Page 49 of Yearning

Elizabeth was still pacing in the sitting room with Mr. Darcy, who was seemingly growing more frazzled by the moment.

“Where is the midwife?” Mr. Darcy demanded, angry.

“She told me to tell you it was likely false labor, and that she will be by anon,” said Jacob. “She said that this is your first babe, and not to worry overmuch.”

Elizabeth groaned, having expected this sort of response.

“How dare she?” groused Mr. Darcy, shaking his head. “How dare she make light of this? This is not false labor. She cannot sit down. She is up and moving constantly, and she is obviously in pain.”

“I’m not,” said Elizabeth. “It doesn’t hurt.”

“You are making pained faces,” said Mr. Darcy.

“Am I?” Elizabeth wondered if it, in fact, did hurt, and she was telling herself that it didn’t hurt because she truly, truly wanted it to be false labor. She was not supposed to have this babe yet. She was supposed to have weeks until it came. This was not the way it was meant to go.

“If I could but ride a horse, I should go and drag that woman back here by her ear!” Mr. Darcy said with some heat.

She stopped pacing and looked him up and down. “Could you not?”

He looked up at her.

“Ride a horse, I mean,” she said. “You stood up but a moment ago.”

Mr. Darcy furrowed his brow.

“Not right now,” she said. “I do not mean right now. I mean… you could learn again, you could…” She shook her head. “You are probably deathly afraid of horses now.”

Mr. Darcy gave her quite an odd look. “Could I ride a horse?” he murmured.

But then Elizabeth was struck with the first of what she could not deny was most definitely a wave of pain. She did not make any noise, but simply doubled her pace as she walked, drawing in a breath and letting it out and wringing out her hands, and Mr. Darcy said, “What is it?” and she shook her head and did not say anything, because… because… it hurt too much to talk.

And even so, it was hours after that when she finally had the babe.

The midwife came an hour later, whisked Elizabeth off to an upstairs bedroom, lifted her skirts, and made surprised noises about how far along Elizabeth actually was. “You truly are in labor!” said the midwife.

Elizabeth wanted to strangle the woman, but she wanted to be back on her feet walking even more, and the midwife clucked and said yes, yes, of course she wanted to walk, and let her go at it for hours and hours as the pain increased and increased and increased.

Elizabeth walked all over the house, back downstairs to pace and talk to Mr. Darcy, who, true to his word, had not left, even though the midwife said this was highly irregular, and that Elizabeth should try to stay put, in the birthing chamber, not to go gallivanting all over the house.

“What if your bag of waters breaks?” said the midwife.

But it did not.

Elizabeth eventually delivered the babe inside the bag of waters, which the midwife said happened sometimes, and it was after midnight when Elizabeth was sweaty and sagging against the headboard of the bed with the babe tucked into her arm and she was telling the midwife that someone must take the babe down so that Mr. Darcy could see her.

It was a girl. A beautiful, red-faced, squalling little girl with a bit of dark wispy hair on her head and very scolding blue eyes, which she was not yet supposed to be able to focus, but Elizabeth felt that her daughter was gazing right at her, angry for having been disturbed from inside her mother, where she had been quite comfortable.

She was small, having been born a bit early, but she was healthy and strong.

“Why is Mr. Darcy here?” said the midwife. “Where is your husband?”

“Never mind that,” said Elizabeth, yawning. “It is only that someone must take…” And she looked up, because he was in the doorway. He was balanced there, on his one good leg.

“I have to say, it would be easier if my missing leg and my missing arm were on opposite sides,” he panted. “It wasn’t a dignified way to take the stairs, but I scooted right up them, and then I held onto the wall, and I used my stump, and…” He shook his head. “Perhaps I have not been properly motivated. Perhaps I can do much more than I thought I could do.”

She beamed at him. “Perhaps so. Perhaps entirely so.”

The midwife shook her head. “You should not have come in to the birthing chamber, sir.”