Page 84 of The Heroic Mr Darcy's Bad Manners
“I cannot walk,” Jane cried.
The door tore open and in strode Colonel Fitzwilliam. He must have been listening just outside the room, and he carried his wife expeditiously to the bed. After fluffing her pillows and making sure she was as comfortable as possible, he tried to remove himself, but Jane would not have it. She grabbed his hand and wailed. All colour left the colonel’s face, and Elizabeth hastened to the opposite side of the bed.
“Pray, let go of Richard’s hand and take mine! Your husband should not be here, Jane.”
Jane appeared not to hear her admonishment. Her face was scrunched in concentration, effort, and pain.
“Too late,” the midwife grumbled, lifting the new-born babe from underneath the sheet. The sturdy boy took one look at the elderly lady and wailed even louder than his mother had just a moment before.
“Well, that was easy,” Elizabeth muttered. “Who would have thought birthing a child could be done with so little inconvenience…” she added, earning a scowl from Jane. She had better make herself useful and relieved the midwife of the malcontent child. She offered to clean him whilst the accoucheuse dealt with the afterbirth. Jane was in no need of her services as she was gently tended by her adoring husband.
An hour later, Colonel Fitzwilliam brought his pride and joy to greet the rest of the family. Jane had fed the babe and was sleeping peacefully.
“He is tiny,” Darcy remarked in awe.
Elizabeth disagreed but refrained from saying so.
“As sturdy a lad as I have ever seen!” Lord Glentworth contradicted.
“I have to agree with Glentworth,” Lord Limerick boasted. “Let me be the first to toast this strapping young fellow, and thesequelto Longbourn, Glentworth, and Limerick. May he live a healthy and prosperous life!”
“Hear, hear!” Worcester and Crawford contributed in unison.
“To Henry Thomas!” Colonel Fitzwilliam announced. Jane had decided to name him after his maternal great uncle and his paternal and maternal grandfathers.
#
June 1815.
“You cannot travel in your condition!”
Elizabeth scowled at her husband, even though she was heavy with her second child.
“I birthed your heir at Pemberley, I might as well deliver our daughter in London. She will most likely want to spend most of her time there in any case. You know, shopping for lace and ribbons.”
It was Fitzwilliam’s turn to scowl at her.
“You cannot expect me to forgo my sisters’ weddings to such prominent figures?”
Kitty had drawn the attention of the widowed Lord Ponsonby nigh on a year ago. Only in the privacy of her own thoughts did she believe the earl had been attracted to Kitty’s cough. He was somewhat of a hypochondriac and relished speaking to exhaustion about any disease, whilst her sister was drawn to his uncommonly handsome face… But due to the discrepancy in their ages, Lord Glentworth had forced them to accept a long engagement. He would not allow Kitty to wed before she came of age, and neither tears nor cajoling had moved him. The time was up and the wedding but a sennight away. Elizabeth could have managed, with a month to go, to return safely to Pemberley before the baby was due, if not for the fact that Georgiana was to wed a fortnight after. She had met the distinguished young colonel through Richard. It was fortunate that the Napoleonic War had ended two days ago, because her intended was French.
“You know how weddings can induce labour,” Fitzwilliam argued.
He was not wrong. Jane had given birth to her son just hours after Mary’s wedding, and her darling Master Fitzwilliam had announced his arrival at Uncle Henry and Aunt Eudora’s wedding.
After Lord Limerick had grieved his wife for three decades, Elizabeth supposed that losing his sister to the houses containing young great-grandchildren in them had prompted him to remarry. He must also have realised that if he chose a woman of sense and education, it was not the worst fate that could befall a man of distinction.
But what could she say that would convince her husband to travel for three days with a heavily pregnant wife only to be subjected to unending social events and her mother’s effusions? She would rather not return the silver button as it had become a sort of sport to never use it.
“You win. We shall travel to London. But mind you, I am planning a very slow journey, so you should order your maid to pack immediately,” Darcy conceded.
It must have been the lure of Georgiana’s wedding. He could not keep away, and he used her silent insistence as an excuse.
“I love you so very much, Fitzwilliam!”
He stood and hauled her to her feet so that he could envelop her within his embrace.
“Not as much as I love you, dear wife. Please, promise not to have our baby until after Georgiana’s wedding. Preferably with a week to spare.”
