Page 23 of The Making of Lady Catherine de Bourgh
Chapter twenty-three
T hat summer would be fondly remembered by Lady Catherine as the happiest of her life. She and Lewis were in harmony, and together they laid plans for their future. Of their properties, of their wealth, and hopefully one day, their heir—for all, they made careful plans. Lewis respected and encouraged Catherine to provide input on all aspects of their life, and she was thrilled to experience a partnership she had never witnessed nor expected.
Sometime in late October, Dawson brought to Catherine’s attention the fact that she may be carrying a child. It was many weeks before she confessed it to Lewis, and they rejoiced together in the promise of an heir.
They travelled together to Oakley in December to attend Lady Anne and Mr Darcy’s wedding. It was a small, family affair. Anne had been a devoted correspondent, and Catherine was more amenable to mending their relationship. Their visit was a first step in the right direction. Their time in Derbyshire was more comfortable than expected, and they decided to stay for the entire festive season.
As she and her husband lay together in Catherine’s childhood bed—Catherine on her back and Lewis caressing the round proof of their legacy carried within her—Lewis said, “Tell me about the night we met.”
Catherine chuckled. “I was having a dreadful week and was aggrieved. My entire future felt bleak and uncertain. I was embarrassed and ashamed of myself and my performance. I had been trained my whole life in securing a husband and had failed at my first attempt. I rather worried it would be my only attempt. And then, Lady Rosamund entered Oakley with such sympathy and kindness. I felt as if she was the first person to acknowledge my sorrow and its considerable influence on my life. It felt so significant in that moment. No one else had recognized me in that way. Feeling unburdened by the pain I had been carrying alone, I desired a moment to myself—to rejoice in it, frankly. And so, I took myself out front onto the terrace.”
“And you looked across the lawn and saw your future, did you not?” Sir Lewis chuckled.
She swatted him for his insolence. “That I did not. If I had known my husband stood before me, my life would have been infinitely easier in the coming months. Instead, what I saw was a man, covered in muck from head to toe—a handsome, smiling man—a formidable one too, for he pushed a carriage with brute strength!”
“Such a handsome fellow.” Lewis smiled and kissed her growing belly.
“I attest, his smile was kind and warm. And I acknowledged the smile—I believe I smiled back. But that was before a strong wind pushed the rain at me and left me drenched. That was the first time I heard your nefarious laughter. As it happens, that insolent creature began to ascend the steps, and I was fearful for my life!”
“You were not.” He ran his finger down the front of her forehead, in a gesture that told her that her fabrication had not found its purchase.
“Well, not fearful, but certainly concerned that the dirty, bold servant would attempt to enter through the front door!”
Lewis laughed against her stomach. “I thought you the most endearing creature. I watched you before you saw me. I stood, drenched in the rain, watching you stare up at the sky and thought you looked truly contented. I envied you.”
“You were far from the truth of it,” she answered quietly.
“But it was not that which drew me to you. It was your spirited address when you sent me around the back to the servants’ quarters.”
Catherine hid her face under her hands. “I shall never not be teased for this, shall I?”
“It was your mettle that drew me to you. The way you ordered me away, truth be told. I shall admit, I enjoyed the horror on your face when you realized who I was at dinner the next evening. I was holding back laughter throughout the entire meal. I wondered, in fact, if I should fear retribution from that bold girl I had seen on the terrace. I pictured a toad in my bed or a snake in my boot.”
“If only I had thought of that. I was only concerned with being caught for my insolent greeting and being punished for it.”
“I was so confused when I met you again in Kent. I saw such a different side of you. One where I was certain you were hiding your true nature. You did not smile with your eyes or fight or yell or tell the truth. I had been longing to see that girl from the terrace at Oakley for weeks. Slowly but surely, I had been trying to get you to open up—to show me that fearsome lady once again. And when you sent Dawson after me . . . I could not deny that I wanted you.”
Catherine stilled under his heated gaze.
“After holding you at the ball, on that balcony, and knowing that my cousin might have you—I did not sleep a wink. I wanted to act, and yet I knew not how. I went to see my wretched cousin that morning and threatened him within an inch of his life if he did not leave Kent directly. But I was still uncertain whether he might impose himself upon you. And so, if I had had more sleep, I might have used more tact that morning when I interrupted your conversation with your brother. I might have requested a private audience with you and given you a choice. But I had felt so protective of you in that moment. I would have done anything to safeguard you from a future linked to my cousin.”
As fate saw fit, it was in that moment that Catherine first felt the de Bourgh heir move within her womb. The quickening was a welcome blessing, and Catherine fell asleep safely in her husband’s embrace.
The late winter months found the de Bourghs returned to Kent to attend Lord Metcalfe and Virginia Sedgwick’s lavish wedding breakfast. After many months away from home, Catherine desperately wanted to spend time in Kent before her confinement. She wanted to be with Lady Rosamund and her friends, hosting and attending parties, before their lives changed for good.
The idea of motherhood continued to baffle Catherine. Would it come easily to her? Sir Lewis swore she would be the best of mothers, and she trusted him implicitly. So much so, that she was trying to see things his way. Perhaps she would find much to enjoy about being a mother. For she had certainly not imagined a happy marriage, and Catherine had never been more pleased to be wrong.
The month of May found the de Bourghs planning for Catherine’s upcoming confinement. For the birth of their anticipated heir, they would travel back to town because of the reputation for skilled accoucheurs. Catherine was conscious of the risks of childbearing and wanted to take every precaution.
The Darcys had been in Kent visiting since Easter, and Lady Anne would remain with Catherine, accompanying her to London in one week’s time. Catherine could not say why she had forgiven her sister and Mr Darcy. Better the villain you know than the one you do not , Lewis would say.
On this particular morning, both of the ladies were saying goodbye to their husbands. Mr Darcy was returning to Pemberley, and Lewis was travelling to London to see to some business and oversee the proper opening of their house.
As their child grew within Catherine, so did Lewis’s deep concern and overprotective nature. He seemed reluctant to leave her, and she teased him for being a mother hen.
“Mother hen? I have heard you call me worse,” he said while he stood beside his horse. Lewis did not like the restriction of a closed carriage and had thus decided that he would ride to town that day. Their barouche would follow him with his trunks and his trusted valet.
Lady Anne was standing beside her husband’s carriage and four, speaking quietly while Pemberley’s new steward stood nearby. One of the reasons for the Darcys' visit to this part of the country was to meet a prospective new steward for their estate, and Catherine had been more than happy to give them counsel by recommending Lady Metcalfe’s steward’s son, Ben Wickham. The man was young and hungry for purpose, and Catherine was happy her condescension had led to a fortunate position for Ben and a competent steward for the Darcys. Ben and his new bride would follow Mr Darcy to Pemberley on tomorrow’s post.
Lewis forcibly turned Catherine’s face away from her sister and held her cheeks in his hands, gazing into her eyes. “I love you, Catherine, my girl.”
She smiled up at him. “And I you.”
“Behave while I am in town.”
She chuckled at that. “You are better to tell your son to behave, for he has been kicking me in the ribs all morning.”
He smiled at her. “Are you very uncomfortable?”
She reached around and pressed his hands low on her back. “I have tightness just here that comes and goes. I need only some time to rest.”
Lewis looked uncertain. “I should stay.”
“No—no you shall not. You had many things you wanted to take care of before my arrival. You said as much. Lady Rosamund has commanded that our son may not make an appearance until she is returned from Ramsgate. And the midwife says I have six weeks at least.”
“That midwife is a kook.”
Catherine rolled her eyes. “She has overseen the birth of nearly all of the children in our neighbourhood. I am certain she is more attuned to such things than you or I.”
He was hesitating again.
Lewis would not say what he was really thinking. His own mother had been delivered of three children already dead, and she succumbed to childbed fever after the third. The English were too proud and superstitious to speak of these things to women who would soon have their lying in, but Catherine knew the risks. No lady was unaware of the dangers.
She knew she must lighten the mood and ensure their goodbye was not shrouded by worry.
“You must not let my sister see you swoon,” she taunted. “Now, leave so I can start missing you.”
He laughed at that and kissed her. His warm lips covered hers in a tenderness she had come to know so well. She cherished him—fully.
She stood on the drive until she saw Mr Darcy’s carriage and Lewis’s horse turn down the lane towards Hunsford.
Once the ladies were settled back in the house, they immediately called for tea.
“I have something to tell you,” Lady Anne said.
“Will you finally admit to what I have already known this entire visit?” Catherine grinned behind her teacup.
Anne gasped. “You have known and said nothing?”
“It is not my news to share. Have you felt the quickening?” Catherine asked.
“Yes—just. Since I have only just today dispensed with the news to Darcy before his departure, I felt it right to tell you as well.”
“Had he not noticed any changes in you?”
“He is a lovely man, perfect for me in every way, and yet one of the least observant gentlemen I know,” Lady Anne said with good humour.
The ladies enjoyed a laugh together at that. Catherine had found it in her heart to forgive how her sister and Mr Darcy had hurt her, even if she had at first been reluctant.
“To think—we shall both bear our heirs soon!” Catherine said. “Lewis and I had thought to call our son Fitzwilliam Lewis. Have you given it much thought?”
“I was thinking George, but I have not spoken to Darcy on the subject. What of a girl? I have many ideas for a young lady.”
“If it is a girl, I should think we shall choose a family name. Lewis’s mother was Hester, and his grandmother, Prudence.”
“What of our mother?” Anne asked carefully.
“Theodosia would serve. I had not considered it.” The dowager continued to be a subject the sisters rarely canvassed.
Catherine was yet to forgive her mother for all her interference, though she was no longer angry. Her current circumstances were too wonderful to lend her time to bitterness.
“I might go lie down,” Catherine said, reaching behind her to the tightness in her back.
“Is there something I might do?” Anne asked, standing when Catherine did so.
“No, I am only uncomfortable. Our son is demonstrating his strength today and causing trouble for his mama,” Catherine said lightly.
The pain appeared to disperse when she moved, and the action of climbing the stairs helped somewhat. Once she reached her chambers, she called for Dawson help her into something more comfortable.
Twice while she was undressing, she had to reach out for a nearby chair and grit her teeth against the pain.
“My lady, should I call the midwife?”
“No, Dawson. My son is only signifying his importance. He shall be a fine master of Rosings. Indeed, it is much too soon for that.”
But there was no denying that assistance was needed when a slow trickle of fluids began running down Catherine’s leg. She had been warned of this, but it was too soon, and she froze in fear. She had heard tales about ladies being brought to bed so early, and they did not end well.
Dawson began fidgeting, worrying her hands and unable to put together a sentence.
Catherine grabbed her by the shoulders, “Listen to me carefully,” she said between deep breaths. “Find my sister. Call for the midwife. And send a rider for my husband. He cannot be far yet. I am sure he can be turned around. Then tell the scullery maids to build up the fire in here. Everything should be done as we have been directed.”
Dawson nodded and excused herself.
Wearing only her chemise, Catherine went around her chambers preparing the room as she had been instructed. She closed the windows, pulled the draperies shut, lit more candles, and then closed the curtains around her bed before climbing in. She had not expected to do this without a trained accoucheur or the nurse they had hired for her in London—not to mention the two wet nurses they had awaiting them also in town. Above all, she had never imagined bearing this child without Lewis close at hand.
By the time Lady Anne arrived in her chambers, Lady Catherine’s brow was already glistening from the heat of the room. The pains were growing worse each time they arrived, and they came and went more quickly each time.
Dawson brought Catherine a heated, spiced ale to sooth her nerves, which did nothing of the sort, but Catherine did imbibe obediently.
The midwife arrived within the hour, drenched from the rain that had begun to fall outside. She immediately added to Catherine’s nerves by agreeing that the babe was coming after using her hands to measure upon Catherine’s stomach.
“Does he come too early?” Catherine asked, agitated.
The midwife gave Lady Catherine a sympathetic smile. “All will be well, my lady. Babies come in their own time.”
“But you indicated that I had six more weeks.”
“It is an art, the prediction of childbirth, and not one that is always precise. I have been wrong. I have delivered many babes who we thought were early who arrived strong and hale.”
The midwife’s words felt empty, reminding her of the way Nanny Janet would soothe her at nighttime as a young child—saying anything to get her to stay calm and remain in her bed.
Catherine slept on and off throughout the remainder of the afternoon, interrupted by the sounds of thunder or when the pains became too strong and close, and she could no longer rest. Occasionally they would ebb, and she would close her eyes.
Lady Anne visited her room with great frequency, while Dawson remained at her side. Her sister reported that a rider had been dispatched to find their husbands, another carried word to Elinor in town, and a letter for Lady Rosamund was in the post.
By dusk, there was no denying the concern on the midwife’s face. While allowing Catherine as much privacy as possible, she continued to check on the status of the baby and found no change.
Catherine knew, deep within, that her body was not performing as it should. The heat in the room was overwhelming and was increasing her anxiety. At times, she found it difficult to take a full breath. She could hardly contain her tears as they mingled with the sweat on her cheeks. Dawson kept a damp cloth nearby and used it to wipe her face and cool the back of her neck.
“Please bring my sister to me,” Catherine panted.
Nothing was going to plan. She was supposed to be in London, in the guest room they had already furnished particularly for her lying-in. She wished her husband were permitted in the room, for she could only imagine finding solace in his embrace. Squeezing her eyes shut, she took herself to a place in her head where it was only her husband’s smiling face that she could see.
When the clock turned to the small numbers of the night, Catherine asked Dawson to bring her sister to her again.
When Anne arrived, she sat carefully on the side of the bed. Her expression betrayed her concern.
Catherine reached for her hand and whispered to her, “I am pleased you are here,” she said between deep breaths. “Thank you for writing to me over the last year. I am glad to have your friendship. And your presence here today. It is good to have family nearby.”
“Of course, Kitty. I would be nowhere else,” she brushed Catherine’s damp hairs away from her face and kissed her cheek. “What can I do for you? Shall I plait your hair? Would you like some wine?”
“No, I need you to carry my words to my husband. Tell—” Catherine lowered her voice and took her sister’s hand in hers. “Tell Lewis that I love him.”
“He knows you do,” Anne replied with a soft smile. “This is not the time for grandiose farewells. You are healthy and strong. You will bring this child into the world.”
Catherine released her sister’s hand and sunk back against her pillows.
Catherine’s mind became a fog of confusion by the time the sun rose the next day. Exhaustion overwhelmed her senses, but each time she opened her eyes, she found Lady Anne or Dawson in the high wingback chair settled next to the bed with a ready cloth to cool her forehead.
Her heart ached for her husband. Lewis’s calming presence would be a relief to her, and she knew, too, that he was likely pacing the floors of Rosings with his own anxieties.
At one point the pain became so great that Catherine swooned. When she came to, there were more maids around her, whispers that she could not decipher, and the midwife was speaking in low instructions to the servants around the bed.
“What are you saying?” she asked, but no one paid her any mind.
Lady Anne leaned over and blocked her view, smiling at her. “You are doing so well, sister. The midwife would like to try to keep you awake. Would you be able to take some coffee?”
Food and drink sounded repulsive. All Catherine could focus on was the pain in her back and legs, growing in intensity and frequency.
At some point she must have drifted off once again, because she awoke to the mid-wife waving smelling salts in front of her face. Leaning close to Catherine’s left ear, she said something indecipherable, but Catherine was beyond caring at this point.
She was clearly terrible at birthing a child and only wanted to sleep.
She heard a noise on her right side. Lady Anne had pulled up a second chair, and said quite clearly and more loudly, “You must speak to my sister on her right side,” to the midwife.
Hearing Lady Anne advocate for her was a relief. If Sir Lewis were here, he would have said it much earlier. How long had she slept? A heavy fuzziness was present and pushing her to sleep, sleep, sleep .