The Miracles of Marriage

by Elizabeth Ann West

  Mrs. Bennet cried out and Lydia and Mary rushed to their mother’s aid.

  “Mama! Mama!” Mary yelled as Lydia began shouting that her mother had been attacked.

  Those who had seen the accident knew there was no malice, but they were outnumbered by those who had not witnessed the exact moment of Mrs. Bennet’s fall. The long-time resident of Longbourn wailed and cried as Mr. Bingley tried to calm his mother-in-law and assist her to stand. Some began turning on poor Patrick.

  Mr. Collins sneered down at Elizabeth Darcy with Mr. Bingley out of the way as John Lucas stepped into the fray to address the footman. He was one of those without a clear view of the altercation.

  “How dare you place your hands on a lady!” He started and the threat to poor Patrick made Elizabeth Darcy snap. She stood in front of her footman and challenged John Lucas directly.

  “Stop! Where is your sister?” she demanded, and the sudden appearance of the short, but mighty, Lizzie brought John Lucas to a still.

  “Lizzie, out of the way, this doesn’t concern you,” John began, flustered, but Elizabeth remained. To her, it was though no time had passed, and while she never felt any romantic feelings forJohn Lucas in the slightest, they did have a long friendship since childhood. She repeated herself.

  “Where is Charlotte?” she asked, breathlessly. And John winced, rubbing his ear in annoyance.

  “She didn’t wish to come, said she felt unwell.”

  “Did you see her this morning?” Elizabeth asked and Mr. Collins began to step forward, making Patrick vie to protect his mistress again. But Elizabeth held her palm flat to signal for Patrick to hold his ground. Mr. Collins stepped right up until his nose was practically touching Elizabeth’s.

  “Do not seek to spout your lies, Cousin. No one here will believe your false witness.”

  “They are not lies. They never were lies,” an unexpected voice spoke up and many looked to Jane Bingley, who rose elegantly from the blanket to stand by her sister. “John, if your sister is well, then Mr. Collins here will have no problem with you going home to see to her.”

  John Lucas might have been persuaded by Mr. Collins against one of his childhood friends, but two made the young man waiver in his decision.

  “Ask your sister Maria to see Charlotte in her shift. There will be scars, I’ve seen them,” Elizabeth said, to the gasp of many near enough to hear.

  John Lucas looked at his father, Sir William, who appeared very uncomfortable. He tried to change the subject back to Longbourn.

  “If you are all so concerned for Charlotte, then you will understand why we are here. Yes, yes! Let’s not forget that it is your dearest friend who will be the next mistress of Longbourn, and may that be far into the future. You must see to it the home is rebuilt! The legacy of the Bennets must live on! Surely your husbands—” Sir William was interrupted by both Mr. Bingley and Elizbeth Darcy.

  “Sir William, why don’t you come inside and we can discuss—” Mr. Bingley managed before Elizabeth’s more shrill and louder voice won out.

  “What is wrong with men that they cannot accept responsibility for their actions? You LEFT poor Charlotte with that monster and then you LIED about what you yourself witnessed!” Elizabeth charged Sir William with all of the pure rage and frustration she had kept pent up for over half a year.

  “And YOU,” she countered, pointing a finger at the sulking Collins, who did not yet have his escape resolved, “deserve not a penny from Mr. Bingley or Mr. Darcy! I’m glad Longbourn burnt to the ground, and when my father passes, you shall have all the burden and none of the benefit of an estate such as this. I wanted revenge on your treachery for so long, yes!” Elizabeth cried, looking up to the blue skies above her, “And I have been delivered. Vengeance is mine, I will repay, saith the Lord,” Lizzie began to hyperventilate and laugh at the same time as Mr. Collins tripped over his own two feet, down the hill.

  The Lucases hurried away as John confronted his father, and for a moment, Elizabeth wished should could be a little bird and watch from the window the salvation, hopefully, that Charlotte would receive. When her gaze fell to her mother being coddled and placated by Mary and Lydia, Elizabeth’s heart grew cold.

  “I only wish others had been lost in the fire instead of the innocents who perished,” she whispered, but Jane heard her.

  “Lizzie, surely you don’t mean that,” her elder sister admonished.

  Elizabeth looked at Jane with a blank expression. “When you have the nightmares I do, you’ll understand.”

  The picnic ending in an even bigger disaster than the tea, Jane Bingley felt utterly defeated as she watched her sister walk away, attended by Higgins and Patrick. Her husband came to stand next to her as many of the guests took the outburst and leaving of so many parties as a signal for their own exit.

  Gently, Mr. Bingley reached out rubbed his wife’s shoulder as she leaned her cheek against his hand.

  “It was a lovely picnic, Mrs. Bingley,” he complimented, and Jane laughed.

  “Right up to the moment that my mother and sister ruined it,” she said, nodding at various servants wordlessly indicating they should pack up the baskets and blankets.

  “Yes, they are a bit volatile, aren’t they? We do have our own carriage for the trip to Derbyshire, though!” Mr. Bingley said, with good cheer, waving at Kitty who was assisting the nursemaid with little Charlie and Lynn.

  “That we do,” Jane agreed, aching for her children as she spied them across the field. “And Mama and Lizzie will be riding separately as well, so perhaps we shall still make it to Pemberley in one piece.”

  18

  For the better half of two weeks, Richard Fitzwilliam indulged his wife's sudden need to dine at the table of her childhood. The dinners were tolerable. Richard ascribed Lady Catherine's lack of open hostility to the surprising nature of his wife's infiltration. And his predictions were satisfied nearly the moment familiarity reigned.

  "I am curious," Georgiana Wickham began as she gazed across the table at her rival cousin for position, "what changed your heart to attend to your dear mother so prodigiously? When I arrived, you refused most of the invitations to the house, and I must say" Georgiana looked to her aunt for satisfaction,"if I had the choice to live in such a grand home as this, you would not find me laying my head down in that small cottage."

  Although Anne Fitzwilliam was inexperienced in the art of polite rudeness practiced in parlors and dinners in London, she was older and better read than her nemesis. She relied on the witty repartee the heroines in her favorite novels always used against such dastardly relations.

  "I am happy that perhaps you did not suffer the early stages of nausea as I have. I feel them to be mostly behind me given the timeline Dr. Matthews gave me. I thought it best to return to my mother's side. Women in her position can so easily be misled and taken advantage, that I know my mother relies upon me for support," Anne finished, and then helped herself to a satisfying bite of her favorite dish, creamed spinach, with the same confidence of any London lady Richard had encountered.

  Observing his aunt, Richard felt a foreboding sense of dread as he watched the woman's face alight with joy. She would not encourage or discourage her niece or her daughter, and instead basked in the glory of them fighting for her favor. The behavior made Richard feel ill, as it was the same expression he was forced to curry when he would visit with Darcy, just to ensure he could see his Anne.

  When he looked across the table at his wife, he saw her face suddenly full of distress, and he worried for her well-being. But then Anne spoke, and he soon realized it was not she who was in distress.

  "Georgiana? Are you quite well?" Anne asked, and involuntarily reached out her hand across the table, but it was far too wide for her to reach her cousin. Anne's movement was all Richard needed to turn in his chair and notice the absolute panic in his cousin’s face. Gone were the harsh lines of the jaded and spoiled brat who had usurped the sweet and kind young girl he had been guardian of for fi
ve years.

  "It hurts!" she uttered, as she cradled her protruding stomach. Richard followed her hands down and realized it was very likely that his cousin was going into the throes of labor.

  "Yes, dearie the business of bringing a child into this world is quite painful. But let's not allow that to disturb our dinner," Lady Catherine said, cold-heartedly.

  "Mother!" Anne chastised, as Georgiana huffed in relief that the pain had subsided.

  Lady Catherine glared at her ungrateful daughter. "Mind your tongue and remember at whose table you dine." Lady Catherine motioned for the dishes to be cleared away and for the next course to be brought out. Even Richard sat stunned at the unfeeling manner in which Lady Catherine ignored the needs of Georgiana.

  Just then, Georgiana groaned and ground her teeth and grasped Richard's hand. He marveled at the strength of her small bony fingers as they dug into his palm, fingers that had been strengthened by years of playing the pianoforte.

  Anne became disgusted, and threw her serviette at the fresh plate of food placed before her. She signalled for a footman to remove her chair, and her mother contradicted the order.

  "Do not move, I said we will finish our dinner and I meant it." Lady Catherine did wave for the footman holding the decanter of wine to refill her glass.

  "Aunt–" Richard began, but she glared at him with an equal expression of power.

  "As none of you at this table have had the experience of bringing life into this world, allow me to educate you on a few of the finer details." She shooed away the footman once her glass was full, and lifted the red wine to her lips.

  Georgiana continued whimpering in her distress every few moments, and then catching her breath in the absolute shock of what was happening. Lady Catherine made a grand show of cutting her meat, and then eating a bite while the other members of the table did not touch their food, nor say a word.

  "Your cousin has been experiencing these pains for weeks," Lady Catherine said coolly and Georgiana violently shook her head.

  "Not like this!" She managed before her head drooped at the next contraction of pain and her moans became more guttural.

  "Do save the theatrics, you do not have an audience, and you will need that energy," Lady Catherine rolled her eyes while Richard became agitated.

  "We should send for the midwife," he began. Again, Lady Catherine shrugged.

  "She's already here."

  Anne looked at her mother in disbelief, as it was far easier to think of her as nothing more than the monster that cared for no one but herself.

  "And what about a doctor?" Richard asked uncertainly since the only doctor nearby was the same quack his aunt had used to keep his wife mostly unwell. Anne shook her head but her mother overruled them both.

  "He is already here."

  Anne was still unable to reconcile this version of her mother with the one that she had known all of her life. "Then why is he not at dinner?"

  Lady Catherine was aghast. "Invite Dr. Smeads to dinner when he is here in my employ? No, certainly not. What may be done in other households will not occur here, at least not under my management," Lady Catherine decreed.

  Both Anne and Richard had been so distracted questioning Lady Catherine that they had not noticed Georgiana's distress growing. She no longer moaned but continued breathing heavily and then holding her breath in silence as another contraction hit. Anne was horrified to see any woman, even one that was her direct rival, make such a face in anguish.

  There was nothing to do but to cease talking so that Lady Catherine could finish her meal as quickly as possible when suddenly, Georgiana began to shriek.

  "It's coming! It's coming!" she shouted, and Richard in his panic stood up from his chair to assist Georgiana away from the table. A dark spot appeared on the Oriental underneath her chair, and fluid continued to drip from the edge of the seat.

  Lady Catherine groaned in disgust. "It is merely your waters, child. Please take Mrs. Wickham upstairs. I have lost my appetite," Lady Catherine ordered. The footman instead helped Lady Catherine out of her chair so the woman might walk to the adjoining parlor and left the mess for others to handle before any helped Richard walk with Georgiana up the stairs.

  Every few steps they paused as the pains reduced Georgiana’s abilities and her knees buckled.

  “Anne!” Richard shouted, and the diminutive daughter of Lady Catherine and Sir Lewis de Bourgh used her adrenaline to move the heavy dining room chair out of her way.

  “Shhh, shhh” she calmed Georgiana, feeling the movements of her own child in her womb. Immediately, as Georgiana’s tear-stained face looked at Anne, she felt guilty that she could have ever been jealous of this girl’s plight. Widowed, friendless, and young, there was no threat to Anne from sixteen-year-old Georgiana Wickham.

  “Help me,” she whispered, and Anne kissed the top of her head.

  “Lift her, and follow me,” Anne took command, knowing Rosings like the back of her hand. As she reached the second landing, a mischievous thought occurred and she led the men directly to the closest suite: the one hued in every combination of gold for the Sovereign should he ever visit.

  As Georgiana was settled in the bed and the midwife and Dr. Smeads arrived from a less than speedy footman’s message, Richard and his wife followed a maid to her former rooms. There, they both availed themselves of the basin as Georgiana’s screams filled the air.

  “I suppose there shall be a baby sooner than later,” Richard noted and his wife seemed very contemplative. He recognized how very distressing this must have all been for her and he reached for her. “I am just as frightened, my love, and I would give the world to never see you experience that.”

  Anne shuddered. “Please, don’t say that. I should experience that, I must. You heard my mother, the business of bringing life into this world is not painless.”

  Richard could not argue, though he felt excessively frustrated there was nothing he could do to protect his wife from harm.

  “Well, I am sure you’re off dinners at Rosings, now, eh?” Richard said as he walked over to Anne’s old bed and cheekily flounced his full weight upon it, nearly breaking the ancient beams that held the ropes.

  “Did you not attend the same dinner I did?” Anne asked, as Georgiana’s cries seemed to lessen. Perhaps they had administered a dose of laudanum. Anne wished she could be in the room, but she doubted such a thing would be allowed.

  Richard nodded, unsure of where his wife was carrying her thoughts. This time, he wanted to be ready to object if he needed to.

  “My mother could not have been any colder and calculating. Georgiana needs a mother,”

  “Careful, she’s becoming someone’s mother. You cannot forget her choices and behavior that landed her in that birthing room,” Richard suddenly recalled much of the angry, spiteful tantrums the girl had thrown in his and Darcy’s presence. Thinking about Darcy, Richard felt the stirrings of obligation. He would need to write to Darcy and tell him of the birth, once the baby and Georgiana saw the labor through.

  Ann tentatively joined her husband as he reached for her. She snuggled in his embrace and he kissed her forehead. His hand came to rest on Anne’s midsection that was now rounded most obviously on her small frame.

  “There is nothing to do but wait,” Richard said. But his wife corrected him.

  “Wait and pray, my love. Wait and pray for their safe delivery.”

  19

  Thomas George Lewis Wickham was born in the wee hours of October 3, in the year of our Lord 1812. Like his mother during the pains of his labor, the boy came into this world screaming and thrashing every limb under his control. He was healthy and stout, and when he was swaddled in a set of clean blankets and presented to his mother, it was love at first sight.

  As the midwife and maids helped Georgiana expel the last of the afterbirth, the new mother laid next to her son and feathered his face with the lightest of fairy kisses. Such affection was one of the only things she could ever remember about her
own mother when she was a young girl.

  "Don't worry, little Thomas, the world might be set against us. So long as we have each other, we will be free."

  The exhaustion and work of his birth overwhelmed her and she fell into a deep sleep. When they tried to move Thomas away from his mother, the boy howled until they set him right back again, and then he settled. A maid was ordered to watch them both. She was to make sure that Georgiana did not bleed out, and the babe was not crushed.

  And so it was midmorning before Georgiana had been fully cleaned from the mess of birth, and Thomas, too, sponged. When at last she could sit up and hold her son in her arms, she immediately attempted what she had thought should come natural between any mother and child. She moved her shift aside and urged the child to feed, but his lips remained stubbornly closed. Very little, if any, milk was coming from her breast. As Georgiana grew frustrated, she began to cry, which made the child cry, and the midwife took pity on them both.

  "He does not know, missus, rub his lips just so they part, and then give yourself a wee pinch before brushing down, then back up into his mouth. He'll suckle," she advised. Georgiana attempted to do as the woman instructed.

  The first latching hurt, and Georgiana immediately pulled her breast away, but Thomas had tasted his mother's nectar, and he did not like being denied. Her second attempt was another failure, as the boy was getting so upset, he would not latch on again. Again, the midwife helped.

  "Use your finger first, lovey."

  Georgiana tried once more. This time, Thomas calmed. Georgiana took a deep breath, and when his lips parted, she pinched her flesh so that it lay practically flat, then brushed his lip again with her skin before pulling up into his mouth. The latch stayed true, and though the sensation was an odd one, it did not hurt.