Darcy and Fitzwilliam: A Tale of a Gentleman and an Officer (26 page)

At that moment, the only room in her thoughts were for Darcy and Caroline Bingley. Could they have deceived her for so long? If so, how long had the two of them been communicating with each other? Laughing at her? Caroline was beautiful, the little weasel, as well as an extremely skilled flirt and always desperately grasping for a husband, any husband.
But why my husband?
Let her get her own life and husband and leave mine to me!
Elizabeth trembled with anger and humiliation.
How could he walk out on me now, like this? How could he leave me for that hussy?
When she then looked at herself in the mirror, she gasped--blotchy face, red-rimmed eyes, hair jutting out at bizarrely odd angles, a belly that looked like she had swallowed a hedge. Reinvigorated by her inventory of personal faults, she began again to yowl, her tears increasing in volume and running down her cheeks in miserable rivers.

***

Eventually, though, even a cast-off blob of a wife needed food, and so she clumsily stood, bracing herself against her dressing table then waddled the few steps to her now-cold afternoon tea tray. The pressure on her bottom intensified, followed by an odd sensation of water running down her legs. She was aghast at seeing the liquid stain begin to spread on her beloved Turkish carpet. "Oh no!" she cried in distress. "Why must everything happen to me?" She was furious. She stomped her tiny bare foot in her rage and did what all devoted wives do--she blamed her husband. "Well, thank you very much, Mr. Darcy! This is just typical, isn't it? This rug is one of a kind and very expensive, William, brand new, not even four months old!"

That was the exact moment the enormity of what was happening finally struck her... and just seconds before the first real labor pain hit. She gripped her belly and felt her knees begin to vibrate.

"Uh-oh."

She snatched wildly at the back of a chair. "No, this cannot be." After a moment, she calmed her breathing then attempted the trip from the chair back to the table, thinking to make her way slowly toward the door.

Another, stronger pain in her back knocked her to her knees.

"Cara," she gasped out to her maid. "Cara!" She tried to call louder, but she had no volume, no strength, and the house remained so quiet. All Elizabeth could hear was the clock on the mantel.

Where in heaven's name is Cara? Why is it so quiet?
Now on her hands and knees and utterly helpless, she pulled open her broken door and peered to the left, down the long, empty corridor and then to the right.
Sweet Jesus, this cannot be labor,
she tried to reassure herself.
It must be something that I ate, perhaps merely indigestion. I have four weeks left--they owe me four weeks! I am not ready for this, besides which the doctor said first babies are always late... always. That dim-witted, bloody imbecile promised me! Yes, and then Jane will be here, my father will be here, Kitty and Mary will be here. No, this just cannot happen now. I forbid it.

She grabbed onto the leg of a hall chair and, dragging it toward herself, managed somehow to sit. She looked like Buddha with her legs spread to accommodate her low-hanging belly and her hands resting on her knees. Sweat had begun pooling up under her arms and between her breasts. Moisture thickened at the roots of her fringe of bangs. "Mrs. Winter!" It was no use. Her voice sounded like a frog croak.

Not a sound returned to her.

"Could they all be down at supper?" she asked upon hearing her mantel clock strike seven-thirty. "Oh, no! Elizabeth, did you forget it is Boxing Day? The staff is off enjoying their holiday." She spoke aloud in this manner with the belief that the sound of a voice would calm her.

It did not.

Oh dear.
She gulped and pressed her hand across her forehead.
I must remain calm, must remember to breathe
.
I am in the middle of London, at Yuletide, surely someone is about--somewhere. Where is Georgiana? Georgiana will help me. Dear sweet, gentle, little Georgiana. What a truly wonderful sister she has been to me. She'll make such a good aunt
.
I do so adore her.
She began to call out her beloved sister-in-law's name but remembered that sweet, gentle, little Georgiana had run from the house that morning, unable to stand the tension any longer. She had fled to some holiday party with Emily and two other young girls.
Scrawny little ingrate, leaving me to wallow here like a beached whale, alone and helpless.

Another pain caused Elizabeth to double over and scream.

***

Amanda Fitzwilliam was making her first steps into her new life, and to liberty, the American Revolution's motto of
Don't Tread On Me
her silent mantra--very silent. It was early evening, and her mother-in-law, finally recuperated enough to enjoy the holidays, had taken Emily and Georgiana to another one of the interminable holiday house parties that the upper classes apparently thrived upon. She would be gone for three glorious days. The timing for their escape could not have been more perfect.

When Amanda was certain that the old woman had departed and that the servants had left or were distracted with celebrations for the evening, she bundled up Harry and waited for her husband's arrival. She waited as long as she could before her nerves just snapped. Grabbing a small bag that she had prepared with a few clothes for them both, she quietly slipped down the stairs.

Without her husband to accompany her through the streets, necessity developed a new plan. She spoke with one of the maids that had befriended her, telling her to get together a bag, that they would be going away visiting for a few days for the holidays. That girl was now sitting on the back stairs, nervously waiting and chewing away at her bottom lip. "Come along, Mary. Have you packed a bag for yourself? Good. This will be great fun, you'll see."

Setting her bag down for a moment, Amanda picked up the sleepy Harry, reclaimed her small valise, and then began leading the way down the stairs, out the back door, and across the avenue, racing against the quickly fading daylight. "Hurry though, Mary. We must hurry. Night is falling. It is only a few blocks."

Since the elder Lady Penrod's instruction to Mary had been to feign friendship with the American while secretly reporting back regarding Amanda's activities, Mary reluctantly agreed to accompany her. "I don't know, ma'am," she squeaked out. "Won't 'er ladyship be that mad at me for this?"

"Nonsense, Mary, it is but for a few days at most, a little holiday just for ourselves with some friends." Amanda craved sweets at the moment and thought that would be a certain allurement. "There will be lots of chocolate and cake." She stopped then for a moment to resettle her child more comfortably on her hip. She hadn't realized how much Harry had grown and how heavy he had become, but it was much quicker to carry him than to coax the tired child along.

Lord, but the boy was heavy.

***

It was a strange little procession that scurried through fashionable Mayfair and on toward St. James Street, attracting not a slight amount of attention from the few souls brave enough to face the frigid evening temperatures. Amanda forced herself to slow her pace, trying to avoid the curious glances of passersby, plus, she was quickly tiring with the added weight of Harry in her arms. "Only a few blocks more," she called out loudly to reassure Mary. Darkness had already settled in among the tree boughs heavy with white sparkling powder.

A pair of gentlemen rushing past doffed their hats. A curious dog followed them for a block or more and then lost interest. Sleigh bells rang in the far distance. They heard intermittent laughter from unseen dwellings, and then a harp begin to play "God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen" in a home gaily lit with candles. They slowed for a moment to rest and listen as faraway voices sang, "
Good tidings of comfort and joy, comfort and joy...
"
But too soon, the song ended, and there was silence surrounding them.

The truculent maid kept lagging behind, mumbling angrily and struggling with her nearly empty suitcase. "Mary, please keep your eyes forward. I don't know why you are so concerned with what is behind us. Please walk faster."

Amanda tried to remain calm. Although they were to have waited for Richard's arrival to help spirit them from the house, he was late, and she had panicked. He would know to find her at the Darcys' house. He had told her she would be safe there.

***

It was then she noticed that the Darcy's ornate wrought iron gate was unlatched and creaking, swinging freely. Apprehension grew within her. Following her gaze up the drive to the vast portico, she found it odder still that one of the double front doors was also open, illuminated from within by a dimming fireplace at the rear of the two-story, white-marble foyer. The front lamps were cold and unlit.

She walked hesitantly forward, drawing closer and closer to the forbidding black rail that surrounded the property, her heart pounding with unknown fear, unrealized danger. The night was so very quiet, eerie and still.
Try to think logically now, 'manda, even if you are a woman
. Her husband's oft quoted and lovingly meant jibe caused her to grow bolder. After pushing back the imposing gate, she made her way up the circular drive to the front, setting Harry down finally before she attempted climbing the brick stairs. She instructed Mary to wait for her at their base and to hold her son's hand then cautiously made her way to the door, calling out a "Hello!" as she pushed the front door fully open. "Mrs. Darcy, are you here?"

She heard a woman scream.

Lizzy was struggling to rise when she heard the voice calling out to her from the entrance below. "Help me, God." Her plea was nearer a whisper. With her legs trembling, her palms scraped and bleeding, her heart pounding, she managed to pull herself into a crouching position then lost her balance once more and screamed as she fell sideways, hitting her stomach against the chair. The pain was excruciating, whether from the fall or from within unknown. Terrified for her unborn child, she wrapped her arms around the little one and began to weep. Within moments, a presence knelt before her, and she blindly reached out to it, feeling a rush of relief when she clutched onto the warm, soft hand of another human being.

"Thank heaven you're here." She gasped for air then slowly opened her eyes to tiny slits. "By the way, who are you?" She was staring into the face of a stranger.

"Mrs. Darcy, please forgive me for barging into your home. The door was open downstairs, and I became alarmed when I heard your cry. Here, allow me help you."

Elizabeth took a few more moments to catch her breath, resting back on her heels to look curiously about. Before her was a woman around her age, blonde and very attractive, dressed in an old-fashioned cloak and bonnet. Behind the woman stood a terrified-looking maid holding the hand of a frightened little child. Elizabeth inhaled deeply, a modicum of calm slowly returning. She shook her head.
These histrionics will not do
, she reasoned.
I must get a grip on her emotions.
Elizabeth gazed intently into the strange woman's eyes.

"Forgive my present state. I am not usually so blunt when speaking or lax in my hospitality." Suppressing all of her instincts toward hysteria, she forced herself to smile. "It appears that you have me at a slight disadvantage, however, madam, since you seem acquainted with me, although I do not recall the pleasure of meeting you before."

"I am Amanda Fitzwilliam."

"I am exceedingly grateful to meet you." Lizzy's eyelashes began to flutter furiously. "What did you say your name was?"

Amanda was too distracted to hear the question as she helped support Lizzy in her struggle to stand. They lurched first one way then the other, amidst the associated grunts and "oofs" and "oh mys." There were one or two very polite apologies regarding unexpected toe injuries, but by and by, they achieved an upright position in relatively short time.

In thanks, Lizzy squeezed Amanda's hand and then rested her weight momentarily against the other woman's supportive body. Having regained some of her composure, Lizzy pulled back slightly to search her face.

"Are you Fitzwilliam's Amanda?"

Diverted with clearing a path through the debris for them to walk, kicking away a small footstool and then shoving the table away slightly with her hip, Amanda answered without thinking. "No, you have it backward. I am Amanda Fitzwilliam." Amanda quickly looked up and laughed in her embarrassment. "Oh! Yes, I am Colonel Fitzwilliam's wife, Amanda, and you know that is the very first time I have been able to say that to anyone." She was beaming.

"I am Lizzy Darcy." Elizabeth's eyes began to tear up with her joy. "You're American, did you know that? What am I saying? Of course you know that. I sound like an idiot. We've been expecting you"--Lizzy hugged Amanda warmly--"just not today." Then, just as suddenly, Lizzy doubled over in pain.

"Forgive me for stating the obvious, but I do believe your labor has begun, Mrs. Darcy."

Elizabeth swallowed hard and shook her head, her body beginning to quake. "I cannot be in labor, because, you see, I have it on good authority from my physician that I am not due to deliver for another four weeks. These back pains I have been experiencing all week are false. Evidently they are the product of my overly educated female brain."

She stopped to press a hand against her mouth. "But truth be told, I am a bit apprehensive, Mrs. Fitzwilliam, a bit overwhelmed. I am beginning to think he has been wrong all along." A sudden sob escaped her before she regained her poise. "You see he never listened to me nor examined me, never even acknowledged how large I had become when I questioned him. My only solace was that he had engaged a noted midwife."

"Well, there seems to be distinct evidence that your doctor has miscalculated, Mrs. Darcy. May I ask where everyone is? You say a midwife is to be here? If she is not already in residence, someone should be collecting her immediately." The quiet in the house was fast becoming oppressive. Amanda hadn't seen any servants, and there had been no candles lit in the foyer and no footman at the door.

"Many of the servants have gone home to their families, celebrating Boxing Day. The midwife is terrified of Mr. Darcy's ranting and will not come until she is assured that the doctor is also here. The doctor refuses to be in the same room with my husband a moment before it is necessary. My sister-in-law has run off and abandoned me, and last but certainly not least, Mr. Darcy and I have had a disagreement, and he left in great anger."

Elizabeth halted her rant for a moment to wipe tears away with the back of her hand. She pointed at the doorway. "You see, he broke my door there, barged in like a drunken madman." Lizzy choked on her sob. "God, I love him so."

Amanda looked in amazement at the door frame. "My stars, Mr. Darcy did that? It's hard for me to imagine him losing his temper at all. He is such an elegant gentleman." Another pain caused Lizzy to unexpectedly bend over, nearly toppling Amanda with her sudden shift in weight. After a moment, she relaxed, and they continued their slow progress.

Upon reaching the bedroom, Lizzy sat down heavily on the edge of the Darcy family's massive heirloom bed and resumed her attempts to tamp down her unbridled fear, watching as Amanda pulled off the counterpane and top sheets. Her voice, when she next spoke, was shaky. "Well, Mrs. Fitzwilliam, it is indeed a pleasure to meet you. Please tell me something of yourself. Do you have family here? You should have used our home for the ceremony, you know. The more I think on it, the more disappointed I am becoming. Richard and William are closer than brothers. You would think..." Elizabeth gasped and doubled over with pain, almost falling to the floor. Spasm after spasm of throbbing agony was washing over her, covering her, overwhelming her senses.

Amanda stooped down before Elizabeth and gathered up her hands. "Mrs. Darcy, have you at all begun to time your contractions?" she asked gently. Lizzy shook her head no, clinging tightly to Amanda's hands. The fear she had so desperately been trying to hold at bay was finally beginning to overtake her.