That is not to say I did not miss my wife. My soul ached for her company and for the life we had experienced before the child, her presence at the table, glimpses of her all about Pemberley when I stole a kiss or two, and the moments we found to sit together and talk. I must confess, however, that for me once a day in the nursery proved sufficient. I had little experience with infants—in truth—none at all. I hardly recalled my sister’s birth. It had not been of prime importance to a boy more than ten years her senior. When Georgiana was old enough to speak intelligibly, I found her more interesting and the easier our communication became, the closer we grew.
The brief moments I held my son each day seemed more of a task than a privilege. I suppose he was as suitable as most babies, but to me he appeared like a little, old man—wrinkled and toothless. On most occasions, I returned him to the nurse soon after taking him because, after one look at me, he either began to wail or I found myself holding him aloft to keep his sudden dampness from soiling my clothing.
I watched in amazement as Elizabeth cooed and cuddled him close, her eyes filled with excitement at each tiny movement. I failed to see the fascination. Perhaps when he was old enough to ride, Will and I would form an attachment. That is not to say I did not love my child. I would have given my life for him, and I suppose I felt the usual degree of pride a father has in having a son. I simply was not one for spending great amounts of time around a babe’s crib making strange faces and speaking in an incoherent language. I left that to Bingley. He excelled in the art.
At night, alone in my bed, Elizabeth’s absence tortured me. I wished I had instructed the maids not to launder her pillowcase. At least, her scent would have remained. I attempted to sleep holding her pillow close, but it was a poor replacement and afforded me little relief. How I longed for her!
The day she had departed the birthing room to settle back in her own chamber, she entered my adjoining room whilst the servants prepared her bed. I hurried to escort her to the sofa, fearing she had been on her feet excessively during the move.
“Do not fuss so,” she said with a laugh. “I will not break.”
I smiled but by no means shared her certainty.
“Come and sit beside me, Fitzwilliam.” She patted the cushion next to her.
“You must not tax your strength,” I answered.
“I trust I have sufficient strength to walk the length of the hall.”
She leaned over and kissed my cheek. Taking my hand, she tugged at my arm until she had placed it around her shoulders. Nestling close to my side, she laid her head upon my chest. I warmed to her touch and held her close, turning to kiss her forehead. How perfectly she fit in my embrace. And how long it had been since we had enjoyed such an encounter.
“Within a few weeks, I shall make another move, dearest.”
“Indeed? And where will this next move take you?”
“Why, back to your bed, of course.”
Turning her face upward, her lips were unbearably close, but I did not kiss her. Instead, I released her and rose, hastening to tend the logs in the fireplace before us.
“Why do you leave my side?” I heard the reproach in her voice. “Surely, the thought does not displease you.”
“’Tis far too soon to consider such things, Elizabeth.” I averted her gaze, pretending sudden intense interest in the arrangement of the logs.
“Perhaps it is premature, but you cannot command my thoughts, dearest. And surely, you have missed our nights together, have you not?”
When I did not answer, she rose from the couch and joined me at the fireplace.
“Fitzwilliam? What is it? Has the fact that I am now a mother lessened your desire for me?”
I placed the fireplace poker against the brick before answering. “Giving birth has but increased your beauty, my dear. Believe me. Now, allow me to escort you to your chamber and to your bed. You have been up far too long.”
Similar conversations ensued between us as the weeks passed after Will’s birth. I dismissed her suggestions for a return to our former sleeping arrangements with various defences but eventually found myself at a loss as to further excuses. To avoid the question, I began planning a journey away from Pemberley. Lady Catherine had asked me to visit more than once, but since my marriage I had declined. She had finally extended the invitation to Elizabeth, even though she disapproved of my choice of bride. Now that my wife could not travel, it seemed the perfect time to grant my aunt’s request.
I tarried at Rosings Park much longer than I wished and from there travelled to the home of my uncle, the Earl of Matlock. Correspondence with my wife occurred in a frequent manner, but I could not overlook her words of loneliness at my absence with which she filled her letters. She missed me, and I was in agony when parted from her. Lest you think I only suffered from the loss of our intimate relations, let me assure you that I also missed Elizabeth’s keen mind, her sparkling conversation and clever wit, and the genuine connection between our two souls. She was my comfort and joy in every respect.
Our physical attraction, however, was the reason for my journey. Until I found a way to solve the problem, I would forgo the consolation of her company. My resolve was fierce. Never again would I threaten Elizabeth’s life by satisfying my physical desire for her.
While visiting my uncle outside of London, my cousin, Richard, invited me to spend a day in Town with him. We took advantage of the colonel’s leave with a morning at the club. After several games at the billiards table, we dined handsomely and then strolled through St. James’s Park in the afternoon. While in the park, we chanced to rest a bit on a stone bench situated beneath the overhanging branches of large shady oaks. He, of course, had congratulated me on becoming a father and had inquired after Elizabeth’s health.
“Cousin, I sense all is not well with you,” Fitzwilliam said. When I failed to answer, he began to examine me in earnest. His questions grew ever more substantial until I found it difficult to reply without revelation.
“You may as well tell me, Darce. I will not give over until I have the truth.”
I sighed before disclosing the story: how Elizabeth had almost died giving birth, my vow to never allow her to have another child, and my present quandary—how could I convince her we could no longer be intimate? By the time I finished my account, I felt exhausted and desolate.
“Never again?” Richard looked aghast. “But Darce, how will you live with her? Elizabeth is a beautiful woman, and your feelings run deep. Anyone can see how you love her.”
We both knew he spoke the truth. My reply was but a raised eyebrow.
“Surely, there must be a better solution than abstinence!”
“And just what would it be, Fitzwilliam? Tell me that, if you please.”
The colonel rose from the bench and began to pace. Couples strolled the path before us, some obviously in love, their heads bent one toward the other as they spoke or laughed. A man accompanied his wife as she pushed their baby carriage, his chest puffed up with indubitable pride. Was the babe their first? Did they look forward to a long life together and a nursery filled with children? Was I the only man in the park that day who could not enjoy his wife for fear of taking her life?
At length, my cousin ceased his pacing and sat down beside me. He cleared his throat as though he hesitated to speak. Removing his hat, he ran his hand through his hair before replacing it.
“What is it?” I said, tired of his fidgeting. “Blazes, Fitz, just say it.”
He cleared his throat again. “There are always French Letters.”
“French Letters!” I rose, filled with indignation, unaware that I spoke louder than I intended. “Elizabeth is my wife. Do you expect me to insult her with a prostitute’s remedy?”
“Sit down, and lower your voice, and no, I would not expect you to treat Elizabeth in such a callous manner. But bollocks, Darcy, I know of no other remedy! What can you do?”
That was just it. What could I do? Contraception was not a subject I had
ever imagined would be necessary in my marriage, and I knew not where to find an answer. Upon my return to my uncle’s house that evening, a suggestion was made that inspired a glimmer of hope. Richard accompanied me to stay the night with his parents, and without my knowledge or consent, he broached the subject with his father. When told that my cousin had revealed all to my uncle, I was vexed at first, but after a conversation with the earl, I overlooked Richard’s betrayal of my confidence.
“Here is my physician’s card, Darcy,” the earl said. “Weston is as informed on the latest medical discoveries as any doctor I know and more so than most. If anyone can assist you, he is the man.”
On the following day, I bade my relations farewell and hastened to Harley Street in London where I found the doctor’s offices. Although young, Weston possessed an air of authority and a grave demeanour.
“Little has been done in this area, Mr. Darcy,” he said after I had defined the situation. “The fact is deplorable. Most women simply accept their fate upon entrance into marriage.”
“But not when their fate is death!” I almost shouted.
“In this modern day, more young women die from childbirth than any disease, and yet they continue to marry.”
“Insupportable!”
“I beg your indulgence, but this is a debate for the Bishops. I fear the only accepted practice of contraception remains separate bedchambers.”
I rose and prepared to leave, my breathing grown ragged from indignation. Why had I wasted my time?
“I do have suggestions, sir,” the doctor said, causing me to hesitate. “Common folk have discovered that breastfeeding delays conception. It may be too late for your wife to start, now that the babe is no longer a newborn, but—”
“Mrs. Darcy insists on feeding our son,” I said, amazed at my wife’s wisdom. “How . . . how long will it . . .”
“As long as she continues, although it is by no means without risk. Still, it offers some hope. Other means exist such as sponges and a practice on your part that few men find satisfactory. Women of the night often take seeds from Queen Anne’s Lace afterwards, but I do not recommend it. Some uncomfortable side effects can occur, and conception is still a risk.”
Thus far, other than the benefit of breastfeeding, the doctor had told me of nothing I had not already heard. When attending Cambridge with Wickham, he had delighted in repeating tales from the seedier side of town he frequented. I would not insult Elizabeth with such suggestions, especially since Wickham had laughed at how often those precautions had failed.
With an air of regret, Weston ushered me to the door and said he would write if he learned of new procedures that held promise. I departed London for Derbyshire, my spirits low. My travels had separated me from those I loved most for more than three months. Elizabeth’s letters indicated she was unhappy and disturbed by my long absence. And sure enough, upon reaching Pemberley, her welcome at best would be described as detached. My greeting was carefully controlled.
Elizabeth met my carriage, along with the housekeeper and butler. Starved for the sight of her, my eyes wandered over her lovely figure now returned to its former size, and I smiled to see the colour in her cheeks and light in her eyes. However, I restrained my greeting by simply taking her hands in mine and briefly lifting them to my lips. After acknowledging Spencer and Mrs. Reynolds, I asked to see my son.
Little Will, now five months old, was a chubby babe able to smile and squeal upon seeing his mother. My presence produced the opposite effect. Upon taking hold of him, he set up the familiar howl. His lower lip quivered and an expression of fear filled his blue eyes.
“Let me take him,” Elizabeth said. Placing him on her shoulder, she patted his back and murmured soothing sounds. He soon ceased his struggles. “Will is alarmed because he thinks you are a stranger. And how could he not since you have stayed away so long?” Cutting her eyes at me, she left no doubt that her sentiment matched that of her son.
With but few remarks noting Will’s progress in size and health, soon I departed the room, indicating a need to meet with my steward. Thus, I avoided Elizabeth for much of the remainder of the day. Upon the announcement of supper, however, I knew I would be forced to face her across the table. I steeled myself, having spent much of the journey home devising reasons to explain the length of my absence. I knew none of them would impress my wife. They did not.
After dining, I asked Elizabeth to play for me. A curious expression passed over her face. “Would you not rather converse? We have been apart for months. Surely, there is much to discuss.”
But I had endured enough of her questions at the table. “And our absence has made me yearn to hear you sing. Will you not indulge me?”
Reluctantly, she approached the pianoforte while I settled myself on the settee with a glass of sherry. Her performance was excellent, her voice grown even lovelier if possible. I drank in her beauty from across the room, thankful that at least I could gaze upon her. After the second song, she refused my pleas to continue, professing her throat felt dry. I poured her a glass of sherry and when she took her place on the settee, I moved to an adjoining chair, hoping she would not take notice. She did.
Slowly, she turned her head and deliberately looked down at the deserted indentation I had left in the cushion beside her. With measured execution, she moved her head from the settee to the place where I sat. Unsmiling, she pursed her lips together and raised her eyes to meet mine, her fixed stare soon causing me to give way.
“I suppose you are ready to retire,” I said quickly, rising and looking about the room.
“I am not, but then I have not travelled all day as you have. Shall we go up together?”
“I have need of reviewing some papers in my study first, but do not let me detain you.”
She rose and placed her glass on the table beside her. “Will you be long?”
“I . . . am not certain. There is no need for you to wait up.”
Deliberately crossing the space between us, she stood before me and smiled slightly. “Is there not?”
Her nearness weakened me. Do not reach for her, I cautioned silently. She watched my eyes and when I did not answer, she turned to leave but continued to gaze at me over her shoulder. Her inviting smile did not disappear as she sauntered toward the door. I could not tear my eyes from hers until she left the room and I could see her no more.
Trembling, I collapsed upon the settee. “Lord, how do I do this?” I muttered under my breath. I leaned over and held my head in my hands. How was I to resist her? She was my wife. I loved her with every breath I took, yet I could not show her. It was unnatural. Inhuman.
I sat there in distress for some time, but gradually I gained control over myself. “It is because you love her that you will resist,” I said aloud. My mind set, I marched to my study and sat down at the desk. I did not review the papers, however. I rang the bell for my valet instead.
Upon his appearance, I asked him to fetch me a brandy. “And then you may retire, Sheffield. I may be up late and can manage on my own.”
Two hours later, I crept up the stairs until I could see whether the light still shone beneath Elizabeth’s door. It did. With a sigh, I retraced my steps, this time avoided my study and sought out the library. The fire in the fireplace still burned, and after building it up, I found a favourite book and sat down to read. My mind wandered from the printed word.
Why did the light yet burn in her room? Was she waiting for me in spite of what I had said? I could see her clad in her soft, white nightgown of finest lawn, how it skimmed her shoulders and dipped between her breasts. Shaking my head, I attempted to clear my mind, knowing those images were dangerous. I returned to the book. But a few moments later, thoughts of her long dark curls loosened, untamed, and falling down her back returned to torment me.
With a curse, I slammed the book shut, rose and pursued another. My father had collected various law books during his lifetime. Surely, one of them would occupy my mind and distract my imaginatio
n. Eighteenth-century laws against poaching succeeded so well that my lids grew heavy, and I proceeded to lose my balance and fall over on the sofa upon which I sat. I awoke with a start and squinted at the great clock standing against the wall. Two o’clock in the morning!
Hastily, I rose and staggered up the stairs. I no longer feared that Elizabeth awaited me in her room, for I saw that the light was out. The entire house was deep in slumber. Sheffield had failed to leave a candle lit in my room. I stumbled in the darkness, feeling my way to the bed. After untying my neck cloth, I cast it and my jacket aside. As I unbuttoned my weskit, I stilled, realizing I was not alone in the room. I heard sheets rustle as someone turned over in the bed. When the movement caused her scent to wash over me, I knew it was Elizabeth. She had waited for me but not in her chamber.
Slowly, I crept toward the door, turned the knob as quietly as possible, and exited the room. Once safely back in the library, I extinguished the candles and lay down on the sofa in front of the fire. ’Twas not comfortable by any means but far safer for Elizabeth.
* * *
The scullery maid awakened me early the following morning when she entered the library to lay the fire. Having slept without a blanket, I stood before the fireplace, welcomed the warmth, and tried to work out the pains in my back and neck from sleeping on the hard, narrow sofa. Even though it was earlier than my usual time to summon him, I rang for Sheffield. He appeared sometime later, obviously puzzled to find me still in the library and wearing last night’s attire, but like all of my well-trained staff, he made no mention of it. After fetching me a steaming cup of tea, he secured me a jacket and neck cloth from my dressing room and informed me that yes, Mrs. Darcy remained asleep.
After finishing the tea, I ordered my horse saddled. I rode for miles through Pemberley’s woods and meadows. The sunrise appeared over the eastern peaks, its golden light bringing the world to life. Curling, grey smoke ascended from the tenants’ chimneys. The birds began to sing while hunting for food, and the woodland creatures chattered and scurried through the dense, green foliage to avoid the powerful hooves of my horse clattering down the lane.
The Darcy Monologues: A romance anthology of Pride and Prejudice short stories in Mr. Darcy's own words Page 26