Elizabeth, my soul, I wish with all my being that I could promise we will never again be separated! Yet, I cannot. It is inevitable that business will intrude from time to time as our long years as one soul unfold. What I do promise is that I will never desert you unless it is absolutely necessary and that I will carry your love with me as I travel. I will always strive to return to your arms as rapidly as humanly possible. Knowing that you are waiting for me with a love equal to mine for you shall keep me sane. Beloved, you are my life. Be well and cheery, take care of yourself and our child, and doubt not my unwavering devotion to you both. Could I fill innumerable pages with poetic verse declaring my passion for you? Yes. Instead, I believe I shall end this letter so that I may ravish you here in my study. With this decision, and later a delightful memory for you as you nod off in slumber, I will simply say, I love you.

William


At Euston Hall in Suffolk, some sixty miles from London and Elizabeth, Darcy also stood gazing at the stars. The large window in the roomy and well-appointed chamber assigned him was open, permitting a cooling breeze to waft in and an unencumbered view of the night sky. Darcy fingered the small pouch containing the braided tress of his wife's hair along with the lavender scented handkerchief she had pressed into his hand as he left. He sighed heavily. He did not wonder if she missed him. Any doubts at the depth of her love for him had vanished ere they were wed. His only doubts at the moment were regarding the logic of leaving her. He had lost count after a hundred at the number of times he nearly spun his mount about and raced back to Town. The letter teeming with lavish praises of love and desire written earlier was waiting on the desk for delivery at first light.

A knock at the door broke into his musings and revealed Gerald Vernor, brandy decanter and glasses in hand. “Figured you could use a nightcap.”

Darcy smiled. “You have no idea. Come in, my friend.”

For Darcy the subsequent three days were busy and surprisingly pleasant for the most part. Gerald was always agreeable company and Duke Grafton possessed a dry wit and a wealth of adventures he enjoyed imparting with a born storyteller's flair. His stables were impressive. Darcy, the consummate horseman that he was, delighted in the endless discussions, ridings, and inspections of the Duke's magnificent animals. The business arrangements monopolized hours and required serious, intense concentration. Evenings were replete with the Duke's tales, fine dining, and manly entertainments. He had an excellently equipped game room, including a beautiful billiard table that Darcy proficiently profited from. Therefore, it was not until the late evenings and horrid nights when Darcy's heartache would overwhelm him. He would wake in the mornings after sleeping fitfully, aroused from vivid dreams of his wife, lonely, and miserable.

He reasoned that arriving at Pemberley on the fourth day after leaving her would ease his heartache somewhat since it was their home, yet he was wrong. He had not fully comprehended how indelibly Elizabeth's presence was etched into every room and corridor. He heard her voice and gentle footfalls constantly, expected to behold her beloved face at every corner, could smell the lingering aroma of her perfume, and his eyes alit on a ceaseless array of her belongings scattered about. Even the stables elicited poignant memories: the curricle she drove, the pairs of thick leather gloves he had purchased for her, and worst of all the now sixth-month-old colt that she had bonded with and named Wolfram after the author of Parzival, from which Darcy had chosen his stallion's name. Wolfram scampered up to Darcy the instant he entered the stable yard, nosing behind his body with searching eyes. “Sorry little fellow, she is not here.” The colt seemed to understand Darcy's words, or at least the mournful tone, and with a last look about, hung his head and wandered away sadly. Darcy wanted to cry.

The torture was exacerbated when he entered their chambers. The sensory overload of memories associated with her overwhelmed him and for several minutes he could not breathe. He seriously entertained the idea of sleeping in a guest chamber, but in the end, the need to be close to her possessions as a substitute to the flesh and blood reality was too strong. Eventually, he found comfort in the ghost of his heart's survival as Elizabeth's spirit was evident in each corner of the chambers. He lay in their bed that first night with the door to her dressing room open, his gaze resting on her vanity as joyous remembrances of brushing her hair while she smiled at his reflection washed over him, gradually leading to a profusion of rapturous recollections as sleep claimed him.

Prior to departing, Darcy had carefully studied the invitations received, discussing each one with Lizzy, discarding those that were unacceptable for some reason, and encouraging her to affirm those that would be entertaining and appropriate for a woman without her spouse. He further admonished her to confer with Lady Matlock before accepting any other requests. He had so fretted over her boredom or despondency during his absence that he scheduled an activity of some sort for nearly each waking hour over the ensuing seven days. Lizzy had not argued, but it was humorous. First of all, no amount of occupations would prevent gloom residing in her heart. Secondly, he apparently forgot in his ambition to appease her loneliness that Lizzy was a woman who needed solitude in her day. She was a social creature to be sure, yet she equally craved privacy and silence.

Therefore, she had rearranged a few of the planned excursions to allot time to herself. Fortunately, she plotted her first morning without him as one of those times. She woke late, having slept poorly. Despite his beautiful letter, her sleep was plagued with unpleasant dreams of Lady Catherine's disapproving face, William telling her she was unsuitable to be his wife, a sea of faces laughing at her as she entered the opera house in rags, and vague twinges of discomfort emanating from her lower abdomen. Upon waking, the initial thought was of relief. Her husband's letter lay on the bed stand and simply spying it recalled his declarations of love and devotion with sensations of happiness rushing over her. Her heart ached without his body beside her, but her soul was complete.

The familiar deep and feathery flutters that she was almost certain were the baby, abruptly commenced, bursting forth in a frantic minute or so of bustling exercise, and then gradually subsiding. Lizzy chuckled, placing her palm over her lower belly. “Did you not wish to wake yet, little one?” Lying curled on her side, Lizzy rubbed her hand along the flesh of her abdomen, noting the slight bulge and thickening. Bliss shrouded her even in her sadness at Darcy's absence. Sighing, she stretched and yawned, her mind wandering to the day's schedule when a sudden sharp wrenching cramp in her groin area momentarily rendered her breathless. It was not horribly painful and passed as rapidly as it came, yet alarm pierced her heart.

All throughout the morning Lizzy experienced minor pinches and spasms. Amid the mild discomfort, the internal flickers persisted, easily perceived now that Lizzy had identified them. The book was unclear. One paragraph stated that occasional muscle pangs were normal as the body expanded with the growth of the baby. Another firmly expressed the ominous indication of abdominal cramps. To Lizzy, the twitches felt more like muscle aches than cramps, but she fretted nonetheless. Between the unrelenting ache in her heart and the new pregnancy symptoms, thoughts of Lady Catherine had nearly evaporated.

Around noon a footman approached Lizzy in the garden and announced Lady Matlock. Lizzy had not expected Darcy's aunt, but was always delighted to see her. Additionally, she deemed it fortuitous as she could ask her about the recent developments.

“Madeline,” she said with true pleasure as they hugged in greeting, “what a wonderful surprise!”

“Elizabeth, dear, forgive me for calling unannounced.”

“Do not be ridiculous! You are always welcome. Mr. Travers, lemonade please in the parlor.” Lizzy linked arms with Lady Matlock, steering her toward the parlor.

“I was concerned for you, Elizabeth. Despite your charm and brave face last evening, I sensed your sadness.”

Lizzy smiled as they sat on the sofa. “I will not deny how empty I am without William. I have grown rather accustomed to his dominating presence.”