A Baby for Mr. Darcy Page 3

  Both Richard and Anne had fair skin, light brown hair, and blue eyes. Darcy had dark hair with brown eyes. How in the world could he pass this child off as his own? Would there be a familial resemblance? Darcy was the image of his late father. All of the Fitzwilliams, including Darcy’s mother, were alike in coloring.

  Darcy and his sister Georgiana were children of the same parents. Other than the squareness of their jaws, they were as dissimilar as white to black. Therefore, it mattered not the coloring of his potential bride. No, what mattered more was that she was a woman of character, one who would bring life and joy to his home, his sister, his new child, and to himself.

  Elizabeth Bennet, the only woman whom he had stood up with at the Netherfield ball came to mind. She was an outstanding lady, despite her circumstances. Her intelligence, her kindness in caring for others, and her lovely features, which he had overlooked at first, had drawn Darcy to her in a way no other female had done.

  For a certainty, their whole dance at the ball had not gone well. Elizabeth’s insistence in finding good in George Wickham had stabbed Darcy in the gut. How could an intelligent woman not see that Wickham’s charm was false and any promises of a good life attached to him was in vain?

  Yet, despite her attention to the cur, her lack of dowry, connections, and the vulgar conduct of her mother, sisters, and even her father, she was the only lady who had captured his interest and held it. He was convinced Miss Elizabeth was not seeking Wickham for herself. She was much too wise. No, likely she was attempting to discover the man’s character to see if he would be an appropriate mate for one of her silly sisters.

  Without arrogance, unlike Wickham, Darcy knew he himself was a desired candidate for a husband. His wealth and the Darcy name guaranteed him attention from fawning mothers and flirting daughters who wanted nothing more than to attach themselves to his riches. He wanted none of them.

  Even before the ball, Darcy had felt the danger of Miss Elizabeth. As the evening had progressed, he saw more than enough evidence that she was embarrassed by the unseemly conduct of her family members. With the exception of her eldest sister, Miss Jane Bennet, all the rest had drawn unfavorable attention to themselves.

  In marrying Darcy, Miss Elizabeth would be able to distance herself from her family. He would be doing her a favor should he offer for her. Snippets of gossip had circled the neighborhood about Longbourn’s coffers being empty. Rumor had it that Mr. Bennet was heavily in debt, far more than the family estate could bear. Without an immediate influx of funds, the Bennets would soon end up either being farmed out to willing relatives or would need to live in reduced circumstances.

  All of this made the desperate attempts of Mrs. Bennet to throw her eldest at Darcy’s friend and host, Mr. Charles Bingley, clearer. Her motives were self-serving. That she would use her children to gain personal security was offensive. However, it placed her in the same position as all of those in the ton who pushed their daughters into marriages of convenience. It was a shoddy business.

  By the time the two carriages reached Meryton and enough rooms had been engaged to house him and his staff, Darcy had reached a decision. He would seek a common license from the parson and negotiate with Mr. Bennet what was needed to relieve his circumstances in exchange for the hand of the man’s second daughter.

  Once he had explained to Miss Elizabeth about Richard’s request, all would be well. Darcy would have a capable wife and mother for Richard’s son. She would have the respect of a good name, a husband who attended to his duties, unlike her father, and distance from the tasteless behavior of her mother and younger sisters. She would be so pleased.

  Chapter 3

  The vulnerability of a modern female was for a lifetime. Until her marriage, her father had authority over her. Once she was wed, Elizabeth belonged in every way to her husband. The only means of some sort of independence available to a lady was to remain unwed and live away from her childhood home. But even that had its dangers, as merchants and others sought to take advantage of an unprotected woman.

  In this, Elizabeth found a kinship with the person her husband was helping into the carriage. A mistress lived at the whims of the man who supported her. With his displeasure, she could find herself without a place to live or funds to live on. The gossip pages of the circulating newspapers were quick to report on the conduct of supposed gentlemen who discarded these women with no thought to them or their children’s future. What a disgusting business!

  Yet, what about her own future? Even though she had held no desire to wed Mr. Darcy, the simple fact was that she was his wife. That he would bring his mistress and child to live with them in Derbyshire was a slap in the face to her. Pray it would not be in the same house.

  A chill started at the base of Elizabeth’s spine, traveling up until she sat frozen in place. She had no power, no voice in their marriage. She would be the official Mistress of Pemberley. She would wear the Darcy jewels. She would choose the menus and plan for guests. She would be required to welcome Mr. Darcy to her bed...

  She shuddered; her misery was complete.

  After Mrs. Milford was seated as comfortably as possible for a woman who had recently given birth, Darcy moved to return to his wife.

  His wife. His chin dropped as he huffed into the coolness of the late morning. Her expressed opinions had been a revelation. An unwelcomed one.

  How could he have been so wrong about her? He had watched her closely to the exclusion of all others each time they had been in company. As he thought back on the occasions where they had been together, he continued in his confusion. That is, until her memory of their introduction at the Meryton assembly came to mind. Not handsome enough. Had he really said that? Aloud? He had.

  Good Lord! How could he have been so offensive? Looking back, he recalled the day of the Meryton assembly. He had left his heart-broken sister at Pemberley to visit Bingley in hopes her spirits would be restored without the presence of an over-bearing older brother. The letter from her that had arrived not an hour before the dance had been painful to read. In it, she wrote of her worthlessness and hopelessness. Her expressions had cut at his heart. Darcy was sad for her and angry with himself for being a male with no knowledge of how to help the sweetest female on the planet.

  Although Georgiana’s letters had somewhat improved in tone over the past few weeks, at the time, they caused him tremendous stress.

  When Bingley insisted that he ask one of the local ladies of Meryton to stand up with him, Darcy responded unkindly to get his friend to stop making demands. He had looked at Elizabeth when Bingley had pointed her out but had not actually seen her.

  Or, had he? Admitting to himself that he had indeed studied her face, then dismissed Elizabeth as beneath his notice, proved all the harsh points she had made. He was as arrogant as she had claimed.

  Blast his traitorous tongue! Darcy had no one to blame for his present predicament other than himself. Apparently, he still did not see her accurately, or he would not have been shocked at her declarations.

  Her words had hurt him to his core. Why? If he had married her solely to provide a mother for Richard’s son, her opinion of Darcy should not have mattered so much. But, it did. Again, he asked himself why. Why did her insults have power? Huffing out his warm breath into the chill of the morning, he had to finally admit the truth to himself. He wanted Elizabeth as his wife. His attraction to her had been unwavering almost from the beginning. He was intrigued by her wit, captivated by her smile, and fascinated by her character. To him, she was the most beautiful woman of his acquaintance. And, she hated him.

  What was he to do now? In truth, he had no choice. It was imperative they travel to Derbyshire. The babe was fragile. While he trusted Mrs. Milford because Richard did, she was an army wife, not a physician.

  Breathing in the crisp early winter air, Darcy walked to his carriage and stepped inside. While Elizabeth’s tears had been wiped away, her red-rimmed eyes told him more than words of her suffering. He had to do so
mething to make this right. They were tied together until death did them part.

  He sighed, the weight of ignorance settling upon his shoulders. If he could not manage a girl with whom he had shared a house for the past five years since their father died, how could he begin to know how to manage a wife who loathed him?

  Weary to his bones, he closed his eyes without acknowledging her. Knowing in his heart the attempt to make peace should originate with him, he was beyond the ability to do anything at that moment in time. Frustrated, confused, worried, and tense, he gave his driver the signal to proceed, closed his eyes again and went to sleep.

  The nerve of the man!

  She was alone in close quarters with a male for the first time in her life and he had his head tipped back with his mouth open. Appalled, Elizabeth prayed he did not begin snoring. Her father could wake the dead with the noise coming from his study when he claimed he was “reading”.

  Watching Mr. Darcy like a hawk studied its prey, she was pleased when his lips pressed together and stayed that way.

  Admittedly, he was a handsome man. He had a full head of hair with waves of the darkest brown. His thick lashes rested on his cheek bones while his nostrils flared slightly each time he inhaled. Furrows crossed his forehead as unpleasant thoughts must have invaded his sleep. His lips pressed together as he ground his teeth, a habit she shared with him when she was anxious.

  Over the next two hours, she examined each of his visible features from his large gloved hands to the polished boots on his feet. In all, he was most satisfactory to a lady, perfect to be attached to in public. Until he spoke.

  Elizabeth knew he was connected to the peerage and was a man of great wealth. With that in mind, she understood his thinking well of his position in society. Did status justify rudeness? Was there not someone he was subject to who would help him cultivate humility?

  There was so much unknown about Mr. Darcy. Disinterest had kept her from asking of him from Mr. Bingley or the Bingley sisters. Now that she was attached to him, Elizabeth regretted not taking advantage of their acquaintance.

  What Elizabeth did know was that Mr. Bingley was truly a good man. Would a good man have a close friend who was completely objectionable? Surely not!

  Mr. Darcy stirred as the carriage slowed to a stop in front of a traveling inn. His eyes settled on her as soon as they opened. Again, where she expected cool disgust, Elizabeth was surprised at their warmth—and their sorrow.

  What was he about?

  At the coaching inn, he saw Elizabeth inside to a private dining room before returning for his mistress. Surely, he would not...no gentleman would thrust a woman of ill reputation on his wife, would he? Apparently, Mr. Darcy would.

  Elizabeth was bitterly angry. Any good she had ever thought of the man, which she admitted was minimal, was gone.

  When Mr. Darcy started to introduce that woman to her, Elizabeth turned her back, giving her the cut direct. What else could she do? She felt as though she would be sick to her stomach.

  “Elizabeth!”

  She heard his displeasure with a hearty measure of confusion.

  “Are you well? Has the travel unsettled you?”

  Surprised that he automatically judged her actions as her being ill rather than offended, she sneered, her chin lifted, her eyes glaring at the offensive man in front of her. “I am well. Are you, sir?”

  Refusing to be intimidated, she lifted her chin a bit higher. He stood alone in the middle of the room. The woman and her maid tended the babe. Elizabeth’s eyes could not help themselves. They strayed to where the two females were removing the cloths from the child.

  “Boy or girl?”

  “My nephew?” he asked, as if there was more than a single little one in the room.

  Instantly, his reply caught her attention. “Your nephew?”

  “Yes,” Mr. Darcy replied in frustration. “Who did you think he was?”

  Embarrassed, she chose not to reply, although she could not keep the color from heating her cheeks.

  “Good heavens! You assumed he was mine? That Mrs. Milford was my...?”

  Dropping her chin, Elizabeth took in a deep breath. She had judged him unfairly this time; accused him and sentenced him with no evidence other than the baby’s existence.

  “I... I do not know you, sir. Nor do I know if you have the same habits other men do.”

  The woman handed the baby to the maid. Approaching, she gave a mannerly curtsey to Elizabeth.

  “Mrs. Darcy, I am Mrs. Abigail Milford. My husband is Major Samuel Milford. He has served under Mr. Darcy’s cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, for years. Three days ago, my daughter did not survive birth, although, to my regret, I did.”

  Elizabeth’s heart plunged to her toes. Other than the initial surprise at the way the woman had addressed her, Elizabeth wanted to grovel at Mrs. Milford’s feet. Could Elizabeth feel any worse?

  Mrs. Milford continued, “The colonel’s wife and I grew close during her marriage. She doubted her ability to adequately feed her newborn, so she asked if I would nurse both babes. Anne did not want a stranger performing such an intimate task. I adored Mrs. Fitzwilliam. Any woman would have done as I volunteered to do. Anne Fitzwilliam was a gentle soul.”

  Chagrined, Elizabeth bent her knee in recognition of the woman of worth standing before her. Mrs. Milford’s quiet dignity, her clear explanation of a situation fraught with confusion, and her willingness to help a friend in dire need was priceless.

  Elizabeth’s eyes darted to Mr. Darcy, expecting him to bear an expression of justification and satisfaction. Instead, that weary sorrow continued to haunt him.

  One question after another burned for relief. Finally, Elizabeth settled on one. “Why are you taking him away from his parents?” What might have been taken by Mr. Darcy as a challenge was not.

  Nodding, he pulled a crumpled letter from his pocket and offered it to her. Sitting at the table next to the fireplace, Elizabeth read.

  Darcy,

  As I write these words, my heart is leaden. Anne is upstairs struggling to bring our child into the world. Her expectations for this babe have lightened her heart. She would laugh at my worry in light of all she hopes to gain by the possibility of holding a baby of her own in her arms. But I cannot share her joy. I fear for the lives of both—my Annie for not having a strong enough constitution, and the child for being too early and a Fitzwilliam...

  Covering her mouth to contain her sobs, Elizabeth easily guessed the outcome. Reading quickly, she witnessed the heartbreak of a good man who loved his wife dearly—a man who would put the care of his infant son ahead of his own wishes and needs. Looking up, the intensity of Mr. Darcy’s agony grew as he stood in front of her. This man, her husband, was no stranger to a shattered heart.

  “I...I am very sorry this has happened,” Elizabeth whispered directly to him. “While I am yet to understand your reasons for selecting me, I do comprehend the quickness of our marriage and the reason we hurry to Pemberley.”

  One nod was the only reaction she received.

  “The babe, young master Fitzwilliam, what is he called?” Elizabeth inquired of Mrs. Milford.

  “Anne and the colonel wanted him named Richard Sebastian Fitzwilliam after himself. But the danger of his being found out is real. Thus, the colonel asked that he be named James Alexander Darcy, or Jem, until he returns from the Continent and can claim his son without interference from those who would take him from you.”

  Elizabeth’s eyes flashed to Mr. Darcy. She had been wrong about him. Very, very wrong. Who was this man? Was he the arrogant oaf she had thought him? Or, was he...she could not begin to read his character.

  Despite her confusion, some facts had been revealed over the past few minutes. Firstly, his motive for marrying was pure. Secondly, he was not in an immoral relationship he would flaunt in front of his wife and sister. Thirdly, the baby was not his son. And, last, but not least, they had much to discuss.

  Chapter 4

  The im
mediate change in Elizabeth’s composure enlightened Darcy that keeping information from her was not wise. It had not been his intent to be secretive. In fact, he had thought he was unusually forthcoming. But, what did he know?

  He watched as she stepped in and took charge.

  “Mrs. Milford, pray accept my condolences for your own loss. That you were willing to attend Mrs. Fitzwilliam and agree to this task when your own heart was distressed tells me much about the type of woman you are. Thus, I offer you my friendship and assistance.” Elizabeth rested her hand on Mrs. Milford’s arm for a brief touch. “May I?”

  When Elizabeth lifted the baby away from the wet nurse, Darcy witnessed something so profound, it hit him in the chest, almost robbing him of breath. While a peaceful contentment settled on Elizabeth’s face at having the infant in her arms, agony creased Mrs. Milford’s brow as all color leached from her face at having to let little James go to another.

  Richard would not be the only one to suffer from this arrangement. Elizabeth, and most likely himself, would become deeply attached to the babe. Mrs. Milford too. Georgiana as well. The joy they should feel when his cousin was finally able to return from Spain to take up life as a father would be dampened by the pain all of them would feel at the eventual loss of the child.

  Moving away from the women to the fireplace, Darcy pondered what would be best for all. Nothing came to mind. In frustration, he spoke more abruptly than he had intended.

  “Perhaps it would be best for Mrs. Milford to have the baby. He may need her services.”

  He wanted to slap himself. That was not what he had intended to say, nor was it the way he had meant it to be uttered.

  The surprised expressions worn by both women were not ones of pleasure.

  “Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth’s voice, while muted to keep from startling the child, was pointed, as was the fierce expression in her eyes. “A small infant like your nephew needs to be kept warm. Would you see that a basket lined with warm bricks and blankets is provided before we continue our journey? Can we trust that you will see this done at each stop...sir?”