Page 38 of The Magic of Pemberley (Fitzwilliam Darcy, Mage #2)

Chapter 38

D arcy tossed the reins to a startled footman outside the cottage. Why in God’s name was there a tent here? But that could wait. So could Pemberley, which was greeting him with an unprecedented surge of power, strong enough to make him stagger. He strode to the door and threw it open.

Inside was a hive of business, women everywhere. The bed had been moved to the middle of the room. But he cared about nothing but the figure lying there.

Elizabeth’s hair was disheveled, coming out of a tight braid, and exhaustion lined her beloved face. Her eyes were closed, but she gripped Frederica’s hand.

Darcy could do nothing but stare at her, aware that he was intruding on a scene forbidden to men, but unable to walk away. Not when his Elizabeth was there – and in pain.

Frederica leaned down. “Elizabeth, look who is here.”

Her eyes flew open. “William!” Elizabeth cried, raising herself on her elbows. “Thank God!”

He was by her side in an instant, leaning down to gather her to him, cradling her beloved form. “Dearest, dearest Elizabeth!” he murmured .

“You made it,” she whispered, and then she wrapped her arms around him, squeezing him tightly as if she dared not let him escape. “I thought I had lost you.”

They were not alone, and she was in childbirth, so he did not cover her with kisses and pour out his heart to her as he longed to. “You cannot rid yourself of me so easily, my love. I will always come back to you.” If it were up to him, he would never leave her side again.

“Good,” she said softly, and then released her fervent grip on him, as if fatigued.

He laid her gently back against her pillows and took her hand in his. “But what of you, my dearest? Is there anything I can do to help?”

She gave a weak smile. “I have all the assistance I can possibly need, but having you beside me is the best gift in the world.” Her eyes drifted closed, as if she were too fatigued to keep them open.

Frederica said, “This began just before midnight, so she is very tired. But I imagine she would like to hear your voice.”

“How did you escape?” Elizabeth asked drowsily.

“Two men came to rescue me,” he said. How he wished he could tell her about Jack! His story could not be complete without that. “They hid me in a hay cart and brought me to the Nest. And my lynx has been wreaking havoc on the soldiers, both while they held me prisoner and afterwards. Apparently he holds a grudge.”

Her lips curved upwards. “Good for Fire Eyes. Did they hurt you?”

There were times when telling the truth was over-rated, but with Frederica present, he could not outright lie. “They roughed me up a little, but I am perfectly well now. There was…” The words stopped in his mouth. Was his healing by Coquelicot under a binding, too? “The dragons there took good care of me.”

Elizabeth gasped suddenly and her hand tightened on his. Perspiration dotted her brow as the lines of stress deepened.

Someone touched his arm. Chandrika. He had completely forgotten everyone else’s existence .

“Step back, Mr. Darcy. She is having a pain,” the Indian maid said. Then, perhaps in response to his uncomprehending expression, she added, “You can still hold her hand, if you wish.”

As if he would ever let go of it!

“Breathe, Mrs. Darcy.” It was the midwife, Mrs. Sanford. His unknown half-sister, whose brother had died at Salamanca. “Do not push. It is not yet time.”

“But I must!” It was almost a wail.

“You must not,” Mrs. Sanford said firmly. “Look at your husband. Think of how far he has come to see you. He does not want you to push.”

What was she talking about? What was she not supposed to push, and why should she not do it? But Frederica and the other women were nodding in agreement, so he said, “Pray do not push, my sweetest. It is very important.” Whatever it was.

Elizabeth was panting. “It hurts so much,” she whispered.

He could not bear to see her in pain. “Is this normal?” he asked Mrs. Sanford desperately.

“Completely normal,” she said drily. “You should not be here, Mr. Darcy, but for your wife’s sake, I will permit it for now – as long as you help her stay calm.” It was definitely a command.

He nodded. She was the expert, after all. Then he turned back to Elizabeth. “Look at me, my love. You can do this. You crossed France in wartime all by yourself, and I am so very proud of you.”

A cry escaped her, and she grabbed for his other hand, squeezing it until it hurt.

“I am here with you,” he whispered.

Then suddenly she relaxed, breathing more easily. The spasm must have passed.

He leaned down to kiss her cheek. “My poor love. Thank you for working so hard for our child.”

But her eyes were fixed on his hands. “Your arm. You are using it.”

As if that mattered, compared to what she was going through. “It is better. As I said, the dragons took good care of me.”

Darcy paced the clearing through the long afternoon shadows, back and forth, back and forth, as if his footsteps could somehow help Elizabeth. At least he was home, where the welcoming power of Pemberley flowed through him. The vitality of it was always a shock when he returned after a long absence, but this time was even more so, as if the magic in the land had deepened into a new strength. The richness of the soil and the life of it was a comfort, but it could not take his mind away from what was happening in the cottage.

He had left without complaining when the midwife told him it was time to go, since she had bent every rule to allow him to stay as long as he did. He still wanted to rip the door off its hinges for daring to stand between him and his Elizabeth.

The thick walls that had once provided a quiet refuge also silenced most of the sounds from inside. But Elizabeth’s periodic cries of pain still came through faintly, making him ache that he could not relieve them.

A footman came towards him with a plate of cold meat and fruit. Darcy tried to wave him away, but the servant ignored him. “At least have something to drink, sir, to keep up your strength.”

With a sigh, he accepted a glass of what looked like wine. It shocked his mouth by turning out to be port. The port he always drank at Pemberley, not the wine served everywhere in France. A taste of home. Why did it seem so strange?

He was off-balance, no question. And he needed to take better care of himself, for Elizabeth’s sake. He had not eaten anything since that morning unless he counted the elixir, which might explain his odd sense of disorientation. “You are right. I should eat,” he told the footman.

Immediately several more servants appeared, carrying a small table and a stool. The food was set before him, and all he needed to do was sit and eat. Just as it had always been, all his life, until he went to France and had to fend for himself. He looked at each servant in turn, met their eyes, and said, “I thank you.”

They looked startled, but the footman who had brought him the port recovered first. “We are glad you are back, sir.”

As soon as he tasted the first slice of venison, his hunger came roaring back. He demolished the entire plate between glances at the cottage door, as if watching it closely would make something happen.

Another pained cry, a longer one, and then more silence. He had learned that much, that the pains came and went, with an easier time in between. But this silence continued. Was Elizabeth better, or had something gone terribly wrong?

Finally Mrs. Reynolds came out of the cottage, closing the door quietly behind her. Exhaustion lined her face.

Darcy jumped to his feet, almost toppling the stool, and hurried to her. “What is happening?”

“It is a girl, sir,” she said, but without any of the triumph or joy he would have expected.

“Elizabeth,” he said, his heart in his throat. “Has something happened to her?”

She shook her head. “She is as well as can be expected. But the babe is small and not as strong as we would like.”

Dread filled him. “What does that mean?”

“I cannot say, sir. Only time will tell.”

“May I see Elizabeth? And…the baby?”

“Not yet. Once the afterbirth is delivered, if Mrs. Darcy is agreeable, you can come in.”

The midwife carried a lantern as she came out of the cottage. “May I speak to you privately, sir?” she asked Darcy, gesturing towards the servants by the tent .

His heart rose in his throat. “Of course.” He led her away from the others, up the slope towards the ruined keep. “What is the matter?”

She met his eyes. “The baby is still with us, but I do not expect her to live. It happens, when they are born too early. I am very sorry.”

His mouth was dry. Their child, on whom they had pinned so many hopes, whose existence had let him draw on his land Talent while in France, whom he loved so fiercely even without meeting her. Dying before she had a chance to live, just like the son Anne de Bourgh had carried. “And my wife?”

“She does not appear to be in any danger.” She watched him steadily.

There was one thing he had to know. “Did this happen because of her travels? Or because of the Talent we used?”

She rubbed her hands together. “We do not know what makes some babies come too soon. Oftentimes it seems to happen for no reason at all. Your wife tells me her mother lost an early child, too. It is tragic, but not uncommon.”

“I thank you for helping her.” The words seemed to burn in his mouth. He ought to say something more to her, now that he knew she was his half-sister, but there was nothing left in him to give.

“I have asked the others to leave to let you have some privacy. I will remain just outside if you need me.”

He moistened his lips. “How long…” He could not even finish the sentence.

“Hours, perhaps, or even a day or two. It is in God’s hands.”

He nodded jerkily, not trusting himself to speak. Instead he headed for the cottage door.

Inside, Elizabeth sat propped up in the bed, a tiny bundle in her arms and a slow trickle of tears running down her face. She barely looked up at him as he entered, but she shifted to make room for him to sit beside her on the bed.

As he sat, he placed his arms around hers, a double ring of protection around the baby. If only it could make a difference. “I am so sorry, my love,” he whispered.

“She is so tiny and so perfect.” Elizabeth’s voice shook. “It is my fault. I should have taken more care.” A sob broke through.

“Elizabeth, listen to me. You know my first wife had a child who did not live. He was born too soon, too, and Anne was as coddled and as careful as any woman could be. It made no difference. The fault may be in me, or in my seed.” He could not fix anything for their child, but he would protect Elizabeth with every ounce of his strength.

She bowed her head silently.

“May I see her?” he asked.

Elizabeth tipped back the swaddling cloth that half-covered the infant’s head. “Her name is Jane. For your brother and my sister. I was going to call her Jenny.”

Her face was impossibly tiny, smaller than a doll’s, pale and wrinkled. He could see her fighting for each rapid breath. “She is beautiful." Because she was. The most beautiful, precious thing he had ever seen, and they were going to lose her. Their little Jenny, the child of their love.

Elizabeth raised her tear-filled eyes to him. “Will you hold her and try to give her strength from the land? I tried it and it seemed to help her a little, but Frederica made me stop. She said I was giving too much.”

He would have happily opened a vein if it would have helped little Jenny. “Can you show me how to hold her?”

Shakily Elizabeth placed the baby in his arm. “Like that, so her head is supported.” Her voice caught.

She weighed almost nothing, like a wren, and now that she was pressed against his chest, he could feel even through the swaddling how hard she was working to breathe. Her skin was so thin he could see the veins through it, and his heart wanted to burst with love for his tiny, doomed daughter.

He grounded his feet on the floor, letting his Talent sink into the land. As it received him eagerly, he begged it in his head to help his daughter, the flesh of his flesh, the blood of his blood. The words he would have said in the ceremony to bond her to the land.

The power wound up around his legs, tingling through him. He laid his finger on Jenny’s cheek – how tiny it was in comparison! – and let the power trickle through. Just a bit at first, fearful of hurting her with too much. He could feel the weight of it entering her.

He knew nothing of the healing arts, but desperation was a powerful instructor, so he told his power to make it easier for her to breathe. He felt his own lungs expanding and contracting, as he tried to give that strength to the baby. Rocking back and forth, his entire existence focused on the slight quick flutters of her chest.

Elizabeth asked tremulously, “Is her breathing a little better, do you think?”

“Perhaps.” Or it might be just his own desire speaking, and even then, he knew it was not enough. Her skin was still pale, almost blue. And Elizabeth looked so bereft, sitting there with empty arms. “Perhaps if you hold her, I could try to give her power with both hands.” Not that he wanted to give up his precious burden, not for a second.

“It is worth a try.” But there was no hope in her voice, and her tears flowed.

He managed to transfer little Jenny back to her, his hands wanting to linger on her tiny form. Then he put both forefingers on her face and resumed feeding her the power of the earth. He would give her everything he could. And now he could feel the subtle tang of Elizabeth’s Talent underneath his.

It was so terribly unfair, that all their love and all their Talent was not enough to save one tiny baby. He wanted to howl his pain to the sky, but all he could do was to try to treasure the few moments they had.

A rap at the door interrupted them. Who would dare interrupt this moment? Then a woman in full Indian regalia and a heavy veil sailed in without waiting for an invitation. It took Darcy a moment to recognize Rana Akshaya, the Indian mage he had last seen before his wedding. No, the Indian dragon – Elizabeth had mentioned that in France.

Rana Akshaya ignored his glare, her gaze firmly on Elizabeth. “Chandrika informs me your infant is unwell. Do you wish me to attempt to heal her? ”

Could it be possible? A normal healing Talent was rarely useful for more than injuries and infections, but his mother had mentioned Rana Akshaya’s extraordinary powers.

Elizabeth’s mouth dropped open in a gasp. “Would you? If you could do anything, I would be very glad of it.”

“Perhaps I can help her, and perhaps not. It depends upon the problem.” Her tone was completely neutral, as if she did not care one way or another, but Darcy was prepared to fall on his knees and beg if that would make a difference.

She came to the bedside, where little Jenny lay swaddled in Elizabeth’s arms, her face even more blue-tinged. Without a word, she peeled back the cloth to expose her entire head, revealing her sparse black hair. She cradled her tiny head in her talons, which looked huge in comparison.

Magic thickened the air, rough and flavored with cinnamon. At first Jenny’s infant face crumpled, as if she wanted to cry if only she could get enough air, the veins under her thin skin even more prominent. But she did not seem to be in pain. If anything, she seemed to relax a little.

Even if this healing only made her more comfortable, that would be something. Watching her struggle was devastating. Darcy’s lips moved in silent prayer, his eyes fixed on his daughter’s face.

Rana Akshaya straightened, lifting her hands from Jenny’s head. So quickly? Was there nothing she could do?

“That will help,” she announced. “It was a simple matter, a hole in the vessels of her heart. I repaired it and cleared her lungs. She will be very hungry and will need to sleep a great deal.”

And it was true. Jenny’s skin was turning pink, and suddenly she let a howl of protest, far louder than any sound that had come from her before. Elizabeth clutched her tightly, tears streaming down her face, clearly beyond the ability to speak.

Darcy did it for her. “I have no words to tell you how much this means to us. Your generosity does you great honor.” He had to raise his voice to be heard over Jenny’s squalling, the sweetest sound he had ever heard .

Rana Akshaya did not respond to him. Instead the mage – no, the dragon – studied Elizabeth. “Chandrika knows healings come at a price. She came to me, offering to return to my service for life if I helped your hatchling.”

Elizabeth’s teary eyes widened. “Chandrika did that? Oh.” She turned her eyes to little Jenny. pressing her lips to her forehead. “It was…good of her.”

“I refused her. I have no need of servants who wish to be elsewhere. This healing was a gift to your dragon, who helped me find your Nest, and to you, for the hospitality you have shown me.” She said it almost grudgingly, as if she resented owing anything.

Elizabeth swallowed and said, “You could not have chosen a gift I would treasure more. I will always remember what you have done.”

Rana Akshaya gave a curt nod and walked out without a word.

Darcy gathered Elizabeth in his arms, with little Jenny between the two of them, his heart overflowing. She sobbed in his embrace, but he could tell it was tears of happiness. They were together again, and now they were a family, too.

Then Jenny began to cry again, a good, healthy cry, and Darcy released Elizabeth.

Elizabeth’s eyes were glistening with happiness. “Could you ask Mrs. Sanford to come in and help me to feed her?”

“With pleasure, my love.” At that moment, Darcy would have considered it an honor to jump over the moon for Elizabeth and their Jenny.