My Dearest Mr. Darcy

by Sharon Lathan

  As the third week without her husband advanced, Lizzy and Georgiana walked to the orphanage in the Village. They each carried a basket filled with baked treats for the children, dressed warmly against the chill air. October had passed into November, the last of the Pemberley harvests reaped and marketed. The fields now lay tilled and bare. A light drizzle of rain had fallen last evening, leaving the ground moist with shallow puddles in places, but today was clear with the clouds lingering over the Peaks.

  “If William were here he would predict the rains, whether they are gone for now or to return.” Lizzy spoke softly, gazing at the horizon.

  Georgiana smiled, squeezing her sister's arm. “Yes, he always knows. It is a gift I do not possess. Of course, if he were here he would likely forbid you to walk, especially if he judges the rains to resume.”

  Lizzy laughed. “True, although I think I would welcome his overprotective domination if it meant I could hear his voice.”

  “He shall be home soon, Lizzy. He will not miss his birthday. He knows how important it is to you, and nothing will keep him away.”

  “As desperately as I need him, I fear him overtaxing and becoming ill again.” She sighed loudly and shook her head. “Enough! He has begged me not to fret, to trust him, and I will. His letter yesterday said all was proceeding expeditiously.”

  “Did he give any indication of when he would be home?”

  “No, unfortunately. I think he is afraid to say much so as to not disappoint. In truth I do not expect him for another week, probably breezing in exhausted on the day before his birthday!”

  “Why so long?”

  “He had reckoned it would take two weeks at the least to conclude his affairs, and I think he was being generous at that so as not to increase my distress.” She smiled at his ever conscious desire to assuage. “He was ill for a week, if my figuring is correct, then the slow recovery. I can still discern a weakness in his handwriting and weariness in his words. I am sure he is not able to work up to his normal stamina.”

  “Well, perhaps you are correct, and I suppose it best he take it slowly. Still, I know he will be here by his birthday! William always keeps his promises.”

  The children jumped for joy, delighting in the treats and affection from Mrs. Darcy and Miss Darcy. The joyful, innocent presence of the children never failed to cheer Lizzy, the afternoon hours spent very happily with only fleeting thoughts of her husband intruding. Toward the end of their visit, as the clouds were gradually blowing back toward the valley, Lizzy felt the preliminary twinges of pain.

  She held a newer arrival to the orphanage, a girl of three years, as she stood watching groups of children playing hopscotch and jumping rope. One minute everything was roses, Lizzy laughing at the antics and blissfully snuggling the soft body against her breast, when the familiar vague contractions were abruptly displaced by a sharp stab of pain lanced through her abdomen rippling from back to front and down to her groin. It resembled the innocuous false labor pains that Dr. Darcy assured were normal and necessary, but was far more intense. She gasped, bending involuntarily as she rubbed over her belly. It passed as swiftly as it came, Lizzy breathing deeply and almost convincing herself it was not significant when an identical pain struck. She released a squeal, doubling over and nearly dropping the little girl, who was clinging to her neck in fright.

  “Mrs. Darcy? Are you well?” It was Miss Seymour, the orphanage director, inquiring as she rushed to rescue the child.

  “No, I think I need to sit. Oh!”

  Rapid activity ensued, Georgiana calling immediately for the nearest carriage. In short order Lizzy was home, George carrying her to her third-floor chamber in an amazingly strong grip for such a thin man. The pains continued at an irregular rhythm and intensity. Lizzy realized once the initial shock was past that the pains were not horrible, but definitely more severe than normal. It was the stress of what they signified that sent her into trembling sobs.

  “Calm yourself, Elizabeth. Georgiana dear, hold her hand and speak soothingly. Elizabeth, I must be allowed to examine you. Relax, all will be well.”

  His final sentence, uttered in Darcy's gentle tone, was more then she could handle. “George, I cannot… have this baby… now…”

  “Well, he may very well have a differing plan, my dear, but we will not know until you settle down. This may be unpleasant and embarrassing, Elizabeth. I am sorry.” He kept a steady stream of placating murmuring as he performed the intimate examination, Lizzy far too distraught to be embarrassed.

  “Listen carefully, niece. At this point there is no internal indication that your baby wishes to be born.” He laid his broad hands over her abdomen, palpating the intermittent muscle contractions. “The pains are not regular, which is a good thing. Mrs. Reynolds,” he said, turning to the housekeeper standing nearby, “ask Mrs. Langton to brew a large pot of very strong tea, dregs included, of red raspberry leaf and chaste tree leaf. She has the herbs as I supplied them prophylactically. Elizabeth, focus on me, dear.”

  Lizzy was crying silently, enormous tears sliding down her cheeks, but she met his sympathetic blue eyes. “Listen, dear, very clearly to me. If your baby does decide now is the time for his birth, he is near enough to complete maturity that he will likely be healthy. He feels to be of a sufficient size.” He pressed his long, firm fingers into her belly on both sides of the swell, palpating the shape hidden inside.

  “You can ascertain his size?” Lizzy asked with surprise.

  “It is not an exact science, but one develops a sense for these things over time. I am an excellent diagnostician, if I say so myself, and not half bad as an obstetrician.” Lizzy could not prevent a tiny chuckle escaping, George smiling in return. “There, better, Elizabeth?” She nodded faintly. “Good. It is vital you remain calm. The tea I ordered may halt the contractions, but primarily you need to rest. My professional opinion is you have been given a fright and a warning. However, this could be a sign that you will not be waiting until December. Only time will reveal. In the meantime I am restricting you to your bed.”

  Lizzy was weeping again, Georgiana smoothing the hair from her brow as Mrs. Reynolds entered the room. “George,” Lizzy whispered between soft sobs, “please, I cannot do this without William! I need him…”

  “Shhhh… Be still. Say no more, Elizabeth, as I concur. Do not fear; I will send for him.”

  Dr. Darcy's summons, conveyed by one of Pemberley's own groomsmen on the fastest horse available after Parsifal, finally reached Darcy after first being delivered to Darcy House and then the offices of Mr. Daniels before discovering the addressee busily working up a vigorous sweat at Angelo's Fencing Academy. It was the only recreation Darcy had engaged in during the weeks in London and the only reason he had broken from his self-proscribed strict business agenda for this excursion was a raging need for physical exercise.

  However, moments prior to the message's delivery he was beginning to seriously doubt the wisdom of his actions. The symptoms from his illness were essentially gone with the exception of a nagging cough and persistent muscle fatigue. He stood in the center of the floor facing his current adversary, Lord Miles Holt, whom he had prevailed over each time in the past, wheezing and six points behind! So much for proving your potency and health, Darcy! he thought with towering sarcasm and chagrin.

  The interruption by the Academy's manager was abundantly welcomed by a frankly gasping Mr. Darcy, but followed by instant fresh sweat, this time of the cold variety, with the appearance of a Pemberley groom.

  “Forgive me, gentlemen, for the disruption. Mr. Darcy, this man has a message for you.” The groom nervously stepped forward, bowing as he handed the sealed parchment to his Master. Darcy removed his protective glasses with a slightly tremulous hand, murmuring his pardons as he exited the room.

  William,

  Forgive the abruptness of this letter, nephew. First, Elizabeth is well. However, today she began suffering with true birth pains. Even as I write this note the pains have lessened and
the baby shows no overt signs of an imminent arrival; therefore, my medical opinion is that you will not be a father quite yet. Nonetheless, Elizabeth needs you. Tarry no longer, William. Do not be reckless, but come home.

  George

  Darcy's heart constricted painfully, lips pressing together in a tight line. Not hesitating for a second, nor allowing the fear to overwhelm him, he jumped into action. The hasty and rude orders barked at Pemberley were courteous compared to the rampage he went on once at Darcy House. The effect was as he demanded, though. Within an hour the Darcy carriage was clomping away from Grosvenor Square toward Derbyshire. He refused to halt until well after dark, resting at a cheap carriage inn for six hours. He was again on the road as dawn broke over the eastern horizon.

  Weary with grey circles under his eyes, rumpled, unshaven, and jittery with anxiety, Darcy caught his first sight of the pinnacles atop Pemberley by early afternoon. Relief washed through him, tears stinging the eyes that automatically lifted to the southeast corner windows. Naturally from this distance he could see nothing of significance, the manor as beautiful and serene as always.

  “Hold on, beloved. I am home.”

  The relief to be at Pemberley was palpable, but only partially allayed Darcy's paralyzing anxiety. He sat in the stopped carriage waiting for the coachman to open the door rather than hurdling out as he anticipated doing for the simple reason that he was terrified at what he might find. The cold gust of air hitting his face when the door opened restored him and with a steadying inhale, he disembarked.

  Apparently no one had witnessed his unexpected arrival, the footman Georges glancing up in surprise when Darcy walked into the foyer. He snapped to attention briskly, his greeting interrupted brusquely by his Master.

  “Where is Mrs. Darcy?” His voice was firm, the fear at the answer well hidden.

  “Mrs. Darcy is in your chambers, sir. Dr. Darcy and Miss Darcy are in the parlor.”

  “Thank you.” He practically threw his overcoat at Georges with the stasis of dread vanishing in the liberation of his fears and the cavernous need to embrace his wife. Dignity be damned, he dashed up the grand staircase and turned left with long strides.

  “Fitzwilliam!”

  He pivoted at the sound of his uncle's voice. “Uncle! Elizabeth is in our chambers, yes?”

  “I checked on her not fifteen minutes ago and she is sleeping now, William. Come into the parlor so we can talk.”

  Darcy stood in stunned alarm, trying to read his uncle's face. “Is she…?”

  “She is fine, but she is asleep and she needs her sleep. Allow her to rest undisturbed, nephew, and have a drink with me.”

  “I am her husband and she needs me!” Darcy flashed angrily, face stormy.

  George stepped closer, face sympathetic but determined. “What Elizabeth needs is a husband who is serene, stable, and informed. You are currently none of those things.” He laid his hand comfortingly onto Darcy's forearm. “Come have a drink, William, just for the interim, and let your wife sleep.”

  Darcy glanced toward the far staircase, sighed, running a hand over a grey face as he nodded wearily. “Very well. Just tell me one thing first. Is she… is the baby…?” His voice broke, but there was no need to say more.

  George smiled, placing an arm about Darcy's shoulders and propelling him toward the doorway. “Elizabeth is hugely pregnant and shows no signs of presenting you an heir in the immediate future.”

  Darcy sagged with relief, simultaneously sighing and coughing and laughing with an edge of hysteria. “Thank God!”

  “Yes, indeed. Georgiana, look what the wind blew in.”

  Georgiana, of course, was dancing with impatience just inside the doorway and leapt at her brother instantly. “Brother! We missed you so very much! Welcome home. Oh, Lizzy will be so happy!”

  Darcy clutched his sister tightly to his chest, desperately needing the love and warmth offered freely. George moved to the liquor cabinet, taking his time so the siblings could have their moment.

  “Georgie! You have no idea how good it is to be home. How are you, my sweet?”

  “I am well. You, however, do not look well at all. It is as Lizzy surmised.” She broke the embrace, leading him by the hand to the sofa.

  Darcy fell into the cushions with a heavy sigh, pulling Georgiana down beside him and under his arm. “What did my wife surmise?”

  “That you would push too hard and not take care of yourself. Be prepared; she will scold you.”

  Darcy smiled. “I imagine I can tolerate her scolding quite happily. Thank you, Uncle.” He took the offered whiskey, drinking deeply and ignoring his uncle's sharp gaze. “Are you examining me, Dr. Darcy, intending to inform me how terrible I look and rebuke me for not resting?”

  “No point in stating the obvious. And I examined you out in the hallway. I was currently trying to decide which tonic would be best for your cough.”

  “I am certain whatever it is will taste horrible. Tell me about my wife and child.” All jesting gone, he duplicated George's stare.

  “Three afternoons ago now she began having contractions. They were not severe nor regular, which is, if you recall from the text and our discussions, the sign of true labor. Nonetheless, they persisted throughout the evening and were intense enough to warrant medical intervention. Upon examination I ascertained no indication of impending birth and her waters did not rupture. Georgie dear, if this is too graphic, perhaps you should depart temporarily.”

  “Thank you, I believe I will.” She kissed her brother's cheek and exited, face flushed.

  George chuckled, but Darcy leaned forward avidly. “Continue frankly.”

  “She has been a wonderful companion and comfort to Elizabeth, William. I have been quite proud of her maturity. Anyway, you understand of what I speak. As I told your wife, I was not overly concerned as the symptoms were tenuous; nonetheless, it cannot be taken lightly. I have her on a daily prescription of herbals that have some effect on inhibiting contractions. Additionally, I forced her to stay in bed until today.”

  He started laughing, eyes twinkling. “I checked on her this morning and the first words out of her mouth were, 'How long are you to keep me chained to this bed, Dr. Darcy? Until I atrophy and fuse into the sheets?' Well, that is always a sign of the patient improving. So I have allowed her to walk about the room, but no farther.”

  Darcy smiled faintly, but his eyes were troubled. “Are you sure she should be out of bed? I am quite familiar with my wife's temper and need for activity, but I do not want my child compromised. Nor would Elizabeth either, no matter her frustration.”

  “Here are the facts: If your baby is planning on arriving today or next month, there honestly is little we can do to stop it. The herbs and bed rest may aid temporarily, but are no guarantee. The detriments to lying in bed for the next four weeks, especially with a temperament such as Elizabeth's, would likely outweigh any benefits. Secondly, as I explained to her, the baby is near enough to complete maturity to conceivably be born healthy. He is a Darcy after all!”

  His attempt to lighten the mood was disregarded, Darcy shaking his head. “Possibilities are not adequate. I will not gamble on my son's life. Whatever you deem the proper treatment, it will be done. If I have to tie Elizabeth to the bed I will!”

  “Well, that would be a sight to behold. Yet I see no cause for such drastic measures. The truth is, William, your presence will be the best medicine. Promise me you will not chastise your wife because she does not need your severity but only your love and support. To a great degree her own nature is against her. She does not take leisure well, especially when driving herself to avoid sadness and to please you. Most importantly, she honestly is dependent on you for her serenity. You are a fortunate man, my boy.”

  Darcy smiled the first real smile since arriving, caressing and staring at his ring. “Yes, I am. It has been an hour now. Can I please wake her?” He spoke very softly, as a little boy pleading for permission, glancing to his uncle with beseechi
ng eyes.

  “Yes, you may.” Darcy jumped up enthusiastically with a broad grin, but George stayed him with a hand. “One last thing, William. For reasons we physicians do not completely understand, sexual activity can induce labor. We should give it a few more days to be sure how she will respond to other physical exertions. I am sorry.”

  Darcy nodded, the grin in place. “No worries. I can control myself for the sake of my wife's health. Right now all I want is to see her face.”

  “Glad to hear it; however, it is not only you who must find control. Women can be persuasive and none, I judge, more so than Mrs. Darcy.” He was smirking widely, Darcy actually flushing. Without another word, and to the sound of his uncle's laughter, Darcy left the room.

  He opened the bedchamber door gingerly, peeking through the crack. The bed was empty, but he did not require that evidence as Elizabeth was readily seen standing on the balcony. She wore his robe, the same one confiscated while separated from him in June; her back was to the door and her braided hair fell down her back. She stared south, watching vainly for sight of a carriage, hugging the robe tightly against the mild breeze. Darcy approached cautiously, not wishing to startle, utilizing the seconds to drink in every part of her.

  To his continued amazement she still did not appear notably pregnant from the rear. Her daintily thin shoulders and narrow waist were nearly unaltered with only the faintest hint of widened hips and bulging belly visible from this angle. He knocked lightly on the open balcony door, speaking softly, “Elizabeth?”