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Posted on Chapter Seventeen

Posted on 2009-11-27

The door that separated Darcy's room from his wife's was solid, but it was not soundproof; he heard Elizabeth's sobs as he prepared for bed. Part of him wanted to rush to her side and tell her that all would be well, but a greater part told him that his withdrawal was for the best. He and Elizabeth had become too close. It was better that he distance himself now, to protect against the inevitable heartbreak that lurked ahead. The child was coming soon. Would Elizabeth survive the babe's entrance into the world? He believed that he had done all he could to ensure that she would. But until the child was born, he had to stay away.

If … if she safely delivered, he would go to her again. He needed heirs, and he needed a woman in his bed, and he would rather that woman be Elizabeth. He knew that she would miss her family terribly. Had he not missed his own, as one by one they had died? He had eventually overcome his grief; so would she. Then all would be as it was – with the notable absence of the accursed Bennets. Those disgraceful people would never again shame him or his family; they would never again be allowed to darken the door of any of his homes. He and Elizabeth would avoid Hertfordshire altogether. He would also talk to Bingley about finding a more suitable estate where the name of Bennet was unknown. But until the child was born, he had to stay away.

The next morning, husband and wife met at breakfast. Elizabeth would rather have remained in her chambers, but was concerned that a failure to appear downstairs would be misinterpreted as an act of rebellion. Darcy's temper was still unpredictable; she did not yet know to what extent his disavowal of her family would affect his behaviour towards her, and she did not have the wherewithal to confront an angry husband. He, however, seemed pleasantly surprised to see her.

"Good morning, Mrs. Darcy."

Elizabeth nodded her head, "Sir."

"You look fatigued. Did you not sleep well?"

"No, I did not, but I shall rest later." After a pause, she meekly added, "Does this meet with your approval?" Elizabeth could feel his eyes on her, but she could not raise hers to meet his.

"You know what is best for yourself and the child. If you need me, I will be with my steward. After my prolonged absence, we have many things to discuss."

Elizabeth again nodded, unwilling to look at him, too disheartened should she again see censure in her husband's gaze, and unable to think of anything to say. Nothing, at least, that would not cause more pain. They ate in silence, the only sounds cutlery scraping against plates, and cups rattling against saucers.

When Darcy excused himself, Elizabeth breathed a sigh of relief. They had managed a civil discourse in this first meeting after his disapprobation of her family. She finished the food on her plate although she had no appetite. She knew she must keep up her strength, and forced herself to take bite after bite for the sake of the child. When she finished, she decided to speak to the housekeeper and the cook. Her life might be in shambles, but Pemberley went on. She had her responsibilities – first and foremost to see to the needs of her husband and unborn child. Having failed so spectacularly as Darcy's wife, she would do everything in her power to maintain a well-run household. There was little else she could do for him, or for herself.

Elizabeth felt rather than knew that she would see little of her husband in the coming weeks. Yesterday and this morning, he had met her with the same mask of indifference that she had seen when he greeted those whom he felt beneath him. But never her, until now. That he might forevermore act thus around her gave her pause; it was more than she could bear, and her despair poured forth in free-flowing tears.

Elizabeth was correct; she did not see Darcy again until dinner. There remained an awkward silence between them; she wanted to talk, but there was an embargo on the one subject foremost on her mind and heaviest on her heart. Elizabeth was at a loss until she recalled that Darcy had spent the day with his steward.

"I take it that Mr. Wright kept you occupied all day?"

"Yes, and we rode out to meet with a few of the tenants."

"Nothing significant, I hope."

"Not at all, but there is always something that needs my attention, or better said, someone in want of my attention."

"I thought that I would visit a few tenants later this week. Even here at Pemberley, there is always some need that I can relieve."

"Do you think it wise to journey so far from the house?"

"They expect and deserve no less from the mistress of Pemberley."

"Surely a servant dispatched with a basket and note would suffice. I do not want you to take any risks."

"I am a healthy, country-bred woman. I see no great risk in paying calls of charity on people you have known all your life."

"Elizabeth, consider my position. I am responsible for your care as well as that of the staff and tenants. I must ask you to yield to my wishes in this matter. The babe will be here in a month, if not sooner. After you recover, you may resume your visits."

Elizabeth deliberately chewed her food before replying. "It will be as you wish." Seeking to change the subject, she asked, "Tell me more about the people you visited today."

"Nothing exciting, I daresay."

"I would still like to hear of it."

Until the conclusion of the meal, Darcy spoke of the people and situations that had occupied his day. Elizabeth had met but a few of the families involved in her visits about the estate and could contribute little to the conversation. Afterwards, Darcy escorted Elizabeth to the library, so she could find a new book to read. He stayed with her, though they did not talk much, until Elizabeth decided to retire. Darcy walked with her to her bedroom, where he bowed and left before her door had closed. He did not come to her that night, or any night thereafter.

The days fell into the same pattern. They saw each other only at meals and in the evening after dinner. Elizabeth grew more and more despondent, greatly missing her loved ones and, though she was daily in his presence, missing her husband even more.

One evening, about a week after Darcy had returned to Pemberley, he and his wife sat together in the great library. Darcy noticed Elizabeth absentmindedly fingering a ribbon.

"What do you have in your hands, Elizabeth?"

She tensed. "A bookmark."

"Did you make it?"

"It is only a piece of ribbon. I was reading in my rooms the other day and was in need of something to mark my place. My sewing basket was nearby, and I simply took this," she said, indicating the piece of fabric. She put it back in the book and averted her eyes.

Darcy looked intently at the seemingly innocuous object before Elizabeth spirited it away into her book. It was when he realized she would not look him in the eye that he was struck by the colour of the ribbon. It was black, the colour of mourning. He looked again at his wife. He could see that she was valiantly trying to concentrate on her book, but she also was biting her lower lip.

Darcy's first thought was one of anger. She was defying him! In this small way, she obviously meant to honour the memory of her disgraced family. They, who had brought this separation upon themselves. They, who had left him with no choice but to do what he had done. He took a deep breath, contemplating his reprimand. Elizabeth needed to understand that defiance of his authority would not be tolerated. But then he saw her glance at him before immediately returning to her book. The look in her eyes was not defiance, but what was it? Fear? Sadness? Longing? Regret? A mixture of all these?

Darcy's heart unexpectedly softened. He knew that his wife struggled with a great sadness, yet she made a great effort to put a pleasant look on her face when she was with him. If a small black piece of ribbon helped her mourn, he would turn a blind eye. They were better off without her unfortunate relations, and the sooner she accepted this the better. Still, her lack of spirit and vibrancy troubled him, but he would not listen as his conscience whispered that he was partially to blame. Nevertheless, he held his tongue.

The Reverend John Mitchell walked into the small church that served the people of Pemberley. When he had brought his wife and young daughter to Derbyshire to take the living old Mr. Darcy offered, no one could have foreseen that he would still be occupying it five and twenty years later, long after most of his original parishioners had died or moved away.

Mr. Mitchell had found his true calling in the hills and valleys of the north. The Darcys were good to those under their care, if a little too proud of their rank. The rest of the people he served were kind, honest folks. He recorded countless births, baptizing those who lived, married many a blushing bride, and buried too many dear friends to recall. In short, he was a shepherd who loved, and was loved by, his flock. When word of his success spread, and the inevitable offers of other livings came his way, he politely declined. Thankful for the gift that was his congregation, he continued his own quiet existence. He had never told anyone but his wife, but he felt like the man in the First Psalm; deep roots firmly planted, nourished by the clear waters of Derbyshire, ageing well, and prosperous in all the things that mattered to him. John Mitchell was truly blessed.

The minister was not shocked to find that he was not alone in the small house of worship. He often encountered people seeking solitude or comfort in their faith. He was, however, a little taken aback when he discerned the identity of the individual in the chapel.

Mr. Darcy's bride had impressed him when she came to Pemberley. Actually, she had more than impressed him; she had surprised him. Mr. Mitchell saw a young woman struggling to fulfill her obligations, not afraid to seek assistance, not too proud to admit when she made a mistake. He was pleased with her willingness to embrace her role in the lives of her servants and tenants with a humility of spirit and genuine concern for their welfare. He had hoped that such a woman would eventually soften her husband's arrogance and transform him into a truly great man. For all that, he did not expect to see her in his chapel in obvious anguish.

He knew that something had gone terribly wrong. It had begun when Mr. Darcy and his guests suddenly departed those few weeks ago. Whatever had taken them away must not have been good, because everyone knew of the melancholy that now surrounded the couple. What made it doubly perplexing was that the long-awaited heir of Pemberley obviously would soon be born, which surely must be a source of joy. They were not in mourning, so Mr. Mitchell had ruled out a bereavement, and as far as he could ascertain, the couple was not quarrelling, or at least not doing so in front of the servants. The reverend suspected that some unknown misfortune must be the reason for the young woman's solitary presence in the chapel.

The man silently walked to Elizabeth, sat down next to her, and waited. Evidently she was too caught up in her distress to notice him at first but eventually acknowledged his presence.

"Mrs. Darcy, I find myself identifying with Eli, the priest, when in the first Book of Samuel, he encountered Hannah at the Tabernacle."

"I am not praying for a child as she did, and you are a better father than Eli."

"Thank you. And your womb is not barren, yet here you are seeking consolation as she was."

"No, it is not." Elizabeth placed her hand on her swollen abdomen.

"Will you tell me then what troubles you? I give you my word that I will not reveal what you say."

"My husband has the greatest respect for you, sir. I believe you would not betray my trust, but I cannot tell you what burdens me."

"Then I shall leave you alone. I suggest that you talk to a Higher Authority." Mr. Mitchell stood.

"Please wait. I do have one question that you might be able to answer." The cleric sat down again. "I have come for guidance, yet I know not what to ask."

"Scripture says that when we are unable to pray, the Holy Ghost intercedes on our behalf. When I do not know what to pray, I pray as the Lord taught His disciples. 'Our Father …'"

"… 'Who art in heaven' …"

"Yes."

Elizabeth was silent for a moment, then gave him a small smile of gratitude. "Thank you, Mr. Mitchell."

He smiled in return and stood again to take his leave. "May you find the answers you are seeking, Mrs. Darcy, and may they bring you peace."

The reverend said a short, silent prayer of supplication for the mistress of Pemberley before continuing on with his duties.

Elizabeth did as had been suggested and recited the Lord's Prayer, surprised by the degree of comfort that the familiar words brought her. As she reflected on why that should be, her eye was caught by the rays of sunlight streaming through the sanctuary windows. Elizabeth looked more closely at one particularly beautiful stained glass scene depicting the crucifixion. She had seen this panel many times, but today its subject struck her as most appropriate.

"He has borne our struggles," she murmured.

After meditating on that thought for many minutes, a modicum of peace descended upon her. She had no great revelation from God, only an assurance in her soul that the trial she now endured was nothing compared to Christ's sacrifice.

Darcy and Elizabeth maintained their strained existence. Not once since his return had he come to her at night, not once had he sought her out during the day. They continued to take their meals together as before. Each played their role as master and mistress of Pemberley for the benefit of the servants. They entertained no one except the few callers who came during the day. The only time the couple spent alone in each other's company was after dinner. Often she played for him; rarely did they speak of anything other than matters concerning the estate. Elizabeth struggled to display the unaffected faηade of a contented wife, but she felt every bit of the hideous incongruity of her situation as she watched her husband slip further and further away.

Darcy betrayed none of his emotions to her. She knew he was not pleased with the situation in which they found themselves, but he refused to talk about it – as if avoidance produced its own resolution. As much as she wanted to break down the barrier between them, Elizabeth feared that in trying to do so, she would say something she would later regret and only make matters worse between them. Her condition had loosened her control over her emotions, and tears were always imminent. She felt so much, yet she could speak about so little. She longed for the easy companionship they had always enjoyed but had little hope that it would soon return. Each night, alone in her bed, Elizabeth cried herself to sleep. Only the comfort she received in the little church near the house kept her from completely breaking down in unrestrained grief.

After a week of watching Mrs. Darcy's daily sojourn to the family pew, John Mitchell decided he needed more information to prepare himself to be of use when she needed his counsel. He rose early and rode out to visit one of his neighbouring clergymen. If any person could give him insight, Bartholomew Arnold was that man.

Mr. Arnold was surprised, but pleased, to greet his guest, a man he greatly admired. He invited the gentleman to his study, and set about discovering why the elder clergyman had called. Mr. Mitchell cautiously broached the reason for his journey.

To say that Mr. Arnold was caught off guard would be an understatement. He had no idea that the situation at Pemberley was so grave. Amelia had not felt up to making a visit, but that was no excuse for Mr. Arnold to have neglected his cousin. For all the strength of purpose that he admired in Darcy, Mr. Arnold had not considered how difficult it would be for Elizabeth if her husband decided to exert his will. He must have demanded they cut off her family – what else could dispirit so lively a woman as Elizabeth Darcy?

Bartholomew Arnold knew that the older cleric would not have asked him to divulge intimate knowledge about the family unless he felt it critical to meeting the needs of the congregants placed under his care. Feeling guilty that his failure to call at Pemberley had contributed to the necessity of Mr. Mitchell's visit, Mr. Arnold made his decision.

"I cannot tell you all that I know, but I can share what has become public knowledge in the scandal sheets." Mr. Mitchell paled at the mention of the gossip mills of London. "Mrs. Darcy's youngest sister eloped with a soldier. However, instead of travelling to Gretna Green, they went only as far as Town. Society does not know what has become of them."

"Have they not married?"

"They have not, but I can tell you that Mrs. Darcy's sister has married. I know of her husband, he is a good man, but well below the station of Mrs. Darcy's father. I know not what has happened to the soldier."

"Can you tell me anything else?" Mr. Mitchell pleaded.

"No, I am sorry, I am not at liberty to divulge more. In fact, the marriage of Mrs. Darcy's youngest sister is not publicly known except to her family and the inhabitants around her new abode."

"Thank you for your help. I hope I will know how to use this to help Mr. and Mrs. Darcy."

"You are a good man, John Mitchell. I have every confidence that the Good Lord will give you the words to say to them. I must confess that I feel I have failed my cousins. I did not know the extent of Mrs. Darcy's distress until now."

"Would you prefer that I not say anything? I do not wish to interfere in a family matter."

"They are your parishioners and I do not know when I will be able to bring Amelia to visit Mrs. Darcy. No, you must act without concern for offending me. We serve a higher purpose than subjecting ourselves to the vanity of men."

During his return to Pemberley, Mr. Mitchell considered all that he had observed and learned, as well as what he knew of Mr. Darcy's character. He could well see that gentleman reacting badly to the folly of Mrs. Darcy's sister. Mr. Darcy was a proud man. Even the hint of a scandal that could impugn his name would drive him to action. He must have tried to keep the elopement quiet and had somehow failed, if it was known to the scandal sheets. That would explain much of the dejected mood that had settled over Pemberley, for the master's disposition affected his servants. Mr. Mitchell also now had a suspicion as to what was troubling Mrs. Darcy. Tomorrow, if she came again to the chapel, he would ask a few delicate questions. Until then, he needed to formulate what he could say to help her. He thought about how she had looked up at the windows in the front of the church, seeking answers in the coloured glass. He remembered what those windows portrayed, and he suddenly knew what he should say.

Elizabeth did indeed come to the church the next afternoon. This time, after allowing her several minutes of solitude, Mr. Mitchell greeted her, then sat in the pew behind her.

He had decided to begin by being direct. "Mrs. Darcy, have you found the answers you seek?"

"Not yet, but I now feel that I am able to listen if God chooses to speak."

"That is an improvement over not even knowing the words to pray. Otherwise, are you feeling in good health? Is all well with your child?"

"I am tired, but it is not much longer before my time comes."

"Will any of your family be coming to help with the birth?"

"Lady Victoria may yet come, but it is by no means certain that she will."

"And what of your sisters or your mother?"

"Mrs. Bingley is unable to travel at present."

Mr. Mitchell noticed that she had said nothing about the rest of her family. He saw her wrap and unwrap a small black ribbon around her finger. Instantly he comprehended what it symbolized, and realized that he had been right. Darcy must have thrown off her family in the wake of the scandal. Seeking re-assurance for the words he planned, he looked up at the light streaming through the picture in stained glass of the crucifixion.

He began to speak on a seemingly unrelated vein. "I was preparing for this week's sermon this morning and came across a familiar passage that I suddenly saw in a new light." Elizabeth raised her head and she too gazed at the image in stained glass. "I was reading the account of the last week of Jesus' life in the gospel of Luke. Before He entered the city, Jesus looked out over Jerusalem and wept, knowing the people would reject Him. Yet, He still went into the City of David to embrace His destiny. I was struck by His willingness to do his duty and by His great love in fulfilling it at the ultimate cost of His life. I do not know if I could do the same. Has any man ever known such betrayal, such heartache?"

"I know not," Elizabeth answered softly, "but I look forward to your sermon on Sunday."

The reverend left her to her musings, satisfied that he had planted a tiny seed of truth that he hoped might sprout into the emotional reprieve she was seeking.

Elizabeth returned to the house, deep in thought. When the heartache of her shame had become nearly unbearable, Elizabeth had fled to the only refuge available. She was physically and emotionally isolated from almost every person she had ever confided in – she could not bring herself to burden Jane with her sorrow – and had blindly stumbled to the one remaining source of consolation – her faith. It had been her only solace; now it was her beacon of hope.

She knew that Mr. Mitchell had not mentioned that particular passage without reason. She suspected he had heard of their misfortunes, and in an act of kindness was trying to give her a key to overcoming her sorrow and grief. She had never voiced it aloud, but from the moment Darcy returned and informed her of Lydia's new situation and their shame, she had been grieving the loss of her family. Emotions ranging from anger to sorrow to loneliness and despair had nearly swept her away. Yet, even worse than the loss of her family, was the loss of intimacy with her husband. Before Lydia's folly, she had felt closer to him than she had ever imagined was possible with another human being. Since his return, he had barely acknowledged her, other than during the public duties a husband was required to perform with his wife. He could not even look her in the eye. Then again, neither could she look into his. Each of them was afraid what they would see – and reveal – to the other. What she had believed was an ever-growing understanding between them, a marriage of two minds as well as two bodies, was now little more than the cold shell of a marriage only in name.

She considered again the passage that Mr. Mitchell had quoted. Countless times she had heard it said that it was her Christian duty to act with charity toward her fellow man. What people had suggested was "charity" was in reality not much more than politeness and courtesy. That which she now contemplated was truly an act of love. To willingly face scorn and death because of a great abiding love, that was the example Christ set for His church. It was also a powerful demonstration of forgiveness.

In that moment Elizabeth Darcy finally comprehended that to love meant to accept the potential, nay the certainty, that one would be hurt by those one chose to love; but it also meant that they must then be forgiven for the heartache they had caused. She loved her husband deeply, more deeply than any hurt he could cause her. When he proclaimed her family as dead to them, the pain she felt was not something that he had maliciously inflicted. She understood his motives; she understood him and knew he felt that he had had no other choice.

Elizabeth understood, but she also believed that he did have another choice, a choice, however, that he could not see through the blinders of his pride. Pride was his great fault, a fault she had accepted in her love for him. She knew herself well enough to know that she was not made for unhappiness; she held within her the power to walk the difficult path towards reconciliation: to forgive him his hubris, love him even more in spite of his imperfections, and create a family in which they could both find healing.

She realized that the same need be said of her family – she must forgive them as well. Her parents had loosed their daughters into an unforgiving world without proper guidance, guidance which, were she completely honest, her mother, at least, was ill-equipped to provide. That it had led to one sister's headlong rush into infamy and the ruin of the family's reputation might almost, almost, have been predicted had anyone given it a moment's thought. That she and Jane had escaped both the foolishness of character and unseemliness of manner that marked their mother and younger sisters was near miraculous.

She had never felt so strongly, nor ever been so fully aware of the evils arising from the impropriety of Mr. Bennet's behaviour as a husband and father. He had been content to find amusement in his wife's ignorance and folly, and although grateful for his two eldests' good qualities, had not troubled himself to improve the dispositions or correct the imprudence of his three younger. He had consented to Lydia's trip to Brighton in company with a wholly unsuitable chaperone merely to spare himself the unpleasantness of her wrath – and her mother's – had he refused.

But despite it all, despite their individual and collective failings, they were her parents, and the babe she carried within her was their grandchild. They were tied by blood, if not by temperament; they had given her life and she owed them respect – and, yes – unconditional love. It was much the same with Lydia, who was but a child charmed by an unscrupulous man. She might not soon forget the pain and trouble that her sister had caused, but she understood that Lydia was neither more nor less than she had been brought up to be – wild, selfish, headstrong, vain.

Lastly, in the light of her new understanding, she turned her thoughts inward. She knew she was not without fault, far from it! Had she done all she could to curb her sisters' less appropriate behaviour? Yes, certainly, her father had more responsibility than she to guide the characters of his children. But how harshly could she judge him if she had chosen to ignore her own duty as an older sibling, especially after it became clear that neither of her parents were providing the guidance the younger ones needed? There was a time when she had the respect of her younger sisters. They would listen to her and to Jane. But as they grew older, and she became closer to her elder sister, Elizabeth had to admit that she had lost interest in her younger ones.

She had abandoned Mary to her books and religious tracts; now Mary could quote extensively from men like Fordyce, but had no understanding of the concepts or basic truths that those men wrote about. She had not really tried to convince her sister to be more widely read or encourage thoughtful discourse about what Mary did read. She thought of Kitty, so eager to be noticed that she allowed Lydia to dominate her in exchange for her youngest sister's companionship. Elizabeth was ashamed to acknowledge that she thought Kitty too immature to pay her much heed. Then there was Lydia, fearless and foolish Lydia. She had paid for being both. Elizabeth was not certain what she could have done to temper Lydia's character, but she had barely tried to do anything at all. She had not wanted to risk her mother's ire, but neither had she spoken to her father or urged him to intervene when Lydia was allowed out into society much, much too early. He might have listened to her, about this and so many other things, but she had remained silent.

When it came to Mr. Wickham, she gave a hollow laugh. She had allowed that gentleman to impose on her. She had been wary of the man, but in the end she had believed his lies. She had always congratulated herself as more discerning of character than this had proved. Clearly she had over-estimated her ability to judge people. Her own pride had blinded her.

Then there was her relationship with Fitzwilliam. She did not regret marrying him, and she certainly did not regret loving him. But did she resent him for making her become a woman she no longer recognised? Had her desire to please him, to obey him, cost her honour and her dignity? Should she have questioned his decision to cast off her family?

"Honour thy father and mother … it is the first commandment with a promise."

Her husband had never truly honoured her parents and she had said … nothing. If he had honoured them, he would have stood by them all in their predicament; but he had not. She had pledged to be his helpmeet, his conscience. Yet on this fundamental issue, her silent acquiescence with his failure to protect her and her family meant that she had failed all those she loved.

In the end, she knew it would be less a matter of whether she could forgive her husband and family, but whether she could forgive herself.

Elizabeth's stomach rumbled, reminding her that she had been long away from the house. It was time to begin anew, a little wiser and much more humble for the experiences of the past month. She knew that she had a choice: resentment or acceptance, blame or understanding. She could not change the past, but she could modulate the future. This time, she hoped, she would prove to be both a more worthy mistress of Pemberley and a more worthy wife to its master.

Her patient footman was waiting as she emerged. As they approached a bend in the path, she looked back at the little church before it was lost from view. She saw its windows, dark and apparently silent. She knew better. It was only when one was inside that the true beauty of the glass could be seen. How fitting.

Darcy noticed the change in Elizabeth's demeanour the very next morning. She greeted him with the first real smile that he had seen from her since before he had gone to rescue Lydia. He was so surprised that he did not hear her question.

"I said, would you join me in a walk after breakfast? I would hope that Mr. Wright does not need you for an hour or so first thing this morning."

"I did not know you still were taking walks."

"I may seem as big as Pemberley, but I still manage short treks. Never fear, I always take Marie and a footman. I suspect that Mrs. Reynolds also sends other servants to keep watch over me. This morning, I would like the support of your arm."

"Let me dispatch a note to Wright delaying our meeting."

Elizabeth, now great with child, moved slowly as they left the house. Darcy felt her lean heavily on him, a rather novel sensation. She was always so strong.

"It has been too long since we walked this way together. Thank you for joining me." They walked towards a nearby path. "Fitzwilliam, we have some matters left undecided that we need to discuss without delay." Darcy stiffened, afraid that she would speak of the situation with her family. "We have not decided on our child's godparents."

"No, we have not. What are your thoughts?"

"I would wish to ask Lady Victoria, but I am afraid she is too old. Please do not tell her I said that."

He laughed. It had been so long since he had heard such an impertinent comment from her. It had been so long since either of them had laughed.

"If my aunt, being of advanced age, is not a candidate, then who would you have take her place? And who should be the godfather?"

"I had thought the choice was obvious. One of her sons and his wife?"

"Michael and Helen or Bartholomew and Amelia?"

"Michael is the eldest, and Helen is a wonderful woman, but Bartholomew and Amelia live close to Pemberley and would be more a part of our child's life."

"You are fond of Amelia."

"Oh, yes. She called several times while you were away. She is becoming a dear friend."

"I see no reason to argue with your choice. Let it be my younger cousins, if they agree."

"Do you doubt they would?"

"No, not at all."

Their ramble brought them to a bench. "May we stop and rest for a while?"

"Certainly! When you are ready, I will return you to the house. You look uncomfortable."

"I am never comfortable!" Elizabeth laughed. "I believe that is what happens near the end of a confinement!"

Darcy was mesmerized by the joy in Elizabeth's eyes. It had returned so unexpectedly. He could not stop himself, and he leaned over and kissed her. She responded to his sudden display of affection with the same hesitancy with which he offered it. The kiss had surprised them both.

Wordlessly, Darcy stood and helped Elizabeth to her feet. This time, as she took his arm, she not only leaned heavily on it for support, but there was a tenderness that had been absent earlier.

"Shall we send a note to the Arnolds asking them to join us for dinner tomorrow? It has been too long since we have had company for an evening. We could ask them to be the godparents then."

"Do you feel up to receiving guests?"

"They are not guests; they are family," Elizabeth said with a conviction that caught Darcy off guard.

"As you wish. Send a note – but only after you rest."

Elizabeth hoped that her innocent advances would bring her husband back to her bed that night. She yearned to be in his arms, to fall asleep with his breath on her neck. They need not be intimate; indeed, it was so close to her time that she had been told they should not be, but she missed him. She missed seeing him in her rooms. Only in the privacy of their chambers was he just a man and not the master of Pemberley.

Her hopes were in vain, for her husband did not come to her that night. But from that day on, he was no longer cold and distant to her. It was a start, and that was significant in and of itself. The dark spell had been broken, and the pall that had settled over them, and over all of Pemberley, was at long last beginning to lift.

The Arnolds were only too happy to accept the Darcys' invitation. They had worried about their cousins, all the more so since Mr. Mitchell's call, not having seen them in weeks. Amelia Arnold had begun to suspect that she was herself with child and suffered through what she believed to be morning sickness. Her husband refused to leave her for long, and Amelia found herself unable to travel when she was feeling so poorly.

Thus, it was serendipitous that Amelia felt well enough to make the journey when the invitation to dine at Pemberley arrived. They found Elizabeth contented and serene, which engendered surprise and confusion in both Arnolds, but also profound relief. Amelia resolved to have a private conference with her friend as soon as possible. She did not have long to wait. Darcy was of the same mind with regards to his cousin, and spirited Mr. Arnold away soon after the couple arrived.

Amelia had called on Elizabeth in Darcy's absence and knew the reason for his flight to Town. She did not know about Darcy's edict against the Bennets; however, she was not ignorant for long. As soon as the ladies were alone, Amelia begged Elizabeth to tell her what had occurred since they last had met. Elizabeth had implicit trust in her friend and imparted all that had transpired. Amelia sat in rapt attention as Elizabeth recited her tale and spoke of her heartache and despair. She could see the transformation on the young woman's face as Elizabeth confessed how, with the prodding of her faithful clergyman, she had come to understand her responsibility to grant forgiveness and acceptance to her husband and her family.

"Oh, my dear, I do not know what to say."

"You need say nothing but that you will be the godmother of my child."

"Of course I will, but I spoke of the events of the past few weeks. I am astonished that you could so quickly overcome such deep despair. I see again the woman I knew before this calamity befell you, yet you said that you were unhappy until just a few days ago."

"I was miserable." Elizabeth's gaze momentarily dropped to her hands folded on top of her lap. When she looked up at her friend with a determined look on her face, Amelia knew Elizabeth was ready to confess something deeply personal. "I decided that it was in my power to choose to be content, and I will do everything I can to overcome the self pity I wallowed in for far too long. I cannot change the past, but I can love and forgive those who have disappointed me – and try very hard to forgive myself for my own mistakes. I will not deceive myself; I know that the despair can return at anytime. However, I have been given too much, and I would be ungrateful to allow the gloom to affect me for an extended period of time. I still have my husband, I still have Pemberley, and soon I will have a child to love and care for." The two women smiled at each other through their tears, though one smile was more brittle than the other. "I have one more request. When the time arrives, will you come and help me through the birth? I would very much like a friend by my side."

"Elizabeth, I will come. Send word day or night, and I will come, with or without my husband."

"You must bring him!" Elizabeth sniffed and wiped her tears from her cheeks. "Someone has to stay with my husband. I fear that the birthing will be, in its own way, just as difficult for him as it will be for me."

In another part of the house, Darcy was asking Arnold much the same thing.

"You consent?"

"Of course, you old fool! I would be honoured to be godfather, and I promise to bring my wife when your Elizabeth is ready to give birth. I intend to get you good and drunk so you survive the ordeal."

"I am counting on it," Darcy replied, surprisingly pleased and grateful that he would not be alone when the time came for his heir to be born. Then his expression sobered. "You can guess what I was forced to do in regards to Elizabeth's family."

"I can guess."

"I have forbidden further association with all other than Charles Bingley's wife."

"Her older sister."

"Aye."

"Why?"

"I had no choice!" Arnold did not respond. "I did what I did to protect my family, including my wife."

"What did she say?"

"Nothing. She too realizes that it was the proper thing to do."

"Hmmm. Now your wife has no sisters to attend her, your child has no grandparents, and you have denied Elizabeth the joy of introducing her firstborn to her family. And let us not forget that with the exception of my family, the rest of yours has repudiated her."

"I did not tell you to hear you judge me."

"Heaven forbid that I judge anyone, after you have already done so."

"Arnold," Darcy said, in a voice full of warning.

Arnold sighed. "Darcy, you acted according to your principles. Let us not argue the matter. We came for happier conversation and to partake of the famous Darcy hospitality. Let us rejoin the ladies."

The rest of the evening was a happy affair. The couples laughed together and enjoyed a new camaraderie. When the Arnolds left for home, both promised to come to Pemberley when they received word of the baby's imminent birth.

It came a fortnight later.

Posted on 2009-12-01

Each morning since Elizabeth invited Darcy to walk with her, the couple repeated the exercise, although for the past two days, they had not strayed from the paths adjacent to the house. Elizabeth was a fit and healthy young woman, but her unborn child demanded so much from her body that she no longer had the energy for anything more than a short constitutional. Her back hurt, her feet hurt, her knees hurt, her ankles were swollen, and her legs cramped at night. She was both ready and eager for the child to be born.

While they walked, Darcy was greatly amused by his wife's gait, which he found difficult to describe as anything other than a waddle. Then Elizabeth winced as if in pain, and her steps faltered.

"Elizabeth?" Darcy asked in a worried voice.

"Tis nothing. I am simply not as light of foot as I have been in the past. I doubt that I could perform even the simplest of dance steps now."

Darcy looked at her with concern. "Would you like to return to the house?"

"Aye, and then I will go to my rooms and rest."

They slowly made their way inside. Darcy immediately guided Elizabeth to her chambers. She needed Marie and Mrs. Reynolds immediately, but did not want to alarm her husband. Fitzwilliam Darcy was not a man accustomed to feeling powerless and powerless he would most certainly be if she understood what was happening to her.

"There is no need for concern. I will rest now. Would you please summon my maid before you go?"

Darcy pulled the cord and then sat down next to Elizabeth until Marie entered the room. "You will send for me if … if you need me?"

Elizabeth laughed and touched his cheek. "Marie can see to my immediate needs. Mr. Wright is waiting for you."

"I … well … Yes, he is. Please rest."

"I shall."

He finally turned to leave and closed the door just as another pain nearly overwhelmed Elizabeth, stronger than any so far. Once it subsided, Elizabeth asked Marie, who had immediately rushed to her mistress' side, to fetch Mrs. Reynolds. The housekeeper came into Elizabeth's chambers a few minutes later.

"Mrs. Darcy?"

"I think it is time to summon the midwife."

"Tell me what you are experiencing. Have you had any pains?"

"I awoke to a slight discomfort. As the morning progressed, the discomfort has become more intense and is now quite painful when it occurs."

"Your waters?"

"They have not come."

Mrs. Reynolds watched her mistress for several minutes as another contraction came and passed. "I will send for Mrs. Rowe now, and inform the young woman who is to act as wet nurse. Marie, stay with your mistress. Mrs. Darcy, you would do well to keep walking if you can. Do you want Mr. Darcy to be informed?"

"Not as yet, but please send word to Kympton, to the Arnolds, and ask them to come directly. Do not give them cause for alarm."

"Very good, madam."

"Marie, do not leave me," Elizabeth pleaded after Mrs. Reynolds left to ready the household for the birthing.

"I will stay by you until the child is born," Marie vowed.

"Thank you. Now help me walk, as Mrs. Reynolds suggested."

After the midwife arrived and examined Elizabeth, she declared that the child indeed was on the way. Elizabeth sent word to her husband, asking him to come to her. Darcy was surprised to find his housekeeper and the midwife with his wife.

"Would you give us a moment, please?" Elizabeth asked, and the women filed out of the room.

Elizabeth took Darcy's hand and placed it on her swollen stomach. "Our child has determined that it is time to enter this world." Darcy gasped, his worries confirmed. "We knew this day was coming, and now it is here. I have already sent word to the Arnolds, and I expect that they will arrive shortly."

Darcy tried to interrupt.

"Shhh. Let me speak. I know that you are concerned. I cannot tell you not to be." Elizabeth stopped as another pain descended upon her.

"You are in pain."

"It must be so," she said when it subsided. "Fitzwilliam, look at me. It is a woman's lot to bear children. I am doing only what your mother did to give you life. The discomfort will soon pass. What will remain is my love for you and for our child." Elizabeth put her hands around his face. "I do this joyfully, for you, for us. Promise me that you will not abuse the servants or Bartholomew while you wait."

"I promise."

"My love, do not be afraid. I will not die today."

"How can you be so certain? What would I do if you left me?" Darcy's voice shook.

"Oh, my husband!" Even in her distracted state, Elizabeth realized this was the closest he had ever come to sharing what he felt for her. It gave her hope, and she knew she must give him hope in return, as much as she was able in a way he would accept.

"I cannot be certain that I shall live, nor can you that I shall not. That is in God's hands. However, I have no intention of leaving you for many, many years. You are well and truly stuck with me, Mr. Darcy. Go now, before Mrs. Rowe orders you from this room." She pulled his face to hers for one last kiss before she pushed him away. He walked to the door, turned, and stared into his wife's eyes.

"Elizabeth," he whispered. And then he was gone.

The Arnolds arrived just as Darcy was leaving his wife's chambers. He met Amelia ascending the stairs as he was descending.

"How is Elizabeth?"

"She seems to be doing well. I know nothing of these matters."

"I will go to her."

"Amelia, take care of her. I do not …" His voice broke.

Amelia Arnold had known Fitzwilliam Darcy for almost her entire life. She saw how frightened he was and was filled with compassion. If ever a man loved a woman, Fitzwilliam loved Elizabeth. She did what she could to comfort him.

"Nothing will happen to her, other than that she will become a mother. Have faith, Fitzwilliam." She gave him an encouraging pat on the arm. "My husband is looking for you. Go and keep him company."

Darcy found his cousin in the library.

"Do you think you have read even a quarter of the books in this room?" asked Mr. Arnold as he greeted Darcy.

"Perhaps that much. It would take a lifetime to come close to reading them all."

"I doubt that you are much inclined to read now. What do you say to a ride?"

"I do not wish to be away, should I be needed."

"From the level of activity that I have witnessed, the babe is unlikely to come anytime soon. The house staff is far too serene."

"Still …"

"Darcy, I asked your housekeeper, whom I was surprised to see …"

"Elizabeth asked for a few minutes alone with me."

"Ah, that explains why she was not with her mistress. As I was saying, I spoke with Mrs. Reynolds and she is of the opinion that it is very early. Let us escape outdoors for a while. I promise not to take you too far from the house."

"If you insist," Darcy replied ungraciously.

"I do, and I have already ordered our horses be made ready. Come, Cousin."

Seeing that resistance would prove futile, Darcy followed Mr. Arnold to the stables where his horse was, in fact, ready for him.

The two men rode across the valley in front of the house and up the hill opposite. The view of Pemberley from that vantage was unsurpassed. Neither man could fail to be impressed by it.

"I am not a covetous man, but this view always makes me at least slightly envious of you."

The quip at last brought a smile to Darcy's face.

"The first time my father brought me here, I could not believe that all this would be mine one day. I hope to bring my own son here some day."

"There is a distinct possibility that your heir will be born today."

"Yes, so he could." Darcy again grew serious.

"Fitzwilliam, Elizabeth will be fine. Women have given birth for countless millennia."

"I cannot help but worry."

"That is only natural. When it is Amelia's time, I expect that I shall have the same fears and concerns as you do. It is difficult to know that the one we love is at risk. Do you not agree?"

"I would not know."

"What do you mean you would not know? You love Elizabeth."

"You assume too much." Darcy urged his horse forward.

"Darcy, stop! You cannot run away from me. It is obvious to anyone who knows you how much you love your wife, even if you deny it."

"I do deny it! I admit that I am fond of her, and that I am content to be married to her, but I categorically deny that I love her."

"Your actions betray you! I have seen how you look at her, how you care for her, and it is not as a man indifferent. You are a man so in love with a woman that you instinctively know you cannot live without her. Deny that!"

Darcy said nothing.

"I know that most alliances in your circle are marriages of convenience. I doubt that you entered into yours with any other thought in mind. But I am not spouting ridiculous romantic idealism when I say that something remarkable happened to you. You fell in love with your wife, and she with you. Amelia and I have spoken about how much Elizabeth adores you. My mother was won over by your wife's devotion to you. How can you not see what your closest family sees?"

Darcy looked away and said simply, "I vowed to protect her."

"Yes, of course you vowed to protect her."

"You do not understand. I can only protect her by not loving her."

Mr. Arnold looked at Darcy in amazement. "No, I do not understand. How does not loving your wife protect her? And protect her from what, exactly?"

"You do not understand!" Darcy nearly shouted. "Only once have you lost someone close to you – your father. Every person I have ever loved has been taken from me. First my mother, then my father, then Georgiana. I determined that it was better never to love anyone like that again than to open my heart and have it crushed when I lost them."

"And so you vowed not to love Elizabeth, because you could not bear the heartache if you lost her, too."

"Yes."

"What about the child? Do you think you can keep from loving your own flesh and blood? Is your son or daughter to be nothing more to you than some prized foal? My dear cousin, for much of my life I have looked up to you because I could see that you took your responsibilities seriously. You have always looked after the welfare of your servants and your tenants. You have proved to be a dependable husband. But never in my wildest dreams did I ever think that you would take your obligations so seriously that you thought to impersonate God Almighty."

That gained Darcy's attention. He snapped his head around to look at his cousin. "I never presumed …"

"Yes, you did. You thought you could control your wife's destiny by denying her your affections. Aside from being the most convoluted piece of reasoning I have ever heard, no man knows the exact number of days he is given on this earth by his Maker. When it is a person's time to die, there is nothing anyone can do to change that. Nothing you do will add one more day to Elizabeth's life or your own. Not unless our Lord allows it.

"What makes this all the more tragic is that you are breaking the vows you made to your wife before God and the witnesses at your wedding. You promised to love her. From what you just told me, you have withheld the love she has earned. I sincerely doubt that she has done the same."

"No, she has not."

"How do you know? Has she told you that she loves you?"

"Yes." Darcy hung his head in shame.

"What, pray tell, did you say to her when she confessed that?"

"I told her that she must never expect me to return her feelings."

"You said that, yet she loves you enough to accept it? Remarkable. Do you have any idea of the precious gift you have in Elizabeth? She must love you as unreservedly as anyone has ever loved another, and I do not only mean a husband and wife. I sincerely hope you think hard on what I have said and mend your ways before you destroy the both of you."

Darcy flinched as Mr. Arnold's salvo hit its intended target. He tried to cover his agitation and said in as neutral a voice as he could muster, "Do you say this as a clergyman or my cousin?"

"Both, and also as an old friend. Be careful, Darcy. Elizabeth needs you now more than ever. You are the only close family she has left – thanks to your edict. The baby will help dispel her feelings of loss, but if you continue to deny her what she is due as your wife, the love you so willfully repress, you risk making her regret your marriage. I do not believe you could live with yourself if that happened. And if you cannot think of your wife, think of your child."

With those words, Bartholomew Arnold urged his horse down the path that led back to Pemberley. Darcy had heard the words of his cousin, and they weighed heavily upon him. Without knowing what he was doing, he turned his horse to follow. Thankfully, Darcy's mount was well-trained and followed the lead of the animal ahead, as his master was too lost in thought to heed where he was going.

A servant knocked on the door of the birthing room with a note for Mrs. Reynolds. The missive bore disturbing news. The young woman who was to be wet nurse had contracted a fever and lay ill in her bed. There was no possibility that she would be well enough to come to the great house for at least another day. More troubling was that there was no one else in the immediate area who could fill her role. If the mistress should be unable or unwilling to nurse the babe herself for at least a few days, the consequences could be dire. Mrs. Reynolds excused the servant and went back to Mrs. Darcy. She would need to speak to Mr. Darcy soon, but for now, she would assist the midwife.

There was little other concern inside Elizabeth's chambers. Elizabeth was doing well and Mrs. Rowe was confident that before too many hours passed, Mrs. Darcy would successfully deliver her child. There was nothing so far to give the midwife cause for alarm, and the fact that the young woman's mother had little difficulty birthing five children gave reason to hope that Mrs. Darcy's labours would be equally without complications. If no unforeseen events transpired, the Pemberley heir would be born before the sun rose on a new day.

The two cousins arrived safely back at the Pemberley stables. They were quickly informed that no word had been received about Elizabeth's progress. Hoping that no news was good news, and wanting to put the unpleasantness of their last conversation behind them, Mr. Arnold led his friend back to the library where he poured each of them a drink.

"To our wives! May we somehow deserve them." They took a small sip. "I hope Amelia brings us news soon. I think it would do you some good."

Only a few minutes later, that lady appeared.

"Elizabeth? The child?" Darcy asked anxiously

"Has yet to be born. Do not be concerned. Elizabeth is well and the midwife assures us that she is pleased with how the confinement is progressing. However, she believes it will be several hours before Elizabeth is ready to deliver. I suggest that you both get something to eat while you wait. I will come with news as soon as I can. Will you continue to stay in here?"

"Yes, my dear. I've already taken the father-to-be out for a ride. I doubt he would consent to leave the house again."

After his wife left, Mr. Arnold attempted to engage Darcy in more conversation. "Have you decided on names?"

"If it is a girl, she will be called Anne Amelia after her grandmother and godmother."

"And a boy?"

"Robert George Bartholomew, after me, my father and you. Robert is one of my given names."

"I never could keep track of all my cousins' names."

"We have too many of them. I have three. Fitzwilliam Robert George Darcy."

"Quite a mouthful."

Time passed slowly. At some point, the men decided to adjourn to the billiards room. Unfortunately, as they walked out of the library, Amelia walked out of Elizabeth's chambers – just as Elizabeth let out a scream.

"Elizabeth!" Darcy cried out in fear and began to climb the staircase. Bartholomew grabbed his cousin's arm to stop him from charging into a place where he was not welcome. Amelia saw what had happened and hastened to meet them.

"Darcy, you must not go in there. Elizabeth is fine."

"No! I heard her scream."

"She is nearing the time when the babe will be born. It is all as it should be. Pain in childbirth is normal."

"I must do something. Please!"

"You can best help your wife by staying calm. You will only distract her if you try to see her now. I was coming to tell you that it will soon be over. If I had waited a minute longer, you would not have heard her."

"Come, Darcy. Perhaps a game of billiards now is a bad idea. Amelia, we will be in the library."

Darcy sat alone with his thoughts … again. He could not remove the sound of Elizabeth's cry from his memory. That, and the words of his cousin, troubled him greatly. Had he wronged his wife? Was she suffering more than she ought because of him? He had locked his heart away, wilfully refusing to allow it to be touched by the one person who loved him most in the world. He had treated her abominably. Would she live so he could tell her what he only just today had acknowledged and accepted – that he loved her?

The room was silent except for the ticking of the clock. It was now seven in the evening. The sun had set, and the sky was growing ever darker. How much longer must Elizabeth suffer? Conversation had been abandoned.

The clock had struck the half-hour when the men heard footsteps approaching the door. They both stood as it opened, hoping for news of Elizabeth and her child.

A tired but happy Amelia Arnold walked over to Darcy and took his hand.

"You have a daughter, and she is beautiful."

"And Elizabeth? Both she and the child are well?"

"Yes, very well. Elizabeth is resting. She is understandably exhausted."

"May I see her now?"

"In a few minutes. Mrs. Reynolds asked to see you first."

"Thank you for everything, Amelia."

"My pleasure. If you do not mind, I would also like to rest now."

"I will join you," her husband said, and shook Darcy's hand, then both left the dazed new father to await the conference with his housekeeper.

Mrs. Reynolds entered the room as the others left.

"Is anything wrong?"

"Nothing with your wife and child, but I did receive news that the woman hired to be wet nurse has taken ill. Unfortunately, I know of no one who can take her place. Mrs. Darcy is the only one who can nurse the baby at this time. I know this is not what you wanted, but I see no alternative for the time being."

"Have you spoken to my wife?"

"Yes, sir. She is in agreement. The midwife is showing her how to nurse the child even now."

"There is nothing for it. What must be done will be done. However, please make additional enquiries in the event that a different wet nurse needs to be secured."

The walk up the stairs to their bedchambers had never before seemed so long or so cumbersome. Darcy was weary from the accumulated events of the day, and each step seemed to require enormous effort. As eager as he was to see for himself that Elizabeth and the baby were alive and well, he was unsure that he was ready to face his wife. His emotions were in turmoil, and he did not know if he could maintain his composure before her.

He entered her chambers through his own. Elizabeth was resting on her bed, her faithful maid in a chair by her side. He saw that his wife was asleep, with their child nestled beside her in a protective embrace. Marie smiled and stood, carefully extracted the slumbering babe from the arms of her mother, and handed the child to her father.

She left the three of them alone, her vigil over, her promise fulfilled.

Darcy stood rooted to the spot, his eyes transfixed on the new life he held in his strong arms. This was his child, created by his joining with Elizabeth. She was a part of him in a way no other human being could be.

My Anne.

He pushed the blanket away from the infant's face. Her head was covered with fine curls the colour of her mother's auburn tresses, her skin smooth and unblemished.

He opened the blankets further to examine her arms and hands. He counted ten fingers. On her feet, ten tiny toes.

She was perfect in every way. His precious daughter. Love for her swelled within him, and he could not contain emotions he was helpless to control. He was a fool to think he ever could. Darcy trembled as he re-covered his daughter in her blankets and then brought her small body up against his own; his hands nearly engulfing her as he then gently held and caressed her.

"My beautiful little girl," he whispered as the tears fell down his cheeks. He had a family again, someone to love and be loved by. It had been so long. He had forgotten how wonderful it felt to know that there was one person alive in the world who would always love him.

Darcy turned to look at Elizabeth and realized his foolishness – for since his marriage, he already had such a person in his life. What an arrogant, heartless, ungrateful idiot he had been! Obstinately, he had not allowed her to express her love for him in the way she would have preferred. Instead he had forced her, by his callous disregard for her feelings, to resort to looks and touches and actions. He also comprehended that her actions spoke more eloquently than the words he now knew he must say could ever hope to do. Day after day, Elizabeth had demonstrated her love for him, despite knowing that he might never reciprocate that love. Even more so since the humiliation that Lydia had brought to the family. He knew he had wounded his wife, yet Elizabeth had somehow initiated their reconciliation. His tears of joy for the miracle of his daughter turned to sobs of deserved self-recrimination.

Little Anne stirred against his breast, and his thoughts were instantly pulled back to her. She was so small, so vulnerable. He would take care of her. He would see that she lacked nothing. He would be a more attentive father than his own had been. Anne's life would be different from his. She had two living parents who adored her. She was not the orphan that he was.

The orphan that he had made of her mother.

Oh merciful God! Is that what he had done?

Yes, but what choice did I have?

For the first time, he finally understood what Michael and then Bartholomew had been trying to tell him. He did have a choice. He had made the one that society required as prudent, but it was one that had cost his wife everything. In his selfish desire to protect his good name, he had demanded that all the sacrifice be hers, that she sacrifice her family.

What is done is done.

He knew that was not true. It was not too late. The Bennets were still alive and well at Longbourn. They were not lost to Elizabeth, as his own parents were forever lost to him.

As he thought about his behaviour in the last months he had no illusions about the torment his wife must have felt. He was all too acquainted with the singular pain of bereavement. How she had withstood it he could not imagine, but his role in it brought him despair in its acutest form. What sort of husband had he been to her? He had abandoned her, even as they lived in the same house. How could she not despise him?

Darcy looked at Elizabeth, so serene in her sleep. The feelings he had long hidden away, fearing to expose, had not lain dormant at all. It was just his mind refusing to see them, acknowledge them. He counted the number of people made miserable by the decisions he had made, directions he had chosen, and winced at his own arrogance in believing that he knew what was best for them.

You proved your love by loving me, even after I did everything in my power to be undeserving of it. I will validate mine by relinquishing my pride and laying it at your feet. Soon, Elizabeth, soon I will show you, and then I will tell you, how much I have come to love you.

He dried his tear-stained cheeks and sat down on the bed beside his wife, his daughter still cradled in his arms.

"Elizabeth," he said softly.

Her eyelids fluttered open. "Fitzwilliam." Her voice was tired but tender. "I see you have met our little Miss Darcy."

"Anne. That is, if you are still in agreement?"

"I have never thought of her as anything but Anne." Elizabeth saw that he had been crying. "What is wrong? Why are you distressed?"

"Nothing is wrong. As I stood beholding our beautiful daughter, I could not help …" Darcy's voice broke as he fought back sobs.

"Darling, it must have been so hard for you to wait."

"What of you? I did not endure what you did."

"True, but neither was I sequestered away, waiting for bits of news to trickle to me."

"Let us not squabble over such a trifling thing. What is important is that you are safe and our baby is healthy."

"You wanted a son."

"I am overjoyed with a daughter."

The trial of childbirth had left Elizabeth defenceless to conceal her emotions. She had no strength for anything other than the complete truth.

"I prayed for a girl," Elizabeth confessed. She looked at him. "You are surprised."

"Yes, I had thought …"

"That I was like every other woman, wanting to boast of providing an heir?"

"You are not like other women."

"No, I am not. I could not bring what you wanted into this marriage, and instead brought disgrace and infamy. I have given you a daughter, and I am glad. Do you know why?" He sat motionless waiting for her to continue. "I began to pray for a girl soon after you left so suddenly for London. Somehow I knew that Lydia's recklessness would come between us, and I feared the loss of what we had built together. I was right. When you returned, I despaired of ever being allowed to see the man behind the mask. I knew that if I had a girl, you would be forced to come to me again and again until I conceived a son. I hoped that in the pursuit of a male heir, I would be enough in your presence that I could regain your good opinion."

"You never lost it. I admit that I was hurt and angry after my uncle confronted me, and I wondered if I had made a mistake. I was a fool. Look at Anne. She is our flesh and blood. Could we ever consider her a mistake, an error of judgement? No! Elizabeth, I … I care for you, very much. I thank God I took you as my wife. I want none other but you."

Elizabeth wept with joy and relief. She would be his again. Darcy took her in his arms, Anne snugly between them, and comforted her. And unknown to her, receiving comfort himself.

After several minutes in such an intimate familial embrace, baby Anne began to wake, squirming and fussing.

"I think she might finally be hungry. I tried to nurse her earlier, but she was more interested in sleeping than eating."

"Elizabeth, I am sorry you must do this. It is not a duty that the Mistress of Pemberley should need perform."

"Fitzwilliam, really, I do not mind. Many ladies in Hertfordshire could not afford a wet nurse, and they did what needed to be done. My own mother …" She stopped.

Darcy did not hesitate, determined to follow through on his resolutions. "Your mother nursed you?"

"Yes. Money was always an issue at Longbourn."

"With five daughters born so closely together, I do not doubt it."

Elizabeth had coaxed the baby to begin to nurse. Darcy watched in fascination as Elizabeth concentrated intently on her task.

"What does it feel like? Are you uncomfortable?"

"No, not at all. There is a pulling sensation. It is like nothing I have felt before, not at all like when you put your lips on me when we, well, when you take me to bed. It is quite different."

Darcy made to leave but she would not yet release him. "Stay with me tonight, Fitzwilliam," Elizabeth asked with great earnestness. "I do not wish to sleep alone. I want only to sleep next to you again. Please."

"Of course I will stay with you." He leaned over and kissed her before continuing in a tender voice, "But first I have many letters to write. I fear I will be unable to fall asleep until I have finished them. Then my mind will be at ease. If I go now, I can return all the sooner."

Clearly pleased that he had so quickly acceded to her request, Elizabeth said, "Then go and return when you can. And Fitzwilliam, would you call for the nursery maid before you depart? Anne will need to be changed soon."

"As you wish." Darcy kissed Elizabeth again, took one more long look at his daughter, then made his way to his study.

There were many letters to write, including the three most difficult letters he had ever composed in his life. Dipping his pen in the ink, he began.

Late in the afternoon two days later, an express rider arrived at Netherfield. Charles Bingley saw that the thick packet was from Darcy. He hoped for Jane's sake that it contained news of Elizabeth and the baby. Opening the letter, he was surprised to find another tucked inside, with the request that he deliver it personally to Longbourn. He was dumbfounded when he finished reading his portion. He quickly called for his horse and rode to his father-in-law's, certain that Mr. Bennet's letter would be as astounding as his own.

George Bennet was always pleased to see the affable young man who had married his eldest daughter. He could see, however, that Bingley was agitated and wondered at its source. He did not wait long.

"I received an express from Pemberley that contained this letter for you. I brought it over directly."

Bingley sat down to wait while Mr. Bennet read. Several times, the older man paused to look at his guest, only to return his attention to the words on the page. When he had finished, he looked at Bingley in amazement. Bingley pulled out his own letter, and without a word, they exchanged correspondences. Mr. Bennet's letter was very similar to the one Bingley had received.

1 October 1812
Pemberley, Derbyshire

To Mr. George Bennet, Esq.

Sir, it is my honour and pleasure to inform you that this evening Elizabeth was safely delivered of a daughter. Both mother and child are well, and I left them only minutes ago to write to you. Holding my child for the first time, I found myself wondering if all fathers were as in awe as I was. Then I lamented that I could not ask my own father that question, as he has been in the grave these five years and more. Finally, I realized that if you were here, I could have asked you. It is only because of my own folly and mistaken pride that you are not. It is my sincere and earnest desire to mend the breach caused by my callous desertion of you in your time of greatest need. I humbly request that you, Mrs. Bennet, and your daughters come to Pemberley directly. I am also writing to the Bingleys and the Pritchfords, asking them to come, and have offered to pay the Pritchfords' travelling expenses. I pray that all will be able to make the journey.

Elizabeth knows nothing of this request, and I would like to surprise her with all her family arriving together. I therefore ask that you delay your departure so that the Pritchfords might journey from Hertfordshire with you, and God willing, the Bingleys.

Please send word as soon as you can. If all goes as I hope, we shall see you at Pemberley in about eight days' time.

Your repentant servant,

Fitzwilliam Darcy