He had not thought he would ever father a child. That particular road had always seemed closed to him, one he had never tried to travel—not by choice, exactly, but by resignation. And then Fanny, trembling and glowing all at once, had smiled up at him and said, “I think I might be with child.”
He remembered how her hands had fluttered like birds, how her face had lit with hope, how she had confessed that she had waited a week to be certain before telling him. And he had been stunned.
And relieved.
He had not touched her since.
He had insisted on it—gently, but firmly. Told her it was safer, that she was young and fragile, and that it was not worth the risk. She had argued with him once, citing the midwife’s reassurances, but he had not wavered.
Hecouldnot.
The thought of putting her in danger—of being the cause of harm to her or the baby—was unbearable. Relations were taxing on him as it was, and he looked forward to the return of their late-night cuddlings only leading to sleep.
And now she was screaming because of him.
His hands tightened together. Lord, he prayed, please let them both be safe. And if You are inclined to show mercy to a fool, let the child be a boy. I will love the child no matter what, but I… I need Your mercy, little though I deserve it.
“I never thought I would be a father,” he said aloud, softly.
Stephens looked up from his book. “I am happy for you, sir.”
He gave Stephens a piercing look. “Are you? It will mean everything will change. Again.”
“It is worth it, sir,” Stephens said emphatically. “I always imagined I would like children myself, but marriage was… never for me.”
Mr. Bennet was quiet for a long time. Then he said, “Should you choose to remain here with me, I would like my children to think of you as family.”
Stephens said nothing at first, but the flicker of emotion that passed across his face was unmistakable. “That is very generous of you, sir” he said at last. “Thank you.”
Another moment passed in silence. Then—at last—the cry of a newborn: loud and lusty.
“This one has a strong set of lungs on them,” Mr. Bennet chuckled.
“The midwife should be down soon,” Stephens said.
And so she was. No more than a quarter of an hour had passed when there was a knock at the door.
“Well, Mr. Bennet,” the woman said with a tired smile, “if you wish to meet your child, now is the time.”
“Fanny?” he asked.
“Doing well,” she said firmly with a nod of approval. “Strong as ever.”
He climbed the stairs swiftly. When he entered the room, however, it was clear thatnotall was well. Fanny was weeping in the bed, her arms trembling as she clutched a small bundle wrapped in blankets to her chest.
Rushing to her side, he knelt down on the floor beside her, heart pounding. “I thought you said everything was alright!” he snapped at the midwife.
“She is,” the woman said, lifting an eyebrow. “Do not take her tears too hard, sir. New mothers cry easily.”
He knelt beside the bed and gently took Fanny’s hand. “Fanny? Are you in pain? What is it?”
She sobbed harder and buried her face in his shoulder. “I failed you,” she whispered.
“Failed me? What nonsense is this?”
“It is another girl.”
Mr. Bennet exhaled a shaky breath and gave a small, incredulous laugh. “Oh, Fanny. Never you mind. I love Jane, do I not? And I will love this one just as much. I could never be more proud than to be Papa to two lovely little girls.”
