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A rather huge-bellied Lady Elizabeth Chamberlain, on her seventeenth birthday, was in the company of her husband, sisters—including her older half-sister, the Barringtons, her sister Leticia, as well as Charlotte—who herself was in the family way—the Gardiners, and the Phillipses.

Madeline Gardiner was also heavy with child, but she decided that she could tolerate the journey from Portman Square to Falconwood.

They were all seated around a table in the family dining parlour at Falconwood enjoying the birthday dinner, which had many of Elizabeth’s favourites.

One or two, like fish and pickled vegetables, were omitted because, even though she had hardly suffered from sickness in the mornings, the smells emitted by the two mentioned foods made her feel rather nauseous.

As soon as he became aware of the fact, her wonderful husband had passed the message to cook via Mrs Greaves, and since then, those foods had disappeared from all menus.

Word had reached all houses and estates owned by the Duke as well; hence, while they had been at Castlemere for a month, the smell of neither of the offending foods had emanated from the kitchens.

“There he goes again,” Elizabeth said as she placed her hand on one side of her belly. “He does not like me to eat, because he kicks whenever I do.”

“Could it be our daughter is telling you what she enjoys and does not?” Hertfordshire suggested. While his wife always referred to the babe she was carrying as a he, the soon-to-be father was convinced it was a daughter, who he prayed would look, and in character be, just like her beautiful mother.

“Before you two have that debate again,” Charlotte interjected as her hands rested on her small bump—she had felt the quickening a little more than a month previously—as she smiled at her aunt and uncle, “when he or she is born, it will be settled. Until then you two can have your opinions, and guess what? One of you will have the right of it, while the other will not. It is as simple as that.”

“You are correct, of course, Charlotte,” Elizabeth acknowledged. She shot her husband a smug look. “You will see I have the right of it.”

With a wide grin on his face, Hertfordshire raised his hands and surrendered.

“As our niece said, we will know soon enough. Now is the time to celebrate the glorious day of your birth. It seems like our little one will not make an appearance in the world on your birthday,” he said and then kissed her on both cheeks.

Jane Millar watched the tableau before her and did feel some envy.

As she had felt before, it was not based on the wealth or rank her half-sister had.

It was that she hoped that she would one day be worthy of the felicity and love she saw between Lizzy and His Grace.

Her fervent prayer was that she would be a mother one day.

He had invited her to call him Archy, but she had not done so yet.

She was still rather overawed by her brother-in-law.

If Jane was so blessed, of one thing she was sure, she would use her late mother’s and Mr Bennet’s examples of parenting as what not to do .

She did not yet know if she was worthy of the love of a good man.

She hoped that as long as she kept working on the amendments to her character, she would one day deserve even a fraction of the love she saw between Lizzy and her husband.

She was missing Betsy, but she was on holiday—the Duke had paid for her to travel to London and stay in one of his houses so she could explore the capital somewhat—and would return in three more days, Tuesday upcoming.

After the meal, everyone retired to one of the large drawing rooms, without separation of the sexes.

Hertfordshire did not want to be away from his wife on this special day.

He was happy that he had managed to find something she did not have and would really appreciate.

The 1808 edition of Encyclopaedia Britannica had just been published in Edinburgh, and through his contacts, he had acquired the first set in early February, less than a month before his Lizzy’s birthday.

When he had led her into the library with her eyes closed, and on his command she opened them, her absolute joy at seeing the twenty volumes arrayed on the table for her, confirmed he had chosen well.

As Elizabeth sat and opened gifts from her family, all items made by them, as they were well aware that she and Archy could purchase anything their hearts desired, Elizabeth felt as contented as she ever had. God was still being very good to her and Archy.

~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~

Aunt Maddie and the Gardiners departed a sennight after Elizabeth’s birthday.

She had experienced a few pains to that point, but both the midwife and the accoucheur, Sir Frederick Gillingham, had opined they were normal pains for this stage of being enceinte , and were not the pains of labour yet.

The latter was being provided with a rather handsome gratuity—more than he would receive in six months—to be with the Duchess until after she had safely delivered.

With Madeline’s expected delivery date somewhere between the end of March and early April, she could no longer delay her return home.

She had been torn. Madeline had very much wanted to be with Lizzy for her first lying-in, while at the same time she wanted to give birth in her own home with the same midwife on hand who had assisted her with her three previous children.

She and Lizzy had a long conversation before the departure.

Her niece had assured her she understood why Aunt Maddie needed to depart.

As much as she would have loved to have Aunt Maddie with her, it was not as if Elizabeth would be bereft of matrons when it was her time to begin her lying in.

Leticia, Loretta, and Marjorie were all in residence.

The latter two had joined their parents a few days after the birthday celebration.

If that was not enough support, the Darcys and Fitzwilliams would arrive in a few days.

When they arrived, Anna would join Cathy and Lydia in travelling to Meryton with the Phillipses.

Jane would be at the estate, but as she was a maiden, she would not be allowed into the birthing chamber. She spent most of her days with Miss Walker in addition to the pleasant duty of riding Jamil each day.

Betsy Walker had never ridden before she came to Falconwood.

It had not taken the stablemaster long before he had taught her to ride, and it helped that she was not fearful of horses.

Betsy rode the cob Mary used to ride and was thus able to accompany Jane—along with a guard and groom—in the mornings.

The two best friends were taking lessons from various masters to increase their education and accomplishments.

Mary, who would be sixteen in September, would remain at Falconwood.

Although for obvious reasons she would be barred from the birthing chamber, she was at Elizabeth’s side for a good part of each day.

Mary rode Aphrodite most mornings; sometimes she accompanied Jane, and at other times, she rode on her own, with a guard and groom for escorts.

She did not go into society yet, but as she had done in London, when her older sister was at home and not busy with her husband, Mary was always near Elizabeth.

They had discussed her coming out during the month’s sojourn at Castlemere.

Mary had been emphatic about not entering society until she was at least eighteen, and possibly not until she was nineteen, or even older.

No one had attempted to persuade her otherwise.

Elizabeth and her husband had assured Mary they had never thought to bring her out before eighteen, but they had emphasised there was no imperative for her to enter society, so whenever Mary felt ready after she turned eighteen, she would have her time in London.

One afternoon, before the Darcys and Fitzwilliams arrived, Biggs and Johns requested a meeting with His Grace.

As he hid nothing from Elizabeth, Hertfordshire invited his wife to join him in the study.

He helped her up from the settee she had been seated on while she worked on a gown for her son or daughter.

The big men were waiting for them outside the study when they arrived.

Once in the study, Hertfordshire assisted his wife to find a comfortable position on the settee and then joined her. He looked to the two huge men. “Please proceed,” he commanded.

“Per your instructions we ‘ad men watchin’ the estates in Derbyshire like we do the other ones,” Biggs began.

The Duke nodded for him to continue.

“A man, ‘e is Clay Younge, ‘as been askin’ questions about your family, the Darcys, and Fitzwilliams. It was not the first time.

‘E comes every few months from what we ‘ave learnt.

We ‘ad some of our men follow ‘im. ‘E works on an estate, Oak Grange, near the town of Chippin’ Campden in Gloucestershire.

The steward, one Peter Waterford, be the one ‘o sends ‘im to spy,” Biggs reported.

“I know no Peter Waterford, and nor do I know of the estate of Oak Grange near Chipping Campden.” Hertfordshire had a thought. ‘ Surely not after so many years? ’ he wondered silently. Aloud he said, “Have either of you seen this Waterford yourselves?”

Both men nodded.

“Do you remember the young man who attempted to murder the Darcy heir, the one you, Biggs, had to shoot in his arm?” the Duke asked.

“Aye, Sir. I,” Biggs looked at his friend and comrade who nodded, “an’ Johns ‘ere, remember that criminal—and ‘e ‘ung for it—‘o was tryin’ to kill Mr Darcy's son, Master William.”

“Yes, that is the one,” Hertfordshire confirmed. “Think back to the lad we stopped that day and the man you saw at Oak Grange; do they look similar? Like they could be father and son?” He looked from one man to the next as the two discussed something quietly.