He paused, staring unseeing at the beamed ceiling and absently caressing Lizzy's arm, which rested over his chest. She observed his face in the flickering half-light and waited. “No, that is not the whole truth of it. It has only been since developing this relationship with George that I have come to fully grasp what I lost when Father died. It is not only that he reminds me of my father, because as akin as they are in many respects there are glaring differences. Nor is it that I desire a mentor or father figure in my life, although I do to a degree; but it is that I sense he needs me, needs all of us in fact.” He turned to gaze upon his wife, fingering a lock of hair as he resumed in a husky tone. “For so long, when I allowed myself the luxury of dwelling nostalgically on Father, I always mused on what he meant to me. The benefits I would reap from his companionship, how wonderful it would be to watch our children with their grandfather, and so on. Always egocentric. I never looked at it from the perspective of what he lost by not knowing me, or you, or our children.”

He kissed her forehead, nestling a cheek against her silky hair. “I know George misses his work and the many friends he has in India. He speaks fondly of Jharna's boys, who are grown men now, and expresses sadness at the distance now between them.”

“Well, that would be expected, I suppose, as he helped raise them.”

“Hmmm. He can be guarded at times with his emotions. Quick to blurt a quip when the subject grows sensitive, even with me. He sidesteps with a joke or broad gesture, but not always. Besides, he is too like me to camouflage completely. It is clear that it is the loss of loved ones that distresses him the most. The honest affection he feels for us has taken him aback, I believe, and he fears trusting it or giving in to it. I understand this as well as I experienced the same anxiety when I fell in love with you.” He kissed her again before continuing.

“All his visits in the past have been no longer than a month and he was restless the entire time. He would be lax and nonchalant, but usually with a coiled energy that is not currently as evident. I am not quite sure what to make of it, but I hope it is because he is content and willing to stay for a while longer.”

In truth, Darcy greatly prayed his uncle would stay forever. Not only did he now yearn for him to deliver their baby, but he also yearned for the camaraderie of the older man that unearthed long-buried memories and vacancies. His father had been mentally and emotionally absent from the time of Darcy's mother's death when Darcy was seventeen, and physically departed months after Darcy turned twenty-two. The empty years prevented the companionship and friendship Darcy knew would have evolved between he and his father if events had unfolded differently. As much as he cared for his Uncle Malcolm, there was a formality attached and, of course, Lord Matlock had two sons.

With George it was entirely different. George was so incredibly like James Darcy in personality that at times Darcy blinked and mentally shook his head at the sensations evoked. It was spooky. Yet deeply fulfilling.

“You should tell him how you feel,” Lizzy gently encouraged. “Perhaps he needs to know how intensely you love him. He has been alone for most of his adult life, wandering without a family or home. And now Jharna is gone. Maybe he needs to know he is wanted and special.”

“What you say is likely true, yet how does one say such a thing to another man? I am at a loss.”

“You will know when the time is right. God will guide you in how best to express your love for him.”

He pulled away, burrowing lower under the covers until at eye level with her. Smiling, caressing gently down her side and around to fondle the swollen expanse of belly, he continued in a familiar hoarse tone, “Such all-consuming, powerful emotions can be terrifying. Oh, but the bliss of potent love! Nothing compares and any eventual grief is tempered by the unsurpassed joy. George knows this, has experienced this, and merely needs to succumb to it happening again with us.”

“Stop that!” she exclaimed with a giggle, swatting his fingers away from her protruding navel.

“But it is so cute and fun. Poking out and begging to be tickled.” He nudged her hand away and resumed the play with a grin.

“Fitzwilliam Darcy, I am warning—” But he halted her with a kiss, fingers abandoning the springy flesh to roam lower. Discussions of complex relatives were forgotten for the time being.

Time seemed to drag. Nothing changed, aside from the weather, and every occupant of the Manor waited for early December when the new Darcy would make his, or her, appearance.

Lizzy tried to ignore the close scrutiny, but it frequently peeved her. She felt as if she were under a microscope. If she twitched or sighed or shifted suddenly, everyone in the room froze and glanced her way. They tried to hide the reaction and careful monitoring, but were largely unsuccessful. For the first time since marrying Darcy she breathed in relief when he left for some dangerous occupation in the stable yard. The footmen, once so amazingly talented at remaining invisible, were now conspicuously present at strategic locales like staircase landings. The maids strangely discovered filthy or tarnished furnishings in whatever room Lizzy happened to be occupying. Georgiana became a worse shadow than George, more of a conjoined twin in how closely she hovered.

The annoyance of it all, augmented considerably by how physically miserable she felt, escalated her foul temper. None were safe from her sharp tongue. Lizzy spent endless hours of the day in fervent prayer that her stubborn child, once so intent on arriving early, would again decide that December was far too long to wait. Frankly, the entire family was praying for the same and not only because they were anxious to meet the newest Darcy!

One night in late November, Darcy roused slightly to note his arms empty. He reached groggily, hands sliding over the faint indentation beside him. The awake portion of his brain fuzzily assumed she had risen to visit the water closet, a frequent incident, and drifted back to sleep. It was several hours later before he again rose from the clutches of comatose slumber to note the vacancy in his arms. An internal clock of some kind recognized that it had been far too long without her to be a mere trip for bladder relief.

Struggling against the tendrils of sleep attempting to ensnare him, Darcy shook his head and crawled across the expanse of cooled sheets to pull the curtains back. Peeking drowsy eyes through the crack, he scanned the room and finally noted Elizabeth sitting on the sofa before the fireplace, logs nothing but smoldering embers.

“Elizabeth?” he whispered, voice husky and barely audible. No answer was forthcoming; in fact, she did not move. Alarm bells began to toll in his fogged mind and with a jolt he was wide awake. He sat up further, impervious to the blast of cold hitting his unclothed torso, “Elizabeth,” spoken much stronger.

No reply. Nothing. That was it! In a flash he was out of the bed and to her side, nakedness inconsequential. He knelt before her, hands on her knees, but she seemed unaware of his presence. She sat rigid, hands pressed flat on her thighs, eyes closed as she inhaled and exhaled with a steady rhythm. Her face was calm with a tiny crease between her flawless brows the only apparent indication of some sort of distress.

“Elizabeth! Speak to me!” He nearly screamed it, fingers digging into her knees. Elizabeth shook her head imperceptibly, continuing her deep breathing, and ignoring him. Just as he was about to shake her or run yelling from the room for assistance, she inhaled hugely, releasing the air with a rush.

Then she opened her eyes, staring directly into his troubled gaze a foot away. Her eyes sparkled happily, readily seen in the gloom, with faint hints of anxiety and pain evident. She reached up and ran her fingers through his hair, Darcy paralyzed with a host of emotions all warring for dominance and none prevailing.

“Are you prepared to be a father, Fitzwilliam? I do hope so as I am nearly certain today will be the day.”

Chapter Seventeen

Bundle of Joy

Lizzy continued to ruffle through his thick hair, mussing it up even further as she smiled tenderly at the dazed expression on his face. He stared fixedly as the words rushed through his brain. A split second of panic was quickly stifled, Darcy instantly on the alert and fully in control.

He nodded once, bruising grip loosening from her knees. When he spoke, Lizzy was surprised at the command and calm in his tone. “I shall inform Uncle George. Wait here.”

As if she planned on dashing off somewhere! Lizzy laughed, grasping his hand. “Dearest, put on your robe and slippers as you are shivering and turning blue. Then please stoke the fire. It is not yet dawn and by all accounts I will be at this for hours and hours, so there is no reason to wake the good doctor yet. Sit with me here, please? I want this time alone with you before all the craziness ensues.”

He nodded again, face serious, but rose and did as she bid. The robe was a brilliant idea as he realized he was quite cold once the immediate terror passed. In minutes he had a fire blazing and retrieved a blanket to place around them. He nestled next to his wife, drawing her legs over his lap and covering with a second blanket, just as another contraction consumed her. Remembering to breathe regularly as George had shown her, she leaned into Darcy's inner shoulder and submitted to the necessary pain.

He hugged her closely, laying a palm onto her belly as his eyebrows shot upward at the extreme rigidity felt. He quickly learned that the muscles would relax imperceptibly seconds before the pain itself lessened. It was like a wave: starting high above her navel and traveling downward until the entire bulge was firm as a rock, the tapering occurring in like manner.

“It is logical, if you think on it,” he said. “The muscles are attempting to push him out.”

“Shame he does not readily comply,” Lizzy responded with asperity. “If I was being shoved so forcefully, I would gladly leave the environment of hostility!”

Darcy laughed. “Well, there is more to it than that! Patience, my love, all will occur in its proper timing.” To which declaration Lizzy gifted him with a snort of disgust and withering glare.

Unconsciously he assumed the pattern of rhythmic respirations Lizzy utilized to maintain her serenity, unaware he was doing so until she exhaled finally as the contraction ebbed. Her belly resumed its usual softness, the baby quiet. He kissed the top of her head, pulling her closer to his body.

“Is the pain so terrible?” His voice trembled somewhat, but not as greatly as expected.

“Not as of yet. It is tolerable although I am quite sure it will intensify as time marches on. Pity, otherwise it would be an easy process.” She sighed, leaning her head back to see his face. “Can you believe we are going to see our son, William? I am so excited!”

He bent to kiss her lips, cupping her face gently. “I love you, Elizabeth, so utterly. You have made me the happiest of men. My wife, mother of my child.” He again kissed her briefly and then placed her head against his shoulder. “When did your pains start?”

“I think I dreamt through the first few of them but woke around two. I lay in your embrace for a time, thinking them just the usual pains, but they seemed stronger, more focused. And they did not stop. After an hour I moved here. I did not want to wake you.”