A Baby for Mr. Darcy Read online

  Her chin jutted out as her eyes narrowed with her final word.

  He felt the snap of each syllable in his gut. Deciding retreat was the better part of wisdom, he bowed to the women and left the room.

  Elizabeth watched her husband walk away from her. Shaking her head in disbelief, she gave her attention to Mrs. Milford.

  “Let us dispense with formality, Abigail.” Elizabeth gestured toward two chairs in front of the fire as soon as Mrs. Milford nodded. Once they were seated, Elizabeth began a necessary discussion. “Tell me, please, about Colonel and Mrs. Fitzwilliam. What sort of parents would they have been?”

  “Dear, sweet Anne was tender-hearted with no pretensions of grandeur like her mother. She yearned for nothing more than a simple life with her husband and child.” A small smile lifted the corners of Abigail’s lips. “She had a wicked sense of humor and loved nothing more than to turn it on the colonel. Despite knowing and readily agreeing with her husband’s preference for the baby’s name, she suggested the most outlandish ideas with no hint that she was teasing. I believe my favorite was Percival Ignatius Stinkbottom Fitzwilliam. Anne thrilled each time the colonel reacted with stunned disbelief. I will mourn for her as I do my own daughter.”

  Her last comment hurt Elizabeth’s heart. The losses this poor woman has suffered.

  “And, the colonel?”

  “In looks, he is much different from Mr. Darcy. However, they have the same air of command about them. The colonel has a ready smile. He delights in the foibles of others, finding reasons to laugh where he can. Nonetheless, when in front of his troops or when Lady Catherine or Lord Matlock contacted them, he cared far more for what was right than their positions of elevated rank. Colonel Fitzwilliam could be fierce.”

  “You saw this?”

  “I did not, Mrs. Darcy...I mean, Elizabeth.” She inhaled, then let the air out slowly. “The day before little James was born, Colonel Fitzwilliam shared that Lady Catherine had come with four stalwart men intent on removing Anne from their quarters. She said it was no place for a lady and no proper place for her grandchild.” Abigail wiped the tears running from her eyes. “Anne loved living there. The colonel had decided he would take a townhouse close to the barracks so she would be more comfortable, but Anne insisted they remain.”

  “You will miss her dearly, will you not?”

  “I cannot begin to tell you how much I respected Anne Fitzwilliam. She stood up to her challenges with a quiet dignity that should have put Lady Catherine to shame.” Another smile crossed Abigail’s lips. “Anne said that the colonel picked his mother-in-law up by her arms and marched her out of the door, slamming it behind her. I was not in the room while this display took place, although I could not refrain from hearing the confrontation. Both Anne and the colonel apologized to me for any upset instead of worrying about their own emotions. They truly were and are the best of people.”

  “I regret I will never meet Mrs. Fitzwilliam,” Elizabeth genuinely offered. “Even more, I regret she will never know her son.” Instinctively, she pressed her lips to the baby’s forehead. “He is a beautiful child.”

  “If he is at all like his parents, he will be a happy baby,” Abigail offered, her eyes on the bundle in Elizabeth’s arms.

  “Abigail, we need to think about the arrangements the colonel made with Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth mused, her mind spinning with the situation confronting them. Before she could continue, Mr. Darcy returned, stepping quietly into the room.

  Ignoring him, Elizabeth said, “There are too many people who know I was not increasing to pretend the baby is mine. In addition, I have known Mr. Darcy for a total of eight weeks. Another pertinent fact is that I do not have the physical characteristics of one who is recently delivered of a babe. Therefore, to fool the colonel’s family, another explanation for having a newborn in our house will need to be made. Do you have any ideas?”

  “Nothing is coming to me, Elizabeth. However, the events of the past few days seem to have robbed me of my sleep and my sense.”

  “Do not fret,” Elizabeth reached over to pat the other woman’s arm. “I have no fear we will not come to the correct conclusion if we discuss this properly.” Elizabeth paused, reflecting on all Mrs. Milford had revealed. “Do Lady Catherine or Lord Matlock know who you are? Would they recognize you as a friend and companion to Mrs. Fitzwilliam?”

  “No, I cannot imagine they would, for two reasons,” Abigail said. “I was never introduced nor was I ever in the room with them at the same time. As well, neither of them would have noticed me had I been. I am far below them in status.”

  “Might I participate in this discussion?” Mr. Darcy interjected, as he walked closer to them. Pulling up a chair, he placed it close to Elizabeth’s. “In all honesty, in my need to follow Richard’s instructions to the letter, I was consumed with gaining a wife. I had not thought of how best to present Richard’s son in our lives. In my arrogance, I believe I assumed the news that I was off the marriage mart would divert gossips’ interest away from any baby.”

  Elizabeth was shocked he was not telling them what and how to think. The Mr. Darcy in her mind would never tolerate not having sole control of any situation.

  “Sir, I do not believe it is the gossips we need to focus upon,” Elizabeth had no difficulty unsettling the man who had changed her life forever. Thinking to test his limits, she shifted towards him, extending the baby for him to hold.

  What happened next would be imprinted on Elizabeth’s mind for her lifetime.

  Instead of rejecting the infant, Mr. Darcy’s arms instinctively reacted, reaching for the baby.

  Once his nephew rested in the crook of his arm, he used his teeth to quickly tug off the glove from his right hand. Tenderly he ran the tips of his fingers over the soft baby skin. Within seconds, the cloths were again unwrapped as Mr. Darcy inspected first one skinny, wrinkly foot and then the other. Tenderly, his thumb caressed the back of each toe, causing the baby to stir.

  When the man lifted a baby foot to his lips, Elizabeth’s heart melted like a wax candle next to an inferno.

  Her eyes shot from her husband’s lips to his eyes. What she read there was...it was heartrending. Pain of loss melded with awe. Joy mixed with wonder. Behind it all was a love so intense it hurt Elizabeth to see it. This man would be a fierce protector, a warrior.

  How could Elizabeth not have seen this before? Why had the man not revealed himself so that she could have discovered reasons for admiration rather than disapprobation?

  She was without a clue.

  Surveying the scene, Elizabeth saw that while her eyes had been on Mr. Darcy, Abigail’s watched the baby. Apparently seeing the same, Mr. Darcy cleared his throat, then handed the infant to the wet nurse.

  Standing, he said, “We need to distance ourselves from here. The sooner we arrive at Pemberley, the sooner we can hide young Jem from prying eyes.”

  Nodding, both women prepared to depart. When a maid entered the room with a large woven basket, they fussed over the arrangement of the bricks and blankets until they were satisfied the baby would be warm and comfortable.

  Whispering so others could not hear, Elizabeth settled some details with Mrs. Milford that eased her mind.

  Leaving the inn, Elizabeth was unsurprised to find a smaller basket bearing foodstuffs, warm bricks for her feet, and heavy blankets folded on the seat next to where she sat. While Parker, Mr. Darcy’s valet, had helped Abigail and the baby into their carriage, Mr. Darcy had performed the task for her.

  They had not been on the road but a few minutes when Mr. Darcy inquired about the private conversation between the two ladies.

  “Sir, your valet is a stranger to Abigail, and she is a stranger to him.” Elizabeth swallowed, uncomfortable with sharing the topic. “When Jem is hungry, it can be difficult to provide relief without some level of exposure. I merely inquired as to her comfort.”

  “I see,” Mr. Darcy gazed out of the window, his hands tightly squeezing the seat cushion on
either side of him, betraying his disquietude. “Her reply?”

  Elizabeth smiled, “She claimed Parker is a deft hand at changing the baby’s damp cloths while the carriage is moving. He does not hesitate to offer his services to keep Jem dry and to rub the baby’s back after feeding. As to privacy, he turns away as soon as the infant cries. Abigail assured me she lacks nothing.”

  “I am pleased to hear this,” Mr. Darcy looked back at her briefly at his comment. “And you? Are you comfortable here? With me?”

  She had no idea how to answer. Of the many facets of Mr. Darcy’s character that she had discovered, uncertainty was new. His eyes, those silent orbs that revealed more than he ever said aloud, told her much about the man.

  Based on what she knew in Hertfordshire, she had judged him correctly. He had acted abominably to many, not just herself. Thus, the general attitude of her neighbors was that Mr. Darcy was above company. No one wanted to spend time with him as he withdrew from her neighbors and family, including herself.

  When Mr. Wickham told her how Mr. Darcy had denied him the living promised by the senior Mr. Darcy, it was easy to feel abhorrence for the man across from her. It was a despicable thing to do to a former friend and companion, speaking of an underlying meanness Elizabeth could not understand.

  Yet, his actions since they first stepped into the carriage at Longbourn had been that of a stranger. He looked like Mr. Darcy. He sounded like Mr. Darcy. But he acted like someone she had never met before.

  “You are awaiting my reply, I suspect,” Elizabeth looked directly at him.

  He nodded. “I confess I was wrong in my estimation of how you felt about me from the time we met until this morning. I am guessing that reading Richard’s letter and speaking with Mrs. Milford has eased your mind somewhat. Nevertheless, I no longer will assume anything about you, Elizabeth. I would hope you would do the same for me.”

  “You confound me, Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth shook her head, shrugging. “I believe your request is fair under our circumstances. What I would like to know more than anything else is whom it is, exactly, I married. Are you the surly, officious oaf who saw no good in my family and me or the kind gentleman of the past hour? For I will confess I prefer the latter very much.”

  “You do?” His eagerness was that of a little boy begging for a strawberry tart and getting told he could have two. “Then will you not call me Mr. Darcy when we are alone?”

  “I shall think about it,” she teased. “However, I cannot refer to you as Fitzwilliam as your relatives come to mind. From the register this morning, I know your second name is James. I cannot call you by this name as I will confuse you with your nephew. Miss Bingley freely addresses you as Darcy when you are not in the room. I cannot imagine you would tolerate her familiarity in your presence. Thus, I would never want to do anything she does. So, what do you suggest, sir?”

  “Miss Bingley does, does she? I have not given her permission to use my name freely. Nor have I ever called her anything other than Miss Bingley.” It was his turn to smile.

  “I imagine not.” she grinned.

  “My sister calls me William.”

  “I can see by your eyes that you have great affection for Miss Darcy.”

  “I do.”

  “Then I will not presume to interfere with her personal appellation.” Elizabeth chuckled. “I shall call you ‘Will.’”

  “No one has called me ‘Will’ since my mother,” he whispered, looking pleased.

  “Pray do get used to hearing it. Will you call for the carriage? Will you ring the bell for tea? Will you pass the boiled potatoes? Will you hand me my book?”

  “Ah, you tease,” he said with a grin.

  “Possibly,” Her smile came easily, which both surprised and pleased her. “I had no idea that you possessed a sense of humor.”

  Their relationship had been set into stone in Longbourn’s chapel. What the two of them did with their time together after their recited vows depended upon them. Where Elizabeth had, at first, held no hope for possible felicity, she now knew there was a basis for at least a friendship with the man.

  As a woman’s mind will do, it jumped far into the future. Should their path continue as it had done over the past few moments, they could eventually be happy. Nonetheless, they had many obstacles to overcome, not the least of which was his vile actions towards Mr. Wickham.

  Two years earlier, while in London, her aunt and uncle had taken her to a magic show. The performer was a master of illusion. Over and over Elizabeth had been fooled by what her mind saw versus what her eyes saw. Was it the same with her view of Mr. Darcy?

  “You are frowning. May I know why?” he asked.

  Without thought, she responded truthfully, “I cannot know.”

  Chapter 5

  Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam stood alone at his wife’s graveside. The minister had been waiting impatiently for a signal that it was time to proceed with the service. Yet, Richard continued to wait. Thinking back, he at first wondered if he had failed to share the time and place for the internment with his father and Anne’s mother.

  No, he had not forgotten.

  When footsteps sounded on the sodden earth behind him, he spun in gratitude that at least one representative from his family chose to attend. Since women were never anticipated, it could only be his father or elder brother.

  However, it was not.

  In single file, a goodly representation from his regiment marched to stand behind him. Led by Major Milford, the men stood ready to offer their support.

  Pain shot through his chest. Turning back to the clergyman, he nodded. It was time to begin.

  As the rector spoke the words, Richard’s mind questioned his actions in allowing Darcy to have his son to raise at Pemberley. After moments of reflection, he realized he could have done nothing else. Anne’s baby, her sweet child, deserved a life of peace and happiness. To grow up loved, wanted, and allowed to play and run like a child should was the greatest treasure he could give the babe. No, he had no regrets.

  While the colonel’s mind was at ease, it was his heart that spoke the loudest. His agony almost dropped him to his knees.

  Richard ached for the loss of his Annie. He ached that she would never hold the child she had wanted more than her own life. He ached that he would not hear his son’s first word. Would it be “Dada”? Would that he could be Darcy. But it was not to be.

  Throwing the single rose on top of the coffin, he chose not to watch them fill the hole with dirt. No, he would hold his precious memories tightly to his chest.

  Dismissing his men, he offered them no words of appreciation. It was not necessary, nor would it have been appropriate for him to utter one syllable other than command. They knew their place. He knew his.

  Hugh Fitzwilliam’s choice to not bother himself to attend the funeral of his daughter-in-law bore silent testimony to the man’s selfish disdain for the feelings of others.

  From this day forward, Richard had no father. No brother. No wife. No son. He had a job to do.

  Before the morning was over, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam was busier than ever as he finalized arrangements to depart for the coming battle with Napoleon, grateful he was leaving the most vicious war behind for Darcy to fight.

  The maid accompanying Parker and Mrs. Milford had been in Darcy’s employ for many years. While the ladies cared for the child, she guaranteed all was in order for the women at each carriage stop. Darcy had yet to see her hold the babe. When Elizabeth entered the carriage at the next stop with Jem in her arms and a basket of cloths of various sizes, Darcy suspected Mrs. Milford and Parker had been bearing the burden with little relief.

  “We are to have young Jem with us then?” Darcy knew he was stating the obvious, but he could no longer bear the silence. At each stop, Elizabeth and Mrs. Milford conversed freely, as if they had been close friends for years. Darcy remained stoically apart. As soon as he was alone in the carriage with his new wife, Elizabeth spent her time gazing out of the
window, giving far more attention to the scenery than the late-autumn landscape deserved.

  “Yes, I do hope you do not mind.”

  “Of course, he is welcomed.”

  And, that was it.

  He recalled the early days after his sister’s birth. She had slept the days away. Darcy, at age twelve, was simply not capable of staying away from the curious creature in the nursery. If Jem was the same sort of baby, the next two hours would be as silent as earlier in the day between stops.

  “Is Mrs. Milford well?”

  “She is sore, exhausted, and emotionally spent.”

  “I see.”

  Elizabeth smirked as she whispered softly to not wake Jem. “Do you, indeed?”

  He dipped his head in frustration. This woman, his wife, who had engaged him several times in conversation earlier in their acquaintance, was turning him in circles. Already that day he had lost one cousin to death, another to the war, found out the woman he admired despised him, and inherited a child. Was it no wonder his mind and heart were in turmoil? Certainly not.

  “Yes, Elizabeth,” he huffed. “By the time I was old enough to recognize the whispers of the staff, the increased roundness of my mother’s belly, and the fretting of my father, I counted three babies who never took a breath, until my sister arrived. Perhaps there had been more. Each time, the distress was almost unbearable. This impacted all of us at Pemberley. When my mother successfully gave birth to Georgiana, I recall her exhaustion and that of the nurse. My mother never recovered. We lost her a few months after my sister was born. By then, Georgiana had three women who worked day and night for her care. I most certainly can comprehend the challenge of a newborn to two women unaccustomed to tending a baby neither had birthed.”