Beginning, Previous Section, Section III

Chapter 10

Posted on 2008-10-23

Traveling with the Bennets was like trying to herd a head of hungry cattle through an alfalfa field, Darcy mused. You had to be mad to do it.

And perhaps he was. But he didn't have much of a choice.

The express he had received from Elizabeth the night before had instructed him, providing his previous task was complete, to escort the Bennets to Pemberley. At first he thought it would not be too much trouble. After all, he had been doing plenty of traveling these past few weeks, with varying assortments of people, and had managed to get all to their destinations.

But even Lady Catherine could never come close to competing with the insanity that was traveling with the Bennets, he soon learned. With her, everything was organized. Even in three carriages, it was all in place and all under her control.

To say the least, this was not the problem with the Bennets.

The first obstacle Darcy encountered, even before getting all the passengers in one place, much less into carriages, was deciding who the passengers were to be.

At first, there were eight people.

"Well, of course we will all come to Pemberley!" Mrs. Bennet trilled on learning the plans. "We've heard so much about your wonderful estate. And naturally a mother should be there for her daughter at such an important time. And having my dear Jane there as well certainly helps with that."

"Can Maria come?" Kitty wondered.

Darcy had no idea what a Maria was, and, when told, only vaguely recalled a plain, shrinking sort of girl from his last but one visit to Rosings. He supposed, though, she would probably fit in one of the carriages, especially if she shrank a bit more, and there was always room for more luggage. So Maria was applied to, and she eagerly agreed to come to Derbyshire with her friend Kitty.

So, for a moment, there were nine.

"I know you have a wonderful library, Mr. Darcy," Mary Bennet now said when she bumped into him in the hallway after luncheon, "and I should dearly like to borrow a few volumes, but I really have no interest in traveling all the way to Derbyshire."

Darcy had no interest in traveling all the way to Derbyshire with the suggested company, either, but refrained from saying so. Instead he asked who would be able to chaperone her here at the house.

"Oh, well, I am sure I could just stay here with my father," she replied.

Darcy hadn't realized Mr. Bennet was staying at Longbourn. Mr. Bennet hadn't realized he was staying, either.

"I wonder when that happened," he said when Darcy found him in the library.

"I would imagine it was when you were telling your wife you had no intention of leaving the harvest," Darcy said dryly. "And here I had thought you were just aggravating her nerves."

Mr. Bennet shook his head. "I did, too. Oh, well; I had hoped to be there when my first grandchild was welcomed into the world, but I suppose it can't be helped. Though, to be honest," he said, returning to his reading, "I had thought it would be here by now, bearing the surname 'Wickham.'"

Darcy scoffed. "I doubt they could stop arguing long enough."

"And that," Mr. Bennet said, looking over the rim of his spectacles, "is as close to that as we shall ever come. A father wishes to know as little about his daughters' lives as possible in that respect; it's enough to know they have children."

Wisely keeping silent on the issue, Darcy asked his father-in-law if he might reconsider his apparent stance on traveling to Pemberley.

"I suppose I might," that gentleman replied, "but only after Mrs. Bennet has planned on my not going for a while. Then we'll see."

So now there were almost eight again.

"Mrs. Annesley and I could stay here with Miss Bennet," Georgiana offered when she heard of the situation. "And maybe Colonel Fitzwilliam, too . . ."

There were still almost eight. Seven, if Darcy killed his cousin.

"Are you sure you won't reconsider, Miss Bennet?" Darcy asked when he located her in the music room. "There won't be anyone to remain here with you."

Mary sighed, setting down the sheet music she had been sorting. "I suppose I could come to Pemberley," she said after much consideration. "But only if I can bring the instrument I've been working on recently."

"That should be no trouble," he replied, mentally calculating the space in the luggage coach.

So there were nine again. And a kettle drum.

And then there were none. Well, except Darcy and the servants.

"I don't understand. I did say seven o'clock, did I not?" he asked the coachman, who would not vouchsafe a reply.

There was barely even any luggage, aside from Darcy's own valise and an unidentified trunk. And the kettle drum.

"I do apologize, sir," Mrs. Annesley said briskly as she came out the door, carrying her valise and pulling on her gloves. "I didn't mean to keep everyone waiting, but--" She paused and looked around in confusion. "Why is no one here? Did you not say seven o'clock?"

"I believe I did," Darcy said with a smug nod for the coachman. "But I am afraid that you and I are the only ones who understand English. May I ask where my sister is?"

Mrs. Annesley's brow furrowed. "I had ensured she was awake only an half hour ago, sir."

Darcy's jaw clenched. Indeed, he had no fear of an elopement this time, but there was some concern that his cousin and sister might have escaped without him. He couldn't let that happen.

He needn't have worried. Colonel Fitzwilliam was in the breakfast room, stuffing his face with whatever the Bennet's cook placed before him.

"Hey, Darcy," he said when he caught sight of his cousin in the doorway. "Here to have breakfast? Try some of these rolls. They're excellent -- perfectly fresh and soft with a hint of satisfying flakiness." He smiled at the cook. She flushed with pleasure at what clearly was the most recent in a long line of fulsome compliments and presented him with another plate of ham cakes. That would explain the vast spread of food.

"Out of curiosity, cousin, do you happen to have the time?"

Colonel Fitzwilliam pulled out his pocket watch. "A little after seven, by my telling. Why? Need to start packing?"

"Actually, I need to start leaving. Do you at least have your bags packed?"

Colonel Fitzwilliam looked at him in surprise. "Well, of course I do. Always ready to go at a moment's notice. Never know when ma mère is going to descend upon me with another purse on legs to marry."

So Darcy pried his cousin away from the food and hustled him out the door and into one of the carriages. Just as he was shutting the door and handing his cousin's valise to a servant, Mrs. Annesley came out the door, ushering her charge before her. Georgiana was still wiping the sleep from her eyes.

Darcy put them in the other carriage, which, surprisingly, already held an occupant.

"Well, of course I was here on time," Mary said with some asperity, looking up from her book when Darcy opened the door. "Punctuality is the politeness of kings."

That would explain the trunk. And the kettle drum.

It also explained why none of the other Bennets had arrived yet. Darcy's next mission was to locate Mr. Bennet, a task most indescribably easy.

"Oh, are we ready to go?" that gentleman said from where he sat in the library. He set his book aside and levered himself out of the chair. "I estimated another hour or two for my wife and daughter to descend."

"They haven't yet," Darcy said, quickly grasping his father-in-law's elbow when it appeared a return to the book and chair was inevitable. "But I would require your help in rousing them. I couldn't possibly invade Mrs. Bennet's bedroom."

"I can't imagine why you think I would," Mr. Bennet grumbled. But he allowed his son-in-law to lead the way out of the library and up the stairs to the family wing.

In the end, Mr. Bennet's estimate turned out to be near correct, as only an hour later the carriages rolled out of the yard at Longbourn and on their way to Derbyshire. Darcy had chosen to sit in the lead carriage with Mary Bennet, Mrs. Annesley, and Georgiana, and had not felt the slightest qualm about leaving his cousin and Mr. Bennet to the mercies of Mrs. Bennet and Kitty Bennet.

This arrangement, however, as beneficial as it was to his sanity, led Darcy to feel more frustration when, some ten minutes outside Meryton, the carriage rolled to a stop.

"What is the trouble, Philip?" Darcy asked when the footman hopped down and came around to the door.

"There's a lady what needs to speak with you, sir," the footman said, glancing back at the other carriage, which had stopped some yards behind them.

Darcy looked back and saw Kitty Bennet running across the dusty track towards them. "What now?" he muttered.

"Mr. Darcy," she wheezed when she arrived at the other carriage clutching her side and gasping in air, "what about Maria?"

So the carriages were turned around (minus the luggage coach, which Darcy sent on ahead) and returned along the road to Lucas Lodge. There they picked up Maria Lucas, who seemed none the worse for having had to wait two hours for them. She still looked petrified, to Darcy's eye.

But at last the carriages were on their way to Pemberley. The seating had been switched around a bit, with Colonel Fitzwilliam escaping to the lead carriage to make room for Maria Lucas, who fit on the banquette between Mrs. Bennet and Kitty. Mary Bennet then took his place in the rear carriage, next to her father, squeezing into the space the colonel abandoned and burying her nose again in her book. Despite the annoyance of watching his sister make calf eyes at his cousin and the interminable clicking of Mrs. Annesley's knitting needles, Darcy still wouldn't have traded places with Mr. Bennet for the world.

Making good time despite a brief spot of rain, the carriages traveled for quite some time, with only a brisk stop at a posting inn to change the horses, during which nothing more eventful occurred than a bee getting into the second carriage and causing three of the ladies to dash about like madwomen. Mary killed it with her book and continued reading.

It wasn't until the second inn that things began to go awry. Trying to keep track of nine people is not the easiest of tasks, even when one has several eagle-eyed chaperones. Which, clearly, he didn't.

"Where did Miss Bennet and Miss Lucas go?" Darcy asked when he returned to their private dining room after briefly washing the dust from his face and hands. Mrs. Bennet was at table, chatting volubly with Colonel Fitzwilliam, Georgiana, and Mrs. Annesley. Mary was attempting to eat and read at the same time, resulting in smears across important passages, and Mr. Bennet was doing much the same.

Darcy repeated the question again, and Mrs. Bennet looked up. "I believe they went outside to see the horses," she said, as if that were the most natural thing in the world for young ladies to do.

Not at all to his surprise, having dealt recently while traveling with a person of similar age and family background, Darcy did not find Kitty or Maria in the stable yard sighing over the smooth coat and musculature of a thoroughbred. Instead, he located them in the nearby village, sighing over the red coats and fine figures of a half dozen young militiamen.

Though impressed at their ability to locate the nearest scarlet coat in a strange town, Darcy nevertheless chastised them for wandering away and escorted them back to the fold, where they sighed over another (though slightly older) man in a scarlet coat while finishing the remains of the cold collation.

After the brief meal, the group set to the road again, with slightly rearranged carriage seating. This time it was Kitty Bennet and Maria Lucas in the lead carriage, where Darcy could keep a gimlet gaze on the two of them. Miss Lucas, not surprisingly, appeared ready to swoon. And while it did not make the likelihood of stimulating discussion in the carriage any greater, having them both under his watchful eye (if not the decent speed at which they were clipping along) at least deterred them from wandering away.

To pass the time, as the carriage's only other occupant, Mr. Bennet, seemed highly uninterested in speech, Darcy followed his lead and closed his eyes, letting the swaying of the carriage lull him to sleep. Unfortunately, no one had the forethought to wake him at the next carriage stop.

"Where are Georgiana and my cousin?" Darcy roared when he counted only five people in the private dining room. That Mrs. Annesley was also missing was a small consolation.

"They went out to feed the ducks," Mary offered when no one else seemed to know. "Mrs. Annesley went with them."

Except that she was sitting on a bench knitting while they were at least ten yards away at the lake's edge.

"Your sister won't drown, Mr. Darcy," Mrs. Annesley said calmly, pausing to count her stitches while he fumed. "I can't imagine a soldier wouldn't know how to swim if she fell in."

"Just what I need -- for him to look dashing as he saves her life," Darcy muttered with a dark glare at his cousin.

A smile stole across Mrs. Annesley's face. "So that's what has you worried," she said, her needles clacking away again. "You needn't be, you know. It's only a case of calf's love."

"Yes, well, I'd rather have her in love with a cow than my cousin. Couldn't you, well, you know, do something?" he asked.

"Help her fall in love with a cow? No, I don't think I could, sir. Oh!" she said when he growled. "You mean get rid of her infatuation with her cousin. As I said, you shouldn't put much store behind it. It will pass away soon enough. It isn't as if the colonel has any such feelings for your sister, and he's an honorable gentleman. Besides, she'll have plenty of young gentlemen to fall in love with, come spring and the London Season."

The assurance was unhelpful. If anything, it only made Darcy glare the more darkly at his cousin.

This, quite naturally, startled the gentleman who had just approached escorting Miss Darcy back to her chaperone.

"What bee's gotten into your bonnet, coz?" Colonel Fitzwilliam asked as the two of them walked back to the inn a few paces behind the ladies. "You've been glowering at me since we left Pemberley. And after all the dirty work I've done for you, too, keeping the Bennet ladies occupied."

"Georgiana," Darcy ground out between clenched teeth.

"Georgiana?" his cousin echoed confusedly. "What about her?"

"I want you to stay away from her."

Now he looked baffled. "For any reason in particular?" he asked. "I mean, what with her being my ward and us being cousins and all, and me staying at Pemberley for a few weeks. . ."

"How long is 'a few weeks'?" Darcy asked, grimly calculating how much weight Mrs. Collins' trebuchet could throw. And how far.

"Well, my leave is up in three weeks. . ."

He'd build it himself, by hand.

". . .and the company at Pemberley seems quite to my taste. . ."

It wouldn't be a labor at all.

". . .speaking of which, have you sweetened Miss Bennet's dowry yet?"

"I beg your pardon?" Darcy was shaken out of his reverie. He probably misheard that; "Darcy" and "Bennet" sound so alike.

"Well, I wouldn't mind the eldest chit, you know," Colonel Fitzwilliam continued, blithely unaware of his close encounter with first flight. "She seems a quiet type. Wouldn't talk my ear off or spend a fortune on fashions; not like some of my mother's protégées. If I have to listen to Miss Hurston's braying laughter one more time as she discusses the length of skirts for autumn, I swear. . ."

It would be a dream come true. For a moment, Darcy truly considered foisting Miss Bennet off on his cousin. Or his cousin on Miss Bennet. He wasn't sure which. Either way, it would be one less Bennet to worry about firing off, and his cousin out of his hair.

But then his conscience got the best of him, and he put a hand on the colonel's epaulettes. "I don't think that's the best idea you've ever had, coz," he said, interrupting his cousin's reasoning that clearly delineated how little he knew Mary Bennet. "And I was there the time you drank your mother's perfume because you thought it smelled good."

"I still defend my smell-taste ratio theorem," the colonel muttered.

"But Miss Bennet is -- how shall I put this delicately? -- more intelligent than you. Or, at the very least, thinks she is," Darcy amended. "Your father may have sent you through years of schooling, but your recollection of anything other than the denizens at the nearby tavern and the ranks and titles of your classmates leaves much to be desired. At least you are fairly fluent in the language of fashion and society; you and Miss Horsehead would have something to talk about. Miss Bennet, on the other hand . . . you probably don't even remember who Socrates is, coz."

He took a stab at it anyway. "Does he make boots?"

"Not even close. Maybe I should introduce you to Miss Bingley when we get back to Pemberley," Darcy said, patting his cousin's shoulder as they resumed their walk back to the inn. "Have you ever met Mr. Hurst?"

They arrived back at the inn in time to finish the grazed-over repast. Afterward, Darcy herded the Bennets and assorted others back into the carriages, heading off a move by Mrs. Bennet to wander away for some unidentified reason, and they set off again.

The next stop was for the night, and Darcy gratefully fell onto his bed in complete exhaustion. His imagination had been overworked all day, dreaming up solutions to fresh disasters, and though none had ever occurred -- either the solutions or the problems -- the tension this constant vigilance brought had sapped his energy to the fullest extent.

Even his perception of his sister's and his cousin's relationship had been skewed, he admitted, no doubt an effect of these past weeks of stress. He had, of course, been spot-on intuiting his sister's infatuation, but he had blown it all out of proportion and clearly had misread his cousin's behavior as more involved than it was. This was a patent sign he needed to rest. It was just as well that this was his tenth labor.

But he still had to complete it, and, considering all that one day had wrought, he had some anxiety of what the next would bring. But he fell asleep surprisingly quickly and woke refreshed and ready to head out into the field.

At first, it seemed as if nothing would go wrong. Breakfast was an easy affair. Darcy arrived soon after Mary Bennet, and Mr. Bennet came down soon after, followed by Mrs. Annesley and Colonel Fitzwilliam. An hour later the Bennet ladies, Georgiana, and Maria Lucas descended, and while the latecomers ate, Colonel Fitzwilliam entertained them with embarrassing stories of Darcy's childhood thinly framed by stories of his own. Mr. Bennet read a book in the corner and Mrs. Annesley knitted by the fire, and Mary excused herself to wait in the carriage with her book to allow for fewer interruptions.

They set off immediately after the meal was finished, and made good time to the next posting change. To avoid losing anyone, Darcy insisted everyone remain in the vehicle unless absolutely necessary, and had arranged with Mrs. Annesley to inconspicuously follow (and bring back) anyone who wandered.

Thus it was that no one noticed Mary was missing until they all left the carriages for luncheon.

It appeared, from the retelling, that everyone assumed Mary was in the other carriage. She had not been seen since breakfast, and five out of eight couldn't even recall that she had been there at all.

Light, though dim, was shed upon her disappearance by one of the footmen, who had seen her enter a black carriage -- but not the Darcy carriage. Unfortunately, he had been talking up one of the maids at the time and hadn't taken note of whether the carriage was the Bennets' or not.

"My poor baby!" Mrs. Bennet was crying, alternately swooning and rousing herself with sal volatile.

The three young ladies were looking nervous, huddled together beside the rear carriage, while Mrs. Annesley was soothing them with gentle words of reassurance. Colonel Fitzwilliam stood guard protectively, as if someone were going to jump out and snatch them all away, one by one.

Mr. Bennet was looking flustered, with his thinning hair standing on end in disarray, shouting orders to grooms to saddle a horse. For the first time, Darcy appreciated his father-in-law's genuine concern for his children -- even the silly ones.

However, seeing how the man sat a horse, Darcy immediately dissuaded him from riding hell-for-leather back to the inn where they had stayed the night. If he had made it ten feet before falling off, it would have been a miracle.

Instead, Darcy had one of the postilion boys start out, with the direction to ask questions at the inns, and to return from the inn at which they had stayed the night with any word of the missing young lady.

Darcy was to follow, but before he did he instructed his cousin to bring the young ladies to a private room and Mr. Bennet to do the same with his wife.

But Mrs. Bennet was not budging. "Oh, what is to become of us!" she sobbed, turning heads in the stable yard. "We are lost, Mr. Darcy! Lost! How could that ungrateful girl do such a thing to us?"

"Mrs. Bennet, I assure you, we shall find her--"

"But what if she has been stolen away for some nefarious reason?" she gasped. "Will she be safe? How ever will we find her?"

Darcy gritted his teeth. "Mrs. Bennet--"

"Mr. Bennet, you should not have allowed this trip. Oh, I knew something like this would happen. I believe I said something before we left, but no one heeded me! Oh, oh! What are we to do now?"

"Mama?"

The three turned toward the sound of the voice to see Mary stepping down from a carriage, her expression confused.

"My dearest girl! You are safe!" Mrs. Bennet cried, throwing her ample arms around her daughter. She then began scolding her for causing so much trouble.

Darcy was about to interrupt when another form stepped down from the carriage behind Mary and turned to help his wife descend.

"Mr. Gardiner! Mrs. Gardiner!" Darcy said in relief, approaching the couple after instructing a groom from the inn to chase down his postilion. "It is very good to see you. Where did you find her?"

"She was in our carriage," Mrs. Gardiner answered with a smile. "We found her when we were leaving after breakfast this morning."

It seemed, when Mary was able to explain after her mother had finished ringing a peal over her head, that she had mistaken the Gardiner's carriage for the Darcy carriage, and had climbed inside to wait and read, unnoticed by the coachman who held the team. The error wasn't made known until the Gardiners climbed aboard to find their carriage already occupied. But by then the Darcys and Bennets had been gone for some time.

"It was a bit of a squeeze," Mr. Gardiner was saying now, "but the children have loved having their cousin to ride with them. Our coachman sprang the horses for some time in the hopes of catching you up, but in the end we realized that, if all else failed, we would see you at Pemberley."

Here Darcy required another explanation, and it seemed as if Elizabeth had written the Gardiners to come to Pemberley at the same time as she had sent the express to him at Longbourn. It was pure chance that the two had stayed at the same inn that morning.

But good luck, in Darcy's opinion. Now he had two more chaperones -- and two so sensible and wise in the ways of children, as well. With so many vigilant eyes, and several thoroughly cowed young ladies, Darcy was able to relax the rest of the way back to Pemberley.

Nevertheless, he breathed a sigh of relief as he set foot in the front hall, feeling a strong urge to kiss the ground. And his wife.

"I've missed you, too," Elizabeth admitted through the connecting door when he went upstairs to tell her that her family had arrived.

"Well, dash it all, woman," Darcy said with justifiable frustration. "Then why do you keep sending me everywhere else for these labors?"

There was a flurry of whispering behind the door, and Darcy leaned closer. "Who else is in there?" he asked when he couldn't distinguish anything clearly.

Laughter. Elizabeth cleared her throat and said: "Well, there's Jane . . . and Charlotte . . . and Anne . . . and --"

"You're having a party in your rooms and you're keeping me out?"

"Well, I wouldn't exactly call it a party," Elizabeth hedged. "There aren't any refreshments."

Darcy didn't dignify that with a response.

"But it's really just us girls," she said. "And I am truly sorry you've had to travel so much recently, but . . . well, it's been necessary."

"And at least it's over," Darcy said with a sigh.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I said, at least it's over. I'm done with my labors."

"No, no; I know what you said. But you're not done."

Darcy spluttered. "You said ten labors. I did ten labors."

"Oh." Elizabeth thought for a bit. "Yes, well, Heracles completed twelve labors."

"But you said ten."

More whispering. Darcy pressed his ear to the door, but couldn't discern a word. At last Elizabeth said, "I have decided, and the judges have ruled with me, that you cheated on your first labor, by bringing Lady Catherine and Anne back to Pemberley too early. You also cheated by using the servants to clean the attics. Therefore, you shall complete two more labors of my choosing."

"There had better be a dashed good reward when this is over," Darcy muttered.

More laughter. "I don't think you'll need to worry about that."

Chapter 11

Posted on 2008-11-05

Darcy couldn't really complain about this next labor. It was his own suggestion, after all.

A few months prior, when Darcy had first begun to think of the very real possibility of his wife giving birth as . . . well, a very real possibility, he had raised the idea of bringing in from London an accoucheur. He even went so far as to provide Elizabeth with the name of a higher-class accoucheur on recommendation of his cousin, who had just had his third son a few months previous.

Quite expectedly, however, she had insisted that the local midwife would suit her just fine. But Darcy always wanted the very finest for his wife and in this case, under the illusion that future father knows best, would brook no arguments. After all, he had said, he held a stake in this, too.

So Elizabeth had finally agreed, and the doctor was secured for the birth. The man had even come out to the country a few months ago, while Darcy had been gone, to do an examination of his future patient. But now, as the time grew close for the birth, she had written to the midman in London and received an answer, in elegant penmanship on fine pressed parchment, that Mr. Perry could not possibly come to Derbyshire at this time, as Her Grace could not spare him. Her Grace, if you did not catch that, you plebian monkey.

Well, no, the letter didn't actually say that, but it was implied, Elizabeth said, slipping the sheet beneath the door for his perusal. It wasn't even underlined, Darcy discovered. But his wife was not taking no for an answer.

"This is your mess, so you'll have to sort it out. You plebian monkey." Darcy wasn't completely sure he had heard that last part correctly, what with the giggle that had interrupted it, but the sentiment was no doubt implied.

Thus Darcy was on his way to London, accompanied by Bingley, who was intrigued by this idea of a man midwife.

"You mean, it's a man?" Bingley said, his eyes wide, when Darcy related to him this next task. "And he births the baby?"

"It's actually the woman who-- yes, Bingley, the man births the baby."

"Amazing," Bingley murmured.

They arrived together in London in good time and after a brief stopover at Darcy House to wash the gritty dust of the road from a surprising number of crevices the two found themselves in Harley Street in front of a plain white door with a brass knocker and a plate that read, "Mr. Abel Perry, accoucheur."

A tall thin man answered to their knock, his narrow-set eyes making a quick appraising glance of the two gentlemen on the doorstep. He examined the card Darcy offered, and whatever he saw, both on the crisp paper and in the crisp cut of their apparel, must have warranted approval, for a moment later he bowed and led them into a small office to one side of the foyer.

"How may I help you, gentlemen?" asked the man when they had been seated and he had taken a place behind the large mahogany desk.

His voice was high-pitched and his speech somewhat lisping, and Darcy wondered what on earth could have made his cousin recommend the man. Even if he was the best accoucheur in London, his very presence made Darcy's skin crawl. He wondered how Elizabeth had approved of him, and wondered if bringing the man back to Pemberley would only result in another labor due to her disappointment. He was very reluctant to do such a thing, for very good reason.

But he also knew, to his discredit, that appearances could be deceiving. Therefore, he resolved to give the man a hearing before relieving him of the need of his services.

"You must recognize my name," Darcy began. "My wife wrote you a week ago."

The man cocked one brow at the haughty tone of voice, but looked obediently at the card still in his hand and then at an open ledger before him. "Ah, yes," he said at last. "Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy. The child is not expected until the third week of September."

"And that's only a week and a half from now," Darcy replied impatiently. "I cannot believe that is too much time to spare."

"I'm afraid there's nothing that can be done yet, Mr. Darcy. The birth is not imminent, and Mr. Perry cannot be spared from his duties here in London to attend one woman in Derbyshire."

The man was so puffed up he referred to himself in the third person. Unbelievable. "Yes, well, Mr. Perry has not been to Derbyshire in several months, so I don't see how Mr. Perry could possibly know," Darcy said coldly. "What, is this duchess you set such store by due to give birth tomorrow, that you must wait on her every need?"

"Her grace is not due until January," the man replied with a sniff, snapping closed the ledger before him. "But she is feeling sickly, and has need of Mr. Perry's professional services."

"Yes, well, I am sure she will be fine for a week," Darcy said. In most circumstances, this would have been the point in the bargaining at which he would have offered to pay double for the doctor's presence in Derbyshire. But he had really taken a dislike to the man. No, on second thought perhaps he still would, but only if he could shove the second half of the fee up the man's long, haughtily elevated nose.

"I'm afraid that's impossible. Mr. Perry will not come to Derbyshire until next week."

Darcy smiled grimly. "Then I am afraid I have no need of your services, after all."

"My services?" the man echoed, arresting Darcy as he stood. "My services? What on earth would you need my services for?"

Now Darcy was confused. He looked over at Bingley for help, but his friend merely raised his hands in bafflement. "For the birth, of course," Darcy said, turning back to the man behind the desk. "That's usually what you do. Assist at births."

The man's eyes widened. "There must be some mistake. I don't assist at any births."

"Maybe we came to the wrong place," Bingley suggested.

"You're not an accoucheur?" Darcy asked in annoyance. "You're not the 'Mr. Perry, accoucheur' your doorplate, and even this little nameplate on your desk and these little cards with your name on it, would suggest?"

The man pursed his lips. "I am not Abel Perry," he said haughtily. "I am Draco Landon. Mr. Perry's secretary."

Well, that was a relief, if a little bit of a surprise. Darcy still disliked the man, but perhaps maybe he would still like the doctor. Retaking his seat, he asked, more politely than he thought possible, "May we see Mr. Perry, then?"

"No, you may not," Mr. Landon said, taking out a sheet of paper and dipping a quill pen in the ink stand, clearly dismissing the two gentlemen. "Mr. Perry is not in."

Darcy ground his teeth together. "And when will he be in?" he asked tightly. "May we have an appointment?"

Mr. Landon glanced up at him in annoyance, then reached for the daybook. He opened it and scanned a few pages. "Mr. Perry has an opening on Friday," he said at last, his quill hovering over the page. "Shall I schedule you for 2:30 in the afternoon?"

"Friday?" Darcy echoed. "It's Monday. I might as well wait for him to come next week."

"Well, that's your prerogative," Mr. Landon said, putting aside the planner and returning to his sheet of paper. When Bingley and Darcy did not immediately rise and leave, he looked up in surprise. "Was there anything else, gentlemen?"

They saw themselves out.

"Well, that was a disappointment," Bingley said as they stood on the front step of Mr. Perry's establishment. He glanced around at the carriages passing in the street and strollers on the walk while Darcy put on his hat and adjusted his gloves. "I was hoping at least to see one of those so-called forceps I've heard of. So what do we do now?" he asked.

It was a good question. And one that Darcy had not had near enough time to consider. The thorniest part of the issue was that everything pointed toward the need to talk to Mr. Perry personally and convince him to leave London with them. First off, it was the object of the labor; secondly, they had wasted all of this time traveling for this purpose; and, thirdly and not least to be considered, his pride was at stake. He had spent so much time convincing Elizabeth to accept the idea, that he could not simply turn around and go back home, dragging his tail between his legs, and admit he might have been wrong.

But how were they going to get to Mr. Perry? Somehow, he vowed, they would have to get past Mr. Landon.

"Mr. Darcy!"

Darcy looked down the steps to see a woman of middling years looking out at the window of a carriage that had stopped at the curb. It was a familiar face -- a cousin on his father's side and an acquaintance from the many balls he had attended over the years in London. The woman had often tried to pawn her eldest daughter off on him, but the young lady had been highly uninspiring. To be honest, he found himself mildly surprised that she bothered to address him on a busy street, now he was unavailable. But she did have a son at university, he recalled, and he did have a sister.

"Lady Anne!" he said, stepping to the door of the carriage, where he took the hand offered him and kissed it genteelly. "What a surprise to see you."

"No less to see you," Lady Anne said in return. "What are you doing in town? I heard your wife was due to give birth any time now."

Darcy colored up at such a direct address, even from a relation. "She is. May I ask where you heard it? We haven't been in company here in Town for nearly half a year now, and I can't believe you have thought of us so often to have counted the months."

"Oh, no," she said, batting his hand playfully with her glove. "Heavens! I have too much on my mind to pay such heed to those sorts of things. No, indeed; I wouldn't have known it if my husband hadn't happened to mention it to me the other day."

"I don't believe I have ever met your husband, Lady Anne," he said, wondering how the gentleman had become acquainted with such details of their family.

Her face fell. "Oh. But I supposed you had, if you are just come from calling on him."

The pieces fell in place. "Lady Anne Perry! Of course -- Mr. Perry is your husband."

"Well, of course he is," she replied, confused. "Who else would he be?"

Darcy shook his head and ignored her question. "I'm afraid Mr. Perry is not in at the moment," he said, glancing back at the building. "Or, at least, that is what Mr. Landon told us."

"Oh, blast and bother," Lady Anne said, lightly pounding the frame of the carriage window with her fist. "I had hoped to ask him about redecorating the front parlor. Ah, well. I'm sure he won't mind. So," she said, returning her attention on the two gentlemen before her, "you were calling on Mr. Landon, then?"

"Not precisely," Darcy replied. "We had intended on calling on your husband, but discovered too late it was a near impossibility."

Lady Anne looked at him shrewdly. "You don't care for Mr. Landon, do you?"

He cocked a brow. "Now, why would you say that?"

"Because your fingers have curled into the shape of his neck, perhaps?" she said with a laugh. "No, no, don't deny it; I find it gratifying to have others agree with my opinions. My husband thinks that snake disguised as a human is positively the best clerk he's ever had. And most likely he is. But, personally, I think he's a bit of a social climber. I keep him well away from my daughters. But, ah, what can I do? My husband will run his practice how he will.

"But oh! I know! Why don't the two of you come for tea?" she asked suddenly, her expression brightening as this new idea took hold. "I haven't had two such distinguished gentlemen grace my at-home for quite some time. Since you were stolen away, I haven't known what to do with my poor girls. I always thought you would be a good catch for my young Rosalind, Mr. Darcy. The young men these days are so flighty. Don't hardly know they're supposed to send flowers and stop in the day after a ball. And the waltz! Oh, dear, dear. But you will come, then?"

There were, of course, many things Darcy would rather do. Having his liver pecked out by a chicken or rolling a large boulder up a mountain came to mind. But, then, there were some advantages to being a married man, and one of those was being able to go to an at-home without fear of having to declare oneself for one of the young ladies at the home. No, he could go to Lady Anne Perry's calling hours with no danger to his person or marital state, aside from a strong chance of utter boredom and an even stronger chance of Miss Hyacinth Perry strangling a cat on the pianoforte. Or, at least, that's what it always sounded like.

"Shall we attend?" Darcy asked his friend with a vague hope he would suddenly remember an urgent appointment the two had.

But Bingley, being Bingley, thought it a delightful idea, and so the two were obliged to make an appearance in Mayfair in a little more than an hour.

In the meantime, now knowing Mr. Perry's social standing, at least through his wife, Darcy and Bingley went around to a number of the gentleman's clubs in search of the elusive gentleman. But he was clearly as occupied as Mr. Landon had implied or was a member of some other obscure club, because he wasn't at any of the ones they tried. As well, the doormen of the clubs of which he was a member seemed to think that he never came in before four or five in the afternoon, when he did.

"Well, blast and bother," Darcy muttered as he and Bingley made their way up the steps to the Perry townhouse to call on Lady Anne. Their escape plan had failed.

"Ah, Mr. Darcy! Mr. Bingley! How lovely to see the two of you," Lady Anne said, smiling at them as they greeted her after threading their way through the small crowd in the drawing room. "You remember my eldest, Rosalind."

Darcy obediently bowed over the hand extended to him by the elegant young lady sitting next to her mother. Bingley followed in due course.

"And, Hyacinth, of course, is there by the window," Lady Anne continued. "Perhaps later I could have her play for you. If I recall, your family had greatly enjoyed music, Mr. Darcy."

"A well-played pianoforte is always a delight," Darcy said tactfully.

Lady Anne smiled indulgently, detecting no sarcasm. "And this is my third eldest daughter, Violet," she said, indicating the somewhat spotty young lady sitting to her left, stabbing herself with an embroidery needle in an attempt to look refined. Darcy bowed over her other hand.

"Do you not have another daughter, Lady Anne?" Darcy asked later as he took the abandoned seat beside her after having circled the room to speak idly with several of the other ladies and gentlemen. Bingley had been lost somewhere in Miss Hyacinth's vicinity.

"I do, indeed; four daughters. My youngest is still in the nursery, but only a few more years. . ." she trailed off with a sigh. "It's the weight of the world, trying to find husbands for three daughters, Mr. Darcy. You'll discover that soon enough, I'm sure."

"Actually, I was hoping for a son," he said.

She smiled, patting his hand. "Don't we all. But we do our best with what we have. Speaking of which," she said, her bright eyes regaining their enthusiasm, "now, what are you doing in London when your wife is soon to give birth? Hiding out, like most husbands?"

"No, indeed, madam," Darcy replied. "I am here to fetch your husband to Derbyshire."

"Indeed?" she said, raising her delicately arched brows. "And does he know this?"

"Not yet," he admitted. "Mr. Landon was not precisely helpful earlier today. Apparently there is some duchess who is clearly a little more pregnant than my wife."

Lady Anne nodded. "Ah, yes, that would be Marianne. Despite her rank, the woman hasn't the sense God gave little green apples. My poor Mr. Perry has been called practically every day to their estate over some little symptom or other." She leaned toward him confidingly. "I am quite certain he will very much enjoy coming out to Derbyshire, if only to get far enough away that the duke's runners can't find him."

"And I would enjoy having him come to Derbyshire," Darcy said. "But I must find him before I can kidnap him, unfortunately."

"That is a problem," she agreed. She thought for a moment, then suddenly brightened alarmingly, clapping her hands in excitement. "Oh, I had the most brilliant idea."

Darcy waited expectantly.

"You can come with us to the ball tonight!"

He was not expecting that. "An interesting proposition, madam, but I have some doubt that it solves the problem."

"On the contrary, it solves it quite well," she replied with a smile. "You and Mr. Bingley shall escort us to the ball. Then, while the two of you are raising my daughters' prospects, being escorted around by such distinguished and discerning young men, I shall find my husband and tell him he needs to come to Derbyshire."

"I could simply go to the ball and find him there," Darcy offered, trying to find a workaround.

"Yes, but you do not know which one."

That did present some difficulty.

"And, besides, you have never met him, you said."

Again, that would be a problem.

"I am right, you know."

Indeed, he did know she was right. This would solve everything quite handily. They could bypass Mr. Landon entirely and get Mr. Perry to come to Derbyshire in one fell swoop. They might even be able to leave tonight.

At the same time, even with Bingley's support Darcy hated the idea of having to escort four women to a ball. To be honest, even with Bingley's support he hated going to balls at all.

But short of making Lady Anne cough up the name of the gala they would attend that night (and he would most likely be able to, if he could only stand to listen to her babble for long enough), he was obliged to do it. He was not, however, obliged to suffer through a sonata, and so politely excused Bingley and himself when Miss Hyacinth appeared to be warming up her vocal cords for a prompted impromptu concert. They had stayed too long already.

But it did not keep them from returning promptly to the townhouse later that evening in evening dress, ready to escort the ladies to a ball.

The affair was to be held a few blocks down at the home of the Viscount Harding, and the small party arrived in carriages at the well-lit townhouse some fifteen minutes after they had left. Being held in the off-Season, the ball was not nearly so grand or well-attended as some, but the high rank and high likability of the host and hostess had drawn a large enough crowd to make finding Mr. Perry seem to be more of a challenge than Darcy had expected.

"Why don't you escort my dearest Violet onto the dance floor for this next set while I go in search of my husband," Lady Anne offered after they had been there some time, standing on the edge of the ballroom. Bingley, who always enjoyed dancing, had already done the honors with Miss Perry, and Miss Hyacinth had been snatched away by some tone-deaf suitor. Presumably she gavotted better than she sang.

"I rarely dance," Darcy said stiffly, quietly enough not to be overheard by the girl. He'd made that mistake before.

Lady Anne laughed, and, taking her youngest daughter by the arm, drew her out from behind the potted plant. "Nonsense. Now, off you go."

Not one to shirk his duty, Darcy offered an arm to the shrinking Violet and the two made their way out to the dance floor.

This task was becoming much more difficult than Darcy had imagined. He had thought it would be as simple as arriving in London, speaking to the doctor, and then returning whence they had come. The most worrisome aspect was to have been deciding which waistcoat to wear.

Instead, he had searched for the doctor, encountered a dragon, and been given the onerous responsibility of chaperoning three young ladies at a ball. The weight of the world, Lady Anne had called it. Darcy had slightly more fear of the weight of Miss Violet's feet, but he could understand the metaphor.

When the music was done, he returned to the edge of the dance floor with sore toes and his partner's apologies ringing in his ears. Unwilling to risk any more damage to his extremities, he searched out a bachelor friend who owed him a favor and sent Miss Violet off for the next set. Miss Hyacinth was taken out by Bingley this time, and Miss Perry had an offer from a striking young gentleman in green.

Now to find out what was taking Lady Anne so long.

"Aren't you supposed to be finding your husband?" Darcy asked when he discovered her on the other side of the ballroom, gaily chatting with the other matrons.

"Oh!" Her momentary frown was quickly replaced again by a sunny smile. "I had forgotten about that." Excusing herself, she disappeared again from view.

After extricating himself from the clutches of the gossipy old ladies, Darcy returned to his post, then returned Miss Perry from the balcony before she ruined her reputation with the gentleman in green, then escorted Miss Violet to the withdrawing room where she could have her flounce re-pinned to her dress. His friend was as graceless as she was.

"Come, Darcy, why aren't you dancing?" Bingley said breathlessly once he had brought Miss Hyacinth back after the set was done.

"I have too much to focus on, to be dancing," Darcy replied, taking the second glass of champagne from Miss Perry's hand. He had no idea where she had found the first.

Bingley looked a bit crestfallen. "Oh. Do you . . . could I be of any help?" he asked doubtfully.

Darcy considered the offer. In the end he sent his friend off with Miss Violet, who had returned from the ladies' withdrawing room, and Miss Perry with Viscount Harding. Miss Hyacinth danced another set with her tone-deaf suitor.

He found Lady Anne at the refreshments.

Her eyes widened when she saw him. "Oh!" she said in surprise as she popped another strawberry in her mouth. "I had forgotten about that."

"Is he even here?" Darcy asked with suspicion.

She pursed her lips, though a smile threatened. "He's probably in the card room," she said at last. "He usually is."

When he narrowed his eyes at her, she hurried off, grinning, to the card room.

Darcy, on the other hand, returned to the ballroom, where he prevented Miss Hyacinth from dancing a third time with the same tone-deaf (and apparently arithmetically challenged) suitor, found a gentleman to walk the perimeter of the dance floor with Miss Violet, and presented Miss Perry with a glass of lemonade.

Putting Bingley in charge, he went to find Mr. Perry. The man was, as expected, in the card room.

"Oh, yes, I've been here the whole time," Mr. Perry said after being introduced by his wife. "But I recognize your name, my dear sir. Now, why would that be?"

"You were to come to Derbyshire for my wife," Darcy explained. "And, in fact, I was hoping you might come with us now. Tonight, if we could."

"Tonight!" Lady Anne echoed. "What of the rest of the ball?"

"I'm sure you could manage," Darcy hedged.

"But you're doing such a fine job of it," she said with a smile.

Darcy narrowed his eyes. But before he could reply, they were interrupted by Bingley, who came into the room escorting Miss Perry.

"Oh, what a pity," Darcy said quickly, taking the young lady by the elbow. "Miss Perry has a headache."

She seemed surprised by that. "I do?"

"What with all that champagne, I am unsurprised," he said, taking her mother by the elbow, as well, and steering them toward the door. Lady Anne, though flustered, could not resist without making a scene.

Miss Violet came out into the hallway then, in search of the withdrawing room. Her hem had somehow been torn by the sedate walk through the ballroom.

Darcy bustled her with the other two towards the door.

"What about Hyacinth?" Lady Anne said in an attempt to escape.

With a nod to the footmen, who came forward with the ladies' wraps, Darcy excused himself from the party at the door, found the young lady in the ballroom, spirited her away from her apparently entrancing suitor, and returned to the foyer -- all before the carriage had been pulled up to the door.

"Most impressive," Mr. Perry said as the three gentlemen waited for the second carriage to arrive.

"I've had recent practice," Darcy explained.

As they were mounting the carriage, however, a footman wearing the Darcy livery rushed up, carrying a note. With surprise, Darcy opened the missive and read the enclosed message with growing confusion.

"It seems we are called back to Pemberley -- as quickly as we can make it," he said in surprise, deciphering his wife's handwriting with difficulty. "But she didn't give any reason."

Mr. Perry gave a grave nod of the head. "Woman's intuition," he said, as if that explained all. "We'd best be off, then, as soon as I fetch my tools."

And in less than an half hour, they were on the way. Though there was an underlying tension as they all wondered about the nature of the curious summons, the trip to Derbyshire was easy, and they did it in practically no time at all. Bingley was excited, at first, to see all the tools that the good doctor had in his bag, and asked plenty of questions, but after discovering what the forceps was used for, and exactly where it was used, it suddenly didn't have nearly the appeal it had before. In fact, if anything, he seemed somewhat disturbed now by the idea of his wife giving birth, and shot the large black bag more than a few sideways glances as they bounced down the road to Pemberley.

Darcy, on the other hand, was more than a little reassured by the doctor's presence. After all, it was the last but one labor, and he could now rest easy that his wife would be in good hands when his child was ready to be born.

And that sense of security and surety was a good thing, if slightly misguided. Especially when they arrived at Pemberley to find the lights blazing in the darkness, a cacophony of noise everywhere, servants running scattered this way and that, Mr. Collins groaning on the floor, Kitty Bennet and Maria Lucas looking horrified in a corner, Mrs. Bennet on the stairs waving a handkerchief in distress, and Lady Catherine banging her cane on the foyer tiles in frustration. And that was only what they could see through the open front door.

They had entered, to put it mildly, chaos.

Chapter 12

Posted on 2008-11-12

"I am sorry about all that up there," Mrs. Collins said when Darcy located her in the kitchen, where she was supervising the water boiling and cloth gathering. "I imagine it's still a bit hectic."

"A bit," Darcy readily agreed. On gaining the entryway to Pemberley a few minutes previous, he had barely had time to set his valise down before being accosted by every single person in the foyer (minus Mr. Collins, who continued to groan on the floor). With nine people shouting at him from several directions, Darcy was unable to piece together anything more coherent than that there was a mess on the floor, dinner was ruined, Mrs. Bennet's nerves were in pieces, someone still hadn't been fetched, a maid had spilled mushroom sauce all over a dress, no one had any sense around here, Pemberley was a disaster, and, amazingly, Jane Bingley was at fault for all of it. Somehow, that was difficult to believe.

Escaping the melée, Darcy went in search of someone with a modicum of intelligence to explain everything to him. He located Mary Bennet in the drawing room, calmly reading a book, and, when asked, she told him that Mrs. Collins was in the kitchen.

"What happened?" he asked Mrs. Collins now, dodging maids who were running distractedly past. "You didn't poison him, did you?"

"Who?" Mrs. Collins said in confusion. "Oh! You mean my husband. No, he did that to himself."

"He poisoned himself?"

"No, no. He shot the cat."

"The cat?" Darcy echoed in surprise. "We don't have a cat. Whose cat did he shoot?"

"No -- he shot the cat," she repeated. "He tossed his cookies. Cascaded. Cast up his accounts. Whatever you wish to call it."

"He vomited?"

"Indeed."

"May I ask for what reason?"

A sigh escaped her lips. "He has no stomach for these sorts of things," she said, pausing as she put another cloth in the basket. "Hence why he got himself a wife, of course. Someone has to go out and tend the flock. The female part of the flock, at least."

She turned suddenly as the water in the kettle bubbled over. "Oh, bother," she muttered. "It never boils while you're watching. Beg pardon; coming through."

With brisk efficiency, Mrs. Collins scooped the kettle off the stove with one hand and fitted the basket of cloths against her hip, then strode out of the kitchen, dodging servants as she went.

"Is the doctor here?" she asked over her shoulder to Darcy, who had trailed behind in confusion.

"He is. Arrived with us, actually," Darcy said.

"Good. And the midwife?"

"I don't know . . . wait, the midwife? The midwife!" Darcy repeated in shock. He grabbed Mrs. Collins' arm in agitation, spilling a few of the cloths out of the basket. Luckily he hadn't grabbed the other arm. "Is -- is she okay?" he asked.

"She's fine," Mrs. Collins said soothingly. "A little embarrassed, maybe, but what can be done about that? A lot of women feel sick at their confinement. And while it wasn't expected this early, infants don't tend to time their arrivals all that well, I've found."

Darcy pulled out chunks of hair. "It's here? She gave birth and we weren't here?"

Mrs. Collins smiled consolingly. "Just the preliminaries. The doctor got here just in time, in my opinion." She frowned. "Though I don't understand why the midwife hasn't arrived yet."

A recollection teased Darcy's mind. "I don't think anyone's fetched her," he said slowly. "I think that's what they were saying upstairs."

"Somehow, I'm not surprised," she said, rolling her eyes. "Now, I'd best get upstairs. Would you mind grabbing those cloths that fell out?"

As Darcy picked up the rags on the step, Mrs. Collins continued up the servants' staircase. He followed behind, agitated despite her soothing words. When he reached the second floor, he came out into the hallway and went toward the room into which Mrs. Collins had disappeared. But as he made to enter, he bumped into someone coming out.

"Elizabeth!" he said in surprise, looking down dazedly at his wife. "What are you doing? Shouldn't you be in bed?"

She seemed confused by his words. "In bed? What good would I do there?"

He goggled. "But -- but you're giving birth!"

"Yes," she said slowly. "But not yet."

He couldn't believe what he was hearing. His frozen brain could not seem to formulate a reply. He simply stared at her in baffled frustration.

Mrs. Collins suddenly appeared in the doorway and took the cloths out of Darcy's unresisting hands. Taking in his bemused expression, she patted him on the hand. "Don't worry. Jane will be fine," she said before disappearing back into the room.

"Jane?" Darcy echoed. He turned to Elizabeth. "Jane?"

A smile creased Elizabeth's face, transforming her somewhat harried appearance. Her eyes twinkled. "Didn't you know?" she said, laughter threading her tone. "My sister's about to have her baby. You didn't -- you didn't think it was me, did you?" Now she was full-out laughing, the action making her belly bounce. She seemed heavier than the last time he'd seen her. Much heavier.

He didn't take his error well. "I was worried," he said stiffly.

Her laughter eased, and she gazed at him with a fond expression. "I know," Elizabeth said, her smile bright. She reached up and gave him a kiss. "Thank you," she whispered in his ear. And with a saucy look over her shoulder, she waddled down the hall on her errand.

For a moment, Darcy simply gazed aftere her disappearing figure. Then, rousing himself slightly, he went down the stairs, avoided the chaos still reigning in the foyer, and slipped into the library.

The three men looked up from where they were sitting, two at the chessboard and one in a chair by the fire.

"Good; it's only you," said Mr. Bennet, returning to his book. "I was worried for a moment it might be my wife again."

Darcy didn't argue; he merely flopped into a chair in this male bastion without comment. Colonel Fitzwilliam and Alex Lynley went back to their game. They were peaceful for some time, with just the clicking of the chess pieces and the occasional murmured declaration from one side of the room and the flipping of pages from the other. The sounds from the rest of the house were muted, and infrequently did they intrude upon their notice. But it was not long before they were interrupted.

"Begging pardon, sir, but Mrs. Darcy requests your presence above stairs," the nervous and frazzled maid said with a curtsy. She escaped as quickly as she'd come.

Darcy sighed, but did as bid. When he arrived upstairs, he knocked at the door where he had met his wife not too much earlier. Elizabeth answered, her head poking around the door cautiously.

"Good; it's only you," she said with a sigh. "I need you to do something for me."

Darcy, though not completely in control of this situation, was clever enough to take the opening afforded him: "Is it my twelfth labor?"

She was surprised. "Oh. I had forgotten about that. But, yes, I suppose we could make it the twelfth. I need you to get Bingley out of here."

"Bingley?" Darcy echoed. He had forgotten about his friend. "What is he doing?"

"Becoming a nuisance," Elizabeth said, rolling her eyes. "He's aggravating poor Jane, who has enough to worry about right now. We've tried throwing him out already. He even agreed to stay in the other room with the accoucheur, but at the smallest noise he came barreling through the door, looking half-crazed. Tripped over a chair, in fact."

Darcy found this amusing. Bingley, along with all the others running about this house, clearly needed to relax; there was nothing about this situation to get worked up over. "I'll take care of him," he assured his wife.

"Thank you," she replied. "And keep everyone else out, too, would you?"

"Everyone else?" he echoed, but she had already closed the door.

Darcy located Bingley in the sitting room adjoining the bedchamber. His friend was pacing the floor and tearing at his hair; Mr. Perry was calmly playing patience.

"This is hell, Darcy," Bingley said after Darcy had poured him a stiff drink. He knocked the whole thing back in one swig and came up coughing.

"No need for such language, Bingley," Darcy replied, slapping his friend on the back helpfully. "Everything will be fine."

"But what if there are complications?" the younger man said, his eyes filled with tears that may or may not have been the result of the stinging liquor. "He'd have to use the forceps," he continued in a whisper loud enough to set the doctor to chuckling.

Darcy sighed. "But at least he'd be here to save them both," he said reasonably. "And Jane will be fine. Just you wait."

A few more minutes, and Bingley began to relax, especially when Darcy poured them each another drink. But only a moment later, another loud cry from the other room made Bingley rush to the door. It was a close thing, but Darcy managed to get a hold of his friend and, after prying his hand from the door handle, dragged him back to the chair by the fire. Mr. Perry played another card on the king.

It only took one more glass of Brandy before Bingley was drunk and sobbing about how he didn't want his angel to be an angel, and Darcy, with the solicitude of a friend, briskly bustled him up to get him out of the room. He'd take him to the library where the other men might be able to talk some sense into him, without hearing screaming right outside the door.

"There you are! I've been meaning to talk with you, Fitzwilliam Darcy!"

Darcy turned with astounding patience to his aunt, shifting Bingley's arm over his other shoulder. "Aunt Catherine, this really isn't the time."

"Well, if you would simply make yourself more available to your guests, as a host should, we wouldn't have to talk about this in a hallway," Lady Catherine said, banging her cane on the floor for good measure. "Your wife was certainly not very accommodating, either, when I tried to talk with her a moment ago. She was quite impertinent."

"You tried to talk to Elizabeth?" Darcy asked in amazement. Bingley breathed heavily in his friend's ear, and Darcy impatiently leaned him against the nearest wall. "Her sister is giving birth right now."

"I could see that. But it was no reason for her to be so rude."

Darcy rubbed a hand across his brow. "So you actually barged into a birthing room--"

"I do not barge."

"--in order to . . . what? What could possibly be this important, Aunt Catherine?"

Lady Catherine sniffed. "You must get rid of that woman."

"What woman?" He had women up to his ears.

"That low, scheming woman who has her claws into my dear Fitzwilliam," Lady Catherine said, punctuating her sentence with her cane. "She and that sister of hers are plotting to ensnare him with their arts and allurements."

Well, that ruled out Mary Bennet. It probably also ruled out Kitty and Maria. "I don't think Miss Bingley would be that bad of a catch for my cousin," Darcy replied. "She's got a healthy dowry, you know, and she's a more reasonable age for him than she is for Lynley." Certainly more than Georgiana.

Lady Catherine narrowed her eyes. "You know that Fitzwilliam is going to marry Anne," she said. "It was the dearest wish of his mother and hers."

Darcy choked on air. His aunt prodded him in the midsection with her cane. "And you will ensure no strumpet from London who reeks of trade does anything to interfere." She paused. "What is wrong with that man?"

Bingley was on the floor, crying into a vase. She poked him with her cane.

"He's a little out of sorts," Darcy said, helping his friend to stand. "His wife is in her confinement."

Lady Catherine scowled. "This is all highly irregular. Your guests should not be giving birth or weeping in hallways. You should do something about this."

"Yes, Aunt," Darcy said with a sigh. "I'll take care of it."

She seemed content. With a regal nod, and another scowl at Bingley, she continued down the hall in the direction of her suite of rooms.

The two gentlemen continued their journey down the stairs to the library. They got as far as the foyer, where Darcy was accosted by Mrs. Bennet. Bingley sat down on the steps with a thump.

"Oh, Mr. Darcy! My dearest Jane! What are we to do?"

He was losing his patience. "I would suggest finding a good book, madam."

Mrs. Bennet didn't seem to hear him. "I told Jane she should not come all this way to Derbyshire. She should have stayed at home in Hertfordshire, where we know the local midwife, and I could have been there to help. Or, at the very least, she should have taken us all to London, where we could have hired the best midwife for her."

"I brought Mr. Perry with us from London," Darcy said.

"Yes, but he's a man. What does he know of these things? No, I'm sure she should have stayed in Hertfordshire. This local midwife will not even let me in the room."

Probably for good reason. "I am sure she just did not want a crowd," Darcy began.

"Yes, but her own mother! Oh, my nerves!"

With some difficulty and a lot of diplomacy, Darcy managed to calm Mrs. Bennet to the point that he could escort her upstairs to her room, where he rang the bell and asked the maid who answered it to wait on his mother-in-law. As he left, the lady was demanding cakes and chocolates. To soothe her nerves, of course.

Darcy returned to Bingley, who was leaning on the banister and staring into space. Carefully prying him from the bars, he led him into the library, where he expected to find the support of other men. Instead, he found Mr. Collins. Darcy tried to back out slowly, but Bingley was difficult to move.

"May I take this opportunity, Mr. Darcy, to thank you for your condescension in inviting Mrs. Collins and I to Pemberley," Mr. Collins began with a bow. "We have been most grateful. Most grateful, indeed, to have been able to be of service to yourself and her ladyship. I told Mrs. Collins the other day that we have been most blessed to have gained notice from so grand and distinguished a gentleman as yourself."

"Thank you, Mr. Collins," Darcy said with a sigh as he helped Bingley to a chair. "I am glad to see that you are feeling more the thing."

Mr. Collins swallowed nervously. "Yes, well." He mopped his suddenly perspiring brow. "Erm . . . Pemberley is so very well run! I assume that her ladyship has been of great help to you over the years, with her impressive organization and enviable ability to find ways to help a household run more smoothly. I know that I, humble parson though I may be, have been most grateful to have had her good counsel during my time at Hunsford. She has been most attentive to all the aspects of a parson's quite considerable and sometimes, if I may say so myself, quite complicated existence."

"All aspects?"

"Indeed," Mr. Collins said with pride.

"Good lord," Darcy murmured.

"He is, indeed, to have blessed me with such a patroness," Mr. Collins agreed.

"I'm glad to find you are enjoying your stay here at Pemberley," Darcy said before the voluble clergyman could launch another bout of verbal diarrhea. "And I do apologize for these latest incidents this evening. I understand dinner was interrupted--" Mr. Collins paled slightly "--so if you need anything, please feel free to summon a servant, who will be more than happy to bring you a tray in your room."

"Y-yes, thank you," Mr. Collins said. His Adam's apple bobbed in distress.

"Many of the servants are occupied at the moment, running errands for the midwife and preparing for the infant's arrival, but I trust you would not have too long a wait," Darcy said. Mr. Collin's skin took on a greenish cast. "And if the noise at all bothers you, please let me know. There are rooms further down the hall in the east wing that could easily be prepared for you, where you would be less likely to be disturbed by any commotion relating to the lying-in."

A strangling sound arose from Mr. Collin's throat, but Darcy continued, undaunted: "In fact, Lady Catherine, I believe, is in her sitting room at the moment, which is on the opposite end of the house, on the far end of the west wing. She seemed distressed by the events of this evening, and I am sure she would invite the company."

Mr. Collins mopped his forehead with his now-damp handkerchief. "Indeed. I have noticed that the weaker sex, especially, becomes . . . distressed by these situations," he said, his voice thready. "It's a natural event. Indeed, one blessed by God. The olive branch, and all . . ." He cleared his throat in an attempt to collect himself. "I shall go to her ladyship to discover if she would desire my assistance."

Darcy patted him on the back, drawing a slight burp from the pasty parson. Mr. Collins hurried from the room, one hand over his mouth.

"Very clever, Mr. Darcy," said Mr. Bennet a moment later as he emerged from the wall.

"Indeed," Colonel Fitzwilliam agreed as next he, followed by Alex Lynley carefully carrying the chessboard, exited the secret room behind the book stacks. "We should have thought of that."

"I see you had no problem thinking of hiding in the priest hole," Darcy grumbled.

The colonel flashed a wide grin. "It was a close call."

"Hm," Darcy said, narrowing his eyes. "By the by, cousin, Aunt Catherine wishes you to keep your distance from Miss Bingley."

"Miss Bingley!" cried Lynley, startled. He turned to the colonel, the chess pieces rattling on the board. "What are you doing with Miss Bingley, sirrah?"

"At the moment, nothing, you young pup, so you can cool your heels," Colonel Fitzwilliam said to the agitated young man. He turned back to Darcy. "What's our aunt got to say about it?"

Darcy smiled slightly. "Just that you were promised to Anne."

"Oh, of all the most ridiculous things!" cried a new voice. Darcy turned to see Anne in the doorway of the priest hole, a biscuit in her hand and three more in her pocket. "What?" she said when she saw his expression. "Well, I certainly wasn't going to get stuck in here by myself with Mr. Collins. Besides, Georgiana and Mrs. Annesley were in there, too." She gestured behind her as Georgiana poked her head out and waved.

"I don't want to know how you all fit," Darcy muttered as the commotion that had been growing louder in the hall suddenly burst into the room.

"Mr. Darcy! There you are," said a flustered Miss Bingley, followed closely by her sister. "I will not stand for being unjustly abused in your drawing room. I demand that you do something about this."

He was about to ask for clarification when the clarification walked through the door, her lips pursed and her nose held high.

"Mother!" Lynley squeaked.

Lady Honoria Lynley narrowed her eyes as she caught sight of her son. "Alexander Charles Lynley, you will come home immediately. And you, Mr. Darcy," she said, turning to that gentleman, "I don't know what kind of household you are running here, but your mother would be rolling in her grave if she knew you had allowed my son to be prevailed upon by this-- this adventuress!" she cried, pointing one beringed finger at Miss Bingley.

"Adventuress!" the lady cried, in unison with Lynley and Colonel Fitzwilliam. The colonel drew his sword, causing Mrs. Hurst to yelp and hide behind her sister.

"My mother would never--" Georgiana began, but she was silenced by her brother.

"Lady Honoria, I don't know what misapprehension you are under, but I have never allowed anything unsavory to happen under my roof," Darcy said grimly. "I should think the mutual and long-held respect between our families would grant you this concession."

After a moment of thought, the grand dame allowed a succinct nod.

"As to the two of you, Miss Bingley and Lynley -- have we not had discussions on this topic?" Lynley hung his head at Darcy's stern tone, and Miss Bingley glared. "I will not have anything havey-cavey going on in this house at this time or any other time. You, Miss Bingley, need to stop snabbling all the gentlemen here. You, Mrs. Hurst, need to stop helping her. You, Lynley, need to grow a backbone. You, Mr. Bennet, need to stop laughing. And for heaven's sake, Fitzwilliam, put away your sword!"

The colonel blushed and slid the blade back in its scabbard.

"Now, Bingley's wife is having her lying-in right now, and in the interests of privacy and my continued sanity I would appreciate it if anyone who is not a guest here at the moment to please depart. And for anyone who is a guest here, please find something else to do and somewhere else to do it. Thank you."

"Well, I never!" huffed Lady Honoria.

But despite her declaration, and perhaps because of the expression on Darcy's face, everyone in the room, with varying degrees of upset pride, annoyance, or amusement, obeyed his edict and departed. Darcy was left alone with Bingley, who was snoring happily in a chair.

With a resigned shake of the head, Darcy first checked the priest hole to ensure there were no other inhabitants, and then, after stoking the fire, settled himself into a chair to wait.

The wait was long, with only the occasional interruption: the butler stopping in to ask if there was anything they needed before he retired for the night; a brief appearance by Mr. Hurst, who was looking for something to drink; and Mr. Bennet checking in on his sons-in-law.

They spent the time napping, reading, pacing, and talking. With the majority of the household at rest, the sounds of the birth filtered more easily into the room, and each one made Bingley paler. But Darcy helped ease his friend's mind by drawing out happy stories of Jane and Bingley's marriage, discussing the good times they'd had since the pregnancy began, and talking about his friend's expectations for this new child, whenever he or she was born.

And then at dawn, as the sky seen through the French doors began to lighten and birds and other fauna stirred in the brush, the cries of an infant rent the air, and the mood suddenly turned expectant, the relative silence that shortly followed, pregnant.

Some fifteen or thirty agonizing minutes later, Elizabeth appeared in the doorway, and Darcy felt a surge of pleasure flow through him despite her tired eyes and wan appearance. She was smiling, and it made him happy to be able to see her at last.

"You can come upstairs now, Charles," Elizabeth said softly to the man who had sat upright, alert, at her entrance. "Jane is ready."

Bingley let out a whoop and went to hug his sister-in-law, twirling her around before she swatted him, saying, "Stop that. I'm too heavy!

"And getting sick," she muttered when he put her down.

"Is it a boy? A girl?" he asked eagerly.

"A girl," Elizabeth replied.

"A girl," Bingley echoed in wonder. He turned to Darcy with a dazed expression. "Did you hear that, Darcy? I'm a father! I have a baby girl!"

Darcy embraced his friend, patting him on the back. "Congratulations, Bingley. Now, go see your wife and child. You'll have plenty of time to tell everyone later."

Bingley left, murmuring "I'm a father!" in a stunned voice, and Darcy turned to his wife, who was smiling at him with a somewhat amused expression. As the door closed, they could hear Bingley telling someone in the hall that he had just had a baby girl.

"How are you holding up?" Darcy asked, to break the silence.

Elizabeth pushed a fallen piece of hair behind her ear. "Fairly well," she replied. "A bit tired. But Jane is safely delivered, and the doctor and the midwife say both she and the baby are perfectly healthy. That's what matters."

He took her hands in his and kissed the fingers. "I'm sorry to hear that you are tired," he said softly. "We could go upstairs and rest for a bit, if you would like."

She shook her head. "No, I have something to show you."

"To show me?" he echoed.

"Something I've been waiting a while now to show you," she said with a smile. "But I had to wait until you had finished your labors."

She took his hand and led him, unresisting, out of the library. As she made her ungainly way up the stairs, stopping frequently to rest, her hand on her stomach and a frown creasing her brow, Darcy hovered behind her worriedly. When they got to the floor on which the family rooms were located, he suggested she merely tell him where to go, that she might be able to rest for a while in her rooms. But she negated that motion, insisting she had to be there when he saw it.

They continued up the stairs, and Darcy wondered if they weren't possibly going up to the attics. But instead they stopped on the third storey, and Elizabeth drew him to a stop in front of the nursery door. She had him close his eyes, and when he did she opened up the double doors and led him by the hand into the room.

"You can open them now," she said when he continued to stand there, blind to his surroundings.

The room that met his view when he obeyed was vastly different from the room he had left several weeks ago, the room he had last seen when cleaning the attics for his fifth task. Releasing his wife's hand, he walked around in wonder, his fingers brushing against the old pieces of furniture unearthed: the bassinet, re-finished and re-painted, that he remembered had once held his little sister; the cot, now fitted with a new mattress and soft blankets, that had once been his; the tub, cleaned and polished, in which hundreds of infant Darcys had been bathed; the rocking chair, its broken leg fixed, that had then rocked them to sleep. The walls were painted a cheerful yellow, making the room even in the dim light as sunny as a summer morning, and the heavy drapes meant to keep out the cool night drafts were tied back to reveal the pale rays of first light streaming through white lace. On one side of the room, long shelves held remnants of Darcy's childhood: tiny soldiers, painstakingly re-painted; books with finely detailed paintings of dragons and strange far-off worlds; blocks and other small toys with newly mended strings.

"Anne finished painting that yesterday," Elizabeth said as he crouched beside Samson, a rocking horse he had thought was much taller than it now seemed. "We had to have Jim carve a new tail, as, from what I understand from the colonel, you broke it off when you were children."

"Actually, he was the one who broke it," Darcy murmured, running a hand over the nearly seamless finish. He glanced back at his wife, who still stood in the doorway, a hand on her vast stomach and a smile on her lips. "Have you been planning this the entire time?"

Elizabeth grinned. "Well, perhaps not the entire time," she admitted. "It was when I had you clean the attics that the idea came to me. I arranged for Mrs. Reynolds to have the pieces she found brought to my room, and there we cleaned and painted them over these past few weeks."

"And you had to have me gone from Pemberley to get the work done," he said, fitting in the last piece of the puzzle resting on a small table.

"Whenever we were moving items in and out, and when we were painting this room, certainly," Elizabeth agreed. "Though, I admit, there were quite a few times when I was simply angry at you."

He rushed to her side when suddenly a spasm of pain crossed her face, but she waved his concern away. "I think it's the baby who's angry at me today," she said with a forced laugh. "Probably for being on my feet so long, and not resting except for that brief nap a few hours ago."

Darcy led his wife over to a low chair in the middle of room, and she sat down, carefully moderating her breath. "I think it's fine now," she said after a moment. "So . . . do you like it?"

"The room? It's wonderful," he replied with a smile, entwining their fingers. "I'm touched; I'm honored. And, despite all of the trouble you've put me through these past few weeks, I'm pleased. Pleased that, even when you were angry with me, you took the time to create something so important for our child but also so important to me."

Elizabeth grimaced. "I'm sorry things were so rough. I hadn't thought . . . Jane and Charlotte and Anne have told me some of the troubles you've encountered. And I'm sure they don't know the half of it. I really didn't think--"

He placed a finger over her lips. "I've already forgiven you, my dear. You couldn't have known all the complications that would arise."

She laughed. "Well, I could have anticipated at least a few of them. At least-- Oh, my!" She broke off with a startled expression. "I didn't even think-- oh, dear."

When Darcy continued to stare at her in confusion, she looked down, then looked back at him, a dismayed expression on her face. "I think we'll need a new rug."

"A new rug?" Darcy stormed when, after practically carrying his wife down the stairs and waking everyone on the floor, he was exiled from the room by the women and the midwife, who was still here from the first birth. He had found Mr. Bennet, half-dressed, bushy-haired, and bleary-eyed, in that gentleman's bedroom. "She's giving birth and she worries about the rug?"

Mr. Bennet rubbed a hand over his face, watching the younger man pace the floor. "Would you mind horribly, Mr. Darcy, if I got dressed?"

After waiting patiently in the hallway, Darcy pounced on his father-in-law when he emerged.

"Breakfast first," Mr. Bennet said, interrupting before Darcy got out more than a syllable.

In the breakfast room, Darcy tried to return to the point again, but Mr. Bennet blocked his every attempt, introducing innocuous conversational gambits on the weather, the state of the roads, tidings of war, and the probability that the price of wool would increase.

"What is wrong with you?" Darcy finally exclaimed when, now in the library, Mr. Bennet had maneuvered the conversation to the topic of Sir Walter Scott's latest novel. "How could you be so detached? Your own daughter is giving birth!"

Mr. Bennet looked over the rim of his glasses at his son-in-law, who flushed slightly at the rebuke in his gaze. "Considering I was there when that daughter was born, never mind her four sisters, I don't see much reason to be panic-stricken, for one," he said. "And, secondly, with whom are you now angry?"

"You," Darcy muttered.

"And with whom were you angry before?"

"Elizabeth."

"A much better situation, wouldn't you agree?"

Darcy accepted the reproof with grace. "I'm worried about her," he said after staring for some time into the fireplace, where the flames had long since died.

"Of course you are," Mr. Bennet replied, looking up from his book. "I wouldn't have expected otherwise. And, to be honest, if you weren't worried I would have had to do something about it, because it would be a sign you didn't care. Or were ignorant of the risks. I am worried, too. It's natural. But you can't let it overwhelm you."

"I feel as ridiculous as Bingley," Darcy said. He thrust himself out of the chair and paced to the door and back, stopping to lean on the mantle. "Or, to be fair, it's more that I feel as ridiculous as I felt Bingley was being. Somehow it didn't seem quite as nerve-wracking when it wasn't Elizabeth."

"Naturally," Mr. Bennet murmured, his eyes on his book.

"I think I know what Bingley meant now," Darcy continued. "This really is hell. The waiting, the not knowing."

"Mm-hmm."

"And how long are we to wait? I've heard that upper-class women are in confinement longer."

Mr. Bennet raised an eyebrow in derision.

Realizing how silly he sounded, Darcy settled back into his chair, his head in his hands. This, he reflected, was the worst labor of them all -- and it wasn't even labor. Not for him, at least. But all he could think about was Elizabeth upstairs, of all the things that could go wrong, and the fear that there were things that could go wrong that he couldn't even imagine.

He had a headache; he put fingers to his temples in pain, feeling the throbbing, the pulsating. His head was pounding.

No, that was Mary. On the kettle drum.

"Of all the times to practice," Mr. Bennet muttered with a sigh. "I'll be right back."

A few minutes later there was a thunderous crescendo, and then the pounding stopped, and shortly thereafter Mr. Bennet returned. With him came Colonel Fitzwilliam, who was of absolutely no help in cheering up his cousin. His lack of experience and unfortunate store of military metaphors served more to induce a strong urge in Darcy to strangle him.

Bingley then stopped in for a few minutes, but in his case his surfeit of recent experience and constant references to Jane merely made Darcy waver on which gentleman to strangle first.

Lady Catherine made her own appearance in the late morning, Mr. Collins trailing behind. She demanded to see Darcy because, having heard of his wife's lying-in, she had gone to offer her counsel, but the midwife had said something quite shocking in reply. Darcy, not precisely in a good humor at this point, offered her the same advice, though in slightly more refined accents. Lady Catherine did not stay in the library long. Mr. Collins' visit was even shorter.

A few minutes later, Miss Bingley came in search of Colonel Fitzwilliam, but retreated quickly when she caught Darcy's gaze, instead. The colonel, with a roguish look his cousin pretended not to notice, followed her out.

Bingley was next to go, returning happily to his wife and new child, thus leaving Darcy alone again with Mr. Bennet.

"This has to be the longest day of my life," Darcy said when the silence had stretched.

Mr. Bennet set his book down and looked at his watch. "It isn't even noon," he replied.

"I know," Darcy said morosely. "This is awful. I'll never forget this morning."

"I should hope not," his father-in-law replied. "If there's anything I know, it is to remember birthdays. Birthdays and anniversaries. You can forget nearly everything else in your life -- the quibbles you have with others , the heartbreaks, what you wore yesterday -- but never, ever forget your wife or your children's birthday or anniversary."

"I know that now," Darcy said. "But I can't start remembering it until it's over. And its not over."

And then, suddenly, inexplicably, it was over.

"Mr. Darcy?"

Darcy looked up to see Mrs. Collins in the doorway. "Your wife is asking for you."

At her words, he was out of the room like a shot, his fears and his hopes driving him up the stairs and down the hall. He burst through the door to the birthing room, startling its occupants. "Elizabeth!"

"Shh," she said with a tired, though beatific smile. "You'll wake the baby."

Slightly stunned, his heart filling with joy, Darcy slowly approached the bed where his wife lay and looked down at the tiny, wrinkled infant in her arms. Mr. Perry, packing up the last of his instruments, smiled at the new father, and gave him a brief pat on the shoulder, saying "It's a son, Mr. Darcy." Then he followed the midwife from the room.

And as the door closed smoothly behind them, the new family was alone together for the first time. For many long minutes, nothing was said, other than soft murmurs to soothe the now suckling child, and Elizabeth and Darcy exchanged more than a few loving glances. They were together, and this was all they needed.

"I didn't have time to tell you this before, but I'm glad you liked the nursery," Elizabeth said at last in a voice gentle enough not to disturb the baby. "We really did work very hard on it."

"It was a wonderful surprise," he replied, tenderly stroking a fallen tress back behind his wife's ear. "Though you know that you didn't have to do all that work."

Elizabeth shook her head slowly. "No, you deserved a reward for all the labors I put you through."

"As did you," Darcy replied with a smile for his son. "And I think it's the best reward for which either you or I could have hoped."

Elizabeth's eyes twinkled as they shared a laughing glance, and Darcy realized that it was no less than the truth. Having her here with him, holding their legacy, was the ultimate gift, greater than the immortality of legend. He couldn't have asked for more.

"You know, my love," Elizabeth said after a moment, breaking the silence as she gazed down at her new son with a soft expression, "and I do feel awful to admit this, but, to be completely honest, I don't even think I can remember anymore what it is you did."

At her words, Darcy thought through the past two months. He considered the traveling he did, the battles he had waged between various relations and acquaintances, the pride he had to swallow and the patience he had to practice. He reflected very hard on the advice his father-in-law had given him a few minutes before, as he was tearing out his hair in the library below. And he remembered that, above all, she was always right.

With a secret smile, he planted a gentle kiss on his new child's brow, then kissed the top of his wife's head and whispered, "Wouldn't you know it -- neither can I."