Page 7 of Attempted Compromises
Darcy felt a lump rise in his throat, his heart breaking. He glanced at the doctor. “Is such a thing even possible?”
The doctor hesitated. “There is… there is one who might help,” he admitted reluctantly. “A young student surgeon, a Dr. James Barry. He has some… radical ideas, and he has considered the notion of cutting the womb to save a child. There are records ofsomething similar occurring in ancient times— no one knows if they are real, however. Such a procedure… it will be fatal to the mother, which is why it simply isn’t done.”
Darcy clenched Anne’s hand tightly, his voice thick with grief as he looked down at her. “Anne, I… I can’t. I can’t let them do that to you.”
Anne’s eyes filled with a quiet resolve. “Fitzwilliam… I am going to die,” she said, her voice calm despite the tears that filled her eyes. “Please. Don’t let my death be in vain. Let it… let it be for this child.”
Darcy felt his own resolve waver, his heart breaking as he looked into her pleading eyes. Finally, he nodded, his voice trembling as he whispered, “Very well. I… I will do as you ask.”
A faint smile crossed her lips, and she squeezed his hand with the last of her strength. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice fading. “And please… find him— or her— a mother. Someone who will love him… the way I could have loved him.”
“I promise,” he choked out, the words almost inaudible as he felt her hand grow weaker in his grasp. “I will find him someone who will love him as if he were their own.”
The doctor gestured for Darcy to leave, but he shook his head, refusing to let go of Anne’s hand. He stayed at her side as her wave after wave rolled across her stomach, draining her life with each contraction.
After an hour, a small, bare-faced young man arrived and immediately went to work. “We will give her laudanum,” Barryexplained in the youthful tone of that seemed more suited to a lad not yet matured. “It will dull the pain, though it cannot erase it.”
Darcy nodded, his gaze fixed on Anne’s face as they prepared the laudanum and administered it. Her eyes grew heavy, her breathing slow and shallow as the drug took effect. She looked at Darcy, a faint smile on her lips, and he leaned forward, pressing his forehead against hers, murmuring the lullaby she had sung so often to her unborn child.
“Sleep, my little one… rest in love’s embrace…” he whispered, his voice breaking as he repeated the words of the lullaby she often sang to her growing womb. He felt her hand grow weaker in his, and his heart shattered with every passing moment.
He kept his eyes on her, his voice soft as he sang to her, willing her to feel his presence, his love, until the end.
The child was delivered at last, its small form blue and still as it entered the world. Darcy dared not look, his focus remaining on Anne, his voice a soft caress against her ear.
“He’s not breathing!” came the strained voice of the doctor.
Darcy’s gaze shot up, his heart pounding as he saw the child, impossibly small, held in the doctor’s bloody hands. The baby’s skin was a dusky blue, and it lay still, lifeless.
“He’s too small…” the young doctor whispered.
“Well, he was a full month early,” Dr. Williams murmured, worry lining his face. He looked to the midwife, his voice steady but urgent. “Here, please, take him and see if…”
The midwife took the baby, her hands deft but gentle as she turned the child over, her fingers rubbing his back in firm strokes. “Come now, little one,” she whispered. “Come now, feel the warmth of this world. Breathe.”
Darcy felt himself leaning forward, his own breaths shallow as he watched, unable to tear his gaze away. Every second that passed felt like an eternity, the silence growing more unbearable. The midwife adjusted the baby’s head, cradling him closer as she gave a small, resolute nod.
“Let me…” she said softly, lifting him slightly. She delivered a sharp, quick tap to the child’s back, then rubbed his chest with a firm but tender hand.
And then, there was a sound—a faint, whimpering gasp. Darcy’s breath caught as the baby shuddered, his tiny mouth opening as he finally drew in his first, tentative breath. A feeble, fragile cry filled the air, the sound weak but unmistakably alive.
“There we are,” the midwife murmured, relief flooding her voice as she wrapped the child in a soft blanket. She looked up, offering the baby to the doctor, her expression both reverent and exhausted. “He’s breathing now.”
“It’s a boy, Mr. Darcy. You have a son,” Dr. Williams belatedly informed him.
“At the faint sound of the cry, Anne stirred, her eyelids fluttering as she turned her head towards them. “Please…” she slurred, her voice heavy with exhaustion. “Let me… let me see him.”
The midwife brought the swaddled bundle to her, lowering him into her arms. Anne gazed down at her son, her face filled with wonder and love despite the shadows of pain that lingered in her eyes. A tear slipped down her cheek as she looked up at Darcy.
“Remember… remember your promise, Fitzwilliam,” she murmured, her words faint but resolute. “Find him… a mother.”
Darcy’s own voice was choked as he nodded, clutching her hand as he replied, “I promise, Anne. I swear it to you.”
With a final, weary smile, she closed her eyes; her grip loosening as she drifted away, the last traces of life slipping from her frail body. Her cheek rested on the head of her baby as the room fell into a hushed reverence.
Darcy stayed by her side, his heart breaking as he watched her last breaths, and the tiny, fragile creature she had left behind became his only anchor in a world that had suddenly grown far colder.
Chapter 2
