would look like and presumed they would surely all have curly hair, since both she and her husband did.
His was less so than hers, but she would be very surprised at a straight-haired child.
Just as Jane and Bingley would likely have angelic blond children with sweet dispositions, the Darcy children would likely all be dark and either very mischievous or very serious.
She found herself laughing at the picture.
She placed her hand over her abdomen and felt its flatness, wondering what she would look like swollen with child. What would it feel like to have a babe growing inside her?
“What are you doing, love?” Darcy asked as he wrapped his arms around her and placed his hands over hers.
“I was thinking about having a baby,” she said absently.
He stiffened and turned her to face him. “Are you?” he glanced down to her belly. “Are we going to…?”
“Oh, darling, I’m sorry! No, I’m not with child. I didn’t mean to mislead you. I was just thinking about the possibility.”
He nodded, his expression slightly dazed. “What do you think of the possibility?” he asked quietly, holding her close enough that she couldn’t see his face.
“I think it would be lovely. And a little frightening. And exciting.”
He pulled back and looked at her.
“But I think I would also miss this time when it is just the two of us,” she added.
He smiled. “Truly? I will miss it, too,” he said, pulling her close again and resting his head on her hair. It was some time before he realized she had called him darling for the first time.
Elizabeth caught their image in the mirror hanging across from the table.
They looked so very right together, so content in each other’s presence, and suddenly she was struck with a startling realization.
He was the man, in disposition and talents, who suited her best. Her liveliness was already making him easier and more pleasant in company and his greater information benefitted her immensely and engendered a respect she doubted she could ever feel for another man to the same degree.
We’re perfect for each other.
Stunned by her realization, she failed to respond to something her husband said. Were there bees in the room? Is that why she heard buzzing?
“Elizabeth! Are you well?” He was placing a hand to her forehead and looking at her worriedly.
She only stared back at him blankly.
“You suddenly went pale. Come, lie down.” He turned to lead her toward the settee but she didn’t move.
He looked at her worriedly, and suddenly she blurted, “I think I love you.” His eyes widened and she closed hers in mortification. “I’m sorry, that was badly done.”
“You—you think… what?” he asked.
“Fitzwilliam,” she said, eyes shining and color restored, “I’ve fallen in love with you.”
“You’ve,” he swallowed. “You’ve fallen in love with me? When?”
The urge to tease was nearly overpowering but she knew now was not the time. “I do not know exactly when, just that I know now. I believe it has been coming on so gradually I barely noticed.”
He crushed her to him and pressed a steady kiss to her hair.
“Dearest, loveliest Elizabeth. You are my very heart.”
She squeezed him back as hard as she could. “My Fitzwilliam.”
He sighed. “You do realize what today is?” he asked after a long silence.
“What is it?”
“Your birthday.”
She gasped. “How could I have forgotten?”
“We have had no sense of time here. Anyhow, it seems I am the one who got the gift.” He tucked a tendril of hair behind her ear.
She leaned into his hand with a soft sigh and he couldn’t stop himself from sweeping her into his arms and taking her straight to his bedchamber.
Two hours later, they were sprawled in Darcy’s bed, speaking of inconsequential nothings.
“When would you like your birthday present?” he asked.
“I thought the concert and the fireworks tomorrow were my gift,” she replied.
Darcy was taking her to an event a few miles away and there were to be fireworks over the lake afterward. Elizabeth had never seen them before and he couldn’t wait to see her experience them for the first time.
“That is part of the celebration, but not the gift.”
She sat up, suddenly curious. “So what is the gift?”
“Wait here.”
He left the bed and went into his dressing room, returning a minute later. He handed her a folded piece of paper. She took it and looked at him quizzically.
“Go ahead, open it,” he encouraged.
She opened the paper and began to read the short letter, reading it twice through to make sure she understood.
“Fitzwilliam,” she said shakily, “is this real?” She held up the paper. He nodded. “You would go to so much trouble for me?”
Her eyes filled with tears and he pulled her into his arms. “Oh, darling, I didn’t mean to make you cry. Of course I would go to the trouble for you. I would do anything for you, surely you know that.”
“Fitzwilliam! This is the best gift anyone has ever given me. I cannot wait to see them completed.” She read the letter again in excitement, marveling over the idea that her husband would commission a Bennet family portrait and accompanying miniatures of the individual members.
“Has he really already begun the sketches?”
“He has. He sent me a few suggestions for poses. I thought you might want to see them before he begins the final product.”
He showed her a few sketches of her father outside the cottage.
In one he was in profile, looking at the sea; in another, he was reading in his favorite chair on the terrace; in the final sketch he was next to her mother and the two of them were laughing, her mother’s hand on her father’s arm.
She reached out and touched the picture, suddenly missing her family and unbelievably touched by her husband’s gesture.
“He will come to Pemberley and sketch you once the rest of your family is completed,” he said quietly.
“Will he sketch you, too?”
“I am not a Bennet,” he said.
“But you are my family. If it is to be my family portrait, I would wish you to be in it. And Mr. Bingley, too, if he would like.”
“If you wish it, my love, consider it done,” he said thickly.
She fell into his arms and held him tight. “Thank you, Fitzwilliam. It is absolutely perfect.”