With a scream that would shatter glass, she wrenched her body from beneath his and quickly stood. As she slowly moved back towards him, she could discern no breathing. “Dr. Adams?” she called softly. There was no response. Her voice now giving rise to panic, she spoke more sharply. “Please, Dr. Adams! You cannot die! You must tell me! Dr. Adams! Dr. Adams!”
Such was the scene that Charles Bingley observed as he entered his parlour that evening.
~*~
Darcy had spent the morning with his steward, inspecting the crops on his land. The vegetation was growing hearty, and it promised to be a profitable season for his tenants. He had spent an overly abundant amount of time recently attending to such business, and his steward had repeatedly assured him that his presence was not necessary and that he would not need his assistance again until the harvest. But, Darcy had insisted on accompanying him.
When he returned to the house, he immediately went to the nursery to look upon his daughter. The wet nurse, Mrs. Hawkins, was sitting quietly in the corner reading a book. She nodded her head as he entered. Ellie was sleeping peacefully with her thumb strategically placed in her mouth. He brushed his hand across her soft chestnut curls and kissed her tenderly on her ear.
He made his way down to the music room, following the sounds emanating from the pianoforte. Anne was seated at the instrument and looked up, making an effort to smile as he approached her. “You are back early today, Fitzwilliam,” she stated as she stopped her playing.
She quickly hid her handkerchief within the folds of her gown. Had he arrived fifteen minutes earlier he would have witnessed a very distressful coughing bout. Hoping that her countenance had returned to a composed state, she asked about his morning.
He approached her and kissed her forehead and, with some concern, asked how she was feeling. “I am quite well, Fitzwilliam. Why do you ask?”
“Your forehead felt a little warm just now,” he replied. “Do you think perhaps we should send for Dr. Chisholm?”
“No. Really, Fitzwilliam, I do not require a doctor. Perhaps it is just that it is so hot today. Truly I am well.”
The news of Dr. Adams’s death had been extremely upsetting for Anne. He had been her doctor her entire life, and she was not comfortable allowing anyone else to attend her. Also, she did not want to have to answer any questions from Dr. Chisholm regarding the birth of their child. Dr. Chisholm and Dr. Adams had each believed the other had attended her during her “confinement.” What if he could somehow detect that she had not given birth? It was best that he stay away. No, she did not want any doctor to examine her. She had more to lose than gain by his attendance.
Dr. Adams had recommended some elixirs to help her resistance when he had first attended Anne at Pemberley. Mrs. Reynolds had made sure that she continued to faithfully drink the concoction each morning, being quite convinced that it had been the miracle cure that had sustained her these many months.
Anne, however, knew differently. She knew her life was going according to whatever plan had been devised for her by someone with much a more pre-eminent title than “doctor.”
~*~
Darcy paced the length of his library. It was Friday morning, and once again he was determined to occupy his day in some useful manner, but even he could not impose himself on his steward for the fifth day in a row. He knew he was using his presence overseeing the fields as a deterrent to riding where he really wanted to go.
He wanted to say goodbye to her. He wanted one last look at the woman who had changed his life and the way he looked at the world. He wanted to hear her voice call him “William” one more time.
It was mid-June. In two weeks she would be gone. If he did not go to her soon, it would be too late.
As he headed toward the stables, he shook his head at his own obstinacy. He had his groom saddle up Marengo, and both he and the horse knew exactly where they were headed.
When he approached the cottage, he looked down from his perch upon the ridge and saw Hannah conversing with the older man who delivered the supplies. He felt reassured as he witnessed this scene that no changes to the daily routine of the cottage had yet occurred.
A moment later the young helper exited the cottage dragging a large trunk and carrying several parcels. After placing all that he carried into the wagon, the young man helped Hannah onto the seat and within moments all three of them were gone.
Perplexed as to why Hannah would leave Lizzy alone, he approached the cottage. He hoped she would see him. He hoped his letter had softened her opinion of him. He hoped she no longer hated him.
He knocked at the door and waited . . . there was no answer. He again knocked, a bit louder this time, thinking perhaps she slept; still . . . no answer. He called to her . . . silence. He then tried the latch, and it turned easily in his hand as he opened the door. He called to her again, but only the echo of her name filled the room.
As he entered the cottage, he looked around the small sitting room they had occupied that first day he had visited. He remembered pacing this same carpet just three short weeks ago as he awaited the birth of his child, and he now stood in the same spot where Hannah had first placed his daughter in his arms. The room was now empty.
As realization dawned, frantically he entered Lizzy’s bed chamber to find it also empty and devoid of all personal affects. Gone were the ribbons and hair brush that had been just recently sitting atop the dresser. Gone was the bottle of lavender scented water that she had used in her hair.
As he turned to look upon the barren room, he saw the painting that had escaped his notice that day. As he studied it, he noted the small plaque confirming the familiar scene of the beach he and Lizzy had walked upon together. Had she bought this as a reminder of their time together? Why had she left it behind?
He removed the small painting from the wall and looked upon it with sadness. He knew in his heart why she had not taken it with her. She was leaving all that had occurred between them behind her. She wanted no reminders of their attachment.
However, he also knew that she would not be successful in this endeavour, just as he would not. No matter where they each travelled or how much distance and time lay between them, they would be forever connected through the child they had created.
Darcy left the cottage and carefully tied the painting to his saddle. He looked at the cottage one last time as he turned his horse back towards Pemberley. He knew it was for the best, but that did not stop the flood of sadness and regret that filled his heart.
Monday’s child is fair of face,
Tuesday’s child is full of grace,
Wednesday’s child is full of woe,
Thursday’s child has far to go.
TO THINE OWN SELF BE TRUE
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
“Lizzy!” cried her sister Jane. “What a happy surprise! Why did you not write us of your plans?” The two sisters hugged for several minutes as Lizzy could barely find the strength to pull herself away from Jane’s comforting arms. Her tears would not be denied.
“Lizzy, are you unwell?”
“No, no. I am well, Jane. I am just so happy to see you. I have missed you so much,” said an overcome Lizzy as she hugged her dear sister once more.
Mrs. Gardiner rushed to the two sisters and gave Lizzy an equally long and comforting embrace. “Oh, my dear niece, what joy to finally see you! When you did not come this summer, we had almost given up hope of ever seeing you again! You have been gone so long, Lizzy. But why did you not write to tell us you would be with us for Christmas?”
“I. . . I did not want to give you false hope in case I was unable to come.”
“Well, come inside and have some tea,” said her aunt. “You must be exhausted from your long journey.”
“Lizzy, are you sure you are well; you look so pale,” said Jane with much concern in her voice.
“Jane, I assure you I am fine.” Wanting desperately to change the focus of attention away from herself, Elizabeth congratulated Jane on h
er engagement.
“I only met Mr. Bingley briefly, but I could tell that day that he was already in a fair way to being in love with you.”
Jane smiled back at her sister and immediately offered her left hand, displaying the engagement ring that graced her third finger.
“It is beautiful, Jane. Mr. Bingley has exquisite taste in rings as well as in fiancées.” Happy tears filled both sisters’ eyes.
“Have you informed Mrs. Worthington that you will require some time off to attend my wedding in April?”
“No, it makes little difference as it does not signify. I was unable to take my leave earlier due to Mrs. Worthington selling her home. She needed my assistance in packing up her possessions. She has gone now to live with her son John and his family in Oxford. So you see, she will no longer require my services as a companion. I am afraid I am quite at my leisure at the moment.”
“But Lizzy, that is wonderful news!” cried Jane. “Not that I am glad you are no longer employed, but, well, I did mention to Charles that should your situation with Mrs. Worthington change, I would love to have you come live with us at Netherfield.”
“Oh, I don’t know, Jane. The last thing newlyweds need is an unwanted sister hanging about.”
“You are not unwanted, Lizzy. And besides, Netherfield is quite large, and Mr. Bingley has informed me the walls are quite thick.” Jane smiled a wicked little smile at her sister as they both blushed with laughter.
“Your wedding is several months away. I would still need to find something to occupy me until then. You know I am not one who finds pleasure in idleness. I have written to a . . . a recent acquaintance of mine regarding a job here in London. It is only to be for a few months, but it sounded quite interesting.”
“What is it?”
“At the Melbourne House where my friend is employed, they are installing a small library for the use of their guests, and they are looking for someone knowledgeable to help stock it. Since my friend was aware of my love of books, she suggested I apply for the position. I have an interview in two days. The position is only for the short duration until the library is organized and fully stocked, but one of the provisions would be a small room in which to stay during my service there. If the library proves to be successful, they may need my services again in the future to keep it current.”
“Oh, Lizzy, that sounds perfect for you. It is all too bad you had to give up all your beautiful books at Longbourn. I know Papa wanted you to have them,” said Jane with sadness in her voice.
“I know, Jane, but perhaps I shall start my own library. Oh, that reminds me; I had some recently acquired books sent here. They should arrive in a day or two, Aunt. I hope you won’t mind storing them for me until I am settled somewhere.”
“Of course not, Lizzy. I shall be happy to keep them for you as long as you like,” said Mrs. Gardiner.
When Lizzy muffled a yawn, her aunt insisted that she rest upstairs until dinner. “We will have plenty of time to discuss everything tonight.”
Too tired not to obey, she hugged her aunt and sister one more time and climbed the stairs.
In her room Elizabeth released a sigh of relief that she had gotten through this first reunion with Jane and her aunt without revealing too much emotion. Over the last six months, she had become very adept at hiding her true feelings. She was sure that with a little more practice, she could learn to adopt an air of indifference, but that was the best she could hope for under such circumstances. Happiness was not an option.
She was glad to be spending the holiday with her family, even though she was uncertain that she was mentally equipped to handle the emotions that day would bring . . . wondering about her child’s first Christmas.
She gave a thought to last Christmas, alone in the small cottage. It seemed so long ago.
She was certainly not the same woman she was a year ago. Life had taught her some hard and cruel lessons, and she had learned well from them.
She thought of all the tears she had shed, not only for the loss of her daughter, but for William too. William . . . the man she had given herself to so freely. She did not regret the loss of her virtue, for that was part of the agreement; no she had given much more than that. She had given of herself, a piece of her heart.
How dare he make love to her and engage her emotions! He had not that right. She would always mourn the loss of her daughter, but she vowed she would shed no more tears for William.
~*~
Darcy entered the nursery and watched his daughter as she slept soundly in her cradle. With each passing day, she grew more beautiful.
For the first few months of Ellie’s life, he and Anne had happily spent every moment of their time devoted to their precious child. He had never felt such contentment in all of his life. He knew that Anne felt that same joy as he witnessed her delight in caring for their daughter.
However, the last two weeks had brought about a severe worsening of Anne’s condition. He knew that her health had reached some irreversible juncture. Each night her cough grew worse, and each day she found it harder to attend to even the simplest of tasks.
Against her wishes, he had sent for Dr. Chisholm, who confirmed his suspicion that Anne’s condition was indeed advancing and that there would be no further remissions.
Darcy had already silently begun to fear for his daughter’s safety. He knew little of consumption, but the one fact he did know, was that it was contagious. Anne was also becoming extremely weak, adding the fear of her dropping the little girl to his worries.
The time had come that he must deny Anne the pleasure of their child’s company. Knowing that caring for Ellie was the only source of her limited happiness, he was not looking forward to that duty, but he would not jeopardize his daughter’s life.
As he told her the heart-breaking news, he could not hide the tears that welled in his eyes.
“Fitzwilliam, you must not be sad for me. Should I have lived another fifty years, I could have achieved no greater fulfilment than what you and Ellie have given me these past few precious months. It has meant everything to me.”
The lump in Darcy’s throat made it impossible to speak. There was nothing he could say or do, except silently grieve for what was soon to pass.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
January brought grey days and icy temperatures to the now nearly deserted streets of London. Elizabeth was well settled into Melbourne House and was grateful for the hours she spent contentedly engaged in her new position. During those hours her mind was busy and free from melancholy.
She was in close proximity to Jane, who was now immersed in the many details of preparing for a wedding. Their mother had made several trips to London to assist Jane with such preparations and to attend to her trousseau. On the two occasions they had been in each other’s company, Elizabeth had made several attempts at civil conversation, but it was obvious Mrs. Bennet still held fast to her feelings of resentment.
Elizabeth had learned about the availability of her present position through Hannah, as the two women had agreed to correspond upon Lizzy’s departure from the cottage. It was both pleasing and unsettling to see her again, as the sight of her brought back so many memories.
Hannah’s position as chamber maid at Melbourne House presented many opportunities for their paths to often cross. Though Hannah had felt herself far below Elizabeth’s station, she never felt uncomfortable in her company. To know such intimate details of someone’s life was to her a privilege, and she felt a deep honour-bound loyalty to that lady.
It was only in Hannah’s company that Lizzy let down her guard. She told her of her sleepless nights and worse, of the nights that she did finally succumb to sleep only to be haunted by dreams of her child. She spoke of her anguish and regret. Hannah would mostly listen without comment. She knew Lizzy was not looking to her for answers. Her only need was to express these feelings to someone, someone who would not judge her.
Upon noting Lizzy’s pale colour and highly agitated state, Ha
nnah suggested that she seek a doctor who might prescribe something to help her. At first reluctant to go, she finally acquiesced and visited the local apothecary who prescribed some sleeping powders. She used them but rarely, as they made her feel more dazed than sleepy.
The library was coming along but would require at least another two months of preparation before its completion and before Lizzy’s services would no longer be required. One evening as Elizabeth was locking up for the night, she heard a familiar voice call her name.
“Miss Bennet!”
“Colonel Fitzwilliam!”
Smiling at the sight of her, he bowed. “I cannot tell you how happy I am to see you again.”
“And I, you.”
“I trust you have been well?”
“Yes, sir. I have been quite well,” said Elizabeth. “Have you been in London very long?”
“My regiment has been stationed here for the past month.”
Upon observing the two engaged in pleasant conversation, one might have perceived both to be in good spirits, but each one recognized in the other an underlying unhappiness for neither’s smile had reached their eyes.
Elizabeth then noticed the black arm band positioned over the colonel’s sleeve. She raised her eyes in question.
“Ah, yes. I am afraid my family has suffered a most sorrowful and untimely loss.”
“I am most sorry to hear that, Colonel.”
“I hope you do not find this forward of me, Miss Bennet, but I was about to partake in some dinner and was wondering if you might care to join me? We could continue our conversation in a more comfortable setting.”
“Yes, that would be most agreeable. I would welcome the opportunity to renew our acquaintance, sir.”
As they sat in the dining room of Melbourne House, the colonel was more than pleased by her company. She was just as pretty as he had remembered her, but she seemed to possess a maturity that she did not have before. Perhaps maturity was not the word he was looking for; wisdom might be a better choice. After some pleasantries, he brought the conversation back to that of his family’s loss.
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