by J Dawn King
“Am I your beautiful princess in my ivory tower?” she volleyed.
“You are,” he said with conviction.
“Then we shall live happily-ever-after just like in the storybooks.” She nodded her head once and lifted her face for his lips.
“Hmm, yes.” He kissed her passionately, his fingers softly tracing her jaw. “Happily-ever-after forever.”
Almost the End!
EPILOGUE
Eleven months later –
Never had he been as upset with his wife as he was at that moment. Elizabeth Darcy was more stubborn than any person of his acquaintance and made his aunt Lady Catherine look meek by comparison.
“How could you?” she growled through clenched teeth, her eyes almost squeezed closed. She continued to pace in front of him, her hands fisted at her sides, and her breathing uneven. Her gown swirled about her feet as she stalked the short path from one end of his desk to the other. “How could you go against my wishes with so little remorse, Fitzwilliam Darcy? I should think you will pay for this, husband.”
“Are you saying you truly desire your mother’s presence? Now?” he questioned, wanting to pull his hair or stomp his foot. “You do recall what happened when your family unexpectedly showed up in the spring, do you not? They would not leave!”
“Yes…I…” Elizabeth raised her hands and let them drop. “They were rather tiresome.”
“Tiresome?” He was flummoxed. “Elizabeth Darcy, you were the one who finally showed them the door. I tolerated your mother’s interference far better than you.”
“Only because you hid in the library,” was her rebuttal.
“I did not!” he defended. “Your father was in the library so I hid in my study. And I was working.”
“Well, I am sure I do not know what you mean,” she huffed. “I am as big as a barn. I am as big as Pemberley, and I cannot see my feet, and if I could, I would only cry because my ankles look like an oak stump—a large oak stump, and I…I…” By then the tears were falling. “I love you, William, but I do not love my leaking breasts.”
“I love your leaking breasts,” he suggested.
“I do not love my round face,” she pouted.
“But I love your round face.” He went on to clarify, “And I love your big belly and your ankles and the way you press up against my back at night so I can feel our child move against my skin and yours.”
“Oh, William,” she sobbed. “Will I ever see my feet?”
“I should imagine so.”
“What do you know? You have never been heavy with a babe. You have never had one ounce of fat on your belly. As a matter of fact, sir, you know nothing about this. I need my mother,” she wailed. “Yet you are single-handedly keeping her from me.”
“I did it for you, Elizabeth.” Darcy had become used to the way her mood would swing from tears to laughter and back again. He had become used to her throwing open the windows when the air was still frigid. He had become used to the small evidences of her presence; the hairpins she left on his side table and the ribbons forever draped over his pillow. What he could not become used to was a woman who was unreasonable, especially someone as intelligent as Elizabeth. He longed for the days when the babe would be born and he would have his sensible wife back. “No, dearest. I will not ask your family to travel to Derbyshire for the birth of our child and return home the following day. Your request is unreasonable and I cannot allow it, my love.”
“Do not call me your love, you heartless man.” She stopped in front of him, prepared to let loose her ire. She had been restless since the night before, not able to settle in one place. Her emotions were high as she reached under the bulge at her waist and dug the heels of her hands into the tight flesh.
He had not been married to her for the past ten months and not learnt a thing or two. Reaching into his top drawer, he slowly pulled out something so magical it calmed her instantly, eased her disappointment, and allowed her to focus on the valuable relationship within her grasp.
The white baby booties were tiny in the palm of his hand. When his wife’s eyes dropped to see what he held, she hurried around the desk as fast as her distended belly would allow, only to fall into his arms smiling through her tears. She wrapped her arms around his neck as she settled on his lap.
Smiling into her hair, he closed his eyes and breathed in the joy of his wife. Her confinement had challenged her independent spirit, her need to roam the pathways around the estate, and her desire to be productive as Mistress of their home and caregiver of their tenants. She cherished Georgiana and the two spent many hours during her first months of the pregnancy comparing symptoms. It was with delight rather than sorrow when Georgiana received the news of the first flutterings of the babe. The two had become close. He could not envision a time when his sister was not in his home. But, she was not Jane, Elizabeth’s favourite.
With the Bingleys on their extended wedding trip, Elizabeth had decided she needed the presence of her mother for the birth. However, she had no desire for her family to remain once the child arrived. Even under these emotional conditions, she recognized the need for peace with a newborn and a first-time mother in the house.
On most days, this issue never arose. Cecily Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth Darcy had both entered their confinement at approximately the same time. Their estates were separated by eighteen miles of good road, so Lord and Lady Matlock made the journey between the homes almost daily. Since the death of his parents, they treated Darcy as their own. These two babies would both be considered their first grandchildren, and they were determined to do their part in overseeing the task at hand to the best outcome possible.
The Gardiners would be bringing their children to Derbyshire, arriving in two days, and would remain until after the holidays—longer if the snow fell harder than normal for the winter months.
Between his aunt and hers, they had successfully delivered six children. Elizabeth’s mother had only borne five.
Miss Lydia Bennet arrived with her family in late spring. Her imagination of what it was like living on a grand country estate was shattered by the reality of the pastoral, bucolic life at Pemberley. Within two weeks, she begged to return to Longbourn, promising never to return. It had taken weeks for their home to settle back into a semblance of quiet after the Bennets were gone. Darcy decided then and there they were good in small doses and no more. Imagining what their lives would be like with all of the Bennets at Pemberley for the birth of their child made him shake with trepidation. He had come far with becoming a better man, but he doubted he was ready for the onslaught. Thus, he had not sent an express inviting them to Pemberley.
“Will,” Elizabeth kissed the sensitive area behind his left ear. “In truth, I only want you,” she whispered, nuzzling him again.
He decided then and there that he had changed his mind. Fickle male! She could have her whole family stay until the baby was no longer in leading strings if she would not stop.
From the first night, she had remained the whole of the time from dusk to dawn in his bed. Like his parents before him, day and night they spent little time apart as they discussed their tasks and duties and their hopes and dreams together. More than anything, he appreciated it when she sat opposite him in his study, using the other side of the same desk. From there, he could gaze at her to his heart’s content and he discovered he was contented most the time.
Unless, of course, she was on his lap with her fingers in his hair and her lips trailing kisses down his jaw.
“Elizabeth,” he breathed her name. “If you…want…your parents…”
A sudden gasp and a gush of fluid soaked through her gown and covered his trousers. It was far too late to send for the Bennets now. Lifting her, he rushed her upstairs, calling for his housekeeper, Mrs. Reynolds, to send for the midwife he had brought to Pemberley almost a month prior. They were having a baby.
The ticking clock on the mantel became his worst enemy. Minutes went by and then hours without him hearing a
word from Elizabeth’s chambers. Repeatedly, he had climbed the stairs and stood outside her door, listening and learning nothing.
He would not pass the time by indulging in spirits like other men of his acquaintance. He could not sit and read or remove himself to his desk to work. All of his attention was on the room upstairs and that infernal clock.
Tick. Tock.
His mother died a day after birthing Georgiana. Fever was common as was death of a mother, child, or both. Darcy shuddered, fear streaking up his spine to settle in his brain. Worry shook him until he jumped up and ran upstairs to the hallway outside her chambers. The door was heavy and thick. Nothing. Making a promise to himself, he called to the footman to have his steward order new doors which were much less sturdy for the next child. If there was a next child.
Chills, unrelated to the weather, danced up his spine where the fear had been.
What would he do without his Elizabeth? His Lizzy? His breath rushed from him at the thought. His wife was the best part of him. It had been her presence, her kind wisdom which had set the tone for their courtship and marriage. Although he had not appreciated it at the time, her asking him to slow down to know one another better was worth the agony of waiting.
He leaned back against the wall, wishing she would come out and hold his hand while he waited for news. She was his comfort. She was his strength.
He was ridiculous. He was strong. She often told him so. She would snuggle up to him and whisper her joy at having his long arms wrapped around her, and she would soothe his worries by resting her head on his shoulder, her face pressed into his neck. He loved the feel of her breath on his skin. He was a moon-calf!
Many hours later, Darcy’s eyes caressed the exhausted woman resting in the bed, a large smile on her face.
“Is he not the most perfect child?” she enquired.
He had no words. Long, skinny fingers and toes, legs that were pulled up almost to his chest, hair shooting up from a head which was more pointed than round, and murky-coloured eyes with stubby little eyelashes and barely-there eyebrows. Yes, he was the most beautiful baby ever born.
Darcy was overwhelmed. He had thought he had fallen in love with Elizabeth rather quickly. However, it took less than a breath to have his heart forever attached to this little fellow.
“What shall we name him?” his wife asked. “I am far happier a Darcy than a Bennet, so I suggest we not follow the tradition of naming the first son after the mother’s family name. He needs a name uniquely his own. Do you not agree?”
“I do, indeed.” He held his son close to nuzzle his little neck with his nose. Could any other baby have such soft skin? Impossible! “What comes to mind is the lesson I learnt about the importance of friends and learning to value those friends. Obviously, you, my lady, are and will forever be my best friend, but I think Elizabeth is not a good name for our firstborn.”
Her eyes twinkled.
“Therefore, I would like to use the names of two men I value highly, whose characters I deeply respect.”
Before he could say their names, she did. “Richard and Uncle Gardiner.”
“Yes.” He swallowed, his heart in his throat. “Our son shall be named Richard Edmund Darcy.”
For some unknown reason, a lone tear trickled from the corner of his eye. He cared not. His heart was full.
The memories of his life before the Netherfield Ball did not deserve being brought to mind. What he thought was happiness then was, in truth, a small fragment of what was possible. In the period of a few months, he had learnt principles he hoped to benefit from for a lifetime. He would be a better husband and father because of the love of his wife, his close friends, and his family.
“I love you, my wife.”
“As I love you, my husband.”
Running his finger down his son’s soft cheek, he looked to the woman who held his heart in her hands. Never had he imagined he could love a woman with the depth, height, and breadth of devotion he felt for her. With Elizabeth, all things were possible.
He recalled the promise he made to his mother all those years ago.
“When I marry, I will cherish my wife as my father cherishes you. I will worry and fret when she is ill. I will laugh with her and smile often, as he does when he is in your presence. And I will tell her how much I love her. But when I have a son, I will love him like you do, Mama. I will welcome his presence, I will play with him, and I will encourage him by example to be proud of our heritage.
And, he did.
The End
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Joy Dawn King fell in love with Jane Austen's writings two years ago and discovered the world of fan fiction shortly after. Intrigued with the many possibilities, she began developing her own story for Fitzwilliam Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet.
Living high in the Andes Mountains of South America, Joy loves to take an occasional break from the Latin culture and bury herself in reading English literature about her favorite English characters.
Joy, and her husband of 34 years, live next door to their only child, Jennifer, her husband, and twin grandchildren and is a native Oregonian.
The author is currently writing about Mr. Bingley's and Jane Bennet's struggles with happily ever after and will follow with the tale of what happens when Colonel Fitzwilliam immediately falls in love with Constance Wickham, who hates him bitterly.
