Page 21 of The Scarred Duchess
“May I get your coffee, Mama?” asked Fitzwilliam.
“Thank you, dearest,” she replied with a smile. Darcy watched and waited patiently. He sensed he would learn of his future child as soon as his wife smelled the strong coffee their son was to deliver.
“Oh, dear!” claimed Lady Anne, her hand covering her mouth, her forefinger and thumb squeezing her nostrils. Fitzwilliam set the cup and saucer down hastily, sloshing its contents everywhere—his hand, the saucer, and the side table were all doused. Darcy was on his feet immediately, handkerchief in his hand, arm extended to his wife.
He picked up the offending drink and returned it to the sideboard.
“Mama, are you ill?” asked Fitzwilliam. His fear was evident.
“No, son, your mother is feeling the effects of our future visitor.” With that said, he knelt in front of his wife, took herhand in his, and reaffirmed his love. “My darling, you must know, if I know what love is, it is because of you. I would vow I could not love you more than I do right now, and yet, tomorrow comes another day and another opportunity.”
Lady Anne sighed, placed her free hand on her husband’s cheek, and spoke to her son without breaking their gaze.
“Fitzwilliam, you soon will have a sister to watch over and protect, just as your father watches and protects his family.” She turned to him. “You will vow to me this day and give me your solemn oath. Your sister will be your charge. You will see to her well-being and her happiness.”
“What if she is a boy?” asked Fitzwilliam.
Darcy was not at all surprised at her insistence on the gender of their future child. She had correctly named their heir in the same manner.
Even now she laughed softly, and said, “One never knows for certain but a mother’s intuition rarely fails. You, my dear son, must vow to protect and care for her, putting no others ahead of this task until you bind yourself in marriage. Promise me now.”
Fitzwilliam placed his hand on his mother’s and closed his eyes
“‘Tis not the many oaths that make the truth; But the plain single vow, that is vow’d true.’”
Darcy inhaled deeply with parental pride. He put a large hand on his son’s shoulder. “I could not have quoted better.”
“I solemnly vow to protect my new sister with my life.”
It was Lady Anne who was required to sacrifice her life for the baby. By the time winter’s chill began to beckon, whenthe house should have been alit with joy for the new life within, Pemberley had instead become a house of mourning.
Childless and widowed, Lady Catherine de Bourgh found herself often at Pemberley. She was of use there, and she increasingly found that being of use was to her liking. Her niece, Georgiana Darcy, at one year of age, was a beautiful child. Her flaxen hair, golden in candlelight, framed a heart-shaped face that housed emerald green eyes. As Lady Catherine rocked her in the nursery, she cooed, “Your father will have your portrait done. And when it is completed, your eyes will conjure images of the Darcy estates in Ireland and their rolling mossy and grassy unending acreage.”
Healthy, hearty, and happy, the new addition brought much delight to the small Darcy family circle. Lady Catherine loved Fitzwilliam and Georgiana. Where he was dark, she was fair. Where he was serious, she giggled with abandon and prompted his laughter.
One evening, Fitzwilliam danced with her in front of the parlour window, humming while he stepped. When he placed Georgiana on the carpet, the babe grasped his finger and stood. Later, as Georgiana slept in her aunt’s arms and her brother wandered off to seek a toy, Lady Catherine once again broached a worrisome topic.
“Do not dismiss my concerns,” she said.
“I do not, sister. I merely point out the preliminary nature of them.”
“You, as a man, cannot know the shallow, insipid, unforgiving meanness of theton.”
“Georgiana is a Darcy. Her fortune, connexions, and future accomplishments will allow much.”
“You are blinded by a father’s love. She is perfect to us—her family circle. I fear she will face incredible obstacles that even a Darcy will find daunting to surmount.”
Lady Catherine looked at the perfect child in her arms. Alas, Georgiana was not perfect. She had been born with a cloven lip.
Andrew Gardiner waved off Bennet’s concerns as Hill helped him don his greatcoat.
“Please stay. I fear the weather will turn before you complete your walk home.”
“I have walked these lanes for nearly seven decades. I could walk them blindfolded. Copper may accompany me to appease you.” The grey-haired man reached down to scratch behind the dog’s ears.
Bennet took in the darkening sky. “Make haste. I have misgivings about sending you out without a proper escort.”
Gardiner waved a hand over his shoulder; his other carried a lantern. Copper bounded out the door. Fifteen minutes later, the skies darkened, prompting a tired express rider, lying upon his mount’s neck, to carelessly urge his horse forward. Neither rider nor beast saw the lone walker.
