My Dearest Mr. Darcy: An Amazing Journey into Love Everlasting

Chapter Sixteen November

The following weeks were quiet at Pemberley. The weather grew gradually colder with frequent sprinkling rains. The leaves continually fell from the deciduous trees, barren skeletons remaining dotted about the grounds. Little by little the autumn blooms faded and died, the colors about the house transmuting from vibrant to dingy. The excellent Pemberley groundsmen, under the tutelage of Mr. Clark, fabulously maintained the gardens and lawns, keeping all immaculate and as colorful as possible. Lizzy was actually quite amazed at how even the intermittent haziness could not totally subdue the picturesque landscape. Nonetheless, the gradual tapering toward the monochrome of winter occurred.

Dusk daily fell sooner, extending the evenings. What warmth was attained during the day was rapidly dispensed as the sun set, requiring the servants to light the lamps and draw the drapes earlier. Fires blazed nightly from all the inhabited rooms, allaying the cold that insisted on creeping through the thick stone walls and driving the chill into the hallways. Stored winter wear was pulled out and thoroughly cleaned. New boots and thick slippers were purchased as needed. Lighter weight pelisses and shawls were consistently utilized even during the remaining fair days.

There was the occasional day of milder climate when Lizzy and Darcy would take short walks about the grounds, but generally they remained secluded in the manor where it was warm and safe. Darcy's residual cough dissipated completely, leaving him as robust as prior. He resumed his typical activities with long rides on Parsifal leading the agenda, his uncle ofttimes accompanying. Work was minimal and easily finished, allotting him plenty of free time. He became fanatical about keeping the staff and his wife abreast of his whereabouts. Never did he wander farther than the immediate surrounds or into Lambton, and that rarely. Even his gallops followed a standard route so he could be swiftly found if necessary.

He observed Elizabeth's every breath, driving her insane at times, but it was a compulsion uncontrollable. For her part, she essentially felt quite well. Her back ached to some degree almost constantly; the mild, sporadic false labor pains escalated to a frequent phenomenon; her feet swelled slightly, enough to prefer loose shoes for comfort; and she was forever short of breath as the baby seemed to press farther and farther up into her lung cavity.

Mrs. Hanford moved into her newly renovated apartments on the far side of the nursery. Lizzy discovered the joy of sharing infant-related discussions with the kindly woman. The nanny was thrilled by the nursery, having never seen a baby's room decorated so elaborately, and delighted in all the delicately knitted and sewn garments and blankets. She humbly gifted Mrs. Darcy with numerous tiny articles that she had created over the past months, Lizzy happily adding them to the piles waiting in the drawers. Lizzy visited the baby's room several times each day for no other purpose than to touch the clothing and items sitting about. Darcy twice looked all over the manor for her, reaching a point verging on hysteria, only to discover her rocking placidly in the chair and stroking her belly.

Dr. Darcy insisted Lizzy drink the tea for three weeks, after which he figured the baby could safely be born if he so desired. George never asked outright if he could deliver the baby, simply assuming control of the situation. Neither of the Darcys gave it the slightest thought, frankly never having it cross their minds that he should probably have formally asked their permission or that they should have formally requested his services.

Mrs. Henderson, the midwife, was informed of Dr. Darcy's planned attendance, as well as Darcy's. Darcy and Lizzy fretted that she would feel slighted and outraged, and they did not wishing to insult the premier midwife of mid Derbyshire. But true to his prediction, the charm of George Darcy prevailed. He won her over with smooth flattery, swapping outrageous birth tales and medical expertise. It was agreed between the two that the physician would deliver the Darcys' baby with Mrs. Henderson assisting.

Lizzy was observed closely and regularly questioned on her current state of being. Only once more did Dr. Darcy examine her, about a week after the initial scare. It was only an external exam, his sensitive fingers carefully palpating over her bare abdomen. Darcy watched the procedure avidly. His diagnosis was that the baby was positioned correctly, of a sufficient size but not too large, and would likely soon lower himself into his mother's birth canal. Lizzy, especially, was thrilled about the latter as breathing was increasingly problematic. As the frightening symptoms of premature labor had not recurred, even with Lizzy resuming her usual activities, the physician's opinion was that all was safe.

Darcy presented the world with his typical calm demeanor, not even his wife fully aware of the rising anxiety as December approached. He read through the textbook entries addressing the birth process so many times that he had them memorized. As if magnetized he was drawn to the shelves in the library devoted to animal husbandry and medicine, vainly imagining that the one book with all the answers had miraculously materialized since the last time he looked. The fact that he planned on never leaving his wife's side once labor was initiated was not discussed in so many words, it, like Dr. Darcy's obstetrical service, simply a matter of course.

Roughly a week and a half after his birthday, Darcy and his uncle were mounted on their horses. The day was cool but clear, the soft fluffy white clouds scattered in the azure sky were stationary as the winds were nonexistent. It was an excellent day for racing and the two men had taken advantage of the respite. George, like any Darcy in recent generations, had been placed on a horse before he could walk steadily. Although his professional duties did not allot him the time to ride for pleasure, he managed to adequately maintain his aptitude. Therefore, the two greatly enjoyed these excursions when they could embark on friendly wagering as to who would reach a designated point quickest. It was all in good fun, Darcy the younger inevitably winning, but George's rusty equestrian skills were improving.

Today they crossed the northern bridge spanning the river, bypassed the Village, and headed due east across the moor in a flash of black and brown with coattails flying. The final destination, a clump of trees on a small rise, was reached essentially simultaneously with the good doctor ever so slightly in the lead.

“Ha! I finally beat you!” George declared breathlessly. “Good boy, Aristotle, very good boy.” He rubbed his mount's sweaty neck, reaching into a pocket for an apple.

Darcy was grinning, face flushed from the cool air, the picture of health and happiness. Parsifal, on the other hand, appeared decidedly out of sorts, not at all pleased with being displaced by the upstart Aristotle. “Do not fear, old man,” Darcy placated, stroking and administering treats. “You are still my favorite.”

They dismounted, allowing the horses to wander a bit and graze. George pulled a cigar from his breast pocket, leaning against a tree to puff in contentment. Darcy absently picked up a branch fallen to the ground and peeled at the loose bark, his gaze fixed dazedly on Pemberley nestled across the valley. Silence reigned for a time, both men lost to individual thoughts. It was Darcy who broke the quiet.

“I was reading in the book yesterday,” he began, no need to clarify which book he was referring to as these sorts of introductions were becoming common, “and it was talking about the final stages of the labor process and how irrational the woman becomes. Have you seen this often?”

“It is as I told you months ago, William. Labor is intense and very painful. Women often lose sight of rational thought toward the end. It is why having someone dear who can retain that calm is so vital. Are you sure you are up to the task?”

Darcy continued to peel the bark strips, tossing randomly as he thought, finally speaking very slowly. “I want to answer with an unequivocal 'yes,' but the truth is I do not know what to expect, either of Elizabeth or myself. I cannot well tolerate seeing her in pain. So, I vacillate between wondering if I will faint dead or dash away in fright, or be strong and the calming influence she needs. Normally I do not doubt my backbone, but it is all so different where my wife is concerned.”

“Of course it is ultimately up to you, William, and none will think less of you if you opt to stay away as most husbands do. However, imagine it this way. You are in the sitting room or library or parlor, wherever, sipping brandy while your beloved wife is screaming and in intense distress. Pemberley is large with thick walls, but probably not thick enough. Even if you cannot hear her, your knowledge of the subject is too inclusive to not know what is transpiring. How would you tolerate that?”

Darcy shook his head, throwing the denuded branch away. “Not well.”

“For what it is worth, nephew, I think you will be amazing. Additionally, there is no doubt in my mind that Elizabeth will want you there and will respond to your presence.” He chuckled lowly. “You are becoming quite the trend setter, Mr. Darcy. Marrying for love not once but twice, wearing a wedding ring, sharing one chamber, and now attending your child's birth. Folks may write books about you!”

“Terrific. My life's goal.”

George laughed in earnest, inhaling deeply of the cigar and releasing a satisfied sigh. “Ah! Nothing like the taste of fine tobacco. Comes from our former colonies, Virginia grown. Do not worry so, William. Elizabeth is very strong and all seems well with her and the baby. One can never be certain, but I do not foresee any major difficulties.”

“Yes, she is very strong.” Darcy spoke softly with a tender smile. “Nonetheless, I am very thankful that no further serious labor pains have reinitiated with her resumption of physical activity.”

“Indeed. Including such activity of which I believe I recommended you two avoid.”

Darcy spun around in shock, eyes wide. “We have not… that is I have not…! Uncle, I would never do anything that might harm my wife or child. Never! I am not a beast!” His face was stricken, blanched, and jaw slack, but eyes igniting with flickers of anger.

George, for one of the few times in his life, was mortally embarrassed and ashamed. “Fitzwilliam, forgive me! Of course you would never hurt Elizabeth. I should not have assumed anything.”

“Why would you think this of me?”

“I do apologize, son. It is just that… well, if you must know, you and Elizabeth do not hide your physical attraction for each other very well.” He paused, Darcy too confused and irritated to be discomfited by the intimate topic, but George abashed and reddening. He glanced away. “The poorly repressed desire notable when you returned from Town miraculously disappeared on your birthday and since. I… well, I concluded wrongly, obviously.” His voice trailed away. It was an odd situation for the physician, normally being quite adept at holding blunt, personal conversations with patients. This was his nephew and niece, however.

Darcy flushed slightly, anger fading. “Yes, well,” he cleared his throat roughly, “there are alternatives.” His lips clamped shut, simply unable to continue. In no way could he verbalize the fact that his wonderfully giving wife gratified his physical yearnings. As blissful and relieving as it was to be loved in such manner by the woman he adored more than life, the activity was mixed with emotions of dismay as he could not fulfill her desire. Besides, nothing compared to making love to her in complete unity and his body ached to bond with her wholly.

He glanced at his uncle. George leaned against the tree trunk, cigar burning forgotten at his side as he stared downward. Assuming a neutral tone, Darcy spoke, “So, your professional opinion is that our child is healthy and could be born safely at any time?”

“Dates of confinement are not an exact science, William,” George spoke in his most authoritative pitch, relieved to be on firm ground. “Based on the information provided as to Elizabeth's cycles, when you first suspected her pregnancy, and her current condition, the baby could be born anytime between now and early December. In fact, I think I will halt the tea as she hates it so.” He chuckled, finally inhaling from the butt of his cigar. “Actually, I imagine we would all be thrilled to meet your firstborn as soon as he, or she, is willing to join the family.”

Darcy laughed too. “I can confidently proclaim that Elizabeth is ready to not be pregnant.”

George snuffed the cigar stub under his boot heel, not meeting his nephew's eyes. “At this point I would suggest embracing any activities that may elicit labor. I believe our mounts have rested. Race you back to the manor?” With identical grins they called to their horses.

Later that night Lizzy reclined on the sitting room sofa, propped comfortably on two plump pillows with her aching feet actively being massaged by her adoring husband. She read aloud while Darcy rubbed, squirming intermittently to ease the persistent strain on her lower back.

“Is your back paining you, my love?”

“Your son seems determined to kick me in the kidneys!”

Darcy laughed, patting her feet before he removed them off his lap. Falling to his knees aside the sofa, he scooted to her torso, placing his strong hands behind her back. He pressed hard, circular motions with firm fingertips over the lumbar regions next to her spine.

“Relax and close your eyes,” he commanded gently, but she already had her head thrown back onto the pillow and was vocalizing sounds of satisfaction. He observed her with a happy smile, kneading steadily and leaning into her neck to bestow soft kisses. Nibbling to her earlobe, he murmured lowly, “Dr. Darcy and I had an interesting talk today about babies and delivery.”

“Do I have you to thank for stopping the daily tea doses?”

“Partially, although he made that decision himself. His professional opinion, as he shared with you during dinner, is that our son could arrive at any time if he so desired. He even went so far as to suggest we pray for a speedy resolution to your discomfort and gave me ideas as to ways of hastening the initiation.”

He withdrew from her neckline, meeting her eyes with a twinkle, one hand traveling from her back to breast with gentle caresses.

“Are you certain you understood?”

“Quite certain.” He cupped one breast, holding tenderly as he continued, “Elizabeth, I love you so intensely and want to please you, and me as well I will admit. However, if you do not feel able or interested, all considered, I do understand. My only true desire is to show you my love for you in whatever manner, even if it is embracing you and nothing else.”

Lizzy smiled, reaching up wordlessly to stroke his perfect face. She feathered over his forehead, brows, eyes, noble nose, to jaw and lips. Lightly grasping his chin with two fingers, she pulled him toward her until his lips were a scant breath away from hers.

“Fitzwilliam,” she breathed, “love me.”

He released a soft moan when she encompassed his mouth, searching and seeking possessively. How heavenly it is to love one's spouse wholeheartedly, body and soul, without encumbrances. Naturally accommodations were essential due to Lizzy's greatly expanded abdomen, but only in the final moments of their lovemaking. Before sleep claimed them, warm and blissfully satiated in their mammoth four-poster bed, they would love hard and with a joy of surrender.

Bare bodies nestled all night in the way it was meant to be, as far as they were concerned anyway. The reality that their child would arrive soon, whether as a result of this session of love or mere time, meant that the beautiful swell created by his presence would soon be gone. Darcy took advantage of the ability to caress freely in the days ahead, always enamored by the miracle of her stretched flesh as their baby moved. Their child would not be fazed by the vigorous activity of his parents, opting to stay cocooned and grow a bit more.

Lizzy's increasing girth, fatigue, and irritability were not always conducive to frequent periods of lovemaking, but they managed to satisfy each other frequently enough over the subsequent days for neither to feel ignored or ungratified. In many respects the prime joy was in the long cold nights when nude limbs were entwined with dainty bare back pressed into hard, naked, and very hot planes of a manly chest, fingers laced, and breath tickling shoulders as they talked quietly about diverse subjects and then slept deeply.

One such subject involved Darcy's uncle.

Georgiana's and Lizzy's sincere love for George had assuredly grown, and the thought of him leaving was increasingly a cause of distress. Yet neither could claim the intensity of emotion that Darcy now held for his uncle. Only Lizzy was privy to the innermost thoughts of her husband, and over numerous late night conversations as they snuggled he revealed the depth of his affection.

“I know it will not be precisely the same as when my father died,” he said on one such night as they lay entwined, referring to George's probable departure once the baby was born. “After all, he will not be permanently gone. We can exchange correspondence of a far more familiar nature than we ever did before, and there will be the hope that he may return someday. I can prepare my heart in a way that I obviously never did with my father. Yet, on the other hand, I was still so young when he died. It was years before I fully grasped what I had lost and by then the pain was dulled and I had grown accustomed to his absence.”

He paused, staring unseeing at the beamed ceiling and absently caressing Lizzy's arm, which rested over his chest. She observed his face in the flickering half-light and waited. “No, that is not the whole truth of it. It has only been since developing this relationship with George that I have come to fully grasp what I lost when Father died. It is not only that he reminds me of my father, because as akin as they are in many respects there are glaring differences. Nor is it that I desire a mentor or father figure in my life, although I do to a degree; but it is that I sense he needs me, needs all of us in fact.” He turned to gaze upon his wife, fingering a lock of hair as he resumed in a husky tone. “For so long, when I allowed myself the luxury of dwelling nostalgically on Father, I always mused on what he meant to me. The benefits I would reap from his companionship, how wonderful it would be to watch our children with their grandfather, and so on. Always egocentric. I never looked at it from the perspective of what he lost by not knowing me, or you, or our children.”

He kissed her forehead, nestling a cheek against her silky hair. “I know George misses his work and the many friends he has in India. He speaks fondly of Jharna's boys, who are grown men now, and expresses sadness at the distance now between them.”

“Well, that would be expected, I suppose, as he helped raise them.”

“Hmmm. He can be guarded at times with his emotions. Quick to blurt a quip when the subject grows sensitive, even with me. He sidesteps with a joke or broad gesture, but not always. Besides, he is too like me to camouflage completely. It is clear that it is the loss of loved ones that distresses him the most. The honest affection he feels for us has taken him aback, I believe, and he fears trusting it or giving in to it. I understand this as well as I experienced the same anxiety when I fell in love with you.” He kissed her again before continuing.

“All his visits in the past have been no longer than a month and he was restless the entire time. He would be lax and nonchalant, but usually with a coiled energy that is not currently as evident. I am not quite sure what to make of it, but I hope it is because he is content and willing to stay for a while longer.”

In truth, Darcy greatly prayed his uncle would stay forever. Not only did he now yearn for him to deliver their baby, but he also yearned for the camaraderie of the older man that unearthed long-buried memories and vacancies. His father had been mentally and emotionally absent from the time of Darcy's mother's death when Darcy was seventeen, and physically departed months after Darcy turned twenty-two. The empty years prevented the companionship and friendship Darcy knew would have evolved between he and his father if events had unfolded differently. As much as he cared for his Uncle Malcolm, there was a formality attached and, of course, Lord Matlock had two sons.

With George it was entirely different. George was so incredibly like James Darcy in personality that at times Darcy blinked and mentally shook his head at the sensations evoked. It was spooky. Yet deeply fulfilling.

“You should tell him how you feel,” Lizzy gently encouraged. “Perhaps he needs to know how intensely you love him. He has been alone for most of his adult life, wandering without a family or home. And now Jharna is gone. Maybe he needs to know he is wanted and special.”

“What you say is likely true, yet how does one say such a thing to another man? I am at a loss.”

“You will know when the time is right. God will guide you in how best to express your love for him.”

He pulled away, burrowing lower under the covers until at eye level with her. Smiling, caressing gently down her side and around to fondle the swollen expanse of belly, he continued in a familiar hoarse tone, “Such all-consuming, powerful emotions can be terrifying. Oh, but the bliss of potent love! Nothing compares and any eventual grief is tempered by the unsurpassed joy. George knows this, has experienced this, and merely needs to succumb to it happening again with us.”

“Stop that!” she exclaimed with a giggle, swatting his fingers away from her protruding navel.

“But it is so cute and fun. Poking out and begging to be tickled.” He nudged her hand away and resumed the play with a grin.

“Fitzwilliam Darcy, I am warning—” But he halted her with a kiss, fingers abandoning the springy flesh to roam lower. Discussions of complex relatives were forgotten for the time being.

Time seemed to drag. Nothing changed, aside from the weather, and every occupant of the Manor waited for early December when the new Darcy would make his, or her, appearance.

Lizzy tried to ignore the close scrutiny, but it frequently peeved her. She felt as if she were under a microscope. If she twitched or sighed or shifted suddenly, everyone in the room froze and glanced her way. They tried to hide the reaction and careful monitoring, but were largely unsuccessful. For the first time since marrying Darcy she breathed in relief when he left for some dangerous occupation in the stable yard. The footmen, once so amazingly talented at remaining invisible, were now conspicuously present at strategic locales like staircase landings. The maids strangely discovered filthy or tarnished furnishings in whatever room Lizzy happened to be occupying. Georgiana became a worse shadow than George, more of a conjoined twin in how closely she hovered.

The annoyance of it all, augmented considerably by how physically miserable she felt, escalated her foul temper. None were safe from her sharp tongue. Lizzy spent endless hours of the day in fervent prayer that her stubborn child, once so intent on arriving early, would again decide that December was far too long to wait. Frankly, the entire family was praying for the same and not only because they were anxious to meet the newest Darcy!

One night in late November, Darcy roused slightly to note his arms empty. He reached groggily, hands sliding over the faint indentation beside him. The awake portion of his brain fuzzily assumed she had risen to visit the water closet, a frequent incident, and drifted back to sleep. It was several hours later before he again rose from the clutches of comatose slumber to note the vacancy in his arms. An internal clock of some kind recognized that it had been far too long without her to be a mere trip for bladder relief.

Struggling against the tendrils of sleep attempting to ensnare him, Darcy shook his head and crawled across the expanse of cooled sheets to pull the curtains back. Peeking drowsy eyes through the crack, he scanned the room and finally noted Elizabeth sitting on the sofa before the fireplace, logs nothing but smoldering embers.

“Elizabeth?” he whispered, voice husky and barely audible. No answer was forthcoming; in fact, she did not move. Alarm bells began to toll in his fogged mind and with a jolt he was wide awake. He sat up further, impervious to the blast of cold hitting his unclothed torso, “Elizabeth,” spoken much stronger.

No reply. Nothing. That was it! In a flash he was out of the bed and to her side, nakedness inconsequential. He knelt before her, hands on her knees, but she seemed unaware of his presence. She sat rigid, hands pressed flat on her thighs, eyes closed as she inhaled and exhaled with a steady rhythm. Her face was calm with a tiny crease between her flawless brows the only apparent indication of some sort of distress.

“Elizabeth! Speak to me!” He nearly screamed it, fingers digging into her knees. Elizabeth shook her head imperceptibly, continuing her deep breathing, and ignoring him. Just as he was about to shake her or run yelling from the room for assistance, she inhaled hugely, releasing the air with a rush.

Then she opened her eyes, staring directly into his troubled gaze a foot away. Her eyes sparkled happily, readily seen in the gloom, with faint hints of anxiety and pain evident. She reached up and ran her fingers through his hair, Darcy paralyzed with a host of emotions all warring for dominance and none prevailing.

“Are you prepared to be a father, Fitzwilliam? I do hope so as I am nearly certain today will be the day.”