Elizabeth looked at him, her heart swelling with gratitude and love. “Yes, together.”
He turned to Mrs. Gardiner with a playful glint in his eye. “I trust you have been taking good care of her?”
Mrs. Gardiner nodded with a knowing smile. “Of course, Fitzwilliam. Elizabeth is in excellent hands.”
Elizabeth rested her head against Darcy’s shoulder, feeling the weight of the world lift from her chest, if only for a moment. They had come so far, survived so much uncertainty, and she was delighted in the peace she felt with him.
Chapter Fifty-Two
MONDAY, 3 AUGUST 1812
Elizabeth and her aunt sat in the same cosy sitting room, the late morning light casting a soft glow through the curtains as they worked on small projects for the coming child. They exchanged some conversation, often drifting into idle chatter about the changes they expected in the nursery or the preparation of the household for the new arrival. Elizabeth, however, was not quite as relaxed as she had been in the past weeks. Though she had been feeling occasional twinges for days, they had never seemed alarming. But today, something felt different.
She paused her sewing as another sharp pain moved through her abdomen, her hand instinctively pressing against the spot as if that could offer some relief. It was growing harder to ignore. The pain was more frequent now, and each time it came, it seemed to linger just a little longer.
Mrs. Gardiner, who had been speaking of the condition of the estate gardens, noticed the subtle change in her niece’s expression. Her voice, always so calm and composed, now carried an edge of concern. “Elizabeth? Are you feeling unwell?” she asked, setting her needlework aside and rising from her chair as she approached her niece.
Elizabeth forced a smile and shook her head, though her hand remained on her stomach, rubbing the area, hoping to soothe the discomfort. “I… I am uncertain. It is just… the pains havebecome a little stronger, that is all. They come and go, but they are certainly more frequent than before.”
Mrs. Gardiner did not look convinced. “Elizabeth, you must let me call for Fitzwilliam and the midwife.”
“I am certain it is nothing to worry about just yet,” Elizabeth replied, her tone trying to calm her aunt’s concern. “The pains are not consistent, and I have always found that a little walk helps. I shall visit Fitzwilliam in his study. That should ease them, as it has before.”
Though still concerned, Mrs. Gardiner did not press the matter, though the furrow in her brow remained. “If you are certain, but promise me you will let me know if they grow any worse.”
Elizabeth nodded, reassuring her aunt, and left the sitting room, making her way through the house to her husband’s study. The walk, as expected, helped ease the pain a little, but it did not take it away entirely. Within moments of sitting with Darcy, the discomfort began to return, and Elizabeth found herself shifting uncomfortably in her chair.
Darcy, ever observant of his wife, noticed her movements and the faint strain in her expression. He rose quickly and moved to kneel in front of her, but Elizabeth did not immediately notice, her eyes closed in an attempt to bear the pain. It was only when she felt his presence, his steady hand gently touching hers, that she looked up.
Meeting his gaze, she saw the deep concern in his eyes. “Are you well, Elizabeth?” he asked, his voice thick with worry, his brows furrowed as he watched her closely.
“I… I believe it is time to send for the midwife,” Elizabeth replied slowly, her breath hitching as another wave of pain surgedthrough her. She leant back in her chair, her hand gripping his for support. “The pains are coming about every quarter hour, and it will be wise to have someone knowledgeable here. I do not know how long it might take for her to arrive.”
At once, Darcy stood, his movements swift but outwardly appearing controlled. He rang the bell, and within moments, Mrs. Reynolds entered the room, followed by a footman, her expression calm but clearly taking in the situation.
“Should I send for the midwife? And the physician?” Mrs. Reynolds asked, her tone practical but full of concern, having spoken with Mrs. Gardiner only a few moments before.
Darcy gave a quick nod. “Yes, Mrs. Reynolds, please do. If one is delayed, perhaps the other will arrive sooner.”
Elizabeth managed a small smile at his care and the efficiency with which he gave orders. But the next surge of pain made her gasp, and she squeezed his hand tighter. “Fitzwilliam… I?—”
Mrs. Reynolds, already moving to carry out his instructions, left the room quietly. Darcy returned to his wife’s side immediately, kneeling once more. His hand rested gently on hers, a silent promise of his presence and support.
“I am here, Elizabeth,” he said softly, his voice a grounding force in the midst of her discomfort. “The midwife will be here soon. Do you want me to call for your aunt to join you? Do you wish to go to your rooms?”
Elizabeth closed her eyes, taking a shaky breath as she fought to regain some sense of composure. “I do not know if I am ready for this, Fitzwilliam.”
His voice remained steady, unwavering. “You are more than ready, my love. You are strong, and you will be well. We will face this together, as we always have.”
She turned her hand in his, squeezing it gently, and allowed herself to lean back, taking comfort in his unwavering presence. Though there was still a lingering edge of fear, the reassuring strength of his words and his steady hand on hers began to soothe her. She was not alone, and they would face whatever came next.
Hours later,Elizabeth lay in her bed, having been changed into a clean nightgown. Her daughter lay in her arms, and her husband was sitting by her side, his arm around her shoulders as they watched the babe sleep.
“What shall we call her, my love?” Elizabeth whispered.
“What do you think of Anneliese? It combines your name with that of my mother. Or we could simply name her Elizabeth, after her mother,” Darcy said with a smile, “and call her Beth.”
“I like Anneliese,” she replied, still looking down at their daughter.
