“What day is it?”
“Tuesday. You have been ill for five days, not counting the time before Samuel called me. You gave us a bit of a fright. I knew you were too blasted stubborn to succumb to a mere fever, but Samuel has been as hysterical as an old woman.”
Darcy's eyes had flown open and he was attempting to rise, quite unsuccessfully. “A week? I have work to do and must get home. Oh Lord, Elizabeth must be frantic. Richard…?” He fell back into the pillows, panting and coughing.
“Calm yourself, man, or you will have a relapse! Listen to me, William. Do not be stupid and exert yourself unduly. Elizabeth does need you home but that will not occur in a timely manner if you deteriorate again. I have taken the liberty to write in your stead and inform your beloved wife that you have a minor cold and requested I write for you. I know you hate dissembling, but I judged it proper in this case.”
Darcy was breathing heavily, heart racing painfully, and the room was spinning again. Whether he liked it or not, he could not deny the logic of Richard's advice. “A letter… I should send… a letter… telling her…”
“Yes, yes, all in good time. Sleep again, William. You can dictate a missive to her later. She has written to you several times, which will surely boost your spirits.” He stopped, realizing that Darcy was soundly asleep and snoring.
Lizzy stood on the Pemberley portico for ten minutes, allowing George Darcy's warm hands to rest on her shoulders and resonant voice to soothe, all far too reminiscent of her husband, before she wiped the tears away. Darcy's carriage was barely out of sight before Lizzy launched into a whirlwind of activity. She had decided with full conscious intent that if she must be alone she would keep busy so she could not dwell on it overly. Her first order of business was to begin planning for Christmas. The fact that it was over two months away meant nothing, as she wanted to have everything prepared before the baby came. With this at the forefront of her mind, she met with Mrs. Reynolds within an hour of Darcy's departure.
Thus began her days. As far as Christmas celebrations went, the plans were both easier and more complicated. It was easier in that she knew the tenants quite well now so deciding what to place in their gift basket was obvious. It was also easier because the guest list would be far smaller with focus on intimate family and the baby. Obtaining gifts was a bit more problematic, as Lizzy could not tramp through the shops of Lambton in her condition, so she needed to decide on what to present to her friends and family. Georgiana and Harriet Vernor assisted in this task, handling the shopping for her.
There was also the tenant Christmas feast to plan. Last December as Darcy toured her through the manor and first spoke of the holiday tradition for the Pemberley workers, Lizzy had briefly envisioned something grand. In the same way as the Summer Festival, she had wanted to reinstate the old customs with flair. Of course, those early plans had not taken into consideration the arrival of their first child. Not knowing how the birth might proceed, what her physical condition would be afterwards, nor when it would even occur, Lizzy decided it would be best to keep the event understated. Actually it was her husband who firmly declared that the dinner be a humble affair, allowing no room for argument, so Lizzy had no real choice.
Nevertheless, minimal or majestic, she wanted all to be perfect. Plus, it gave her something else to fret about besides missing her husband. Before the week was out the menu was determined, the necessary cleaning of the ballroom and formal dining room was begun, the date was set for a week before Christmas, a group of minstrels from Matlock was reserved, and the list of invitees was written with invitations ordered. A detailed timetable was itemized for the following three months so all issues would be handled with or without the Mistress's input.
In between Christmas scheming Lizzy attended to household duties with a vengeance. Mr. Keith consulted her on everything although Lizzy knew he did not have to. She spent large quantities of time at Darcy's desk usually for no real purpose other than for the comfort afforded. The massive desk chair was imprinted with the shape of his derriere and thighs, the desktop strewn with the odd trinkets that he fiddled with while he worked, and littered with random notes written in his strong flowing calligraphy. Darcy was highly organized, each document ever signed filed in a logical manner and the ledgers meticulous, yet strangely the surface of his desk was cluttered. It was all a ready reminder of her husband, and for the days he was absent she ignored her own desk in the corner or the one in their sitting room, preferring to sit in his chairs.
Her need to be close to him in even this elemental way ended up being educational. Initially she gave it no real consideration, but as she sat in his office she began idly reading through the carefully filed papers. At first when she came across something that made no sense to her or was written in a puzzling code she passed it by. But more and more she began to see a pattern, and curiosity overcame her. Mr. Keith seemed unperturbed by her nosiness, answering her questions and offering explanations. The files covering her husband's years as Master of Pemberley were separate from those of his father and grandfather. Mr. Keith informed her that past documents and ledgers were stored in a basement chamber, dating back well over a hundred years. Lizzy immediately noted the similarities and differences in the documenting techniques used by Darcy compared to his predecessors, not to mention the larger array of ventures delved into. Some of his recording methods were amazingly simplistic while others were wildly complex. And the number of business transactions, investments, and estate matters was vaster than she had suspected. All of it lent additional insight into the mind of the man she was married to while also increasing her grasp of Pemberley affairs.
Luckily no serious quandaries arose during Darcy's absence. The day-today required purchases of food, household items, provisions for the animals, and such were routinely procured and paid for. Staff wages were disbursed at the end of each week, all earnings tabulated and allocated by Mr. Keith to each person while in Mrs. Darcy's presence. Decisions above and beyond the usual were minimal. An overly abundant and earlier than expected harvest of barley provided an opportunity for Lizzy to receive a crash course in crop management and bartering. With Mr. Keith's patient assistance and the finely detailed notations in Darcy's files, Lizzy transacted a market exchange with a hefty profit and surplus barley storage for Pemberley.
She was quite proud of herself, but primarily she knew that it was the small things such as intact ledgers that would free up an inordinate amount of Darcy's time when he returned. Extending further, Lizzy completed a number of the tasks Darcy had left unfinished due to his hasty departure. She worked very hard to keep it all in the order that Darcy preferred and thrilled in imagining how pleased he would be to discover how well his wife had taken care of matters.
By the end of the first week, Lizzy had a new-found respect for all the business her husband handled. After eleven months she grasped most of the vast estate management of Pemberley but had remained ignorant of the day-to-day tiny things and those business dealings beyond agriculture and livestock. She recognized on a certain level that her obsession was as much to stave off her loneliness as it was to please her already adoring spouse, but she also tremendously enjoyed the challenges.
George Darcy took his role as protector and companion very seriously. He was never far from her side, forever interrupting her to check how she was or bring a snack, and pouring on the charm as he whisked her off for walks about the grounds. His presence in the manor was simultaneously comforting and disconcerting. Lizzy had grown accustomed to the uncanny similarities George shared with her husband, no longer consciously noting them. Until now. The timbre of his laugh, resonance of voice, piercing blue of tender eyes, and general height and posture, even in his extreme boniness, was nearly indistinguishable from his nephew. It unnerved her and intermittently escalated her desperation and soothed it.
Georgiana was nearly as persistent, ensuring that Lizzy was never bored. Her sweetly steady friendship and deep love for her new sister was genuine. Th
ey spent numerous evenings together in the Darcys' sitting room, giggling and sharing girlish stories while reclining in robes and nibbling cakes and sipping tea. It greatly facilitated the transition from busy day to solitary night.
Darcy's hasty exodus had allotted no time for her to prepare little notes or intimate reminders to tuck into his valise, so she wrote lengthy lovelorn letters each night to be posted every two days. Pouring her heart did ease the ache somewhat, as did his reply. Sheer exhaustion and the pressing demands of the baby allowed her to sleep deeply with delightful dreams of him, at least for the first week. His first letter arrived on their fourth day apart. Like her, he had composed it in the evenings over two days and it was far more sentimental and erotic then hers. Lizzy experienced slight trepidation over placing boldly intimate ramblings in indelible ink to then be carried across England by strangers. Darcy suffered no such inhibition, surprisingly, as the need to express his desires for her transcended the unlikely possibility of the letter falling into unknown hands.
By the end of the week she was beginning to sense some disquiet at a lack of additional correspondence, having written twice more to him, but assumed it was because he was busy. Then the scribbled note penned by Richard arrived saying only that Darcy was ill with a minor cold, offering a patently lame excuse of sneezing too much to hold a quill as to why he was dictating to Richard. Lizzy did not believe a word of it and was instantly catapulted into panic.
“George!” she yelled, her uncle appearing within seconds and nearly colliding with Lizzy as he bounded over the threshold.
“What is it?”
“Read this and tell me what you think.”
He did, frowning. “Hmmm. Something does not seem right…”
“Not at all. William is ill, Uncle, I can feel it. I need to go to London. Can you help me with the arrangements?” She was already pulling the servants bell.
“Elizabeth, think. I absolutely will not allow you to travel to London so you can erase that thought from your head right now.”
“But…”
“No, and that is final. William may be sicker than Col. Fitzwilliam claims, but that does not necessarily mean he needs you there…”
“But I am his wife!”
“Precisely… Thank you, Watson, but we no longer require your services.” The footman bowed and retreated, George crossing to where Elizabeth stood fighting tears. He placed his hands on her shoulders, speaking in soft tones so akin to Darcy that the tears spilled instantly. “Listen, dear. William is very strong and hideously stubborn. I am quite sure he can fight off any malady. We know he is being well cared for between Richard and Samuel. If it were life threatening, Richard would be forthcoming, I am certain. William will heal faster knowing you are safe from harm. The journey is too risky and you cannot permit yourself to fall ill.”
She was crying in earnest now, and George gathered her into his arms, patting with a whispered there, there. For two days she could barely think. Somehow she managed to attend to business as it arose, exercise regularly with extended, memory-packed walks about the gardens, and host a tea party with Harriet Vernor, Alison Fitzherbert, Marilyn Hughes, Georgiana, and Jane, who ended up visiting for three days to comfort her anxious sister. She wrote two more letters, begging for an update and for once not at all embarrassed at blatantly communicating her sorrow and yearning, sending by express messenger.
Finally on the third day after Richard's note, a longer letter arrived, also penned in Richard's feathery script, but clearly the words of her husband. Lizzy began sobbing before the salutation was read.
My dearest, precious Elizabeth,
My beloved, I do pray this overdue correspondence is read by a healthy wife, robust as always and yet encumbered with the blessing that is our child. I, as you have been informed by our dear cousin, have been ill. I fear he misled you on the full extent of my infirmity. He begs me, my dearest, at this juncture to apologize for his deception as done with only your well-being in mind. This I can assure you is the truth. I do believe I must take full responsibility for the calamity that has befallen me as I so arrogantly jested that I am never ill. Do you recall this boasting? It appears that fate has a sense of humor, or perhaps karma is true as the mystics proclaim. However, fret no further as I am speedily mending from the influenza that afflicted me. It was not a pretty sight, my beautiful wife, and I am abundantly thankful you were not here to witness my indignity. Rest assured that I am healing rapidly with, as Richard says, my obstinacy intact. I have no idea to what he refers.
Naturally my illness has set me back on concluding my business. Mr. Daniels has persevered with preparing all matters for me and we are resuming our meetings. Unfortunately they must transpire in my bedchamber sitting room for now and remain stunted as my strength is not yet fully restored. I do still hope to complete affairs and be home for my birthday.
Beloved, I cannot relate the whole contents of my heart as my secretary would likely refuse to write the sentiments. I trust that you understand the depths of my love for you and anguish I feel in being separated. Please, Elizabeth, I beg you with all my soul, do not worry! I am recovering, and there is no lasting damage. I love you forever,
William
Underneath were supplementary lines in a shaky script that was nonetheless clearly Darcy's:
My Heart, Forgive the poor penmanship, but I fear my hands are yet weak. I must be brief. I ache for you, my precious Lizzy! God how I want to see your face. Know that you are alive in every beat of my heart and the knowledge that you are safe gives me the greatest strength. Soon, very soon, my lover, I will hold you and kiss you and we will make love with all the passion stored. Dream of me as I dream of you. I love you, my Elizabeth. I love you for all eternity.
Your Fitzwilliam
The letter was dictated, shakily written, sealed, and posted the morning following Darcy's fever breaking. By the time Lizzy received it Darcy had proven his powers of regeneration and colossal strength of will by resuming nearly the same hectic agenda as prior to his illness. Richard returned to his regiment with a warning to moderate that he knew Darcy would ignore. In truth he was still weak, the cough abiding, and the need for afternoon rest periods undeniable. At least it gave him a legitimate excuse to decline the few invitations that arrived despite his attempt to maintain secrecy.
Chapter Fifteen
Thirty Is an Auspicious Number
Lizzy returned to her self-appointed duties with a relieved smile on her face. She would not feel completely secure until she could feel his solidity under her hands and gaze upon his healthy face, but her anxiety was alleviated. While apprehension waned with subsequent letters written in an ever increasingly firm hand, desolation and melancholy flourished unabated. The pain in her heart rose with each passing day, allayed somewhat in rejuvenating sleep and sweet dreams.
As the third week without her husband advanced, Lizzy and Georgiana walked to the orphanage in the Village. They each carried a basket filled with baked treats for the children, dressed warmly against the chill air. October had passed into November, the last of the Pemberley harvests reaped and marketed. The fields now lay tilled and bare. A light drizzle of rain had fallen last evening, leaving the ground moist with shallow puddles in places, but today was clear with the clouds lingering over the Peaks.
“If William were here he would predict the rains, whether they are gone for now or to return.” Lizzy spoke softly, gazing at the horizon.
Georgiana smiled, squeezing her sister's arm. “Yes, he always knows. It is a gift I do not possess. Of course, if he were here he would likely forbid you to walk, especially if he judges the rains to resume.”
Lizzy laughed. “True, although I think I would welcome his overprotective domination if it meant I could hear his voice.”
“He shall be home soon, Lizzy. He will not miss his birthday. He knows how important it is to you, and nothing will keep him away.”
“As desperately as I need him, I fear him overtaxing and beco
ming ill again.” She sighed loudly and shook her head. “Enough! He has begged me not to fret, to trust him, and I will. His letter yesterday said all was proceeding expeditiously.”
“Did he give any indication of when he would be home?”
“No, unfortunately. I think he is afraid to say much so as to not disappoint. In truth I do not expect him for another week, probably breezing in exhausted on the day before his birthday!”
“Why so long?”
“He had reckoned it would take two weeks at the least to conclude his affairs, and I think he was being generous at that so as not to increase my distress.” She smiled at his ever conscious desire to assuage. “He was ill for a week, if my figuring is correct, then the slow recovery. I can still discern a weakness in his handwriting and weariness in his words. I am sure he is not able to work up to his normal stamina.”
“Well, perhaps you are correct, and I suppose it best he take it slowly. Still, I know he will be here by his birthday! William always keeps his promises.”
The children jumped for joy, delighting in the treats and affection from Mrs. Darcy and Miss Darcy. The joyful, innocent presence of the children never failed to cheer Lizzy, the afternoon hours spent very happily with only fleeting thoughts of her husband intruding. Toward the end of their visit, as the clouds were gradually blowing back toward the valley, Lizzy felt the preliminary twinges of pain.
She held a newer arrival to the orphanage, a girl of three years, as she stood watching groups of children playing hopscotch and jumping rope. One minute everything was roses, Lizzy laughing at the antics and blissfully snuggling the soft body against her breast, when the familiar vague contractions were abruptly displaced by a sharp stab of pain lanced through her abdomen rippling from back to front and down to her groin. It resembled the innocuous false labor pains that Dr. Darcy assured were normal and necessary, but was far more intense. She gasped, bending involuntarily as she rubbed over her belly. It passed as swiftly as it came, Lizzy breathing deeply and almost convincing herself it was not significant when an identical pain struck. She released a squeal, doubling over and nearly dropping the little girl, who was clinging to her neck in fright.
My Dearest Mr. Darcy: An Amazing Journey into Love Everlasting tds-3 Page 30
