A Baby at Pemberley

by Rosalie Hammond

  "How long has she been living there?"

  Colonel Fitzwilliam shrugged before reaching for the heavy china teapot and pouring himself a mug of Darcy's strong brew. "About three months. Since she gave up her position with Mrs. Forster."

  Frowning, Darcy said, "You know a lot about Lydia. A hell of a lot more than either Elizabeth or I have been able to find out for months now."

  "It might look that way, but I was tasked by my superiors to inquire into the circumstances surrounding Wickham's death. I know for certain that Wickham died in a drunken duel at the hands of another officer. I only know the edited version of what Lydia has been up to since—what she's been prepared to tell me. I certainly never knew she was pregnant." Colonel Fitzwilliam took a sip of tea, pulled a grimacing face and then stirred in two spoonfuls of sugar.

  As Darcy watched he said, "Listen, Richard. It might be better if you call on Lydia."

  The spoon in Colonel Fitzwilliam's hand stilled. "Why?"

  "Well, if she feels she must hide from me and Elizabeth for some reason, she's not going to be thrilled to have me hunting her down, is she?"

  Colonel Fitzwilliam seemed to consider this for a moment. "I guess not." He sighed. "But you want me to ask her about the baby? That's mighty personal—about as personal as you can get."

  "How do you feel about asking?" It was a question Darcy hadn't needed to ask. The answer was already there in the bleakness of Colonel Fitzwilliam's normally cheerful face.

  "Not too happy."

  Darcy looked at his cousin thoughtfully. "Richard—about you and Lydia. I thought perhaps you—You two haven't.... have you?"

  Colonel Fitzwilliam went very still. Haven't what? You're usually a bit more articulate than that, Darcy."

  "You know what I'm talking about. Been intimate."

  Half of Colonel Fitzwilliam's face seemed to slip sideways as if he failed in an attempt to smile. "No chance for me there, Cousin. I'm not her type at all."

  The two gentlemen sat in silence. Colonel Fitzwilliam wrapped his big hands around his mug and twisted it back and forth on the table-top.

  "I guess you don't feel you know her well enough to broach a rather private question about her baby," Darcy suggested.

  Colonel Fitzwilliam looked relieved. "Yes, that's correct."

  "I'll speak to her, then."

  "If she hears what's happened to you and Elizabeth she'll be devastated."

  "Yes. I guess she will."

  Snatching up the piece of paper, Darcy braced his shoulders and headed straight to his bedchamber and began packing. It was so damn ridiculous that he felt nervous. There had been times when he should have been nervous and he hadn't, such as riding wild horses, even dancing with strangers, hadn't made him feel as anxious as he did now. His marriage teetered on the brink of collapse and perhaps could only be saved by this visit to Lambton.

  ***

  There was an answer on the third knock. "What do you want?" a voice wheezed.

  "Good morning, Mr. Greene." Darcy spoke as brightly as he could, given that his stomach felt as if it were imploding. I am trying to contact Lydia Wickham and I understand she can be found here at this house."

  "What's your name?" the voice snapped.

  "Darcy," he said politely although he felt like snapping back. Of Pemberley. I'm Lydia's brother-in-law."

  "Yeah, I know about you." The surly response didn't sound promising.

  "So can you help me?"

  "I'm sorry, sir. I can't."

  Darcy rolled his eyes to the ceiling and shook his head. He glanced Colonel Fitzwilliam's way as he said, "I need to speak to Lydia about a very important matter. A family matter."

  Old Mr. Greene didn't sound particularly sympathetic. "Maybe you do, but she's not here."

  "Then can you give me her forwarding address? Somewhere I can contact her."

  "Fraid not."

  "This is a matter of some urgency."

  Colonel Fitzwilliam's boot scraped as he crossed the gravel pathway to stand beside Darcy. "No luck?" he asked softly.

  Turning from the doorway, Darcy muttered, "He's giving me a load of nonsense—but I'm sure he knows where she is."

  Colonel Fitzwilliam sighed. "Maybe I should speak to him after all."

  He took over and Darcy watched as he spoke.

  "Mr. Green, it's Colonel Fitzwilliam here. Listen, good sir, this is pretty serious. We really do need to track down Lydia."

  There was a lengthy silence as Colonel Fitzwilliam stepped into the foray and listened to the old man tell his story. Darcy felt even more anxious as he watched his cousin's face grow puzzled and then completely baffled.

  Chapter Eight

  Fortunately, the road from Pemberley to Lambton was so familiar to Elizabeth she felt she knew every tree and clump of grass along the roadside.

  She usually enjoyed the journey, watching out for familiar landmarks, the glimpses of the river flashing in the sunlight as it curled its way across the plains. But this afternoon she hardly noticed anything except the road ahead.

  During her hour-long journey, the sun moved further to the west and the afternoon shadows lengthened, tiger-striping the road and softening the surrounding bush, but Elizabeth paid little attention. This afternoon she was a woman on a mission. A mission that filled her with dread.

  It had taken her all day to pluck up the courage to go in search of Darcy. The morning had been taken up with the aftermath of the ball. She and Mrs. Reynolds had provided breakfast for overnight guests and, with the help of the housekeeper’s nieces, the house staff had completed the general post-party clean-up.

  By the early evening, Elizabeth was exhausted but she knew she couldn't sit by herself at Pemberley a minute longer. She needed Darcy. She had to find him. Now. And once the decision was made, she didn't waste any time on second thoughts.

  She was going to find her husband and, God help her, she'd work out a way to win him back. Securing Finn in his bassinet next to her in the carriage, she tossed in a bag of baby essentials and headed straight for town.

  It wasn't until she reached the turn-off to the main road that she realized Darcy might not be in the village any more, but she couldn't bring herself to turn back at that point.

  Her pride was in tatters and she didn't care how pathetic her behavior might look to others. She was going to find Darcy and beg him to come back. She would apologize profusely, she would forgive him anything if only he would come home with her.

  She knew that if she'd confided in some of her friends, they would have rolled their eyes at her weakness, but the role of the injured wife just didn't work for Elizabeth any more. She'd tried it for the week before Darcy had left and it had been the most soul-destroying week of her life. She was rather ashamed of how badly she'd handled the whole business.

  Maybe she still couldn't bear to think of Darcy sleeping with Lydia, but she knew without a shadow of a doubt that living without him was far, far worse.

  The trip into town seemed to take much longer than usual, but eventually the road narrowed to a single lane as it wound its way down into a little gully and at last she was rattling over the bridge that crossed a small creek.

  Her heart began to thump. In fifteen minutes she would reach Lambton. In fifteen minutes she would have to find the words to persuade Darcy that he had to come home.

  She knew the task she faced wasn't easy. Last night Darcy had been cold and remote, but now she told herself she could do this.

  She could find a way to make him listen. To make him understand that she was sorry. Sorry? She was flattened with remorse.

  Catching sight of her hair in the reflection of the glass, she gave it a hurried comb with her fingers. Perhaps it had been a mistake not to take any special care with her appearance. But last night she'd looked her best and it hadn't helped one jot! So today she hadn't bothered to change out of her faded old morning gown.

  This wasn't a mission to be accomplished via feminine wiles. This was a time for wearing
her heart on her sleeve so that Darcy couldn't miss her message.

  ***

  As he approached the bridge heading out of town, Darcy slowed his horse to a halt. The setting sun glinted fiercely in his eyes but he was sure he'd caught sight of a carriage coming from the opposite direction and approaching the narrow, single-lane bridge.

  He squinted at the sun's blinding force and raised his hand to block out the glare, but he still couldn't be sure if there was a vehicle approaching. Then he heard the rattle of wheels on the bridge and knew he'd been right to wait.

  He watched it emerge out of the glare as it reached the end of the bridge and accelerated past him, up the incline away from the creek. Hang about! His mouth dropped open as he watched it hurtle past. That was his carriage!

  He caught a flashing glimpse of Elizabeth in the backseat and his heart tripped as he recognized the familiar dark hair and the delicate profile he knew so intimately. Her eyes were fixed dead ahead. She didn't give him so much as a passing glance.

  With a flash of alarm, he gripped the reins more tightly and turned to watch the vehicle disappear over the brow of the hill.

  This was crazy! How could she have missed seeing him as he'd pulled off to the side of the road to let her pass? And why the heck was she traveling into town at this late hour?

  He was on his way back to Pemberley! He'd been planning to tell her he couldn't stay away a minute longer.

  To tell her he'd spoken to Lydia.

  A noisy sigh of exasperation escaped. This part of the road was too narrow and the scrub in this particular stretch was too heavily timbered and close to the road for him to maneuver his horse. He couldn't follow her until he found a safe place to turn around.

  By then she would be well ahead. Damn! There was so much he needed to tell her—but he'd wanted to talk to her in the privacy of their own home.

  He had to explain how foolish and wrong he'd been to leave her. No matter how bad things seemed, he should have stayed at her side. She was his wife. Nothing could be gained by separation. Nothing except wretched, aching despair.

  He had no idea how she was feeling but he couldn't let himself think about the possibility that she wouldn't take him back.

  Dusk was hurrying in now. By the time he was headed in the correct direction, the countryside was dark and shadowy, out of the reach of the sinking sun. In the trees along the creek banks, the usual flocks of noisy birds and wild animals gathered to squabble and fuss as they did every evening.

  Nightfall was almost complete by the time he caught up to Elizabeth. He followed the carriage lights through the little scattering village town until they eventually pulled up in front of the Lambton Inn. There were lights on in nearly every room.

  Stepping down from his horse, Darcy walked towards Elizabeth, his riding boots crunching on the gravel.

  He was sure she must have known he'd been following her and she had to be able to hear his approach, but she showed no sign. She remained sitting perfectly still, staring out through the window as if she was a statue.

  When he was level with her, he bent down to look through the carriage window. Elizabeth's door opened and she climbed stiffly out and turned to face him, but she looked scared and she kept the open door between them like a barrier.

  This wasn't quite how he'd pictured their reunion. He'd planned on finding Elizabeth at home. In the nursery at Pemberley or the study, perhaps the garden. He'd imagined walking to her across the lawn. She would be kneeling on a little mat, attacking weeds, and when she heard him call her name she would leap to her feet, her face lit with joy. Something that demanded violins playing in the background.

  She was always such a romantic and he'd even entertained the ridiculous fantasy that she might see him as the hero returning home to reclaim his wife. The stuff of fairy-tales.

  Forget fairy-tales. Here he was, standing on the edge of the road, who'd stuffed up his marriage, facing an angry wife. He felt anything but heroic.

  "So what brings you into Lambton?" he asked, teasingly.

  "I was coming to see you," Elizabeth said. Despite the encroaching darkness, he could see the way her dark eyes shone with tears. Her hands clutched the top of the door so tightly her white knuckles looked about to snap with the effort. "Why were you on the road?"

  "I was going back to Pemberley to see you," Darcy said, trying to put a wealth of reassurance into his voice.

  "Oh."

  He swallowed, but there was something in his throat that wouldn't go away. "I've seen Lydia. She's here—"

  Her head swung to stare at the Lambton Inn. "Lydia's here?"

  "She arrived this afternoon—a couple of hours ago."

  "I see," was all she said, but her right hand flew to cover her heart, as if she was trying to still its wild beating. "So—so you've spoken to her?"

  "Of course."

  She closed her eyes and Darcy was certain she was garnering strength for her next question. It came in a whisper. "What did she say?"

  "Lydia's willing to swear on a stack of Bibles that I'm not the father of her child."

  At first he thought she hadn't heard him. There was no answering smile, no sign of her relief. But her cheeks grew very pink and her eyes opened wide as she asked, "Did she tell you who the father is?"

  Darcy's fists clenched. "No."

  The color left her cheeks as her face blanched. "Why won't she tell you? Why?" A desperate sigh escaped her. "Why on earth won't she clear this up?"

  "Because when I left her an hour ago, she still hadn't told the father in question. She felt she should tell him first."

  "Oh?" she said again, her voice rising with curiosity. "So when will she do that? Why did she have to waste time coming back to Derbyshire?"

  He shrugged. He had a very good idea he knew exactly why Lydia was here, but, respecting her wishes, he kept his thoughts to himself. "I've taken a stab in the dark and deduced that the father must live here."

  "Surely not." For the first time, Darcy noticed little Finn curled up asleep. With his soft dark hair, chubby cheeks and tiny starfish hands, he was a miniature portrait of innocence.

  Her pale lips trembled. "Do you know if she wants Finn back?"

  He didn't answer immediately, but there was no avoiding her question. "I'd say there's a chance."

  "A good chance?"

  Darcy reached out and touched her hand as it gripped the door. She didn't snatch it away and so, gently, he traced each whitened knuckle with the pads of his fingers. "We're not the only ones who've been having a rough time of it lately. I'd say becoming a mother was a much more powerful experience than Lydia anticipated."

  To his surprise, Elizabeth gripped his hand with both of hers. "I'm sure you're right," she whispered. "I've been thinking about it a lot. I've been thinking about Lydia and I'm sure she has to be absolutely miserable without her baby. He's such a dear little fellow and he's hers."

  Sudden tears shone in her eyes. "God, William, can you imagine how awful that would be? To give birth to a gorgeous little baby like Finn and then to give him away?"

  Darcy groaned in sympathy. If only he could make her world right. If only it were simply a matter of kissing away her tears. "Could you bear to give him back?" he asked.

  Before she answered, the front to the inn opened and light streamed down the front path. Colonel Fitzwilliam stepped out.

  "Darcy, is that you out there?" The Colonel called.

  "Yes," he replied. "Elizabeth's here, too."

  "Then, come on in."

  "We're coming."

  As he released Elizabeth he said, "I'll help you with the baby."

  But she placed a restraining hand on his arm as he reached for the door handle.

  "He's still sound asleep and he'll be perfectly safe in the carriage for a minute or two with the driver. Perhaps we should go in and let Lydia fetch him. That way she can have a moment alone with her little boy. It might be easier for her, without us."

  Darcy smiled and he couldn't resis
t dropping a swift kiss on her nose. "That's a very thoughtful suggestion. Just demonstrates yet again why I admire and love you."

  He was rewarded by a shaky smile. "Maybe I'm just a coward," Elizabeth admitted. "It will save me from having to hand him over." She reached for Darcy's hand. "This could be the end of my experience of motherhood."

  He squeezed her cold fingers, wishing there were words of comfort he could offer, but unable to find them.

  Together they walked up the weedy path to find a rather pale-faced Colonel Fitzwilliam waiting on the top step.

  "I wondered if you two might show up," he said, looking so strained it was hard to tell whether or not he was pleased to see them.

  Behind him in the lounge, Lydia was sitting in a chair. Her face was red and blotchy from crying. She looked utterly miserable. At the first sight of her sister, Elizabeth burst past Colonel Fitzwilliam and hurried across the room.

  And just as spontaneously Lydia shot out of her seat to meet her. The sisters collided in the middle of the room and clung together like orphans reunited after years of separation. It was the extravagant kind of coming together that Darcy had envisaged earlier for himself and Elizabeth.

  He watched the two women hugging and crying and then turned slightly to catch his cousin's eye. But Colonel Fitzwilliam was looking a little worse for wear, as if he had a hangover—or was suffering from shock. Darcy suspected the latter was more likely.

  He stepped closer and slapped a brotherly hand on his cousin’s shoulder. "Is everything alright?"

  Colonel Fitzwilliam's dazed brown eyes met his. "I..." he muttered. "I'm sort of—" he paused as if searching for words, but it seemed that tonight words were beyond him "—sort of not alright."

  "When did you get here?"

  Darcy gave his cousin another sympathetic pat. He was certain that in the past half-hour Colonel Fitzwilliam had come face to face with one or two shocks. No wonder his face looked as pale as a poached egg.