To Conquer Mr. Darcy (32 page)

Darcy felt as if a great weight had fallen in on him. He had known on some level that this moment would come sooner or later, but he had wanted so badly to deny it. Like a prisoner waiting to hear his sentence, he said, “In several months?”

“My aunt suspects it will be late in May,” she said softly. The answer to her question was apparent; he evidenced no pleasure at the intelligence.
Very well,
she told herself firmly, ignoring a stab of pain,
I shall have to be pleased and excited enough for both of us.
She awaited his response, and when it became clear that none was immediately forthcoming, she anxiously added, “My dearest, have you nothing else to say?”

“Please, Elizabeth!” He caught himself, and seeing the look on her face, sighed almost imperceptibly. Yes, he needed to say something, but it would not be easy. “That is very exciting news, my love; forgive me if it takes me a little time to become accustomed to the idea.”
A little time?
he asked himself mockingly.
I doubt that I shall ever become accustomed to this idea.
He gathered her to him almost convulsively. He knew that he should be expressing his delight to her, but that far he could not bring himself to go. “I love you, my sweetest, loveliest Elizabeth,” he whispered, wondering how he could possibly survive it if the worst happened.

Determinedly, she said, “And now it is
your
turn to tell
me
what is troubling
you
.”

“My love, there is no need to worry about me,” Darcy said in what he hoped was a reassuring voice.

Elizabeth decided to change her strategy. “William,” she said teasingly, “if you do not tell me about whatever implausible conclusion you have reached, I will have to take drastic measures to make you do so.”

He accepted the distraction gladly. “And how, madam, do you plan to make me speak?” he asked lightly.

She raised herself off the bed and leaned her hands on his shoulders. “By physical force, if necessary, sir!”

An unwilling smile began to tug at the corners of his mouth at the image of Elizabeth attempting to bodily subdue him. “I tremble before you, my love.”

She kissed him lightly. Her voice serious again, she said, “I beg of you, William, do not exclude me. I cannot tell you how that pains me.”

“Elizabeth, please believe me…” She could tell from his tone that he had no intention of sharing his concerns, and she had no patience for his reserve.

“I do
not
believe you, William! I am not so lacking in perception as to be unable to ascertain when something is troubling you. How would you feel if you knew that I was keeping something from you under these circumstances—would you not feel hurt and betrayed?” She knew of nothing that would be more likely to force him to speak than to indicate that he was paining her by not doing so, and she was determined not to rest until he understood her need.

She had trapped him; he recognized it immediately. With a deep sigh, he said, “Enough. Since you will not be moved, I will tell you of my reservations, although it goes against my better judgment. But please be patient with me; this will not be easy for me.”

Her face softened as she relaxed back into his embrace. “Thank you, my dearest.”

Darcy hardly knew how to begin to put his thoughts in order. The last thing he wanted was to bring worries to her mind that could only make matters more difficult for her, yet he knew with the instincts he had developed in his time with Elizabeth that she was correct to be concerned that secrecy on such a matter could come between them. “I cannot deny that I would like to see our children running through the halls of Pemberley,” he began slowly. “At the same time, I am all too aware of the risks of childbearing, and I find the idea of any risk to you, my dearest, well-nigh intolerable.” There was no point, he thought, in saying that he would rather not have an heir than have her face that danger. There was, after all, nothing that could be done about it.

Relieved that he was sharing his concerns, she responded with logic that she hoped would ease his mind. “But there is no reason to feel that I
am
at any risk. I am young, of good health, and my mother gave birth to five children in six years with what I understand to have been remarkably little difficulty.”

He sighed. “It is nothing so rational, my love. I had the misfortune of watching my mother go through a long illness and eventually die in childbirth, and the idea that the same could happen to you…” He found he could not complete his thought.

She stroked his hair tenderly, sensing the strong emotions he was working to suppress. “Will you tell me about it, love?” she asked gently.

He gave her a startled look. “About why I fear losing you?”

She smiled at him understandingly. “No, William, about your mother.” She held her breath awaiting his reaction.

It did not come immediately. “Elizabeth, my dearest love, forgive me; that is a subject that I find very difficult to discuss,” he finally said carefully.

Elizabeth’s instinct was to reassure him that he need say nothing that he did not wish, but she knew that would not serve. She simply waited, reminding herself of the importance of this. At last he sighed. “You are not going to rest until I accommodate you, are you?”

She shook her head. “I am afraid that I will not, given that her ghost threatens to stand between us.”

He acknowledged her point with a quirk of his eyebrow. “What would you like to know, then?”

She smoothed his hair from his face. “Can you tell me what happened?”

He closed his eyes, a pained look on his face. “Once, when I was young, perhaps seven or eight, I was tormenting my mother with complaints about why our family had no other children, and demanding a little brother. Her spirits were quite lively in those days, but I recall that she had tears in her eyes when she told me that the doctors had said that it would not be safe for her to have another child. I gather there was some cause for concern at my birth that led them to this conclusion. Needless to say, I felt ashamed of upsetting her, and the moment stayed with me as a result. When it became clear a few years later that she had acted against the advice of the doctors, I could tell that my father was greatly concerned, although my mother seemed not to be. I did not know who to believe, but it weighed heavily on my mind.”

He sighed before continuing. “You have no doubt heard that she was very ill after Georgiana’s birth. I remember that she was well and happy one day, then the next everyone was speaking in hushed whispers, and I was told that my mother might not be with us much longer. As it happened, that stage lasted for months. She was too ill even to hold Georgiana, but she seemed to find some comfort in having me sit with her, so I spent hours each day at her side, talking to her, reading aloud, or just bearing her company, and wondering if she would see the next dawn.” His voice caught, and he stopped speaking.

She sought to bring him back to the present by kissing him tenderly. “Where was your father during that time?”

“I hardly saw him,” Darcy said tightly, leashed anger apparent in his voice. “He knew that he was responsible for what had happened, and he could not face her. And poor Georgiana was a victim as well. None of us had time for her, and she was left to the wet-nurse and Mrs. Reynolds.”

Puzzled, Elizabeth asked, “What had your father done, that he was responsible for your mother’s illness?”

He turned his head to look at her, his gaze dark and penetrating. “The same that I have done, to be responsible for the risk you face.”

She sat up, appalled by his words. “William, do you
blame
yourself for my condition?”

His voice was steely as he said, “You did not create the situation by yourself, and we are both aware which of us insisted on the circumstances that led to it.”

“William, this is not a cause for regrets, but for rejoicing! It is a normal part of life, and you are not at fault for sharing my bed. I would have it no other way! From what little you have said, it sounds as if your mother wanted another child desperately, and was pleased by her condition. I do not know where you came upon this idea that it was something your father forced upon her, but I insist that you disabuse yourself of it immediately!”

His look was impenetrable. “She never recovered, Elizabeth. She improved, certainly, but she never regained her vitality, and was never again the lively, witty woman she once was. Yet five years later, he did it again, but that time we all knew what was to come to pass. I watched her fade away for months, and one evening I bade her good night, and the next morning Mrs. Reynolds told me that she was no longer with us.” His voice was raw with grief.

She looked at him steadily, seeing the confusion of the boy he had been, losing his mother to death and his father to grieving, his understanding of the situation limited, but trying to take on the responsibility of an adult through it all. “William,” she said gently, “would you have denied your parents the comfort of each other’s love? What happened to your mother was tragic, but it was no one’s fault.”

He was silent for some time, moving only to stroke her hair. “Elizabeth, my family was never the same afterwards. My father grieved for years, and he and I were not the best of friends afterwards, because I reminded him too much of my mother, and I blamed him for her death. That was when George Wickham made his way into my father’s confidence, and I fear made some efforts to turn him against me. It was a bitter time.”

“I am so sorry, my dearest. How unfortunate that you in some ways lost both parents at the same time, and at a difficult age.”

He turned onto his side to face her. “It took
you
to bring the joy back to Pemberley, my love,” he said with intense feeling.

“Oh, William,” she replied, her heart aching for his losses.

“I mean it, Elizabeth. There was always grief here, to one extent or another, after my mother’s death, and although the loss impacted me less once I was out in society, I became trapped in another net, one of people who valued me only as a commodity. I became world-weary and cynical. There were so few people whose affection I trusted—and then I met you, with your liveliness and wit and infectious smiles, everything I had lacked for all those years.” He paused for a moment to kiss her with an emotional urgency. “So you can see, my dearest, most beloved Elizabeth, why the thought of losing you torments me.”

She held his face in her hands, gazing into his eyes. “I can see why my condition will raise unhappy memories for you, dearest, but you have no reason to fear for me,” she said steadily. “I am not your mother, and the past is not the present. So long as you are able to tell me what you feel, we can share this burden, but I will not allow you to have the past predict the future.”

He gathered her into his arms. “Darling Elizabeth,” he murmured, his voice evidencing a slight quiver.

She held him tightly, speaking endearments quietly in his ear, until she felt his body releasing its tension. “All will be well, my dearest,” she whispered.

“I shall require a great deal of reassurance of that,” he replied in a muffled voice, turning to kiss her tenderly.

“I will be happy to reassure you whenever you like,” she said lightly, “because I know that your worries are groundless.” She gave him a teasing smile, then added, “I can offer this as proof of my position: as nearly as I can judge, every servant at Pemberley has known of my condition for weeks, and their only thought has been to protect
you
from the knowledge of it.”

He turned a startled stare on her. “No,” he said disbelievingly.

An amused smile curved her mouth. “Yes. You have a very devoted household.”

He rolled onto his back, covering his face with his hands. “There is no privacy to be had as Master of Pemberley,” he said with bemused regret.

“None, so far as I can see. Fortunately, you do still have a few consolations.”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “What consolations do you have in mind, my love?”

She smiled slowly and ran her hand down his side slowly. “Tell me what you would like,” she whispered provocatively.

“You,” he said intensely. “You, now and always.” He tangled his hand in her hair, pulling her head towards his, then slowly lowered his mouth to hers until they met in passionate communion.

* * *

Elizabeth woke during the night with the feeling that something was amiss. The fire had burned down, but she could tell from his body that Darcy was wakeful as well. He was, in fact, making no effort to sleep, but was propped up on one elbow beside her, his other hand resting lightly on her side.

“William, are you well?” she asked with sleepy concern.

“Quite well,” he said softly. “I am sorry to have disturbed you, my love.”

“What keeps you awake so late?”

“I have been thinking.”

“Now
that
is a dangerous activity. I hope it is not a serious matter.”

“No.” He moved his hand, caressing her body gently. “I have been thinking about our child.”

She reached up to touch his cheek. His countenance seemed quite peaceful, but she was not without concern. “And have you reached any conclusions?”

He smiled and kissed her tenderly. “Only that the idea pleases me. I have never truly permitted myself to consider the possibility in the past, so it is rather new to me, but I find the thought of a child of ours to be an agreeable one.” His tone shifted slightly. “Which is not to say that I am not still worried, but I have been meditating instead on the happiness this could bring.”

His words brought tears to her eyes. “Oh, William,” she whispered, her voice choked.

“What did I say?” he asked in dismay.

She smiled through her tears. “Nothing. I am happy to hear it. And I fear that I am quite foolishly emotional these days, so I advise you to accustom yourself to it.

He gathered her into his arms. “Elizabeth, my dearest love. You may be as emotional as you like, so long as you are mine.”

“Always, my love,” she said tearfully.

He slid his hand along her side, bringing it to rest cupped around her breast, somewhat more generously proportioned than usual owing to her condition. “I have been appreciating, too, some of the changes in you that I had failed to note prior to this.”