Finally on the third day after Richard's note, a longer letter arrived, also penned in Richard's feathery script, but clearly the words of her husband. Lizzy began sobbing before the salutation was read.


My dearest, precious Elizabeth,

My beloved, I do pray this overdue correspondence is read by a healthy wife, robust as always and yet encumbered with the blessing that is our child. I, as you have been informed by our dear cousin, have been ill. I fear he misled you on the full extent of my infirmity. He begs me, my dearest, at this juncture to apologize for his deception as done with only your well-being in mind. This I can assure you is the truth. I do believe I must take full responsibility for the calamity that has befallen me as I so arrogantly jested that I am never ill. Do you recall this boasting? It appears that fate has a sense of humor, or perhaps karma is true as the mystics proclaim. However, fret no further as I am speedily mending from the influenza that afflicted me. It was not a pretty sight, my beautiful wife, and I am abundantly thankful you were not here to witness my indignity. Rest assured that I am healing rapidly with, as Richard says, my obstinacy intact. I have no idea to what he refers.

Naturally my illness has set me back on concluding my business. Mr. Daniels has persevered with preparing all matters for me and we are resuming our meetings. Unfortunately they must transpire in my bedchamber sitting room for now and remain stunted as my strength is not yet fully restored. I do still hope to complete affairs and be home for my birthday.

Beloved, I cannot relate the whole contents of my heart as my secretary would likely refuse to write the sentiments. I trust that you understand the depths of my love for you and anguish I feel in being separated. Please, Elizabeth, I beg you with all my soul, do not worry! I am recovering, and there is no lasting damage. I love you forever,

William


Underneath were supplementary lines in a shaky script that was nonetheless clearly Darcy's:


My Heart, Forgive the poor penmanship, but I fear my hands are yet weak. I must be brief. I ache for you, my precious Lizzy! God how I want to see your face. Know that you are alive in every beat of my heart and the knowledge that you are safe gives me the greatest strength. Soon, very soon, my lover, I will hold you and kiss you and we will make love with all the passion stored. Dream of me as I dream of you. I love you, my Elizabeth. I love you for all eternity.

Your Fitzwilliam


The letter was dictated, shakily written, sealed, and posted the morning following Darcy's fever breaking. By the time Lizzy received it Darcy had proven his powers of regeneration and colossal strength of will by resuming nearly the same hectic agenda as prior to his illness. Richard returned to his regiment with a warning to moderate that he knew Darcy would ignore. In truth he was still weak, the cough abiding, and the need for afternoon rest periods undeniable. At least it gave him a legitimate excuse to decline the few invitations that arrived despite his attempt to maintain secrecy.

Chapter Fifteen

Thirty Is an Auspicious Number

Lizzy returned to her self-appointed duties with a relieved smile on her face. She would not feel completely secure until she could feel his solidity under her hands and gaze upon his healthy face, but her anxiety was alleviated. While apprehension waned with subsequent letters written in an ever increasingly firm hand, desolation and melancholy flourished unabated. The pain in her heart rose with each passing day, allayed somewhat in rejuvenating sleep and sweet dreams.

As the third week without her husband advanced, Lizzy and Georgiana walked to the orphanage in the Village. They each carried a basket filled with baked treats for the children, dressed warmly against the chill air. October had passed into November, the last of the Pemberley harvests reaped and marketed. The fields now lay tilled and bare. A light drizzle of rain had fallen last evening, leaving the ground moist with shallow puddles in places, but today was clear with the clouds lingering over the Peaks.

“If William were here he would predict the rains, whether they are gone for now or to return.” Lizzy spoke softly, gazing at the horizon.

Georgiana smiled, squeezing her sister's arm. “Yes, he always knows. It is a gift I do not possess. Of course, if he were here he would likely forbid you to walk, especially if he judges the rains to resume.”

Lizzy laughed. “True, although I think I would welcome his overprotective domination if it meant I could hear his voice.”

“He shall be home soon, Lizzy. He will not miss his birthday. He knows how important it is to you, and nothing will keep him away.”

“As desperately as I need him, I fear him overtaxing and becoming ill again.” She sighed loudly and shook her head. “Enough! He has begged me not to fret, to trust him, and I will. His letter yesterday said all was proceeding expeditiously.”

“Did he give any indication of when he would be home?”

“No, unfortunately. I think he is afraid to say much so as to not disappoint. In truth I do not expect him for another week, probably breezing in exhausted on the day before his birthday!”

“Why so long?”

“He had reckoned it would take two weeks at the least to conclude his affairs, and I think he was being generous at that so as not to increase my distress.” She smiled at his ever conscious desire to assuage. “He was ill for a week, if my figuring is correct, then the slow recovery. I can still discern a weakness in his handwriting and weariness in his words. I am sure he is not able to work up to his normal stamina.”

“Well, perhaps you are correct, and I suppose it best he take it slowly. Still, I know he will be here by his birthday! William always keeps his promises.”

The children jumped for joy, delighting in the treats and affection from Mrs. Darcy and Miss Darcy. The joyful, innocent presence of the children never failed to cheer Lizzy, the afternoon hours spent very happily with only fleeting thoughts of her husband intruding. Toward the end of their visit, as the clouds were gradually blowing back toward the valley, Lizzy felt the preliminary twinges of pain.

She held a newer arrival to the orphanage, a girl of three years, as she stood watching groups of children playing hopscotch and jumping rope. One minute everything was roses, Lizzy laughing at the antics and blissfully snuggling the soft body against her breast, when the familiar vague contractions were abruptly displaced by a sharp stab of pain lanced through her abdomen rippling from back to front and down to her groin. It resembled the innocuous false labor pains that Dr. Darcy assured were normal and necessary, but was far more intense. She gasped, bending involuntarily as she rubbed over her belly. It passed as swiftly as it came, Lizzy breathing deeply and almost convincing herself it was not significant when an identical pain struck. She released a squeal, doubling over and nearly dropping the little girl, who was clinging to her neck in fright.

“Mrs. Darcy? Are you well?” It was Miss Seymour, the orphanage director, inquiring as she rushed to rescue the child.

“No, I think I need to sit. Oh!”

Rapid activity ensued, Georgiana calling immediately for the nearest carriage. In short order Lizzy was home, George carrying her to her third-floor chamber in an amazingly strong grip for such a thin man. The pains continued at an irregular rhythm and intensity. Lizzy realized once the initial shock was past that the pains were not horrible, but definitely more severe than normal. It was the stress of what they signified that sent her into trembling sobs.

“Calm yourself, Elizabeth. Georgiana dear, hold her hand and speak soothingly. Elizabeth, I must be allowed to examine you. Relax, all will be well.”

His final sentence, uttered in Darcy's gentle tone, was more then she could handle. “George, I cannot… have this baby… now…”

“Well, he may very well have a differing plan, my dear, but we will not know until you settle down. This may be unpleasant and embarrassing, Elizabeth. I am sorry.” He kept a steady stream of placating murmuring as he performed the intimate examination, Lizzy far too distraught to be embarrassed.

“Listen carefully, niece. At this point there is no internal indication that your baby wishes to be born.” He laid his broad hands over her abdomen, palpating the intermittent muscle contractions. “The pains are not regular, which is a good thing. Mrs. Reynolds,” he said, turning to the housekeeper standing nearby, “ask Mrs. Langton to brew a large pot of very strong tea, dregs included, of red raspberry leaf and chaste tree leaf. She has the herbs as I supplied them prophylactically. Elizabeth, focus on me, dear.”

Lizzy was crying silently, enormous tears sliding down her cheeks, but she met his sympathetic blue eyes. “Listen, dear, very clearly to me. If your baby does decide now is the time for his birth, he is near enough to complete maturity that he will likely be healthy. He feels to be of a sufficient size.” He pressed his long, firm fingers into her belly on both sides of the swell, palpating the shape hidden inside.

“You can ascertain his size?” Lizzy asked with surprise.

“It is not an exact science, but one develops a sense for these things over time. I am an excellent diagnostician, if I say so myself, and not half bad as an obstetrician.” Lizzy could not prevent a tiny chuckle escaping, George smiling in return. “There, better, Elizabeth?” She nodded faintly. “Good. It is vital you remain calm. The tea I ordered may halt the contractions, but primarily you need to rest. My professional opinion is you have been given a fright and a warning. However, this could be a sign that you will not be waiting until December. Only time will reveal. In the meantime I am restricting you to your bed.”