Undoing

by L. L. Diamond

  She flinched and rubbed her side.

  “Another pain?”

  “The midwife claimed they were not true labour pains,” she said while attempting to relax. “However, if they are not, I now dread bringing this child into the world.”

  “You will be splendid.” His voice trailed off.

  “I shall probably keep you awake with my screaming. Jane has mentioned that Mama screamed for hours with Lydia.”

  His eyes remained closed as he smiled. “When does Jane wed?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “’Tis an extremely good match. I am only sorry you will miss the grand event.”

  She massaged where the pain persisted and pressed herself to stand. “I do not relish being embarrassed by Mama. My father will tell me all in his next letter. I do hope I can hold my head up around Lady Matlock the next time I am in her company.”

  A broken laugh escaped his lips, but he did not otherwise respond. Elizabeth set Sir Walter Scott’s The Lady of the Lake on the side table and proceeded towards her bedchamber, but paused at the sound of the servants’ door. Colin, holding a tray of broth and tea, kicked the door closed behind him.

  “He has only just fallen asleep.”

  His shoulders dropped. “He needs to have some broth.”

  “He did not want it.”

  Colin peered to where Thomas lay. “He might not, but he should still take some nourishment.”

  She was not going to argue. She cared for Thomas, but Colin loved him and would, no doubt, do all he could to push for a recovery that would never happen. The physician declared a rally unlikely upon Thomas’s return home. His continued deterioration simply confirmed the physician’s dire prediction. The coming months would not be easy for any of them, particularly Colin. At this moment, she hurt for him. When all was over, she would be able to wed Fitzwilliam, but Colin would lose his nearly life-long companion. No matter how Thomas’s illness progressed or improved, someone would lose.

  A week later, as she read to Thomas, Colin returned earlier than expected from his meal below stairs. “A visitor has arrived.”

  “A visitor?” Who would come now? It was common knowledge in the village of Thomas’s illness and her condition. Rumour from London claimed James spent most nights in his cups at his club, continuing to lose money he did not possess, so it certainly was not James—not that James ever dared show his face at Worthstone. Thomas would not have received him.

  “He has been shown to his rooms, and Mrs. Hamilton is sending up water. As soon as he is refreshed, I shall bring him here.”

  “Colin,” she said as a jolt coursed through her. She could only think of one person who would be brought to Thomas’s rooms. “Is it Fitzwilliam?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She smoothed her dressing gown down her front. Lord, she must look affright! She had not left hers and Thomas’s chambers for a week. Between napping, and helping care for her husband, she simply did not have the opportunity or see the necessity.

  Colin stepped over to the bed, sat down, and took Thomas’s hand. He had drifted off again now that she was not reading. He seemed to sleep more and more. He complained of pain at times, and his hands and feet were swelling. Colin still persuaded him to take nourishment, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to coax him into the slightest amounts as his illness progressed.

  She sank into the sofa, not wanting to go far. Her feet resembled the gammons Lady Matlock had predicted months ago. Elizabeth walked no further than she needed these days rather than the long jaunts she once enjoyed. Until a fortnight ago, she rambled around the gardens in front of the house, but even that took her breath away these days.

  Colin answered the door at the knock, allowing Fitzwilliam inside his cousin’s bedchamber. He looked well, dressed in his customary well-tailored suit, his hair in its usual curls atop his head. Dark circles marred the undersides of his striking eyes, but she was likely the sole person to scrutinise him so closely.

  He bowed over her hand and kissed it before he moved to the side of the bed, saying Thomas’s name to wake him. “How are you?”

  “Thank goodness you are finally here,” said Thomas in his now croaky voice. “You must pull Elizabeth from this depressing mood she has adopted since your departure. Next time, pray wake her before you leave. I cannot bear that morose expression she has been wearing.” He paused every two or three words for breath. Speaking required too much effort these days, which was why he had taken to speaking so rarely.

  Her back stiffened and her cheeks burned. How could Thomas speak so to Fitzwilliam?

  “Forgive me,” said Fitzwilliam, his eyes darting to hers.

  “Stop feeling sorry for yourself.” Thomas coughed several times. “Soon enough, I shall be gone, and they will be yours—as it should be.” Elizabeth bristled. How she wished he would stop speaking of their freedom once he died. The words rankled her every time he spoke them.

  Fitzwilliam clenched his hands at his sides, the only hint of his disquiet. “The world will believe him to be your son.” His voice attempted to be its usual deep tone, but her ears picked out the subtle lows not usually present.

  “And he will never know me, which is likely for the best. I am a rather selfish bastard, do you not think? You will be a much better father than I would ever be.”

  “Thomas—” began Fitzwilliam before Thomas began shaking his head.

  “No, I have always wanted what is best for you, but I betrayed you by using your affection for Elizabeth to my advantage. I hope one day you will forgive me.” He gasped in a breath. This was more than he had said in a fortnight. “I did not send for you to watch me die. Go spend time with Elizabeth. She needs you more than I do.”

  She fiddled with the folds of her dressing gown. Perhaps Fitzwilliam did not want to spend this time with her. What if he did not?

  Colin approached and stood behind Fitzwilliam. “Mr. Darcy, I will be sure to tell those below stairs how you have spent the afternoon and evening with your cousin. Lalande can help should I require it, and no one will know where you truly are. I assure you.”

  Hesitantly, Fitzwilliam rose. Being so dismissed had to be disconcerting, to say the least. Without a word, she walked stiffly through the connecting door to her chambers as he followed, shutting it behind him.

  “Are you well?”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “Why did you leave without saying goodbye?”

  He scrubbed his face before throwing his arms down to his sides. “Because this is difficult. Because I love you and want to be with you, yet I feel guilty because for that to happen, my cousin has to die. Because while that child will inherit more than I can give him, I cannot give him what is his due as a Darcy. He will not bear the Darcy name.”

  She rushed forward and took his face in her hands. “Yet, you will be there for him throughout his life. You will mould him into who he becomes. You will teach him to fish and to ride his first horse, and it will be you who he asks for help when he inherits this estate. You will be his father in every way that matters. Do you not see that?”

  “What if you die?” His voice was so small compared to his usual deep tone.

  “Then your duty will be to raise him completely—to ensure he resembles you—the best man I have ever known. You must tell him frequently how much you love him, and how much I shall always love him.” Her voice broke during the last, and he took her in his arms, holding her as close as he could.

  “I would never let him forget you. What else would you ask of me?”

  She drew back enough to look in his eyes. “Help me bear this child.”

  “Pardon?” His tone grew higher and his eyes wider. “I believe the midwife might become suspicious.”

  “No,” she said, shaking her head. “When the midwife visited a few days ago, she indicated the babe had lowered. He is ready to be born, but I have yet to begin labouring.”

  “The midwife said mid-June, did she not?”

  “He
is not too early. That is but two weeks away.” Her fingers toyed with his cravat while she spoke. “She told me walking helps, but I can only walk a short distance before my feet ache unbearably. They are too swollen.” Elizabeth scraped her teeth along her bottom lip as she peered up at him. “The midwife also said it was a shame my husband was so ill since marital relations are known to cause childbirth.”

  “You want me to love you?” His tone was higher if possible.

  She stepped back and crossed her arms over her chest. Was her current state truly so distasteful? “I realise this must be a rather unattractive offer, but—”

  He yanked her back into his embrace and kissed her forehead. “You are still as beautiful as the first time I laid eyes upon you. You carry my child. How could I think you anything but lovely?” His lips met hers with a gentle touch.

  “I am not lovely.” She looked down towards her breasts and removed her hands to hold them at her sides. “I am too big. Naught about me is small. Instead, it is swollen and clumsy and fat.”

  He drew her with him until he sat on the bed. Carefully, he untied her dressing gown and opened it, letting the fabric flow over her shoulders to the floor. He untied the ribbon at the top of her nightgown and gathered it over her head so she stood bare before him.

  His fingers traced along the tops of her breasts and around, down to her belly where his palm pressed against a small bulge to one side. After a merciless jab from the hand, foot, or elbow, the baby shifted and pushed back. Fitzwilliam kissed the bump. “There you are, little one.” After another jab, his hand rubbed where the baby pressed. “He is so strong.” His voice held this breathy quality that bespoke of his awe.

  He peppered a trail of pecks around to her navel, bestowing one last just above where a dark line now traced down her abdomen. “We must find a way that will be comfortable for you. I do not want to cause you pain.”

  The buttons on his topcoat and waistcoat gave easily as he stripped them off and let them join her clothes on the floor. “Blast. My boots,” he said in a mutter. He shifted Elizabeth to the side. “I shall return directly.”

  “What are you about?” She laughed while he hurried to the door and walked through to Thomas’s room, closing the door behind him to preserve her modesty. She hurried over and cracked it, listening from behind.

  “Sir?” said Colin.

  “I am attempting to convince Lizzy to take a nap,” followed Fitzwilliam, “but she will only lie down if I sit with her. I need my boots removed, if you would help me.” How red were her cheeks at this moment?

  “Yes, sir.”

  Fitzwilliam soon strode back into the room, dropping his boots the moment he closed the door behind him. He smiled at the sight of Elizabeth waddling back to recline in her nest of pillows. His shirt and breeches joined the rest of their clothes before he climbed back atop the bed. He sat beside her, his hand in its favourite spot upon her stomach. “Your skin is so soft and your belly so hard.” He shook his head while he continued to rub the taut skin. “I fear I lack the experience for this. Perhaps if you lie on your side?”

  Elizabeth watched him while she moved. Once she lay on her side with her knees bent, he crawled behind her and pressed himself to her back, wrapping his arm around to touch and caress her. When she finally writhed and moaned in his arms, he rose onto an arm so he could kiss her lips while he slid home.

  It felt so good to be connected to him again, and her breathing hitched when he groaned and dropped his forehead against her temple. She clutched at his hips with one arm while she attempted to move with him, though with her current size, shifting was more difficult than in the past. Their releases came quickly. After, Fitzwilliam tucked the coverlet around them and held her until she slept.

  Lalande knocked when their dinner arrived in her sitting room. Once they ate their fill, they made love again, and he read to her until she slept once more.

  When he snuggled against her, he buried his face into her hair and held her as close as he could, which suited her well. The babe would come soon, and though she did not want it, he would be forced from her. She could imagine the furore and scandal her insistence he remain would cause. Her mother would never forgive her for disgracing the family. On second thought, maybe her mother would stop writing and pestering if she did?

  Moans permeated the darkness as his dreams receded and reality intruded. He drifted off for a moment or two until the sound began again. “Lizzy?” As his eyes opened, the flesh under his palm hardened impossibly, making him blink and rise to his elbow. “Lizzy?” He glanced down to where his hand rested upon her abdomen.

  “I believe it has begun.” She panted out the words while she gripped the pillow with white knuckles. She rested on her side, her legs tangled in the covers.

  “How long have you been labouring?”

  “For several hours, I believe. What is the time?”

  He opened a panel of the bed curtains and rummaged through his clothes until he found his pocket watch. The sun was streaming through the gaps in the closed draperies, so it was at least four. He popped open the cover and managed to hold the watch in a bit of the sunlight sneaking inside the room. “Four-thirty.”

  “Three and a half hours. I remember the tall clock in the hall striking one.”

  “You should have awakened me. The midwife should have been called.” He ran his fingers through his hair and pulled on his breeches.

  “Fitzwilliam, wait. Not yet.”

  “What do you mean ‘not yet’?”

  “I mean my mother laboured for two days with Jane and for twenty-six hours with me. She never allows us to forget her misery. I only began having pains a few hours ago. The midwife would be here for an entire day if we send for her now.”

  Was she insane? “That is why she is paid handsomely?”

  Elizabeth struggled to sit and pointed to their clothes. “Please hand me my nightgown. The midwife claimed I should walk.”

  As he handed her the shift, he pinched the bridge of his nose with the other hand. “I do not believe this a good idea.”

  “Well,” said Elizabeth in an entirely too cheerful a voice, “you cannot exactly run below stairs and send for the midwife. It would cause talk. You would need to wake Lalande, and she is employed by me. I will order her to wait.”

  Once she wore her gown, she held out her hands for him to help her stand, then looped her arm through his. “I cannot have you accompany me down the halls, so we can walk around my bedchamber, sitting room, and dressing room.”

  “I cannot believe I am allowing you to do this.” He really could not credit his acceding to her wishes. He must be mad to go along with her hare-brained idea. He should go tell Colin, but would he go against his mistress’s decision? Thomas’s condition was too fragile to worry him.

  “Fitzwilliam, when the midwife comes, you cannot be here. The closest you can remain is in Thomas’s chamber with him. Forgive me if I wish to keep you with me for as long as possible.” She bent over and clutched her stomach.

  He breathed to ward off dizziness while he held her hands as she panted. Her tight grip gave some indication that, regardless of her claims, her pain was not a trifling pinch. After nearly a minute, she stood and rubbed her stomach.

  “What is that room?” he asked, pointing.

  “The nursery.” She tugged him in that direction, opened the door, and led him inside. “Mrs. Hamilton keeps insisting I shall have a wet nurse, though I have told her I have no need, which is why the cradle is still in here. I would prefer it in my bedchamber.”

  “I can move it for you.”

  She allowed her hand to slip from his arm so he could lift the heavy wooden cot. He carried it through to her room, placing it not too far from the fireplace. When he returned, she was bent over the larger cot while she swayed back and forth. She moaned almost as if she were singing.

  “Your pains are coming too close together, Elizabeth.”

  “Do not call me that.” She spoke through clenched
teeth. Whether from her discomfort or from her anger, he did not know.

  “Why ever not? ’Tis your name.” He dug his fingers into the small of her back, massaging and eliciting another groan for his efforts.

  “Thomas calls me Elizabeth. I never minded before except he is the only person who regularly does. I have never wished for you to call me anything but Lizzy. Oh!”

  “What is it?”

  She lifted the hem of her nightgown to reveal a puddle slowly growing on the floor at her feet. “We need to wake Lalande.”

  He helped her into the dressing room where Lalande now stood dressed and prepared for her day. She glanced between them “Madame?”

  Fitzwilliam relaxed a great deal simply at the maid’s presence. “We need to send for the midwife.”

  “No!” Elizabeth pointed at Lalande. “I am not ready to call that woman yet.”

  He closed his eyes and bit back a growl. Becoming impatient or intemperate would do him no favours, but why did she insist on being so recalcitrant? “The pains are coming fairly close together and your waters have broken. Let Lalande send for the midwife.”

  “We have plenty of time.” She bent at the waist and clutched her stomach once more. “Oooh!”

  Lalande lifted her eyebrows while she bit her lip. Her hands were tied. No matter how irrational Elizabeth behaved, her maid could not gainsay her. “Madame, Mr. Darcy is correct.”

  Elizabeth’s breaths came out in pants, and her grip was not far from crushing a bone or two in his hand. “I do not want him to go. If the midwife comes, he must leave.”

  “If she does not come, Mr. Darcy or I must deliver the babe. I have only witnessed two births. What if the child is turned the wrong way? I would not know what to do.”

  “I have only delivered sheep and horses,” said Fitzwilliam, praying she would finally relent.

  A high giggle came from Elizabeth as she closed her eyes and rubbed her stomach. “Not exactly the same.”

  “No,” he said firmly. “’Tis not.”

  She took a few deep breaths. “I feel so strange.”