Page 94 of The Shades of Pemberley
Fitzwilliam shrugged. “At first, perhaps it was. Yet I recall several times my cousin confessed his sorrow that Wickham had strayed. As they grew older and my cousin became wiser and more observant, Wickham’s character flaws became apparent, and Jameson distanced himself.
“More is the pity, Wickham’s father was an excellent man, a man Uncle Morgan trusted with the estate’s management for many years. Now that Wickham has returned to their company, I cannot imagine they are happy with his conduct.”
The gentlemen joined the ladies in the sitting-room soon after, the mood in the dining-room not conducive to friendly banter.
Darcy, knowing of Fitzwilliam’s connection to Anne, watched as he made his way to her side at once, seeming to feel the need for female companionship, and Bingley was not a step behind him.
Thinking it was an excellent notion, Darcy approached his wife and sat next to her, taking her hand in his with no intention of letting it go.
Elizabeth smiled and rested her head on his shoulder.
“Do you ever miss Netherfield?” asked Elizabeth, her voice quiet, almost drowsy, though with emotion, not fatigue.
“You mean the life we planned there?”
When she nodded, Darcy considered the question and squeezed her hand. “Sometimes, I suppose I do. It was a simpler life, without the expectations of high society and large portfolios to manage. I do not regret it, though I regret the conspiracy that led to a good man’s death.”
Elizabeth did not reply at once, seeming deep in thought. “I am not enamored with that world.”
Darcy offered a soft laugh, turning to kiss her head. “You understand my character enough to know that I am not either.”
“Then I propose we do not succumb to the lure of performing to strangers who mean nothing to us.”
“Not allow it to define us?”
“Always remember our origins.” Elizabeth smiled against his shoulder. “Some would call it hubris, for even my father’s position is a privilege few can boast. Yet I would not wish to become like so many others, to weigh everything by fortune, status, and connection.”
“Then we will not allow it to affect us. Pemberley is an excellent estate, one we both already love. But it is a home, not the symbol of our ambitions.”
“And Netherfield?”
“Netherfield is a part of our history. It is the place where we fell in love, where we spent the first nights of our union.”
Elizabeth drew away from his shoulder, her laughing eyes fixed on him, the witticism spilling from her mouth: “It may also be the place where we conceived our child.”
Darcy nodded, his emotions choking his response as he placed his hand on her still flat stomach. “Then I should love to see Darcys living there again one day. Perhaps it might become the inheritance of a second son.”
“I should like that very much, William.” Elizabeth put her hand over his and leaned her head against his shoulder again. “It will remain a legacy of our family, become a second branch like your grandfather started your line.”
Agreed, they sat in silence, on a calm island amid a sea of conversation and family unity around them. The evening deepened and night soon fell, but Darcy and Elizabeth both understood their lives were still in the morning of possibility and potential. The future had never seemed brighter.
IT WAS A COLD WINTER day when his mother, a woman he looked up to above all others, stepped from the room with a cloth-wrapped bundle in her arms. Her expression as she walked toward him was both happy and loving, the life she held was the essence of the love between Darcy and his wife.
When she reached him, she put the bundle in his arms, and he saw the child for the first time.
“Here is your son, William.”
As Darcy looked down at the pink infant in his arms, love like he had never felt before welled up in his heart.
The child was perfect in form and feature, rosy cheeks, tufts of Elizabeth’s dark hair on his head, and when he gazed at Darcy, yawned, and then fell into slumber, Darcy could see he had inherited Elizabeth’s lovely, soulful eyes.
The wonder of it hit him so hard, he could not look away.
“He is beautiful,” he managed to say at length, aware he sounded like a dullard.
“Just like his parents,” said his mother. She stepped forward and embraced him, mindful of the sleeping child. “Elizabeth is well. She is sleeping now. The birth was not so hard as you feared.”
“That is a relief,” said Darcy, not without irony.
Everyone at the estate was aware of his nervousness in the weeks leading up to Elizabeth’s time.
Fatalities for mothers and their children were not unknown, and though Darcy ensured the best doctors and midwives attended her, nothing in life was certain, nothing guaranteed.
Thoughts of losing Elizabeth, of moving through life without his true love and partner, now appeared quaint relics of excessive worry, and through it all, Elizabeth had declared her confidence with rare courage and the indomitable will for which she was renowned.
“Announce the birth to the family,” urged his mother. “Maggie and I will stay with Elizabeth for the moment, though she sleeps peacefully. You may visit and bring your son back to her when everyone has fussed over him.”
“Thank you, Mother, I shall.”
With a nod and a touch on his cheek, his mother turned and reentered the birthing chamber where Elizabeth lay in repose.
The desire to be in her company, to share the joy of her efforts and the expansion of their family, was strong, but Darcy knew now was not the time.
With a vow that he would not so much as leave her side in the ensuing days, he turned, cradling his child with the instinct granted to all parents, and made his way down the stairs.
There, he met with Mrs. Reynolds, Pemberley’s longtime housekeeper and a woman on whom Darcy and Elizabeth had both come to rely.
“Mr. Darcy,” said she, warmth suffusing her voice, “please allow me to congratulate you and Mrs. Darcy on behalf of the staff.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Reynolds,” said Darcy, emotion charging his response. “I appreciate your assistance to Elizabeth and us all in our time of need.”
“Not at all,” said the woman, stepping close to inspect the child in his arms. “Mrs. Darcy and Mrs. Bennet did most of the work—I managed the details to ensure they did not need to turn their focus from your wife.”
Mrs. Reynolds extended a finger and stroked his son’s cheek, causing him to squirm a little. She gave a delighted laugh.
“So beautiful, not that I would have expected anything else from a Darcy and his beautiful wife.”
“I think he takes after Elizabeth,” said Darcy. “He has her eyes.”
“Perhaps,” replied Mrs. Reynolds, giving him a mysterious smile. “But I also see his father in the shape of his jaw, his nose, and the scrunching of his brow.”
Darcy laughed. “I would not wish him to resemble his mother at my expense.”
“Of course not. He is part of you both.”
With a few more strokes of her finger, Mrs. Reynolds shooed him toward the sitting-room where the family waited, promising to keep everything operating as she had for many more years than Darcy had known her.
The room hummed with expectation, though all conversation stopped when Darcy entered.
Everyone who mattered to him was within.
The younger girls, Lydia, Kitty, Mary, and Georgiana, looked up eagerly, appearing ready to dash to him to be the first to peer at the new life to come to Pemberley.
Mr. Bennet was in the corner with Lord Matlock, hunched over a chessboard while Fitzwilliam stood over them in the attitude of giving them both advice.
On another side of the room, Lady Susan sat with Anne, now Fitzwilliam’s official betrothed, and Miss Bingley, who had become dearer to the Darcys than he had ever suspected she would.
Then his closest friend and his radiant new wife, the beautiful Jane Bingley, married for less than a month.
Finally, the Gardiner family, Edward and Madeleine and their children, arrived at Pemberley just days before to spend the Christmas season with family.
These people were his life, his family, far more important to him than social connections or empty acquaintances for show.
“Elizabeth has just given birth,” Darcy announced. “We have a son.”
As he expected, the girls squealed and darted toward him, though Mary followed at a more dignified pace.
This was the signal for the rest of the party to join them, crowding around and taking their turns to exclaim over his perfection and coo to him, though he could not respond.
Soon, they claimed his son and whisked him to a nearby sofa, where he would endure being passed from hand to hand until everyone had held him.
“Well done, Darcy,” said Fitzwilliam, clasping his shoulder. “Have you decided on a name yet?”
Darcy smiled and nodded. “Elizabeth and I settled on David Charles Anthony Darcy a few days ago.”
Bingley and Fitzwilliam both grinned with delight at the honor of Darcy’s new son bearing their names. The earl looked on with interest.
“It has been a tradition in the Darcy family to endow the eldest son with the surname of his mother,” observed he. “Though the tradition fell by the wayside in recent generations until Jameson.”
“And yet,” replied Darcy, “my name always gave me grief, though I do not speak intending to insult. I honor my wife by remaining faithful to my vows and building a life with her—I do not need pretentious gestures to offer her what is already in my heart.”
“Some might take offense at your words,” said the earl, though his grin belied any such sentiments. “When I heard your father had given you my surname, I was amused by his presumption. With that in mind, I cannot fault your choice.”
That morning was the first indication of his son’s good temper, as he endured the disruption to his sleep without fussing. The atmosphere was festive as the season, the joy of new life and expanded horizons.
“Congratulations, son,” said Bennet. “My wife is no doubt ecstatic with her first grandchild.”
“I have not spoken to her yet, but I cannot but imagine she is.” Darcy, feeling a hint of mischief coming over him, added: “Now that Elizabeth has given birth, I suppose you must feel the need to return to your estate. You have been away from it for almost eight months now.”
“I warned you, Darcy,” rejoined Mr. Bennet. “Now that I have seen your comfortable—and extensive—library, I am not eager to return to Longbourn. You will just need to put up with me.”
The company, overhearing the exchange, laughed at the predictability of Bennet’s statement. Darcy settled for shaking his head in exasperation.
“I suppose there is no choice but to endure you.”
At length, even David’s easy temper appeared exhausted by all the fuss, his soft cries for his mother’s attention bringing an immediate return to Darcy’s arms. Lady Susan, who handed the child back to him, smiled and suggested he return to his wife.
“Your lovely wife is waiting to welcome her child again, and I must suppose he is hungry. There is no need to return to us tonight, William. We shall manage in your absence.”
With a grateful smile, Darcy took his child and left the room, arriving at the door to his private chambers with Elizabeth a moment later.
Elizabeth, he noted, had moved from the birthing chamber, was bathed and dressed in a soft nightgown, sitting against several pillows in their bed while his mother and hers fussed around her.
When he entered, her eyes brightened, her hands extended for the return of her family.
Darcy obliged her at once, sitting on the edge of the bed, drawing her in for an embrace with an active child between them.
The soft cries of their son’s discontent interrupted their intimate reunion, and with a smile, Darcy placed the wriggling infant in Elizabeth’s arms. Within moments, he was nursing, his movements stilled, contented, while Elizabeth glowed with the love of a new mother.
The image of them would forever remain etched in his mind, one he would recall fondly for many years as signaling a new beginning, a perfect point in time.
“Are you certain you do not wish to hire a wet nurse?” asked Darcy.
Elizabeth shook her head as he had known she would. “I have no wish to follow society’s morals and leave the care of my children to others. The midwife told me that times such as this bring special bonding between mother and child—I will not pass those moments on to another woman to enjoy.”
“Very well,” said Darcy. “I have no objection. I hope you still feel that way a month from now when he wakes you up every night demanding to be fed.”
Elizabeth’s tinkling laughter filled the room. “I will not complain, even after six children demand these nighttime services from me.”
“Oh?” asked Darcy, amused by her response. “Have you now decided on the number of children we shall have?”
Laughing, Elizabeth grabbed his shirt and pulled him in for a lingering kiss. “Given how attentive you are to me, I suspect the halls of our home will fill with laughing children before we are finished.”
“Happy thought, indeed,” said Darcy, leaning in to kiss her again.
Darcy settled in beside his wife and child, alternately stroking his son’s soft hair or whispering endearments into Elizabeth’s ear.
Outside Pemberley, snow fell, blanketing the earth in layers of crisp white, but within their halls and hearts, new life stirred and blossomed, and Darcy reveled in the ties of love, family, and a future secured.