“Yes,” said Elizabeth. “I rather think I would if you do not mind leaving your guests.”

“They are all going into supper and after that, you know, they will be going home,” said Jane. “The weather being so bad, we thought it best to set an early end to the evening. I will stay with you until supper is over and then I will come down again to bid them farewell.”

Supported on one side by Darcy and on the other by her sister, Elizabeth made her way slowly upstairs, but by the time they reached her room it was clear that she was feeling more than a little unwell.

The baby was on the way.

Darcy, feeling suddenly helpless, stood awkwardly beside the door.

“The doctor is downstairs,” said Jane. “Go and fetch him?”

Glad, for once, to be told what to do, Darcy ran downstairs and went into the supper room. He looked about him and caught sight of the doctor at the end of the table. He went over to him and spoke to him in a low voice. The doctor nodded, excused himself, and rose to his feet. Bingley, sensing something was happening, followed them, leaving the rest of the guests to enjoy themselves.

“I think it would be as well if you were to have a message sent to the midwife,” said the doctor as he began to mount the stairs. “Her name is Mrs. Parsons, and she lives on the far side of the village green. The footmen will know where to find her.”

Darcy gave instructions for the midwife to be fetched, then made to follow the doctor upstairs.

“No,” came a voice at his ear. “You cannot go up. They will not let you in the room. I know. I tried.”

Darcy noticed Bingley for the first time. His thoughts had been so full of Elizabeth that he had not seen him, but he was very glad of his friend’s presence. There was something reassuring about Bingley’s good-natured countenance and his friendly voice.

“Of course. You know. You have already been through this,” said Darcy.

He tried to speak lightly, as though his wife had a baby every day of the week, but his voice was full of anxiety and his face was strained.

Bingley put a friendly hand on his arm.

“Come and eat some supper,” he said. “Nothing will happen for quite some time, believe me.”

“Some supper?” asked Darcy incredulously, looking at Bingley as if he had run mad. “You cannot expect me to eat at a time like this.”

“It is difficult, I know, but you must make the effort. It is going to be a long night and you must keep your strength up.” As Darcy continued to look scandalised at the mere thought of eating when Elizabeth was suffering, Bingley added, “Elizabeth might need something, and you will be no use to her if you are weak from lack of food.”

Darcy’s attitude changed at once and he followed Bingley into the supper room, but his eyes kept drifting upwards as though he thought that, by straining them, he might be able to see through the ceiling.

Bingley led him over to a spare chair and with difficulty Darcy drew his eyes away from the ceiling and sat down. The long table was laid with a snowy cloth on which porcelain and silverware glistened. Pyramids of fruit were set in the middle on ornate stands, and every kind of dish was set on silver platters in between.

Darcy looked at the appetising food as though it were ashes, for he could not think how he was going to eat any of it, but he knew he must make the effort, and with reluctance, he took some chicken and cold beef. He lifted a forkful of chicken to his mouth but it tasted like sawdust.

Around him, the other guests talked. He tried to take an interest in their conversations, but everything they said seemed shallow and inconsequential and he could not bring himself to join in. Indeed, he scarcely knew how to answer them when they asked him a question.

The grandfather clock’s pendulum seemed to swing in slow motion, as the seconds seemed like minutes and the minutes passed like hours.

After answering one particularly stupid question he found himself wishing the guests would hurry up and leave, but when they had at last all departed and he had retired to the drawing-room, he realised how much more difficult it was without their presence. The noise and the necessity of making the odd response to a question had kept him turning outwards, but now he found his thoughts turning inwards. So it was with relief that he heard the door opening and Bingley entered the room.

“Well, that is the last of them. They have all gone,” said Bingley.

“And your sisters?” asked Darcy.

“Louisa and her husband have retired for the night. Caroline offered to help with Elizabeth, but Jane told her there was nothing she could do and so Caroline too has gone to bed. Mrs. Bennet was with Elizabeth, but as she would talk of nothing but Kitty and Captain Collins, Jane has managed to persuade her that she should retire.”

“So Elizabeth is with Jane as well as the doctor and the midwife?” asked Darcy.

“Yes.” He spoke reassuringly. “She is in good hands.”

Darcy nodded, then walked over to the fireplace where he stood lost in thought.

“Come, you cannot stand about like this,” said Bingley. “You must do something. Have a hand of cards with me.”

“I cannot think of cards at a time like this.”

“A game of billiards, then.”

“No!” snapped Darcy. Adding more gently, “No, thank you.”

“You must do something, you know.”

Darcy paced to the other side of the room and took up a book, but he quickly dropped it again.

“It will be all right,” said Bingley sympathetically. “I imagined every kind of tragedy when Jane was giving birth, but here I am with a fine son and a healthy wife. It will be the same for you.”

“If only I could believe that,” said Darcy, coming to a halt. “But I keep remembering…”

He broke off.

“Yes?” asked Bingley.

“I keep remembering the night Georgiana was born.”

“Ah.”

Darcy sat down opposite his friend and leaned forwards with his elbows on his knees. He was not one to talk of his feelings in general, but there were so strong they would no longer be denied.

“It was a terrible night,” he said.

“You were ten years old at the time, I think.”

“Yes.”

Darcy could not help remembering the events of that night, although he tried to shut them out. The house had been strange. It had not been the safe and familiar home he had always known; it had been full of hurrying feet and anxious whispers.

He remembered the maids running up and down stairs with bowls of hot water and armfuls of clean sheets, and their worried faces. He had tried to talk to them but they had not had time for him and so he had gone down to the drawing-room, drawn there by the light, hoping to find someone to comfort him. His father would be there, he thought, to give him some manly words of advice. But instead he had found his father crying. He had been so shocked by the sight that he had crept back to bed again unnoticed.

The following day, he had been taken into the nursery and he had seen his little sister, Georgiana, but he had not been allowed to see his mother for three days, and when he had finally been allowed to see her, she had been sickly and pale.

“My mother… I thought she would die,” he said.

“But she did not die,” Bingley reminded him.

“No. But she was never the same again. Before she had Georgiana she was always riding or dancing or going out in the carriage. Afterwards she was sickly, and she died young. What if the same happens to Elizabeth? What if I have ruined forever her delight in roaming round the countryside? What if I have taken from her, her pleasure in dancing? What if I have turned her into an invalid—or worse.”

“Come, now, these are morbid thoughts,” said Bingley bracingly.

“I cannot expect you to understand,” said Darcy with a sigh, rising to his feet and turning away.

“You are wrong, I do understand. I thought exactly the same. But we do not make things better by worrying about them. Time enough to worry if worry is needed.”

Darcy roused himself.

“You are right,” he said, making an effort. “Let us have a game of billiards. Lead on.”

The two men went through into the billiard room, with Bingley speaking cheerfully all the time but not burdening Darcy with the trouble of expecting a reply. He set up the table and handed Darcy a cue and the two men began to play.

Darcy did his best to keep his mind on the game, but his shots were wild and Bingley won easily.

“Perhaps I should go up,” said Darcy when the game was over. “I could just see how she goes on.”

Bingley advised against it, but his words fell on deaf ears, for Darcy was already halfway up the stairs.

At the top, he met Jane just coming out of Elizabeth’s room. Jane was looking tired, but she smiled when she saw Darcy.

“How is she?” he asked.

“She is doing well,” said Jane reassuringly. “There is nothing to worry about. I will come down and tell you when there is any news.”

“Come down regularly,” he beseeched her. “Let me know how she is going on—but not if Elizabeth needs you,” he added.

“Very well,” she promised him. “I will come down often. Now go, and try not to worry. Everything will be all right.”

Reluctantly, he went downstairs and joined Bingley in a hand of cards, though he threw away his chances through inattention and lost miserably when he should have won.

At three o’clock, Jane came downstairs to tell him that things were progressing nicely and to chide Bingley for not having ordered some sandwiches.

“If you are going to sit up all night, you will need something to eat,” she said.

“And so will you,” said Bingley.

He made her sit down, for she was looking tired, and he ordered some soup and sandwiches for all three of them. It was just what they needed. Jane was clearly revived and Darcy at least had something to occupy him for a quarter of an hour. Having finished her soup, Jane went upstairs again and the two men were left together. They talked in a desultory fashion and from time to time indulged in a game, and the night dragged on until grey light started to filter through the curtains, and they realised that morning was on its way at last.

The silence was broken by the church bells ringing and when Darcy wondered aloud why they were ringing so early, Bingley said, “It is Christmas morning.”

“Of course!” said Darcy. “I had quite forgot.”

A cry came from above.

“And what a Christmas it is turning out to be,” said Bingley with a smile.

Darcy sprang up and was out of the door before Bingley could stop him. He met Jane on the stairs, coming down to tell him the news.

“How is she?” he demanded. “How is Elizabeth?”

“She is well, very well,” said Jane.

“And the baby?”

“Well.”

“And?”

“And a girl. As bonny a baby as I have ever seen,” said Jane, adding, “apart from little Charles, of course!”

Darcy caught her hand in thanks and then turned his steps towards Elizabeth’s room.

“Go quietly. She is sleeping,” said Jane.

He nodded, then went on. He was excited but also a little apprehensively too, for although Jane had said that everything was well, he would not be content until he had seen that it was so with his own eyes.

He turned the handle softly and went in. It took his eyes a few moments to accustom themselves to the gloom, for there was only one candle lit. The nurse was dozing in a chair by the fire, and in the bed, Elizabeth was sleeping. Her hair was spread around her on the pillow. Her colour was healthy, and there was a smile playing about her lips. He went over to her and kissed her. She stirred a little but did not wake.

His eyes moved across her to the cot beside the bed. In it was a baby, red and crumpled, but for all that, the most beautiful thing he had ever seen in his life.

He heard a slight stirring beside him and turned to see that Elizabeth had awoken. He went over to her and kissed her again. She sat up and he put the pillows behind her to make her more comfortable, then she reached towards the baby. Eager to prevent her overtiring herself, he picked up his daughter and then wondered what he had done, for he had no idea how to hold her and he was suddenly afraid she might break. But she settled into his hands trustingly and he carried her over to Elizabeth. As he put her into Elizabeth’s arms, he thought he had never known a moment so perfect.

“There remains just one question to be answered,” said Elizabeth with a smile. “Is she your Christmas present to me, or is she my Christmas present to you?”