by Kelly Miller
His cousin raised his glassy, watery eyes. “This may be difficult for you to hear.”
His breath grew laboured. Had Richard been told dire news concerning Elizabeth or Bennet? “Tell me!” It came out louder than intended. Wait—why was he assuming the worst? Graham had probably told his cousin of Darcy’s impending death. It made sense; Richard would have been shaken by the news.
Richard flinched, and covered both ears with his hands. “You need not shout.”
He leaned towards his cousin and lowered his voice. “Pray, tell me what he said.”
“First, I must tell you of an incident this past summer so you will have the full story. In August, Henry and I went to visit an estate ten miles or so from Bellwood Hall to inspect several horses for sale. Afterwards, before returning home, I stopped and had dinner with the family. Alicia Powell was visiting, and she asked after you and Elizabeth. At any rate, after dinner, Henry and I went with father to his study. Father had been dipping pretty deep into his port that evening and talked of your mother. He spoke in detail of the difficulties she endured in order to have children.”
He sat at the edge of his chair, his back stiff; he kept his voice low, but sharp. “What did he say?”
“He said there had been many occasions during in the first years of her marriage to your father when she got with child and lost it before it had a chance to develop. With each occurrence, she fell prey to increasing melancholy and grew ever more fragile. He said when she gave birth to you, the labour went on for so long, the doctor was afraid both of you would be lost, but when you were eventually born healthy, your mother was elated. She was left quite weak though, and it took her the greater part of a year to recover.”
Darcy gritted his teeth. So this was why he had never been provided details of his own birth. His mother had not enjoyed a strong constitution, and the birth of Georgiana had been more than her already weakened body could recover from. He had been frantic with anxiety when Bennet was born and spent countless hours in zealous prayer for their safety. Eschewing sleep, he had watched over Elizabeth those first nights after Bennet’s birth as she slept, fraught with anguish and consumed with dread that the first signs of childbed fever would manifest. After the third day had passed, his anxiety dissipated, and it seemed Elizabeth would be well. Since then, his happiness and gratitude had known no bounds. His wife had recovered with amazing speed from childbirth and Bennet continued to be robust. He lifted his gaze; his cousin’s features were contorted and drawn.
“I say, Darcy, I am sorry, I—” Richard’s hands covered his face.
“I am well. Please go on.”
“You were old enough to remember the circumstances of Georgiana’s birth, but I was away at school at the time. My father described how harrowing it was for your father to wait around helplessly during another protracted, difficult, and perilous birth. His joy at his daughter’s birth was short-lived. He observed your mother suffer through more pain and discomfort for several more days before she died from childbed fever.”
A lump had formed in Darcy’s throat. Memories pushed through to a place of prominence in his mind of his mother burning with fever and her strength ebbing with each passing hour. She had told him of her great happiness at having provided him with a sister and her husband with a daughter. At the time, it had seemed a poor exchange for losing his mother, but his love for his sister had been established at his first sight of her.
“It struck me then that Georgiana might have inherited the tendency to have problems with the birthing process from her mother.”
His reverie was ended at Richard’s disturbing statement. With a rough, hurried breath, he said, “It never occurred to me to think so. Georgiana looks much like our mother, but she is taller and much healthier and stronger.”
Richard’s reply was guarded. “Mr. Graham said things he could not have known. He spoke of my future. To be precise, he told me of Georgiana’s future. Is there any reason I should believe him?”
His mouth went dry. “Did Graham—did he say anything alarming with regard to Georgiana?” He held his breath.
Sitting straighter in his chair, Richard peered at him. “No, it was the opposite. He said Georgiana and I would have three healthy children, and she would live to an old age.”
With a heaving exhale, he caved against his chair. “I am relieved to hear it.”
Richard’s eyes widened. “What are you saying? Why would you put any stock in what that man says? He cannot know the future!”
With a sigh, he raked his fingers through his hair. “Graham, well, he seems to be gifted with insight that cannot be explained or understood. I would not believe it myself if I had not witnessed it. Elizabeth has observed it too. If he told you this, you should believe it.”
Richard rubbed his hand over his eyes. “Darcy, you are possibly the most sensible person I know. From anyone else, I should dismiss this as a flight of fancy or self-delusion, but if you believe in Mr. Graham’s extraordinary ability to see into the future, I am persuaded to do the same.”
With a tilt of his head, Darcy raised his brows at his cousin. “I do not understand your reaction. You act as though Graham gave you a prediction of doom. This is wonderful news!”
Richard stared at him a moment before bursting forth with a hearty laugh. “You are correct. It is wonderful news. I have been such an idiot. That is, I have wasted so much time.” He rose from his chair quickly—too quickly—and swayed on his feet, lifting his hand to his head. “I must go see Georgiana.”
Darcy stood and pushed him, causing him to land heavily in the chair. He disregarded his cousin’s grunt of protest. “Not like this. You do not want her to see you this way.” A knock on the door drew his notice. At his invitation, a maid entered, bringing a pot of coffee. She set it down, curtsied, and left. He poured out a cup. “Here. Do not even think of leaving this room until you have had three cups of this.”
With a sigh, Richard muttered an acknowledgement that he had the right of it. He took the cup of coffee with both of his quivering hands and drank.
Another knock at the door brought a servant carrying a note for Darcy. Following a quick glance at the note, he gave his cousin a stern gaze. “Can I trust you to remain here?”
Richard lifted his mug of coffee aloft. “Two more cups before I leave.”
***
When Darcy entered his locked study, Graham was seated in the chair before his desk. His spine tensed at the man’s presumption. “You wanted to see me?” He took the seat behind his desk.
Graham spoke of a discussion he had had with Anne. He elucidated her wish for him to write to their uncle in order to secure his support; Anne wished to take over the management of Rosings. Graham leaned towards him with his hands folded in his lap. “I hoped you would write the letter to your uncle now.”
Darcy peered at him for a long moment before he replied. “I have no objection to writing a letter on Anne’s behalf. I imagine she will treat her servants and tenants better than her mother ever did. But what is the rush? What difference does it make whether I write the letter now, tomorrow, or next week?” The throbbing of his heart reverberated in his ears. Would Graham now admit his fate?
With his eyes focused upon his clasped hands, Graham mumbled several inaudible words.
His heightened tone reflected the tumult within him. “What did you say? I could not hear you.”
Graham coughed. “Well, you see, I promised Anne I would ask you right away. She is anxious to have her uncle’s support guaranteed as soon as possible.”
The constriction of his throat coincided with the acceleration of his breathing. The angel was unwilling to be explicit, but his meaning was clear enough. He grabbed the arms of his chair to steady himself. It seemed he had little time left. Perhaps this day was to be his last. He made an effort to moderate his voice. “In act
uality, I have no reason to put this off. I shall write the letter now.”
The tension in Graham’s features dispersed. He smiled and nodded. “Anne will appreciate it. She would have asked you herself, but I believe the estrangement of the last several years made her reluctant to bother you with a request for assistance. I assured her you would not mind.”
Darcy spent the next ten minutes composing the letter to his uncle. As he sanded and sealed it, his sight fell upon Graham, seated in front of him and gazing out the window. Could Graham do for him what he had done for Richard? What a gift it would be not to have to fear for Elizabeth and Bennet’s futures! It would provide him tremendous comfort if he could be assured before he left this earth that his wife and son would lead full and contented lives. Despite his best efforts, Darcy’s voice revealed the barest hint of a quaver. “I understand you gave my cousin Richard welcome news pertaining to my sister and their future family. I confess it would mean everything to me if I could be given confirmation that my own family have long, happy lives in front of them. Would you be willing to provide me the same service you did my cousin?”
Graham’s posture straightened, and his mien suffused with esprit. “Yes, of course, Darcy. This I can do for you.” In a moment, he was at his side offering his hand. “If you please.”
Darcy placed his hand over Graham’s; Graham’s fingers clasped around his hand.
Graham closed his eyes and appeared to be rapt in intense thought. It seemed that endless moments elapsed as the blond man shifted his weight several times, but failed to speak a word.
It had been at least two minutes. Why was it taking so long? Was his death so imminent that it obscured Graham’s ability to see anything? Or was there an even more grim reason for his continued silence? As his heart pounded with a wild frenzy, a coldness crept into his core. Graham’s forehead compressed into a frown. The man’s grip around his hand grew stronger, almost desperate. He had a dim perception that his hand ached from the pressure.
After another minute, Graham released his hand. The blond man’s breath came in pants. He opened his eyes, his brow was replete with lines, and sweat glistened on his temples. “I…I am sorry. I cannot.”
Darcy rose from his chair, his chest heaving with each breath. “What do you mean, you cannot? Are you saying you refuse to tell me what you see?” He rested his hand over his heart. What could Graham have seen that was so terrible he dreaded uttering it?
Graham shut his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “No, it is not that I refuse. When I attempt to see Elizabeth or Bennet’s future, I am unable to. I have tried several times to no avail. Nothing comes to me—nothing whatsoever.”
A wave of dizziness compelled him to lean upon his desk. He spoke in a near whisper. “You are not saying—you do not mean—”
Graham’s hand clutched his shoulder. “No, no. Do not make a hasty conclusion. I am sorry, but I am unable to comply with your request. I do not know why I cannot see their futures or what it means. This has never happened to me before, and it is odd in the extreme. But I can relate one specific item I am certain is correct. I think, under the circumstances, I should tell you. That is, if you wish to know.”
Darcy fell back into his chair. “Is it good news or bad?”
“I should say it is good—yes. Most definitely good.”
“Then tell me.”
Graham used a quiet tone. “Elizabeth is with child. It is a female child.”
He shuddered, and a host of bittersweet emotions afflicted him. I am to have a daughter—a daughter who will never know me. He cleared his throat with a harsh cough. “Graham, I wish to be alone.”
“Of course.” With a solemn nod, Graham rose and hastened from the room.
Darcy sat motionless for several minutes as his mind wrestled with this new information. What would he not give for the chance to meet her, the child now growing within his beautiful wife? But he must not dwell on what was not to be. His eyes grew moist as his mind conjured an image of Elizabeth holding a young girl—a cherub with the fine eyes, bright smile, and vigorous spirit of her mother.
Taking out a new sheet of paper, Darcy dipped his pen in the ink and began to write.
To my Dearest Daughter—
He persevered despite the recurring tremor in his hand that forced him to mar the letter with an occasional blot.
***
Darcy placed the letter to his daughter with the ones he had written to Elizabeth and Bennet. He pushed his desk drawer shut and froze at the sound of a soft knock on the door.
A moment later, the door was pushed open to reveal a smiling, radiant Elizabeth. Her dark eyes danced with an impish gleam. “So this is where you have been hiding. It is time for dinner, my love. Since it is my birthday celebration, I expect you would not wish to miss it.”
The sight of her was a balm to his spirits. He rose from his chair at her approach. Did she have any notion she was with child? His eyes wafted over her alluring form. No sign of weight gain was visible, but she had more colour than usual in her cheeks. He used a light tone. “You are correct. I do not want to miss the meal that Mrs. Reynolds and I fussed over for many hours.” He leaned down and gave her a soft, lingering kiss on the lips.
Her smile widened as she pulled away from him. “Be careful, Fitzwilliam, you run the risk of raising my expectations to soaring heights with such a remark. You may find me impossible to please.”
“I have no doubt I shall please you, my love, if not at dinner then later, when we are alone.” Darcy’s finger travelled in an unhurried motion along the top edge of her gown’s bodice.
With a soft gasp, she covered his hand with her own, halting his movement. “That is enough, you teasing man!” She raised an eyebrow at him and motioned with her head towards the open door of his study.
He tore his eyes from her, directing his gaze into the hall. John the footman passed by, turning his head in an attempt to hide his smile.
Her voice was low and sultry. “Now my expectations are higher than ever.”
His every sense was heightened. Were it not for the guests and her birthday celebration, dinner would be delayed. As it was, he took several deep breaths to calm his racing heart. This entire evening would be spent haunted by the enticing presence of his beautiful sprite of a wife and counting the minutes until they could be alone. He took her hand and wrapped it around his arm as they quit the room. “I shall endeavour to rise to the occasion.”
***
Elizabeth’s eyes grew wide when she and Fitzwilliam entered the drawing room. The room had been decorated in coordinating shades of yellow, blue, and red by Pemberley maids using fresh flowers and adornments. After greetings were exchanged with their guests, Fitzwilliam took her aside to ask in low tones whether she liked how the room looked.
Taking in his earnest gaze, she reached for his hand and squeezed it. “I love it. The room has a beautiful, vivid, and festive atmosphere. Did you make the selections?”
He displayed an easy smile and an air of relief. “Mrs. Reynolds assisted me. While you were out, she and I spent an afternoon going through trunks of ornamentation used for parties of long ago; we used the same theme in the dining room.”
He was such a dear, sweet man! “I could not be more pleased. Thank you.”
Each dish served that evening proved a delight. From the salad with her favourite orange-flavoured dressing and the Bath buns she loved, to the chicken prepared the way she most preferred—slow-roasted with carrots and potatoes—everything had been selected and prepared to suit her preferences. Her husband, seated across from her, sent frequent glances her way. She, in turn, directed warm smiles at him throughout the meal, leaving him in no doubt of her enjoyment in every food item.
To her left sat her father, who regaled her with tales of her former neighbours and tenants. On her right wa
s Graham, who was too busy eating to converse, leaving her free to banter with her father.
As dinner came to a close, Darcy informed the guests of the party planned for the following day, an outdoor affair with food and activities. All the local gentry had been invited. He further announced that there would not be a separation of sexes that evening. Instead, after the meal, the party was to return to the drawing room where champagne, tea, and iced lemon cake would be served and Elizabeth and Bennet would open birthday presents.
***
Anne lowered her head and took lagging, floundering steps as she followed the others towards the drawing room. She had no gifts for Elizabeth or her son, and her mother’s feelings towards Elizabeth and her disapproval of birthday celebrations in general assured that her mother had not obtained presents for them either. Neither Darcy nor Elizabeth would expect it of her, but it would have served well as a gesture to emphasize her wish for a closer relationship with the Darcys in the future.
When she neared the drawing room, the sight of Bennet with a broad grin coaxed her own lips upwards. The toddler rocked in his seat and bounced his legs on the sofa next to his nurse; it seemed the child had been informed of their plans. His conspicuous enthusiasm infected her, and all traces of regret for not having a gift of her own to offer faded into the background. Elizabeth took a seat next to her son on the sofa as two footmen entered carrying an assortment of boxes.
The nurse moved to make room for Darcy, who sat on the other side of Bennet. Anne and the other guests took seats around them. The gifts were opened one by one. With each present the child opened, his giggles, squeals, and constant, wide-eyed grin made his delight with each item apparent even before he thanked the giver and gave each a bow.
Anne’s breath caught when Elizabeth opened a gift labelled from herself and her mother. Her eyes darted across the room to meet her mother’s own wide-eyed gaze. It was clear she had been no less surprised at this occurrence. Who was responsible for this gift? With a nod and an awkward smile, she mumbled an appropriate response when Elizabeth thanked her for the gift, a splendid silk scarf.