Page 46 of Yearning

There was no point in speaking of it, she knew, because there was nowhere for anything to go. Even if there was something there, even if she was correct when she had said that there was not nothing between his thighs, she was not in any condition to be poked and prodded or anything else. She had not been lying when she said she had lost all interest in such things as the babe grew within her.

She had heard tales, or Jane had said, anyway, that some women got more eager for that sort of activity whilst they were increasing, but Jane said that it had never been that way for her, that she was only tired and large and had to empty her bladder overmuch, and Elizabeth had laughed and said that yes, that was the way of it.

So, she and Mr. Darcy talked of other things. They talked of his family. He told her about Georgiana and Anne de Bourgh and the demise of Lady Catherine. Elizabeth had, of course, heard that the woman had passed away, but she had not known the way it had apparently affected Anne. No one had bothered to share with Elizabeth about someone giving many, many parties, maybe because they could not imagine a woman heavy with child cared about such things.

They spoke about books they had read, and they spoke to each other about things they had thought about, their view of the world, and things had changed for both of them, she knew. She had once thought that things were often dire, but that one dealt with such things by putting a bright face on it. He had once thought that all dire things could be avoided by doing the right thing.

Neither of them were what they had been.

She did not believe there was any dealing with certain dire things and he no longer thought there was any protection against calamity.

But they were still standing, and they were still moving forward, and they could still laugh together when they saw two squirrels fighting over a scrap of red fabric—where had it even come from? What did squirrels want with fabric? They could still find delight in the world, and that was what mattered the most, she thought.

One did not go through trials and tribulations and come out on the other side of it the same as when one went in. They had grown and changed.

And if the world seemed to be a dimmer and darker place on this side, well, perhaps the world had always been so dim and dark. Perhaps they were better off knowing than living in ignorance of such things.

Her husband did not return.

He sent letters, promising his imminent return, but then he did not arrive. Another letter would arrive instead, and it would be promising that he would return even later. Elizabeth was not angry about this, however, and she thought that she should be.

She examined whether she would have been angry if Mr. Darcy had not been there and she had been all alone, and she owned that she might have a deeper amount of consternation towards her husband’s behavior. She did like having Mr. Darcy close, and it was much easier to see Mr. Darcy without her husband around, and she did not know if her husband would approve of her seeing so much of Mr. Darcy.

There was that element of it.

But also, she had to admit that she wasn’t entirely that concerned about whether her husband was present for the birth. And she wasn’t sure why that was, not exactly. She thought perhaps it might have been only because she was sure of him. She did not need him to be there in order to be sure of him, so perhaps that was why.

She still had very fond feelings toward her husband, after all. She loved him.

She also knew that her husband’s life was rather complicated. She was his third wife. He’d had one son with his first wife, who had died of a fever while the boy was yet a babe. Then he had been married to his second wife and she had borne him two sons. That woman had died of a long illness that had left her bedridden for some time. When she had gone, Elizabeth understood it had been a bit of a relief, for she had been suffering so.

At any rate, the boys had been raised by the second wife, who had, apparently, favored her sons over the heir, and there was now some resentment from the oldest boy and the younger ones. It was one of the younger ones who had gotten himself into trouble and for whom her husband had leveled this lawsuit.

But the eldest brother had accused his father of being too soft on the other boys, not letting them fall flat on their faces or fight their own battles. The eldest boy had claimed his father would never have done something like this for him.

Elizabeth knew that this had smote her husband, for he had often tried so very hard to keep all of his sons happy. He loved them all dearly. So, now, while he was toiling away at this lawsuit, he was also trying to do what he could to make his eldest son feel as if he was getting the proper attention from his father.

Perhaps Elizabeth should have wanted her husband’s attention for their babe.

No, definitely, she should have.

She should have been insistent that he be paying her more mind. This was her first child, after all, even if it were not her husband’s. And she was his wife. She should have cared more than she did.

She did not know why she did not feel much about it.

The weeks passed, one after the other. Elizabeth was not overly worried about her impending delivery, for she knew that first mothers often were late going into labor, so she assumed that she would not be having the babe until sometime late in March.

The midwife who was attending her had assured her this was likely true during her last visit, when she had come by to see how Elizabeth was getting on. She said Elizabeth likely had some time yet, and that she would be very tired of lugging that babe around in her belly, and would be happy enough to expel it, no matter how much it hurt.

Elizabeth was not thinking about that part.

Like most people, she liked to think she had a high pain tolerance. However, she knew that not everyone could have a high pain tolerance. Elizabeth was not sure that she wasn’t just lying to herself about it. At any rate, since there was nothing to be done about it, and it would happen regardless, it made little sense to worry over it.

She wrote to her husband, telling him the same thing, that she would probably be late, that new mothers often were, that he need not rush, that if he were not back by when she was likely due it would likely be all right.

And then she went into labor in the first week of March, much earlier than she had expected, and she was at Mr. Darcy’s house when she first noticed it.

“What is it?” Mr. Darcy asked her.