A Baby at Pemberley

by Rosalie Hammond

  Georgiana leaned closer and her eyes rested for a moment on the untouched food on Elizabeth's plate. "Elizabeth, is something wrong?"

  "No!" she answered just a little too brightly. "Ah...I wonder if we'll have an early wet season this year? Have you heard what the long-range forecasters are saying?"

  She knew her sister-in-law wouldn't let her get away with such a pathetic response, but before she had time to be embarrassed they were distracted suddenly by an excited shout from the far end of the courtyard.

  Heads turned and Elizabeth looked up.

  "Look who's arrived," a voice cried.

  The path leading from the front of the house was lit by the rows of thick pillar candles. Along the path came two figures. Two masculine figures. The light from the candles didn't reach their faces, but Elizabeth could see dark trousers and the gleam of white shirt fronts beneath elegant black jackets.

  There were excited calls of greeting. People were jumping to their feet. Elizabeth's magnified heartbeats and breathing were so loud she couldn't hear what anyone was saying but soon she saw who was there.

  First came Colonel Fitzwilliam.

  And then...Darcy.

  Despite the difference in their height, they looked ridiculously alike in their matching dinner suits.

  All around her were cries of "Happy Birthday!" and "Darcy, how wonderful that you could make it after all!"

  Elizabeth swayed in her seat as she heard his deep voice apologizing for being late.

  Why had he come? Had he found Lydia? Her stomach was so tightly clenched she was glad she hadn't eaten. It would hardly do if she threw up all over the guest of honor.

  After what seemed like ages, Darcy looked her way. She was still in her chair and, for the life of her, she couldn't be sure that she wasn't glued to the spot.

  She had no idea if her legs would work if she tried to stand.

  Down the length of the table, their gazes met. And suddenly the voices of the guests stilled.

  Elizabeth gulped. She knew everybody would be expecting her to greet her husband. They all knew that this was a wonderful, happy, out-of-the-blue surprise. The answer to her prayers.

  Darcy wasn't smiling at her. She suspected he was no more capable of smiling than she was. The evening crackled with the hushed, expectant silence of the assembled guests.

  Don't make a scene! a voice in Elizabeth's head warned. Be calm and act natural. You're allowed to be surprised. Darcy was called away...you weren't expecting him.

  "Darcy." The word came out as a whisper and she doubted that anybody heard it. Clearing her throat, she tried again. "Hello, Mr. Darcy." This time her voice sounded almost normal. She placed her hands on the table in front of her and pushed herself to her feet.

  Her legs felt as wobbly as blancmange but they held.

  He was staring at her. His throat was working as his eyes took in her elegant dress.

  And she was staring back at him. Heaven help her. He had never tugged at her heart as he did now with his brittle smile carefully in place. Somehow he looked darker, harder, almost a stranger.

  Elizabeth wanted to run to him, to wrap her arms around him and kiss away that hurt, hard pride in his eyes, to welcome him back and beg his forgiveness and who cared what the onlookers thought? She took a faltering step and swayed against the table. Oh, dear. Had anybody seen how she was trembling?

  If only they would stop looking...

  Then at last he came down the length of the table towards her.

  "I couldn't miss this splendid party," he said, placing two hands on her shoulders and leaning forward. Heart fluttering, she raised her face to his. He kissed her briefly on the cheek, then withdrew his hands quickly and stepped away.

  Polite, brotherly, it was over in an instant. The kind of kiss Colonel Fitzwilliam might have given her.

  Elizabeth tried not to let her disappointment show.

  She couldn't think of what to say and asked the first thing that came into her head. "Where did you get the dinner suit?"

  It belonged to Richard's brother." He wriggled his shoulders a little, as if the jacket was too tight.

  A jocular male voice called loudly, "Mrs. Darcy looks lovely this evening, does she not?"

  Darcy cast her a scorching, tight-lipped glance. "Absolutely," he said softly.

  But although she smarted from Darcy's coolness, Elizabeth could have kissed the man who had spoken. His rough words broke the ice. Soon everyone was chatting again. Glasses were being refilled.

  Cutlery, plates and wine glasses were brought out and Colonel Fitzwilliam's and Darcy's places were set. Darcy sat some distance away from Elizabeth. The men were piled with food and drink.

  The party continued.

  Darcy was sure his face would crack if he had to hold his smile much longer. It helped if he didn't look Elizabeth's way. To look and to know that he couldn't touch was torture.

  He ached when he saw how very beautiful she looked tonight. Her new gown enhanced her delicate air, making her look like the beautifully fragile glass angel she'd brought back from Venice last summer. A glass angel whose dark eyes were shadowed by unmistakable pain.

  One glance her way and his heart felt as if it, too, were made of glass and on the verge of shattering.

  Starlight painted her skin with a mysterious pale sheen and turned her soft brown hair to shimmering gold. She looked ethereal. An unattainable mirage.

  Or was that impression exaggerated by the unreality of this hoax?

  It was ridiculous to be making a public spectacle of himself, pretending that everything was fine and dandy. Coming back like this was the last thing he'd wanted, but Colonel Fitzwilliam had given him little choice when they'd thrashed the issue out earlier in the evening.

  "You're going to this party if I have to tie you up and throw you in the back of the carriage," Colonel Fitzwilliam shouted.

  These days, bluffing Richard wasn't as easy as it had been when he was ten years old, but Darcy tried. "You haven't got a hope, Cousin. I'm not going back to Pemberley till I find Lydia."

  Colonel Fitzwilliam's face tightened. "What information exactly do you need to get from Lydia?"

  "I need to confirm certain things. Make certain her intentions are serious... and well, find out the identity of the father."

  For a full ten seconds his cousin looked as if he was fighting for his breath. "You are unsure who the father is?" he managed to ask at last.

  "That's the whole flaming problem. Elizabeth's decided the baby looks the spitting image of me and..." Darcy's eyes narrowed. "People have commented before today on how alike we look. I thought that perhaps you could help me find the truth."

  Ploughing agitated hands through his hair, Colonel Fitzwilliam paced the room. "I swear I don't know anything about Lydia's baby," he said at last. "But if you're any sort of man you'll go back to this ball tonight and do the right thing by your wife and your bloody self and—" A dark sigh escaped. "And I guess I'd better tell you how you can contact Lydia."

  Darcy leapt from his seat. "You know where she is?"

  Colonel Fitzwilliam's smile was tinged with bitterness. "I've got an address."

  "How come you didn't tell me before? I've got to speak to her right away. I don't want to waste time on this."

  "I won't tell you a thing if you don't come to the party."

  "Richard, damn it, this is blackmail."

  "It's the deal, Darcy. Tomorrow morning I'll tell you where you can find Lydia on the condition that you come back to Pemberley tonight."

  "Tomorrow morning? Why wait till then? I want to clear this up now."

  With an impatient sigh, Colonel Fitzwilliam tapped his pocket watch. "Because we don't have time now. We should have left for the party fifteen minutes ago and we still have to find you a dinner suit."

  And here he was...at his own birthday party, surrounded by his friends and family and feeling as lonely as he had before his marriage to Elizabeth.

  God help him. In the past wee
k, he and Elizabeth had become strangers.

  What could he achieve by seeing her again when he still had no answers? If only he could have been confronting Lydia right now. She was the key to this whole miserable debacle and the quicker he got to her, the better.

  But he couldn't become too self-absorbed. He owed it to his guests to play the game. These were people he'd known all his life, with friendship bonds reaching back to childhood and even beyond that to earlier generations. He didn't want to snap their ties with one bad mood.

  Had they noticed he was below par? Was that why they were even more exuberant than usual? All around him, people were swapping yarns loudly, asking and answering questions, exchanging hilarious jokes. There was laughter. Loads of laughter.

  Of course, Colonel Fitzwilliam had been right to insist that he come. It was an important face-saving exercise to preserve Pemberley's good name. Over generations, his family had established a widespread reputation for good hospitality and long-lasting friendships.

  Tonight was a duty. No matter how painful, it was a job that had to be done.

  Memories of birthday parties in his childhood brought a wistful smile to his lips. Some of these guests had been guests way back then. When they'd been very young they'd played tame indoor games, supervised by his mother, or there had been treasure hunts in the garden.

  Even when he'd been away at Oxford, birthdays had meant the arrival of a huge box of food from his father—a rich fruit cake smelling sinfully of rum, home-made fudge, toffee and ginger biscuits—

  You had it too easy as a child, he told himself now. Welcome to the real world, where a birthday ball can be the worst night of your life.

  Eventually, when the meal was finished and Darcy had endured the cutting of the birthday cake and the accompanying fuss, the night grew a little chilly and dew began to fall silently. Elizabeth opened out the French doors between the lounge and dining rooms, as well as the doors opening onto the veranda, and people drifted inside to settle on comfortable sofas and fat floor cushions while they listened to music and drank coffee and port. Some danced in the ballroom.

  As Darcy mixed and mingled with the guests, he couldn't help noticing how well Elizabeth carried out her role as hostess. How did she do it? He was such a mess, he could hardly concentrate to engage in sensible conversation, but she was gracious, elegant, poised, considerate. She worked the room skillfully, while carefully skirting around any groups talking with him.

  At eleven o"clock, he sought out Colonel Fitzwilliam. I've done my part of the bargain. Let's go."

  "Go? Already? The night's just a pup."

  With an impatient growl, Darcy grabbed the lapel of Colonel Fitzwilliam's suit coat. "It's plenty late enough and I want to get out of here."

  Colonel Fitzwilliam shook himself free. "For pity's sake, cool it, Darcy. This is your thirty birthday in your own home. There's no curfew."

  "There is as far as I'm concerned."

  "You're not bloody Cinderella," Colonel Fitzwilliam shoved a tawny port into Darcy's hand. "I don't see any glass slippers on your feet and I'm pretty certain my carriage will not turn into a pumpkin even if we stay here all night."

  With thin-lipped, deliberate precision, Darcy replaced the glass on a coaster on a nearby table. "Staying on is not part of my plan. It never was. You know that, Richard. A deal's a deal and I've kept my part of the bargain. These people know I'm busy. Now I want you to take me to wherever Lydia is."

  "You can't go until you've had a talk with Elizabeth."

  Darcy lowered his gaze. Just hearing Elizabeth's name hurt! He stared at the floor and noticed someone had dropped a stuffed olive. It had been walked into the carpet. "There's not a lot I can say to Elizabeth at the moment," he muttered.

  All night he'd been trying to avoid speaking with her again. He couldn't bear to see the pain in her eyes whenever she looked at him. Another sad glimpse of her dark eyes would feel like a stab wound in his chest. If only he could pack ice around his heart! He wanted to make it numb.

  "I've said all I need to say apart from thanking Elizabeth for the party and wishing her goodnight."

  Colonel Fitzwilliam shook his head. "I don't understand any of this."

  Who does? Darcy thought. "But you'll come back with me now?"

  He sighed. "If you insist, but it's too late to call on Lydia tonight."

  "That doesn't matter. I want out of here." Darcy turned away immediately, not giving himself any time for second thoughts before he made his way across the room towards Elizabeth. She was talking to the Sinclairs, a middle-aged couple whom were close acquaintances of his parents, and so he was obliged to chat with them for a minute or two.

  When there was a lull in the conversation, he said quickly, "Excuse me, Elizabeth, but I need to push off now."

  If it was possible, her face grew even paler than it had been all evening. "You're going?" she whispered.

  There was an uncomfortable silence—one of those awkward moments where a few seconds felt like hours. The Sinclairs smiled with uncertainty and shuffled their feet, as if they wondered if they should make themselves scarce.

  Elizabeth looked as if she was about to cave in—as if her limbs were made of soft modeling clay. Her eyes were too bright and her lips trembled.

  And more memories forced themselves on Darcy. Memories of Elizabeth's soft, sexy lips parting beneath his. Of his tongue delving her moist sweetness.

  How many times had he kissed her? It would have to be thousands. Tens of thousands. Elizabeth's kisses were so inviting, so...intimate, so intoxicating.

  And as for the rest...

  He felt a painful glob in his throat, an unaccustomed stinging behind his eyes and he was forced to blink.

  What about all the many, many times he and Elizabeth had made love? Their lovemaking was so intense. At times, they had shared pure lust, wild and playful and so fierce he'd feared he might hurt her.

  At other times their lovemaking had been profoundly, beautifully intimate. Their bodies had come together and merged so completely, their very souls had embraced.

  They were truly one.

  And they'd never stopped needing each other. Not even now.

  How had they ever got to this impasse?

  But, of course, the answer was dead easy. Elizabeth had taken a good long look at that baby...

  Darcy cleared his throat. It felt painfully raw. "I’m sorry if I messed up your party plans," he said gruffly. "But as you know—things—things came up that made it unavoidable."

  "Yes," she managed to whisper. Her head jerked nervously in the direction of the door as she asked, "There—there's nothing you wish to discuss?"

  Completely embarrassed now, the Sinclairs mumbled something about needing coffee and melted away.

  "There's nothing to discuss at this stage," Darcy told her. "I'll let you know as soon as the matter is finalized."

  "Darcy."

  The hurt in her eyes forced him to look away. "Yes?"

  "I—I need to talk to you."

  "About?"

  "About us."

  He knew he couldn't do it. Without the answers she needed, there could be no way forward. "Not tonight, Elizabeth." Stooping, he touched his lips to her cold cheek. "You've done a fine job. It's been an excellent party."

  Then he hurried over to the Sinclairs, who'd retreated to a corner. As he shook their hands, he tried not to notice how puzzled and concerned they looked. Tried not to notice the effort Elizabeth was making to hold herself together.

  Quickly he circled the room, making hasty farewells. Then he nodded to Colonel Fitzwilliam and together they walked out.

  Breathe. Remember to breathe.

  Elizabeth turned away from the heart-shattering sight of Darcy disappearing once more into the night. This time it felt even worse than it had the night before.

  It would have been better if he hadn't come to the ball at all. Seeing him walk away for the second time was more than she could possibly bear.

  If o
nly he had taken a moment or two to speak with her in private, she would have told him how sorry she was and begged him to come back.

  It only feels as if I'm dying. My heart only feels as if it's about to erupt. All I have to do is keep breathing and I'll get through this.

  This evening, she hadn't been able to keep her eyes off Darcy and yet she'd found it unbearably painful to watch him. He was so cold and hard. It was as if the real Darcy, her Darcy, had been taken away—snatched up by some selfish impostor—so that she was left with this abominable stranger instead.

  Once I get the breathing figured out, it'll just be a matter of finding a way to keep my smile in place until all these people have gone.

  If only she had a good excuse to walk out, too. Elizabeth wanted to be whisked away—to vanish into thin air.

  Then, as she stood there, fighting for composure, she heard a baby's lusty cry and she'd never felt more relieved. The corners of her mouth lifted into a tiny smile. This was exactly what she needed.

  Approaching the nearby group of guests, she said, "I'm afraid you'll have to excuse me for a little while. I need to give the baby, Finn, his feeding. He won't take to the maid. But, please, stay and help yourselves to tea, more drink...cake...dancing..."

  The smile stayed in place as she hurried towards the nursery.

  ***

  Darcy was tired and drained from another restless night, but he rose, as he always did before six. To fill in time before he could make a call on Lydia, he went for a ride.

  An hour later, he was sitting in the Earl of Matlock's study, drinking a mug of tea when Colonel Fitzwilliam lumbered sleepily into the room and shoved a piece of paper under his nose.

  "Here's Lydia's address."

  Darcy's eyes narrowed as he studied the digits. "That's a Lambton address."

  "Yes. So what?"

  "I've tried stacks of people in Lambton and no one could tell me where she was. I cannot believe she is that close!"

  Pulling out a chair, Colonel Fitzwilliam flopped into it.

  "Lydia chose to go underground for some reason. Probably because of the baby, I suppose. This house belongs to a surgeon and his wife, but he doesn't have many clients these days. I've met him once or twice when he was treating Wickham. She's been friends with them for ages. Now that the Doctor is retired and lives on part of an inheritance, she cooks their meals in exchange for a room and a quiet life."