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He continued, “Despite the troubling economy, I do believe Pemberley can afford to take on additional help. Indeed, if you would like, I shall be happy to interview them for you myself.”

His suggestion was less an offer than a command. Her procrastination, she knew, had provoked his decree. Saving her from the necessity of formal surrender on the matter, their children did gain the room with only a little less cacophony than last eve’s storm. As fine a house as Pemberley was, Elizabeth believed nothing above the angelic faces of her children, freshly scrubbed and fed, beaming up at her in the bright morning sun. This day the twins had trooped down the stairs and taken their places looking for all the world as if it was the first their parents had seen them.

Quite as usual, Geoff and Janie were engaged in a disagreement, one Janie wanted her father to resolve. Before being seated, she escaped Mrs. Heff’s grip and ran directly to his chair.

“Papa,” she asked with great solemnity, “When it thunders, is God angry?”

Geoff interrupted her, snapping, “Oh, do not be such a ninny!”

Once he had entered his fourth year, he had begun to harbour little patience for his sister and even less for her opinions.

He announced, “Everyone knows that it is caused by lightening.”

“Papa,” Janie grumped, “Geoff called me a ninny!”

Without looking up from his melon, Darcy said, “Geoffrey, do not use such language. It is coarse. Apologise to your sister.”

“Yes, Papa,” he replied. To Janie, he said, “I am sorry that you are a ninny.”

Janie frowned. However, Mr. Darcy was pleased to leave any more reproach to his wife. Content with his success over his sister, Geoff looked at his mother with apprehensive eyes. Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. He needed no other censure. It was uncharacteristic of him to be unkind. Elizabeth wondered if Jane’s wild brood was a regrettable influence on him. Neither Jane nor Bingley had the heart for discipline which left their children in compleat want of restraint. Being the second born in a house full of girls, Elizabeth believed it should fall to Darcy to instruct his son.

Geoff was seen to be quite precocious (even to those other than his parents). He was handsome and sturdy, unafraid (aside from thunder) and his favourite possession was a compass. Although he was, at times, uncivil to his sister, no one had leave to tease her but him. Janie was quiet, but clever and very independent. Although it was a struggle to keep a ribbon in her hair, she was as pretty as a porcelain doll.

From beneath his coat Geoff produced a horse that his namesake, Colonel Fitzwilliam had carved for him. He pranced it along the edge of the table without thought to the finish or to his lapse in table manners. Elizabeth thought to correct him before Darcy spied him, but she held her tongue. If she was to err, she would rather it be on the side of indulgence. Time would come soon enough for the burden of his heritage. She was disposed to let him be a boy whilst he could.

“What do you call your horse?” she bid.

He said airily, “I have named him Copenhagen, Mama.”

“After the city?” she queried.

He answered patiently, “No, Mama. I have named him after Wellington’s horse.”

“Wellington’s horse is called Copenhagen?” she repeated.

Enunciating carefully, he said, “Yes. Copenhagen. Wellington chased that French rotter, Nappy across the Continent.”

His father corrected, “Do not employ that word either. It is coarse as well. A gentleman does not speak in that manner. Enemy or not, the emperor’s name is Napoleon Bonaparte.”

The boy needed no further chastisement. He suffered under his father’s censure above any other. Without compleat submission, he ducked his chin and hid his wooden horse beneath the edge of the table. Usually his parents listened with nothing but pleasure to what the boy said, but it was important that he not become accustomed to employing such language. Elizabeth suspected that he obtained the word “rotter” from the same relation who carved him the horse.

Seeing that the tips of his ears had turned red, Elizabeth altered the discourse.

She asked, “Do you know the name of Napoleon’s horse?”

Delighted that he knew, Geoff said eagerly, “Marengo, Mama.” Geoff then asked his father, “Did you know that black horses are born with a brown coat?”

Darcy opened his mouth to reply. Before he could utter a word, a servant stepped into the room.

He announced, “Mrs. Littlepage here for Mrs. Darcy.”

Without looking towards her husband, Mrs. Darcy told the footman, “I shall see her in the front salon.”

As Mr. Darcy was well aware of the service Mrs. Littlepage provided, he caught his wife’s wrist as she made for the door.

“Must we speak?” he inquired deftly.

She did not pretend ignorance.

“Perchance,” she replied, unintentionally evasive. “One must be prepared for any possibility.”

“How possible?” he bid before checking himself. There were, after all, many ears in the room.

Glancing at their children, she only agreed, “We must speak.”

Chapter 4

Passion’s Gift

After speaking to Mrs. Darcy, Mrs. Littlepage took her leave directly.

Having been sent a bit off-kilter by the woman’s unexpected arrival and her husband’s observance of it, Elizabeth escaped from his questioning eyes via the back staircase. She was breathless by the time she gained their chamber door. This was only partly due to her dash up the stairs. A frisson of anticipation scurried up her spine as she turned the knob. This day she was especially stirred.

Darcy abhorred schemes and disliked conjecture. No doubt he had been apprised that her meeting had concluded and was on his way thither to hear of it from her own lips. Her obliqueness had been deliberate—and she hoped she would be forgiven.

She thought it only fitting that she inform him of the coming child next to the bed they had laboured so pleasurably in to create it.

———

All the rooms of Pemberley were handsome beyond measure. The Darcys’ bedchamber was sumptuous above all others. Time did not make Elizabeth invulnerable to its august and uncompromising façade. This particular stirring owed less to its magnificent furnishings than the slight scent of her husband’s masculinity that clung to the bedcovers. Despite being the mistress of the house for any number of revolving frosts and summer reveries, she had made very few alterations to its décor. The only change of any importance was compleatly hidden from view.

At one time a large pier glass hung on the wall opposite their bed. Now it lay
beneath it—concealed from prying eyes, yet at the ready to be brought forth to bear witness to their connubial pleasures. When once it was a nightly voyeur of their intimate embraces, of late it had been gathering dust. That alteration alone should have alerted husband that something was amiss. It had been her design to leave any declarations to the gods. No doubt he would have soon discovered the happy news himself (he was nothing if not a very thorough lover).

Now the pleasure of that special moment—when his hand would cup her abdomen in wonder—was lost. This due all through the auspices of an over-eagre wet-nurse. Elizabeth had done no more than made inquiries as to her availability, not invited her to come. No doubt half the countryside was awaiting a formal proclamation of another child to be born of Pemberley. Once Mrs. Littlepage was announced, there was no call to turn her away. The cat was out of that particular bag. Elizabeth knew the fault was hers. She had procrastinated in hopes of finding the perfect moment; now it had found her.

Her hesitation was with just cause.

She had been taken to the straw three times, each fraught with crises. The first two pregnancies were grave disappointments—one a miscarriage, the second, a still birth. Whilst the third ended quite happily, the delivery took place in a chaise
and four on the road between Wigston and Fleckney. Not only was Darcy not at her side, he had been quarantined abroad and she feared he was dead.

Their first two losses grieved him deeply. Whilst the first two were not his to make right, he never quite forgave himself for not being by her side for the
last.

Although another birth should have daunted her, her real trepidation was in disquieting her husband. That, however, was inescapable. Launching a
wet-nurse at him as an opening salvo did not bode well for the remainder of her watch over his sensibilities. Sitting in a tufted chair next to the balcony, she was lost in that thought when the sound of the door gave her a start. He made his way into the room silently and found his ground midmost of it.

Whereas he did not come to wither she sat, she stood and took a few steps in his direction. When they were perhaps ten paces apart, she stopped and dropped her hands and held them as if in supplication. Then, slowly, she turned a full revolution, allowing him to appraise her figure fully. The cut of her gown made that a useless exercise. His brow furrowed. By virtue of the otherwise slightly dumbstruck expression he bore, she walked to him.

“You must manage your affairs ever more closely,” she said.

When she was a step away, she took his hand and held it against her cheek.

Said he, “Indeed?”

“I had hoped to make a grand announcement at a more fitting time,” she said. “I apologise that my condition was exposed most importunely.”

In a move both swift and tender, he turned her about and held her against him. His breath against her neck was steady. As she sank back against him, a small convulsion of relief overcame her.

“You are my sheltering oak,” she whispered.

As her head fell to the side, she languorously enjoyed the kisses he gifted her neck.

She wanted to speak reassuringly, but a catch in the back of her throat betrayed her. She turned about and buried her face in the fabric of his waistcoat. After a moment, she looked up at him. His burnished cheeks and adoring eyes compleatly countermanded the unease she had felt not a moment before.

Pushing a curl aside, he whispered in her ear, “Speak to me, Lizzy.”

Wishing the moment could last a lifetime, she willed herself not to lose her countenance. Indeed, her voice was artificially light.

“I advise you that you must be ever vigilant of your business affairs lest you be unable to support your ever-growing family.”

A smile erupted when she thought of the expression just then.

Embracing her once again, his hands began a slow caress of every hill and valley of her body. She was not in the smallest way fooled by this manoeuvre. He meant to sketch her shape, of course. It pleased her that he was in want of finding the first trace of the coming child on his own. (Moreover, his roving touch was never a burden.) When one large hand paused at her abdomen, she held her breath. The small swell it contained was a surprise to no one at that point. However, when he cupped his hand upon it, she slid her hand to cover his. In concert, they sighed. As they did, it was as if she could detect his worriment burgeoning.

Then he stepped back and bestowed a sweeping bow.

“My fruitful wife,” said he.

She curtsied.

In a small, and very unsuccessful attempt at jollity, he bid, “Might you have just one this time?”

“Of course,” she replied, curious if he was altogether serious.