A Baby for Mr. Darcy

by J Dawn King

  On the morning of the fourth day, Elizabeth and Georgiana estimated Mr. Stilton and Abigail must be far enough along on their travels to the port of Dover that it was safe to let the men know the baby was gone.

  Pulling on her gloves, Elizabeth gave her appearance one last check in the looking glass before asking Georgiana to accompany her downstairs. Once in the inn’s public room, she rested her reticule on the front counter. The innkeeper was wiping down the bar. She called to him, “Mr. McAdams, please make my carriage ready for departure.”

  This caught the men’s attention.

  “Mrs. Darcy! What are you about? Where is the babe?” demanded the tallest of the four.

  “I do not know what you mean,” Elizabeth boldly responded. “We have no baby. My sister is a maiden and I have not been married long enough to produce a child. I do not know of what you speak.”

  “Do not play us for fools, Mrs. Darcy. When we first arrived you claimed the babe, the grandson of Lord Matlock, was sick. You called the apothecary repeatedly for a little one. Now, where is the babe?” The man approached her, leaning towards her until his face was only inches from hers.

  She felt the threat. Nevertheless, she would not back down.

  “Little one is what I call Miss Darcy. You see, I have four other sisters. Of them all, Miss Darcy is the youngest. The apothecary saw to her health.”

  He growled fiercely. “Where is the babe? Tell me now!”

  “Very well,” Elizabeth pulled at her gloves. Looking him directly in the eye she announced, “The baby along with the wet nurse left the morning you arrived. I do not know where they have gone, but I understand the wet nurse specifically intended to remove herself and the child from you.”

  The news had not gone down well. Yelling for the horses to be readied, they determined they would personally escort Mrs. and Miss Darcy directly to Lord Matlock.

  Elizabeth was pleased they would not be traveling alone. And, weather permitting, she would finally be with her husband on the morrow.

  The weather had not cooperated. The crossing of the English Channel with Jem had been miserable. Far worse than the bouncing of a carriage was the rolling of the sea. The baby was not alone in his suffering. Of the eight passengers on board, only Abigail and one gentleman had not been sick.

  Reaching Calais, there had been a frightening moment when she had been unable to present a passport or any papers for her or Jem. Fortunately for them, a sympathetic agent, along with her fluency in French, deemed her and the baby no threat to the country or Napoleon. With his help, she was able to hire a carriage for the trip to Caen, the place Mr. Stilton had determined Colonel Fitzwilliam and his fellow officers were being held. Originally, they had assumed Abigail was to travel to Paris. While she awaited the vessel to take them across, Mr. Stilton had contacted the Dover harbormaster to locate where the troop ship had been captured and if he had any news of where the prisoners were taken.

  According to the information at the port office, the initial confrontation with the French battleship was on the open sea. The captives had been taken to Ouistreham, which served the town of Caen, located almost ten miles inland. The route was less traveled than that to Paris, but Abigail did not mind at all. The expectation of seeing her dear Samuel was enough for her.

  When the carriage deposited her in front of an old traveling inn, she and Jem were in far worse shape than when they had arrived at Pemberley almost two months prior. Recalling a task that needed to be done, she pulled a folded parchment from her reticule to hand to the driver.

  Making eye contact with him, she sternly asked, “You will do as promised?”

  “I swear to God in heaven I will perform this assignment as if you were my own daughter in need of aid.” The burly man instantly responded. His look was entirely sincere.

  “Then, I thank you, sir. Godspeed.” Abigail blessed the driver for his efforts. Frenchman or not, she judged him to be an honest man willing to come to her assistance for a meager fee.

  Desirous to get out of the rain and finally be in her husband’s arms, Abigail quickly moved inside. A group of British officers were seated around a warm fire. She recognized a few of them from Samuel’s regiment.

  Excitement built in her chest until she had to gasp to catch her breath. Jem continued to fuss. She ignored him.

  “Where is he? Where is my husband, Major Samuel Milford?”

  Their response was disheartening. First, their expressions were blank. Then came a painful sadness.

  No! Please, God, no!

  When the first words out of the men’s mouth were, “I am sorry, Mrs. Milford”, she knew. Something horrible had happened to Samuel.

  She stood before them, a bawling baby in her arms, devastated at what she knew they would next say. She was the wife of a military man. She had the right to hear the news from her husband’s superior officer. These men should not see her lack of courage. Far from home, they had enough to bear. Desperately wanting to collapse to the floor in a sobbing heap, Abigail instead, lifted her shoulders. “Might I be taken to Colonel Fitzwilliam, I pray you?”

  Immediately, all the men stood at attention.

  Richard Fitzwilliam groaned at the tap on his door. For the past two months he had made it a point to turn down every invitation to participate with the men in their entertainments, yet they continued to persist in their efforts to coerce him into going with them.

  “Go away!” He wanted none of their frivolity. He had lost his wife. He had lost his son. He had lost one of the best men he had ever served with. He had no reason for joy.

  Unexpectedly, a female voice answered. A British female voice.

  “Colonel Fitzwilliam, it is Abigail Milford. I need to speak with you,” the tone was anxious. “And, I have your son.”

  “What?” Richard jumped from where he was sitting on the bed and rushed to the door. Throwing open the wooden barrier separating him from the voice, he stopped. It was her.

  In all of the years that he had known the Milfords, he had never sensed an iota of weakness in the woman. However, as soon as she laid eyes on him, she thrust the squirming bundle she held in her arms at him, then promptly fainted.

  Reacting quickly, he grabbed the baby with one arm and her with the other. A million questions raced through his mind. What were they doing in France? Had they traveled alone? Where was Darcy? Why had he allowed a woman and child to journey that distance in perilous territory? Had his letter informing Mrs. Milford of the major’s death reached her?

  Lifting her as best as he could with one arm, he pulled her and the baby into his room and kicked the door closed behind them. He laid her on the bed as carefully as possible. Moving her lower limbs, Richard made room to sit down next to her. He took a deep breath before peering down at the noisy bundle in his arms. Only then, did he lift the blanket covering the infant’s face.

  Dark blue eyes met dark blue eyes. The baby’s face puckered in displeasure. He whimpered once, then smiled.

  Oh, Lord! Oh, Lord! Oh, Lord!

  Was he real? Was this truly his son?

  The colonel stripped the swaddling clothes from the babe, inspecting him from head to toe. The dampness underneath and the acrid fragrance verified the babe was real. The cleft in his chin and the length of his skinny toes identified him clearly as a Fitzwilliam. The roundness of his eyes and the perfect cupid’s bow of his upper lip was pure Anne.

  My God in Heaven! He was holding his son. His baby. His child with Anne was in his arms.

  Overwhelmed, Richard slowly wrapped him back in the blankets and hugged him to his chest, silent tears streaming down his cheeks. The babe relaxed against him, pulled his lower lip into his mouth and suckled. Within moments, the child was sound asleep.

  Never, in his thirty-two years, had Colonel Richard Sebastian Fitzwilliam felt both powerful and powerless. Nor could he comprehend how pain and intense pleasure could fill his chest at the same time.

  At that moment, his complacency at being a captive o
f the French vanished. Richard would give his life to protect the babe he held and the woman who had braved untold risks to bring his son to him.

  When Mrs. Milford began to stir, Richard stood and moved to the window. Instinctively, swaying slowly back and forth to gently rock his son, he waited until she was fully conscious.

  “What happened?” Mrs. Milford sat up, running her hand over her hair. The other rested on her stomach.

  She watched him with the baby, undoubtedly studying him to see he was holding his son correctly.

  “Did you receive my letter?” Richard quietly asked.

  “No, I did not.” Her head dipped, her hands gripping one another tightly. “Has he been gone long?”

  Richard did not have to ask. She inquired of the major. “Above three weeks. He was wounded in battle. Within a month he was gone.”

  Inhaling deeply, her body quivered, then settled. “I...you...” She cleared her throat to begin again. “I am sorrier than you can know to hear it, Colonel. He was a good man and an excellent husband.”

  “Yes, I imagine so.” Richard considered their options. Mrs. Milford could not remain with him in his quarters. Nor would it be safe for her to stay on her own. He could not imagine ever being separated from the baby, yet the service she performed for the lad was necessary.

  Recalling the promise that he had made to Major Milford before his death to care for Mrs. Milford, the colonel boldly plunged ahead with what needed to be done.

  “Madam, I deeply apologize for not allowing you sufficient time and opportunity to mourn your husband. As you are well aware, we are on French soil, where we are deemed the enemy. Currently, the officers are allowed freedoms. This situation could change at any moment. You are a woman alone, which leaves you vulnerable.” He paused to allow his view of their circumstances to sink in. “I know why you came. You sacrificed your life in England to be with your husband. This is not to be, and I am sorry for it, Ma’am. We cannot, either of us, change what life has dealt us. Should you be willing, would you consider marriage to me, both to provide a mother for my son and so I can freely offer what protection I can provide you?”

  After an interminable length of time, she answered, “I will.”

  Chapter 25

  Elizabeth took the opportunity to speak firmly to Georgiana as the carriage barreled towards London. Without a doubt, they would be escorted directly to Matlock House. The expected confrontation would be far from pleasant.

  “Sister, my courage rises with any attempts to intimidate me. When we meet your Uncle Hugh and Aunt Catherine, there is a likelihood that Mr. Wickham will be there too. Thus, you also will be called upon to display courage.” Elizabeth was unsurprised at the girl’s response. Her cheeks had paled as her eyes grew round. “There is a chance that he will attempt to blackmail you into agreeing to any arrangement he offers, as he will probably hold the letters you wrote to him as a bargaining tool. How will you respond should he whisper threats to you in front of Lord Matlock, Lady Catherine, and Viscount Smithton?”

  “I do not know,” Georgiana admitted.

  “Pray, think. Your brother told me that your father had been sick for many years. Who made all of the hard choices and fulfilled impossible responsibilities during that time?”

  “William.”

  “Yes, your brother spent all of his summers and holidays working. Even at university, the steward reported to him.” Elizabeth allowed that to sink in before continuing. “Georgiana, as he was trained from infancy to be the future Master of Pemberley, you have been taught how to behave in all situations as a lady. This will be the opportunity to put all of your education to work.”

  “My relatives scare me,” Georgiana admitted.

  Elizabeth snorted. “Georgiana Darcy! Before we enter Matlock House, I want you to ponder this one piece of wisdom shared by my Uncle Gardiner when he meets with a peer for a business arrangement. Rather than being intimidated by them, you should realize that they wake up in the morning needing their teeth cleaned and their hair tamed as we do. They need to use the chamber pot as often as we do with the same smelly results. They are in every way as human as we are. They make mistakes, even foolish ones, as routinely as you and I do. This includes both Lord Matlock and Lady Catherine. Even more so, Mr. Wickham is flawed. You have nothing to fear from any of them. Their only weapon will be words.”

  “Which I can chose to listen to or not, am I correct?”

  “In this instance, no. You will need to hear everything they say. I am counting on you, dear sister, to aid me in sorting through their posturing and empty speech. In this way, we will find what we can either use for our own weapon against them or for our benefit. You see, there is truth in the ancient proverb which says that death and life are in the power of the tongue. We need to use their words to take their power from them.”

  Tipping her head to the side, Georgiana studied Elizabeth.

  Elizabeth noted, “You are very much like your brother. For the longest time he would watch me when we were in company. At first, it appeared he was looking to find fault. Later, I learned that he was giving me his full attention,” she chuckled. “I beg you to treat those we meet today in exactly the same manner. Study them. Look for their weaknesses. If they say something outlandish, pray look to see if they are using a nervous gesture at the same time.”

  “What specifically should I look for?” Georgiana eagerly asked.

  “Hmm, let me see,” Elizabeth thought back to the conversation with her uncle. “If their legs are crossed, look to see if their foot is bouncing. If both feet are on the floor, check to see if a heel or toe is tapping. Look at their hands. Are their fingers relaxed or fisted? Are their knuckles white? Do they nervously brush at non-existent lint on their trousers? Does a lady play with the lace on her cuff or smooth the fabric of her dress? Does she twirl a lock of hair around her finger? Or, is there an excessive clearing of their throat?”

  “I will look for those,” Georgiana insisted.

  Elizabeth peered out of the window as the horse’s hooves clattered on the cobblestones, indicating they were close to their destination.

  “One more thing I need you to do, Sister.” Elizabeth smoothed her own skirt, then giggled. “Being nervous is one thing. Not letting them see your fear is another. Remember, you are first and foremost a Darcy. Do not forget that fact, as it alone puts you in the elevated company of your parents and your brother.”

  Looking directly at her sister, Georgiana immediately replied, “I will not forget I am a Darcy. Now, I ask you to remember that you are now a Darcy too.”

  Smiling at her companion, Elizabeth readied herself to meet the enemy.

  “I sincerely apologize, Mr. Darcy, but I was not able to find a copy of your grandfather’s final will.” Mr. Shaw shuffled through the stack of papers in his hand. “What I was able to do was research the line of succession from the beginning. The Earldom of Matlock was created by letters patent on March 14, 1665, for Sir Henry Fitzwilliam, the eldest son of George Henry Fitzwilliam. The document included a special remainder for “heirs of the body” allowing it to pass to both male and female descendants rather than solely to heirs-male, as was customary.”

  Darcy knew his family history. He was not surprised at the information. What his solicitor told him next took him completely by surprise.

  “While I was at the Crown Office of the House of Lords, I chose to look at the de Bourgh history. As you are aware, Lewis de Bourgh, 6th Baron Rosings, received his barony through inheritance. Upon checking the records, it appears he recognized his natural born daughter, Anne Elaine de Bourgh Fitzwilliam, as his heir. The letters patent for the barony were also written to include “heirs of the body”. In my opinion this means that with her death, the barony passes to her son, James Alexander Fitzwilliam. If not the title, the property would surely belong to the infant.”

  “What?” Darcy was flummoxed.

  “Interestingly, I sent one of our clerks to Kent to check the baptismal reco
rds for your cousin. Both your uncle and aunt signed the register as parents to Anne de Bourgh. Your uncle died more than ten years ago. Since that time, no relatives or others have come forth to contest the Baron’s will. Therefore, there is every possibility that Master Fitzwilliam would be the sole heir to Lewis de Bourgh.”

  “I am amazed.”

  “Indeed,” Mr. Shaw agreed. “The child of Anne de Bourgh Fitzwilliam would not be in a position to claim the title of baron due to the circumstances of his birth. The property is entirely another matter. For this to happen, the baby’s death would need to be overturned by the Lord Chancellor himself. Once the civil records are corrected, the matter of establishing young Fitzwilliam as the proper owner of Rosings Park would be up to the court.”

  The little one he had held and rocked was a wealthy lad. Darcy grinned to himself, pleased that something very good was going to come from his being jailed.

  “The late Baron Rosings used our office at the recommendation of your father. Thus, his Last Will & Testament was available for my review. Within the document was his specific direction for disposing of his estate, Rosings Park, and all of the accompanying assets.”

  “Yes?”

  Mr. Shaw cleared his throat. “I know your aunt, Mr. Darcy. She is a determined woman used to having her say and her way. Her opinion of her exalted rank and position in society is well known. What I found will be a bitter pill for her to swallow.” Selecting a parchment, he studied his notes before continuing. “Your cousin, Anne Fitzwilliam, was the sole beneficiary of the de Bourgh estate. Your aunt would receive the value of the dowry she brought into the marriage, which was £10,000. The Will clearly states that Lady Catherine can remain on the property at the discretion of his daughter. Should Anne de Bourgh Fitzwilliam precede Lady Catherine in death, your aunt has six months to vacate the premises with no claim to any assets.”

  “Oh my!” This news was most unexpected. “This is why she wanted the babe. If she could be appointed as guardian, Aunt Catherine would be able to remain at Rosings until little Jem was old enough to oversee the estate.”