Memory: Volume 3, How Far We Have Come, A Tale of Pride and Prejudice (Memory: A Tale of Pride and Prejudice) (28 page)

“Slippers?”  Darcy whispered, and turned his head towards the bedchamber.  When he looked back to Adams, he was handed Elizabeth’s journal.  Confused, he watched Adams set out a bottle of wine and a glass.  The men’s eyes met at last, and bowing, Adams disappeared through the servant’s door.  Without even opening the book, Darcy knew what it said.  Delaying the inevitable, he poured out some wine.  Lifting the glass to his lips, he paused for a moment, letting the sweet, fruity aroma wash over his senses, then taking a swallow, set down the glass and sat in his shaving chair.  His fingers caressed the hanging ribbons of his misshapen lover’s knot and carefully, he opened the book to the last page.

29 April 1811

My dearest Fitzwilliam, forgive me for not having the courage to tell you this news in person.  I have not the courage to speak bravely when my heart is breaking.  I am grateful that it happened while you were away, you did not have to witness my despair firsthand, and I suspect that you will be glad that I will not see your first encounter with yours either.  Prepare yourself, my love.  Our baby is lost.

Darcy squeezed his eyes shut and gripped the book tightly.  “I knew it.”  He whispered.  “I knew something was not right!”  He took several long deep breaths and blinking hard, he tried to focus on the blurry page below.

I was visiting at Gracechurch Street and the aches that kept me awake grew to pain.  Aunt knew immediately what was happening and took me to her chambers.  It only took a few hours for what was to be our child to pass.  It was impossible to say that it was a child at all, I was so barely along.  I am grateful for that.  I am grateful that heaven took this child before he had grown any further.  I think that we both suspected all along that something was not quite right this time.  We held our fear close to our hearts.  I did not wish to alarm you any more than you wished to frighten me, but we both knew, did we not, my Fitzwilliam?

“Yes.”  He choked and wiped his eyes.  “Yes, we knew.”

 
I am so sorry Will.  I do not know what I could have done to make him stay.  I wish that I knew.  I wanted this child deeply.  I wanted him to join our little family of three and grow, bringing us more joy just as our Rosa does every day.  But, I think, somehow, I have been preparing for this for weeks.  How did I know?  I could not say. Aunt called it a mother’s instinct.  That could be.  I think that this dear one was only meant to visit us for a little while, but he is home now.  He is safe.  I am grateful for the joy he brought us while he was here. 

When you are ready love, come to me.  I may seem brave, but I truly need your arms around me, and I deeply need to hold you.  I love you.
 

“I love you.  Do not dare to blame yourself!”  Darcy read the passage again, this time letting her words truly sink into his heart.  “Something was wrong and heaven knew.”  He swallowed hard and rose to his feet, and picking up the unopened rose, he placed it within the journal to mark the life that was not meant to be.  Carrying the journal with him, he stood next to the bed and looked down at her; and realized she was not alone.  Rosalie slept in her arms.  Somehow, seeing her there lifted some of the pain that was crushing his heart.  “Hello, little love.”  He whispered and setting the journal down, he carefully climbed onto the bed.  Lying on his side, he rested his face on Elizabeth’s shoulder.  She woke and looked back at him, raising her free hand to caress his face. 

“I am so sorry, Will.”

“Do not apologize.”  He whispered and kissed her hand then leaned to kiss her lips.  “How are you?”

“I ache, but Aunt said it will only last a few days, just like having my courses.”

“Oh.”  He grew silent and looked down at Rosalie, caressing her dark curls.  “I knew.”

“So did I.” 

“It is better to have it happen now than later, Lizzy.  Before you became . . . before you had a baby to . . .”

“One that you know.”

“Yes.”  He sighed.  “I loved him.”

“I love him, still.”  She smiled sadly at him and they kissed when he nodded.  “But . . .”

“I think that if he was perfect he would have stayed.”  Darcy whispered and kissed her cheek. 

“Next time . . .”

“Do you want a next time?”  His hands ran through her hair.  “Do you want to worry again?”

“Yes.”  Elizabeth rolled on her back and looked up at him.  Rosalie yawned and turned, resting her hand over Elizabeth’s stomach and nestling against her side. 

“Mama.”  She murmured.

Darcy’s shoulders began to shake and he buried his face against Elizabeth’s throat.  She held him and cried in his hair, their embrace tightening as they sobbed.  “I love you, Lizzy.” 

“I love you, Will.”  She lifted his face up to kiss his cheeks.  “We will be well.”

“Yes.”  He wiped her face with his hand and then wiped his own.  “We will.”  Drawing a shaking breath, he looked her over carefully.  “Was a doctor called?”

“A mid-wife.”

“What did she do to you?  She did not bleed you did she?”

“No.”  Elizabeth smiled at his fierce expression.  “No ice baths either.  She questioned me, asked if I was depressed or too happy.”

“Too happy?”  He said incredulously.

“Too many rich foods, too many parties . . .”

“Food?”  He passed his hand over her belly.  “Dearest, you are a feather.  Did this woman
look
at you?”

“If I lifted anything.”  Darcy looked at her seriously then at Rosalie.  “I would not dare carry her upstairs; the staff would stop me if you did not.”  Elizabeth sighed and he relaxed.  “She gave me herbal tea to drink and told me it would be a week or so of bleeding and then . . . It is over.”

“And then what?”  Darcy kissed her and again ran his fingers through her hair. 

“When I feel ready, we may begin again.” 

“So soon?”  He whispered.  “Should we not wait months and months?”

“Only if I am not ready.”  Her eyes filled up and he immediately kissed her.  “Will?” 

“Yes, my dear love?”

“As soon as I am able . . .” She started to cry again.  “The moment I am able . . .”

“Yes, love.”  Darcy hugged her tightly.  “Yes.”  They held each other and cried anew.

“Papa!”  Darcy felt a little hand on his back and then a knee, followed by a warm body.  He looked down at Elizabeth with wide, teary, bloodshot eyes.

“She is on my back!” 

Rosalie giggled and rubbed her face on his neck, pulled his hair, then putting her mouth next to his ear, said loudly, “Papa!!”

“Ow!”  He cried.  “You are deafening Papa!”

“And making him bald.”  Elizabeth sniffed and laughed softly, looking at the bright eyes of their daughter looming above them.  “No, Rosa.  Do not pull Papa’s hair.  I like it too much.”

She started to pull his hair again and Elizabeth’s gaze became stern.  “NO.”  Rosalie immediately looked away and turned, rolling off of Darcy’s back and down to the bed where she crawled over to Elizabeth’s face.  “mama?”

“Good girl.”  Elizabeth nodded and received a wet noisy kiss. 

“Rosa.”  Darcy whispered.  “May I have a kiss, too?”  He smiled when she sat up and hugged his face, holding his entire head in her arms then kissed the crown.  “Thank you.” 

Rosalie let go and sliding down from the bed; she walked across the floor.  Darcy wrapped his arms around Elizabeth and they watched her toddle around.  She discovered the curtains blowing in the breeze and hiding beneath, she pulled them away to laugh at her parents before covering up again.  Darcy kissed Elizabeth and moulded his body to hers, resting his hands over her belly.  Elizabeth’s came up to cover them, and their fingers entwined. 

“Next time, dearest, he will stay.”

Chapter 9

D
ARCY KISSED ROSALIE and handed her to Jane. “Thank you for this.”  He said softly and nodded at Lucas.  “I do appreciate it.  Elizabeth did not want her to miss seeing her cousins, she just is not up to going anywhere today.”  He caressed the baby’s curls.  “Now you be good.”

“Papa.  Bye.”  Rosalie waved from Jane’s shoulder. 

Jane stood up on her toes and kissed his cheek, and looked into his red-rimmed eyes.  “What will you do?”

“I leave that to your sister.  She did not sleep well.”  He blinked and schooled his face to a smooth mask. 

“I will stay if you . . .” Mary began but seeing his head shake she instead embraced him, and then turned quickly away.

“Darcy, I . . .” Lucas stopped, at a loss for words, then just held out his hand.  “We will look after her.”  They walked out to the carriage and Darcy stood at the door, watching and waving at Rosalie as they drove off.  When he turned back to the house, he slowly walked to his study.  Quietly he directed Conrad to find another place to work, and watched as the door clicked shut behind him. 

Sitting at his desk, he looked at the stack of letters that waited for his attention, stared at one unseeingly, unable to summon the energy to read let alone formulate a coherent response.  He let it drop and stared at the chair Elizabeth occupied when keeping him company as he worked, then bending his head, he looked around the tray that held the inkpots, and fished out a little wad of paper.  A slight smile appeared as he rubbed it between his thumb and forefinger, rolling it around and thinking of her careful aim; and her delighted laughter when she caught him unaware.  “We will have to practice skipping stones when we return home, love.”  He looked up to the painting of Pemberley and got to his feet to examine it.  Studying the lake, he picked the perfect spot to stand and teach her how to toss the stones, then lost himself in the memory of the last time they swam together and loved each other on the bank.  The thought took him away to looking at the forest, and their little glade.  “The rosebush should be blooming soon.”  He mused, trying to pinpoint exactly where the glade was in the painted trees.  “I suppose that I would not have delivered this baby outside.  Not in November.”  He sighed as his gaze drifted to the house and where, unpainted, the small cemetery was located.  “Not ever.” 

The vision of the four little graves came to his mind and he thought of the siblings he barely remembered, and turned to his parents’ portrait.  “How did you survive, Father?  Your children were born, two of them lived long enough to be known to you and treasured.  I am lost and I never even felt a kick.  How did you ever smile again?”    His eyes closed and when he reopened them, they found the bookshelf.  A thought occurred to him and walking forward quickly, he opened the hidden door, disappeared inside, and soon returned carrying the heavy lockbox, untouched since Wickham’s attack.  Lifting the lid, he started to remove his father’s journals.  He studied them, trying to remember the years when the deaths had come, and finally sitting down with four volumes, started paging through.

17 March 1790

My two boys lie at rest now beside their grandparents.  The fever took them so quickly.  It came to our house one moment and before the sun set the next day, my sons were gone, gone to heaven, Anne promises me.  Where else would they be?  So very young, so dear to us.  Bless you, Leighton Fitzwilliam Darcy.  Bless you George Fitzwilliam Darcy.  You gave us great happiness and joy, I loved you, and I will always love you. 

And now I am left with my first son, once more my only child.  Fitzwilliam, what a burden you now carry on your thin shoulders.  How can I explain to you that your brothers are gone forever?  You may be only five years old, but you are wise far beyond your years.  You are an old soul already, where your brothers were lively imps.  There will be no fairy tale to tell you.  The truth is the only way.  I know your loving nature Son, and I know that you will take on the task of cheering your poor devastated parents.  We do not ask it of you, but I have no doubt that you will feel it your duty to take care of us.  We love you, Son.  We are grateful that we have you to make us smile, to assure us that we have reason to carry on.  Your mother and I look at you and know that all is not lost.  Thank heaven that you were spared.  It is you who will help us to survive this, your life and our hope to have more children.  We are determined.  We will conquer this devil who took our boys away.   Remember that always; do not let death win, Son!  We will show our spirit, we will make all who carried the Darcy name and who died before us proud!

Darcy drew a deep breath.  “Yes, Papa.”  Long-forgotten memories flooded back.  “So this was the beginning.  This is when you started telling me of pride.”  He nodded his head, understanding his father in ways that had been hidden before.  Biting his lip, he opened the journals for the following years.  1792, Helena Anne, stillborn at six months.  1794, Marjorie Anne, stillborn, five months.  Each time his father expressed defiance with death, hope for the future, and love for his living son, and always, pride for the heritage of his family, and desire to see it carried on.  Finally, he picked up a last journal.

24 April, 1796

Darcy read of Georgiana’s birth, his mother’s death, his father’s sadness, determination, and gratitude for what he still had, and again nodded.  “I may feel sadness, but I must not let it rule me.  Or Elizabeth.  Thank you, Father, for one last lesson.”  A knock came to the door and he called out, “Enter!”

Singleton opened it cautiously.  “Darcy . . . I . . . Jane told us the news and I thought, well, having experienced . . . Do you need . . .”

“Come in, Robert.”  Darcy stood and held out his hand, then found himself in a tight embrace.  Awkwardly, they let go and cleared their throats.   “Drink?”

“Um, yes, thanks.”  Singleton sat down and watched Darcy busy himself with the port, and crossed his legs when he accepted the glass. “Audrey is up with Elizabeth.”