Page 128 of The Crown’s Gift

Darcy sat at last. Sir Thomas poured brandy neither drank.

Near midnight, Mrs Reynolds entered. Her face gave the answer before words.

"A daughter, sir. Mrs Darcy is tired and well. The baby is strong."

Darcy gripped the chair. "May I see her?"

"In a moment."

Sir Thomas's eyes filled. "A girl."

Darcy looked at him. "You sound surprised."

"I should know better. My family specializes."

When Darcy entered the bedchamber, firelight softened everything. Elizabeth lay pale against pillows, hair damp at her temples. A small bundle rested in her arms.

He approached as though the floor might move.

"Come here," Elizabeth whispered.

Darcy sat beside her. The baby's face was round and red, her dark hair flattened beneath a cap.

"She is beautiful," he said.

"She resembles an offended apple."

"A beautiful apple."

Elizabeth laughed weakly and winced. Darcy's joy turned to concern.

"Do not ask whether I am well. Mrs Green says I am. I am tired, sore, and happier than I know how to hold."

"Then I shall hold part."

She placed the child in his arms.

Darcy looked down at his daughter. Pemberley had an heir presumptive elsewhere now if no son followed. The fact seemed distant and unimportant beside the weight of Anne breathing against him.

"We named her Anne," Elizabeth said, "if you still agree."

His eyes filled. "For my mother."

"And Elizabeth because I did some work."

He laughed through tears. "A fair claim."

Sir Thomas entered when invited. He stood near the bed, seeing Elizabeth alive and the baby safe, and had to remove his spectacles.

"Papa," Elizabeth said.

"There is dust. Pemberley's housekeeping is overrated."

She held out her hand. He took it.

"You came."

"I said I would."