Undoing

by L. L. Diamond

  Francine Bennet

  Elizabeth groaned and covered her eyes with her hand. “Oh, Mama. The last thing I shall do is pen a letter to Papa. You would ruin everything.” She pressed her palm to her bulging abdomen. “I know I am a coward for not telling her, but I do not want her present when you are born. She would make us both miserable.”

  A hand or a foot pressed into the side of her stomach, and she gently pushed against that spot. The tiny limb moved and hit back hard at her palm, making her smile. “No, Mama. We are content to remain exactly where we are.”

  She tossed the letter into the fire.

  May 10th 1810

  Gracechurch Street

  London

  Dearest Lizzy,

  I do not have the time for a long missive, but I wished to pen a note as soon as possible. Nicholas has proposed! I love him, and oh my, but I am engaged to him! I dread him meeting Mama, but he has assured me of his constancy regardless of how silly she behaves. Yes, I am being uncharitable, yet I know you will understand. Forgive me for the brevity of this letter!

  Yours very affectionately,

  Jane

  She wiped her damp cheeks—this time with her handkerchief. Thanks to her, Jane had a fortune which would ease her way into society, which was something Elizabeth had not possessed. Jane would also have Elizabeth’s position as a duchess to help her along. Jane also had love. Elizabeth should want to dance a jig, yet she touched the back of her hand and checked the tone of her skin to ensure it had not turned a despicable shade of green. How terrible of a sister she was!

  Her hand covered the spot where her child kicked within her. She had a piece of Fitzwilliam. She needed to learn to be content with what she had and not what she wanted and could not possess.

  “Your Grace?”

  When she looked up from her letter, Mrs. Hamilton stood in the doorway. “Yes, is something amiss?”

  “A messenger arrived a few moments ago with this.” She held a letter in front of her as she walked forward. “I have paid him. He is currently having luncheon with the staff while his horse rests. He indicated he was to remain in the event you had a response.”

  Fitzwilliam’s even hand covered the outside, and she hurried to break the seal.

  May 12th 1810

  Worth House

  London

  Why was a letter in Fitzwilliam’s hand addressed from Worth House?

  Dear Lizzy,

  A week ago, I received a letter from Thomas’s valet, requesting my immediate presence in London. I have never known the man to exaggerate so I set out as swiftly as possible. Unfortunately, with the lack of a full moon, we had no light to journey through the night but travelled as long as we had sufficient light, setting off as soon as the first rays of the sun peeked over the horizon.

  Without beating about the bush, Thomas had another attack or episode as you called it last year. He lives but is weak—exceedingly weak. I have never seen him so ill. The physician has bled him, though we do not know if it will help his current condition, which is grave indeed.

  Despite the physician’s recommendation, Thomas is insistent he wishes to return to Worthstone. He is weary for home and desires to be close when the child is born. We travel at first light on the morrow so we should not be far behind this message.

  Pray, have Thomas’s rooms prepared and notify the local physician. I do not intend on rushing the trip, but I cannot guarantee Thomas will weather the journey well.

  Yours,

  Fitzwilliam Darcy

  “Ready His Grace’s apartments and prepare Mr. Darcy’s usual rooms. We shall need to adjust the menus for the next week as well as plan the duke’s meals.”

  Mrs. Hamilton placed a hand to her chest. “He has had another episode?”

  “Yes, and Mr. Darcy writes to let us know of their immediate return. His Grace has travelled against the advice of his physician, so we must notify Mr. Barrow. He will need to come as soon as the duke arrives.”

  “This one was worse than in the past?”

  “Yes, Mr. Darcy claims it is his worst yet.”

  The woman shook her head. “I shall set the maids to work and set Mrs. Bunting to making broth and food the duke will require.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Ma’am?”

  Elizabeth glanced back up.

  “Are you well?”

  “I am. Why do you ask?”

  “I am probably being overcautious, but I saw you crying when I entered. I know you have been lonely since your return, but I understand why the master would have you in the country in your condition. Too much pestilence in the city, even during the winter. If only Miss Darcy could visit. She always lifts your spirits.”

  She gave a small lift to her lips, though she would have preferred sagging into the chair. “Miss Darcy is a dear, sweet girl. Perhaps once my husband is settled, Mr. Darcy will send for her.”

  “The Darcys are both great friends of yours and my master’s. I daresay they will lift your spirits right up.” The woman smiled, curtseyed, and bustled off while Elizabeth turned the missive in her hands.

  How poor was Thomas’s condition? Though she did not love her husband, she did hold a certain affection for him—not love, but a friendship of sorts. On the occasions where they spoke or when they were in company, their relationship was quite amiable.

  Well, she could do naught but wait for the time being. She would soon know all.

  The next evening, Elizabeth reclined on her bed, propped on a multitude of pillows to be comfortable. She did not expect the babe for another month, yet her back ached fiercely and her feet were swollen to the size of one of the work horse’s hooves.

  Despite the book in front of her, her eyes had just started to flutter closed when a horse whinnied from outside and the tell-tale racket of an approaching carriage carried through the open window.

  “Thomas and Fitzwilliam,” she said as she shifted her way to the edge of the mattress, pulled on her dressing gown and slippers, and pushed herself up to stand. The babe made walking difficult as well, so she waddled down the corridor, pressing a palm to her lower back while she moved.

  She held the railing while she took the stairs with haste. When she reached the bottom step, her foot somehow missed the solid surface and sent her to the floor in a heap.

  “Lizzy!”

  “Elizabeth!” The voice was weak, though forceful.

  Bewildered at the sudden change of height, she glanced up to Fitzwilliam, Thomas, and Thomas’s valet, who stood before her, their eyes wide. Fitzwilliam and Colin each held Thomas by an arm, helping him to walk without being carried. The duke’s horrid complexion appeared a mottled grey rather than a healthy pinkish hue.

  She placed her hands on the floor and rolled to all fours so she could hoist herself up. “I am well. My rear end will likely be bruised, but I am well.”

  When she reached for the stair railing, Fitzwilliam stood before her with his hands out for her to take. As he helped her to stand, he wore a tremendous scowl. “You should not take those stairs with such haste. What if harm came to you or the child?”

  With a huff, she planted her feet and stood. “I heard the carriage. I did not think I moved so very fast.” She frowned at him and crossed her arms over her chest. “I have descended those stairs daily since my return to Worthstone. I have not fallen until tonight. I am simply fat and ungainly.”

  He took Thomas’s arm and wound it back over his shoulders as Mrs. Hamilton and Mr. Gibbs, the butler, hurried into the hall.

  “Forgive us, Your Grace. We did not expect you so late.”

  “I wanted to sleep in my own bed tonight, so I insisted we continue.”

  Fitzwilliam’s eyes met hers, and she held out her arm to the stairs. “We should get His Grace into bed and comfortable. He has had a long journey. Mrs. Hamilton,” she said, pointing to one of her fingers. “Pray heat some water for Mr. Darcy and His Grace and send tea to the duke’s bedchamber. I daresay he will desire refres
hment, and if this is similar to the last, the physician will limit his brandy and port.”

  “Mrs. Bunting has broth prepared.”

  “Good, send some up. He has likely not eaten as he ought during the journey.”

  The men neared the top of the stairs as Elizabeth turned to follow them. “We shall need to send word to Mr. Barrow first thing on the morrow.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Elizabeth’s hand returned to her lower back as she started back towards the family wing. She had no sooner made it half-way than Fitzwilliam appeared. “I am capable of climbing the stairs.”

  “Forgive me if I wish to ensure your safety. We have enough to fret about with Thomas.”

  He walked the remainder of the way at her side, an arm poised behind her as though she might collapse at any moment. She wanted to slap that hand down and chastise him but could not without giving some hint of their intimacy to someone who might overhear.

  Fitzwilliam knocked before entering Thomas’s bedchamber, and Colin answered without delay. “He is comfortable for now.”

  “I ordered tea and broth to be brought to his sitting room. Water should be delivered soon.”

  “Good. I am certain some nourishment would do him good, and he has always detested the dust of travelling.”

  She waddled over to her husband’s bedside and took his hand. “Thomas, do you require anything?”

  “A new heart,” he said with a breathy laugh. His hand reached out and rested on her now sizeable stomach. “He has grown considerably.”

  Elizabeth shifted his hand to where the babe pressed against her side. “What if he is a she?”

  The child rolled and Thomas’s eyes softened. He cleared his throat. “She will inherit all but the dukedom. If this is a boy, all is saved. James will not ruin everything I have worked to build. I needed to try, you understand.” Their eyes met. His were too shiny. “You refer to him as a ‘he’ as well, do you not?”

  “I do, but I never considered why. I do not know what he is.”

  He cleared his throat again as his eyes fluttered. “We shall know soon enough. I survived this journey. Now I simply must live long enough to see him born.” His eyes opened and watched his hand. “Regardless of your suspicions, I believe this is my heir—the future Duke of Leeds.”

  He relaxed his arm back onto the mattress, so Elizabeth tucked the covers around him before she stepped over to Fitzwilliam. “Will you remain or will you retire? I can have someone show you to your rooms.”

  “Let Colin take care of me,” said the duke weakly. “No one need hover over me as if I might die at any moment. You need your rest, Elizabeth.”

  Elizabeth huffed and set her hands on her hips. “The two of you arrive after months of my being alone in this house and immediately tell me how to live. I am well and have done admirably thus far.” Without another word, she marched through the door to her own apartments and slammed it behind her.

  She had been lonely for months, and finally, someone arrived only to issue commands and criticise. If she had known their intentions, they could have remained in London!

  Fitzwilliam followed Lalande through the servants’ passages. Due to the late hour, no one milled about, yet he had a suspicion Colin was standing guard nearby keeping them from discovery.

  They reached a door, and she opened it. “I did not tell Madame you were coming.”

  He slipped inside and bit his lip to keep from laughing. How many pillows did she have between her and the headboard? She lay propped in an elaborate nest of cushions and had obviously been reading since her book rested on the top of her stomach. She also snored lightly.

  He trod carefully to the bed and sat on the side. He brushed a few loose hairs back from her face and sighed. He had been selfish. He and Georgiana had returned to Pemberley in April. Here it was nearly June, and he had not come to see if Elizabeth was well. He had not brought Georgiana to visit. Elizabeth had been cooped up in this house since March, her only company the ladies of the neighbourhood—only most of consequence were still in London, limiting her to the wives of the local country squires and the vicar’s wife. Her existence must have been quite solitary.

  His heart squeezed and broke open, and he clenched his eyes shut. He would not cry. The knowledge that she carried his child was difficult enough. The more she increased, the more painful it became. He loved their child, yet he could not claim him—he could not give him the Darcy name or Pemberley if it was a boy. This child would always believe Thomas was his father. The torment of that knowledge was why he had stayed away. He had missed Elizabeth dreadfully, but he had thought it easier when he was not in her company. He was wrong.

  “Fitzwilliam?” Her musical voice opened his eyes. “I did not know to expect you. I hoped, but . . .”

  “Colin and Lalande arranged my passage as usual.” He removed the book from her stomach with a smile. He could not let on about how he felt. Elizabeth’s lot was not any easier than his. The revelation would only cause great upset. “You appear comfortable.”

  “This is an improvement. My back has ached a great deal as of late.”

  “Perhaps I can help by rubbing it for you. Lie on your side.”

  She rolled and arranged the cushions so she could relax. “My lower back and my feet have been difficult as the babe has grown.”

  He dug his fingers into the flesh on either side of her backbone and rubbed toward her shoulders. Once he had gone four or five inches, he returned to that starting point again and repeated the process.

  “Does this help?”

  “Yes. Can you continue until this child decides to be born?”

  He smiled and pressed a bit harder. He peered down at her ankles and winced at how swollen they appeared. Elizabeth had always had such dainty feet. Those were hardly petite anymore.

  “I can rub your feet too, if you like.”

  She took his hand and kissed it. “You are too good to me.” A long drawn out breath made her chest expand and contract as she relaxed into his fingers. “Have you seen Jane?”

  “I attended the ball Lady Matlock gave in her honour. She was radiantly happy. When you are not so sleepy, I shall tell you everything. I promise.”

  “Good. I did not want to miss it.”

  “She understood,” he said softly while her eyes fluttered. “She even asked if I had seen you recently.”

  He massaged her back and feet until she fell soundly asleep. He had even said her name, but she lightly snored, insensible to all that was around her.

  For a time, he laid in front of her on his side while he watched her doze, his palm poised on her belly until the babe inside kicked strongly and rolled. He closed his eyes pressed his lips against the hard swell. “I love you, little one.”

  That fall on the stairs had frightened him as much as when he learnt his father had run into that burning cottage. Thomas even gave him an odd look when he took his arm to wrap around his shoulders. An hour complete was required for him to stop shaking completely. He knew the dangers of the childbed, but the tumble had brought it all rushing to the forefront of his mind.

  What if Elizabeth died in childbirth? What if she and the child both died? The possibilities made his jaw clench tightly, his chest heavy, and his stomach roil. Could you lose someone who was never really yours? He could never publicly mourn her for what she was—the wife of his heart.

  He shook off his melancholy thoughts and shifted behind her, pressing his chest to her back and wrapping his arm possessively around their child. Then, for the first time in a long while—since his father’s death—he prayed.

  Chapter 17

  “Then landing in the moonlight dell,

  Loud shouted of his weal to tell.

  The Minstrel heard the far halloo,

  And joyful from the shore withdrew.”1

  Elizabeth paused at Thomas’s hand to her arm. “What is it?”

  “I am tired, and it is difficult to concentrate. Perhaps we can continue later?”


  “Of course,” she replied, tucking the covers around him. His colour had not improved, and instead of rallying as he had in the past, he had only deteriorated over the past fortnight. “Would you like some tea or broth?”

  He shook his head and screwed his lips into a grimace. “No. I can barely tolerate what Colin makes me drink.”

  “You love him very much.”

  His eyes opened a little—as much as they had these past few days. “Yes, as much as you love Fitzwilliam. I have had the privilege of Colin’s companionship for these past thirty years. I could not imagine spending my life with anyone else, though I do wish we could have been together in truth. Hiding our relationship has been difficult.” He coughed and winced as he swallowed. “I would have liked to take him to the theatre, or promenade with him in Hyde Park, hearing his commentary on the ladies present.” A wan smile appeared upon his face before it disappeared just as quickly. “One advantage of my passing will be that you and Fitzwilliam can finally be together. You will have no need of knowing my one regret.”

  The hair on the back of her neck stood on end while she squeezed his hand. “As much as I desire my life joined with Fitzwilliam’s, I do not desire your death.”

  “No, you are too good for that. You are more practical, yet more like Jane than you realise. You also have a keen mind. ’Tis why I chose you.”

  She ran her fingers over the new book Thomas had brought from London. She had been reading it to him during those times Colin needed to leave Thomas’s side. His valet had been a most faithful companion to the duke since their return, but his duties did require him to tend to business below stairs from time to time.

  With a deep breath sucked into her lungs, she closed her eyes. “Why do you think Fitzwilliam left? He only spent the one night.” She attempted to mask the shuddering exhale. Tears took so little to come these days.

  Thomas’s eyes flared and his frail hand covered hers this time. “Do not doubt my godson. He loves you with all that he is. Our situation is not easy, and I am certain seeing you carry his child also causes a certain amount of pain and conflict within him. I do not doubt his return. You should not either.”