“Oh, I am so stupid. All the signs have been there! Lizzy, I am sorry, but I believe we must get you into a different position.” Amanda reached out her hand to grab Lizzy’s arm. “Since we have no birthing chair, I think you’ll have to squat or kneel.”
A shocked Darcy had already motioned for the maid to take his place. He was instantly at Amanda’s side and pulled her hand from Elizabeth. “Excuse me,” he said in a harsh whisper, “perhaps we should wait for the doctor to arrive.”
Amanda struggled to pull back her hand from his grasp. “Mr. Darcy,” she whispered, “She is in agony. The child is facing forward, a very difficult and dangerous delivery, especially for a woman so small.” She then spoke in a lower voice, hoping Elizabeth would not hear. “We really have few alternatives. Elizabeth is weak and may not have the strength or the will to take much more.”
The anger on Darcy’s face quickly dissolved into fear, the full impact of what she was saying hitting him brutally hard. Not waiting for his answer, she pulled her hand away and pushed the sheets farther back. “No! Wait! This is barbaric!” he shouted as Lizzy grabbed his arm.
“Please, William, do as she says.” She was growing weaker by the moment. “Remember, if you must choose, choose the child. Please, please, promise me this.” He could see the agony in her eyes.
“What do you want me to do?” he asked Amanda, his voice hoarse.
“Help me get her out of bed. Get behind her—you must support her weight as she kneels over this pillow.” Not really certain of what she was doing, she grabbed one from the bed and threw it to the floor. “If that doesn’t show quick results, you will have to help her walk about. Hurry, please. This should open her more—I will try what I can to turn the child.”
Darcy and Mrs. Winter struggled to bring Elizabeth to the side of the bed, and then he grasped her under her arms, supporting her as she began to stoop. Amanda pulled up Lizzy’s nightdress to massage her belly.
***
His heart was near breaking. How could she feel so light and look so huge, and still be so small? How could any of this end without disaster? Would she disappear in his arms like a fog, insubstantial, fragile? She had begged him to choose the child if it came to it, but how could he? She was his whole life. He would surely go insane without her, would never want to live, and it would be this damn child’s fault. No, he would choose Lizzy over it if it came to that, without a moment’s hesitation, would never allow Lizzy to die if it was within his power, even if she never spoke to him again. No. His only desire was to stop her pain by whatever means possible. He watched as Amanda knelt before his wife, her hand probing inside, and willed himself not to pass out from the tension.
“I believe it’s moved a bit…” The next few minutes were an eternity as Amanda alternately rubbed and massaged Lizzy’s stomach with one hand while the other felt within for any change. “It is moving! The baby is turning,” Amanda held her breath as she made small, twisting motions with her hand.
***
“One more push, Lizzy,” Amanda ordered.
“Push, darling, push,” called Darcy simultaneously.
“It’s coming—the head is clear.” Amanda continued her probing and gentle pulling. Within another moment, the baby swished through, slimy and wet, cradled in her waiting hands.
Darcy gasped out in a choking sob, “Thank God.”
An exhausted Lizzy collapsed back into his arms, and he clutched her tightly to his chest, unknowing and unseeing of the activity happening around them. She was pale, she was weak, but she was alive. Alive and, incredibly, smiling.
After cutting the cord, Amanda brought the child to a table. She ran her finger around the child’s mouth, after which she began to pat its bottom, softly at first and then a good little slap. The wail that emitted from the baby was heard throughout the household. They heard it in the hallways, in every bedroom, parlor, and convenience, and it continued, down into the servant’s hall. It was heard even by people walking outside. There were a full two seconds of quiet before the cheers started from below, from the basement on up throughout the house.
“Mr. Darcy, you may help Elizabeth back into the bed.” Amanda’s voice seemed to come from miles away as he lifted Lizzy up into his arms and placed her gently down. Her eyes blinked and then finally opened to his.
“God, I love you, Lizzy,” was all he could say before he kissed her forehead. “I love you.”
“Have we a son or a daughter?” she asked weakly, but Darcy did not hear nor care. She was alive.
***
“Mr. Darcy, would you like to meet your son?” Amanda had wiped the worst of the moisture from the child and had wrapped him in a soft towel.
It was a moment before her words penetrated. He was only just beginning to breathe again. Did he want to meet this child, this little interloper who had caused so much trouble and upheaval? Who may have nearly caused his Lizzy her life? He felt oddly indifferent about the prospect, caring only that his beloved wife lived, but there she was laughing and nodding. That is a good sign, he thought vaguely. Suddenly, memories flooded over him of his father’s rage and grief being replaced by an equally ferocious love at the sight of his newborn daughter, even though Georgiana survived but not his wife.
Yes, he thought, perhaps I should meet this son of mine.
***
Darcy’s first breathless impression of the wriggly, warm bundle in his arms came as a complete surprise. “Oh, my God, he’s beautiful. Lizzy. He’s absolutely perfect.” A groundswell of instantaneous love washed over him, shocking him with its force; protective adoration for the child nearly overwhelmed him. And then the boy opened his eyes. When Darcy saw his Elizabeth in those eyes, and then himself and then his mother and father, a laughing sob escaped his lips, and he brought the infuriated little face to his, kissing it tenderly, his heart overflowing with love. How could he have sacrificed this precious life, this angel? How could he ever have chosen between them? It was inconceivable to him now. “Lizzy, he’s so… huge!”
The baby, looking baffled at all this intense scrutiny, gave a tiny sneeze, and Darcy began to laugh all over again. He took the child toward the window for better light.
“Mr. Darcy,” Amanda called out. “Excuse me, but I suggest you bring that child to his mother before she leaps off the bed. We are not quite finished cleaning the afterbirth yet.”
“Oh, Lizzy, forgive me.” She had already squirmed to the edge, about to launch herself across the floor and claim her son in another moment. He swiftly brought the child over to her eager arms, and she reached out, bringing the tiny bundle into her embrace. Darcy sat behind her and held them both, the new parents gazing lovingly together at their child.
Darcy took off his neck scarf, wiping the perspiration from Elizabeth’s face, kissing her over and over, hugging her head to his chest. “I love you, William,” she whispered. “Thank you for my son.”
***
It was over.
With the new family huddled together on their bed, the very proud and proper Mr. Darcy finally gave in to his own tears as his arms wrapped around his world.
His wife and his child were alive.
Chapter 6
After allowing them their first few moments as a family, Amanda took the baby to the side table where a basin of sudsy warm water was waiting. She washed the child gently, checking that his cord was securely protected, carefully cleaning between each finger and toe, then wrapped him in a soft blanket and placed the bundle back into the couple’s waiting arms.
Darcy took her hand and squeezed it tightly. “Forgive my actions, Amanda. How can we ever thank you enough?” Amanda wiped away a few tears of her own as she laughed at the disheveled man before her, his hair flying every way, his neck cloth gone, his shirt half pulled out and hanging at the sides.
“You have a beautiful child and a wonderful wife, William. Be good to them both, and that will be payment enough.” Darcy surprised her then by suddenly cupping her neck and pulli
ng her face down for a proper kiss firmly on the mouth, and she giggled as he instructed her never to tell Fitzwilliam that he had done that.
A timid knock on the door by a maid brought the information that the doctor had arrived. He entered the room much like an avenging angel, striding over to a chair, flipping off his heavy cape, furious over his disturbed evening at the opera, and unmoved regarding the seemingly early arrival of the infant. “This was most inconvenient, most ill-timed,” he announced to no one in particular as he gave the tiny child a cursory examination. That it was not a tiny, premature infant, but a healthy seven pounds plus, put him further out of sorts, and he placed the blame for any incorrect calculations solely on Darcy and Elizabeth, who had thoughtlessly misled him.
After this pronouncement, he ordered everyone from the room so that he could examine Elizabeth. The last thing Amanda heard as the door closed behind her was Darcy’s furious voice saying it would be over the doctor’s cold, dead body that he would ever leave his wife or his son again.
At that moment, Amanda realized she was exhausted, wanting nothing more than to see and hold her own little boy and to see and hold her own husband. She washed off her hands, removed her stained apron, and made her way downstairs.
The staff was milling about the ground floor, accepting glasses of the champagne Fitzwilliam had ordered opened. Some were emerging from their safe haven below, while others had just arrived back from their Boxing Day holiday with their families. They were thanking her and congratulating each other as she passed by, relief evident throughout the house. “Where are my son and the colonel?” she asked Mr. Winters at the foot of the stairs.
“We’re in here, Amanda,” Fitzwilliam called out softly.
She entered to find little Harry sound asleep in Fitzwilliam’s embrace and her heart was touched deeply by the sight; this was her whole world. Her only reason to exist was there before her—a child looking so small and safe in a gentle husband’s arms. Crouching down next to the settee, she rested her cheek on Richard’s shoulder and thanked God silently for his goodness.
“Has he been asleep long?” she whispered, softly stroking her son’s hair.
“Yes, well, a good bit of the time.” Fitzwilliam tenderly laid his arm across Amanda’s shoulders, concerned at how weary she looked. “Before he grew bored and fell asleep, he was curious enough to ask me where babies come from.”
“And what did you tell him?”
“Cornwall.”
As tired as she was, he still could manage to make her laugh.
“Well, what did we have?” He spoke softly, loving the tender look in her eyes whenever babies were involved. “It is over, I take it? I heard an infant’s wail. I figured it was either the babe, or Darcy discovered I spilled brandy on his better night robe.”
Amanda nodded. “A little boy… quite large… very loud.”
“In other words, a typical Darcy. Excellent! How is Elizabeth?”
“Blissfully happy and relieved that it is over. We had a spot of trouble at the end, but God was with her.”
Fitzwilliam tucked a few stray hairs behind her ear, then he wiped a tear from her cheek. She brought his palm to her lips to kiss.
“You look tired,” he whispered, and she nodded.
“And how did the imperturbable Darcy manage?” His eyes had taken on a dreamy, emotional quality as he watched her.
“Wonderfully. They should force all fathers to be present at their children’s births.”
His hand moved lovingly across her back, caressing her body. “I suppose that now you will want me to do that for our child?”
“Would you?”
“I imagine it would depend on when I felt I was up to the task.”
“And you would be up to the task… when?”
“When pigs throw pies…”
She laughed softly. “Well, it would be only fair, wouldn’t it?” She whispered. “After all, you were there for the ecstasy of the conception. You should be there for the agony of the birth.” Her sudden smile was filled with such tenderness and wonder that his heart nearly burst.
He was overwhelmed as always by the depth of love that he felt for this woman and with his concern for her own pregnancy. His fear for her upcoming labor and delivery had been churning up within him from the moment she told him. Hearing Lizzy’s screams this night had merely given that fear a terrifying substance. Never again, he vowed, would he allow her to get with child—never would he place her life in jeopardy.
His hand came up to caress her cheek. “You know, I think I’ve loved you for years, from the moment I first saw you in the distance, walking across the park in St. James Square. But I never loved you more than I do this very minute.”
Her manner turned very serious. “It appears our carefully laid plans for escape tonight have been ruined. What do we do now?”
“I would say sleep. I’m exhausted. I don’t know about you.”
She nodded and allowed some of her tension to disperse. “Good. I don’t know that I’d be up to traveling right now. It’s been quite a day.”
“I went to the house, and they said you had already left. Why didn’t you wait for me? Did your mother-in-law return unexpectedly?”
She picked lazily at strands of Harry’s hair and grunted. “We evidently had another miscommunication concerning time.”
Knowing his protest of innocence would be futile, he let it go. “I dismissed the coach I had hired to take us to Portsmouth in the morning. I told him I would send a message when to return. I think it best if we cross over to Copenhagen as soon as possible, though. I have several friends still living there. And then, when you are safely delivered, on to America, perhaps.” Her returning smile could not disguise growing apprehension, and she sighed. He was giving up so much for them—his career, his family, his friends… his very country.
“Here, come up and sit by me and let me take care of you now. You look like you’re about done in.”
She stood slowly and settled into the seat next to him, snuggling under his arm and resting her head on his shoulder. Pulling her closer, he leaned down for a kiss, first lightly on her forehead and then deeply upon her mouth, their tongues stroking slowly and gently, thoroughly caressing each other.
Chapter 7
It was two hours later, and Darcy was strolling around their bedroom, unwilling to return his son to the family cradle. He was enraptured with the small, sleeping bundle in his arms, so warm and soft and defenseless. This was his heir, the man who would carry the Darcy name and heritage and fortune into the future, the comfort and pride of his parent’s old age. It was heavy baggage for such tiny shoulders, but Darcy would be there to help his son every step of the way, every moment he was needed, until his last breath. He kissed the little head, enjoying the innocent scent unique to babies, his life already in forfeit, never to be the same.
Lizzy kept drifting off to sleep, however, unable or unwilling to concentrate on her husband’s excited chatter, so he made his way soundlessly down the stairs to the front parlor, where he found his cousin sleeping. Both Richard and Amanda were snoring disgracefully, and the colonel did not immediately respond to Darcy’s initial gentle requests to awaken. Finally, an exasperated Darcy gave the bottom of his cousin’s boot a very hard and swift kick. “Fitz, you pathetic sloth, wake up and meet your new cousin.”
“What!” Fitzwilliam awoke with a start, snorted and then gasped. He shook his head to clear it from sleep. “What time is it?!”
“Half past three in the morning.”
“You bloody bastard! You’re lucky I didn’t have a… a pistol in my hand or… a sword… sharp object… lightning-fast reflexes… lethal…” His snores resumed before his head fell back onto the settee.
“Wake up!” Darcy hauled off and kicked his boot again, much harder. “Get up, you imbecile. Meet my son.”
Fitzwilliam’s eyes finally blinked open and focused on the bundle in Darcy’s arms. Yawning broadly, he slowly stood, hoisting the sti
ll-sleeping Harry higher onto his shoulder. “Never tell me this is the brute that woke up the entire of Mayfair with his bellowing?”
“Hellacious, wasn’t he?” Darcy beamed as he pulled back the blanket.
“Well, I’ll be damned. What’s he calling himself these days?”
“Bennet George Darcy.”
“Benny Darcy?”
“Good God, no! Sounds like a public-house proprietor. We’ll call him George.”
Fitzwilliam was very impressed, already feeling the bonds of family for the tiny fellow. “He’s rather immense to have come out of our little Lizzy, isn’t he?” he whispered. “Ooh! Look at that head! Fitzwilliam proportion head—very promising. He’ll be a brilliant scholar.”
Darcy nodded proudly. “Yes, and Lizzy assured me that this is our last child and that I can never touch her again.” By the smile on Darcy’s face, Fitzwilliam knew she would soon be required to revisit that declaration.
“God, but he looks a great deal like your father, doesn’t he?”
“That’s because he’s bald.”
“No, don’t be absurd. Look at his nose and the drool on his chin. Uncle George is stamped all over this face. I think I’ll get him a little powdered wig for his christening.”
“You would be godfather, you know.”
“The immense good fortune of this child just keeps accumulating.”
Darcy laughed. “The doctor examined him and Elizabeth and said they are both splendid.” He tenderly kissed his son’s head. “Although, I could have said as much.”
“I’m surprised you allowed that glorified barber anywhere near them after this evening.”
Darcy cooed at his child. “The fucking bastard is lucky he left with his manhood still attached, isn’t he, little one? No, he’ll not come anywhere near this house or my family again, I can guarantee that.” Darcy rubbed his nose against his boy’s tiny mittened fist. “Not if he wants to retain possession of his spleen.” He then continued relating to the child all manner of bloody things he would visit upon the good doctor. “Amanda’s friend, Anthony Milagros, will be called for tomorrow. I’ve heard very good things about him.”
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