Page 49 of The Fire at Longbourn (Pride and Prejudice Variation)

Rosings

Kent

The calm crackling of the fire in the gilded fireplace was a notable counterpoint to the heartbroken sobbing of the shawl-swathed lady perched in a sumptuous chair.

The thin afternoon sunlight slipped through drawn translucent curtains and alighted on gleaming mahogany tables, elaborate knickknacks, and expensive upholstery.

The door opened, and the butler announced, “Mr. and Mrs. Darcy.”

“Darcy, Elizabeth!” Anne de Bourgh exclaimed, leaping to her feet, “thank God you are here!”

Elizabeth hurried forward and embraced her cousin by marriage, though it was an awkward hug thanks to the large swell of her abdomen.

Her second child was supposed to arrive in about a month, but she was far larger this time than she had been with her daughter Arabella.

Perhaps she was farther along than she thought?

Or perhaps the child was a strapping son?

In any case, that was not of great importance at this moment.

“How is Lady Catherine?” she asked gently.

Anne shrugged helplessly, even as she gestured toward a couch by the fire. “Do sit down, Elizabeth. I know you ought not to be standing too long.”

Darcy nodded at these words and guided his beloved wife to a seat, though he remained standing. “Is there any change since you sent your message?”

“Yes,” Anne said, and her voice wobbled. “Dr. Talbot says that she … she is getting worse. She is not regaining consciousness and that…”

Now tears were dripping from her eyes, and she whispered, “He says that she is dying.”

“Oh, Anne!” Elizabeth returned in dismay. “I am so sorry!”

She was sorry, too. She thoroughly disliked Catherine de Bourgh.

The lady had been incredibly rude when she first met Elizabeth, and then had refused to interact with the Darcys until the previous year, when the Earl of Matlock had insisted that the family squabble be suppressed.

The entire family had spent time together during the previous Season in Town, and Lady Catherine, while huffy, had managed to be moderately courteous to Elizabeth, though her expression was often disdainful or frustrated.

But Anne? Miss de Bourgh had been sickly since birth, and for better or for worse, and Elizabeth thought it was definitely for worse, she was used to letting her mother dictate her life.

Moreover, given how stubborn, dictatorial, and imperious Lady Catherine was, well, if Anne had been born with an ounce of Elizabeth’s will, there would have been daily battles at Rosings.

No, perhaps it had been best for Anne to willingly submit to life in a gilded cage.

But now…

“Does the doctor have any idea what caused the apoplexy?” Darcy asked gently.

Anne shook her head dismally and said, “No, as I wrote in my express, we were having dinner with the Collinses and everything was entirely normal until suddenly she … she suddenly cried out and her face, oh Darcy, her face! Her eyes suddenly were so dark, and her face frozen in horror! Oh Darcy!”

Darcy immediately sat down next to her and pulled her close, even as he fixed his eyes on his dear wife, who smiled at him encouragingly. It was yet another of Elizabeth’s wonderful attributes; she was not a jealous woman, and knew that Darcy’s heart lay with her and her alone.

“I am so sorry, Anne,” he murmured.

Anne cried for a full five minutes, wrenching deep sobs of grief and fear, before taking her cousin’s handkerchief and wiping her face.

“I apologize,” she whispered. “You have enough burdens and responsibilities without…”

“Nonsense,” Elizabeth interrupted. Anne had noticed while she was wailing that Elizabeth had left the room for some reason. A moment later, a maid came in bearing a tea service, and Anne smiled gratefully. Elizabeth poured tea and added three lumps of sugar, stirred, and handed it over.

“Drink up,” she ordered. “You need to maintain your strength.”

Anne leaned back and took a long drink, relishing the warmth and the sweet taste.

Her mother often chastised her for liking sugar in her tea because Lady Catherine preferred her tea “unsweetened as God intended”.

It was always like that; Anne could never be herself because her mother wanted her to be …

a certain way. Different. Strong and yet, not too strong?

Her mother was exasperating. Domineering. Rude. Demanding. Protective. Over protective.

And Anne did not know how she would live without her. She was so tired…

When she opened her eyes again, she could tell from the light through the curtains that at least an hour had gone by.

She had fallen asleep, which on the one hand was incredible, given that her mother was dying upstairs, and on the other, was reasonable enough since she had not slept since her mother had fallen ill the previous day.

Elizabeth was still sitting in her seat by the fire, her hand on her bulging belly, her eyes narrowed. Even as Anne watched, the lady bit her lip and winced noticeably.

“Elizabeth?” Anne asked, her voice roughened from her nap. “Is something wrong?”

Elizabeth turned, her face reflecting the firelight, and she said, “No, nothing at all. How do you feel?”

Anne frowned. Even through her confusion and grief, she sensed that Elizabeth was not quite at ease. But she would not pry; she hated how Lady Catherine always pried!

“I feel better. How long did I sleep?”

“A little less than two hours. Fitzwilliam is upstairs with the doctor.”

Fitzwilliam. Even now, Anne always thought of her cousin as Darcy, not Fitzwilliam. But for Elizabeth, Darcy was her beloved husband, and of course she called him by his Christian name.

They belonged together so beautifully, Darcy and his Elizabeth. Anne envied them, but she did not resent her cousin by marriage for waltzing in and entrancing the master of Pemberley. Elizabeth Darcy was vivacious, handsome, and energetic, and Anne was not.

“Oh!” Elizabeth suddenly cried out, and now there was true distress on her face.

“Elizabeth!” Anne said, lurching to her feet. “What is wrong?”

“I … I fear I may be having my baby now,” the other woman whimpered.

Anne felt fire light up her veins at these words, and a moment later, she was hurtling out of the room calling, “Darcy! Darcy! Anybody! Help!”

/

Rosings

Midnight

“You are doing very well, Elizabeth,” Charlotte Collins said through her friend’s panting and groaning.

“Yes, Madame,” Doctor Talbot agreed. “I believe within a few minutes, it will be time to push.”

Elizabeth gritted her teeth and tightened her grip on Charlotte’s hand as another contraction tore through her.

She had been overjoyed when she had conceived the previous spring, but she had also been a little afraid.

Arabella’s birth had gone smoothly, but it had been long and very painful.

This time, at least, her labor was substantially shorter given that she was almost ready to deliver her child.

“Now, Mrs. Darcy, push,” the doctor ordered.

She clenched her teeth and obeyed, her fingers clinging to Charlotte’s hand. She was grateful for her friend, very grateful, though she wished her husband was here as well. But husbands were not present during births.

“I think one more push…”

She put all of her strength into her next push and a moment later, there was the glorious sound of a baby crying loudly. She felt tears flowing down her eyes, tears of relief and joy. She thought she had birthed too early, and to hear that cry was a comfort.

“Is it a girl or a boy?” she asked huskily.

The doctor was rubbing down the infant, but he said, with perhaps a hint of sympathy, “It is a healthy girl.”

Charlotte winced and looked at her friend, but Elizabeth only smiled more broadly and said, “Fitzwilliam will love another daughter, though I fear we do not yet have a name…”

She stopped and cried out as another contraction struck her. The doctor, quickly handed over the babe to a nearby maid and said, “Ah, Mrs. Darcy, I suspect that…”

He trailed off and a moment later, lifted a surprised countenance toward his patient. “I believe you are carrying another child!”

“Twins?” Elizabeth demanded in shock.

“Twins!” Charlotte repeated.

/

Darcy strode up and down the corridor in front of the guest chamber where Elizabeth was currently ensconced.

He was terrified. Lady Catherine was dying, and Elizabeth had gone into labor a full month too early.

He could hear faint cries from within and wanted nothing more than to rush in and hold Elizabeth’s hands but no, husbands were not permitted in a birthing suite.

At least Mr. Talbot was here. It was a blessing that the man had been present when Elizabeth unexpectedly went into labor. Darcy knew the doctor from previous trips to Rosings and was confident of his skill.

The door to the sitting room connected to Elizabeth’s room opened, and one of the older maidservants stepped out with a swathed bundle in her arms.

“Mr. Darcy,” she said, and her plain countenance was filled with joy, “here is your daughter.”

He felt the tiniest flash of disappointment at these words, and he was promptly ashamed.

He adored Arabella, currently in the care of their Gardiner relations back in London, but he did want a son someday.

However, the most important thing was that Elizabeth had delivered safely and the baby was well.

At this moment, Charlotte Collins appeared in the same doorway, and Darcy blinked, because her arms were also filled with a well wrapped burden.

“And this is your son, Mr. Darcy,” Mrs. Collins declared. “Congratulations!”

Twins. His glorious Elizabeth had birthed twins!

/

Rosings

Very early the next morning

The door to Anne’s bedroom opened, and Mrs. Jenkinson entered carrying a candle. Anne, waking from a deep sleep, sat up and blinked at the dazzling light of the flame.

“Miss de Bourgh?” her companion asked.

Anne knew, she absolutely knew, but she could only ask, “My mother?”

“She has passed on,” Mrs. Jenkinson said. “I am sorry.”