Though it is far beneath his station, the young master, Leopold Fitz, insists on fetching help when his steward's wife suddenly and dramatically goes into labour. As a consequence he meets Miss Jemma Simmons, the young and beautiful local midwife. After the event, other than stolen glances across a crowded parish church, there seems to be no possible future for their budding friendship. But when his own beloved sister, Mrs Daisy Ward, arrives unexpectedly at the Fitz family estate, heavily pregnant and seeking refuge from her harsh and disinterested husband, the young master finds a new reason to call the midwife.
The Midwife!Jemma / LandedGentry!Fitz Regency Era AU you can barely conceive (ha!) of needing...
If you're looking for an Austen tribute, this is probably a really poor substitute! Let's just call it Austen-Lite, hey? But as well as being a tribute to Austen and to our beloved FitzSimmons and friends, it's also a tribute to the amazing midwives and doulas I've been privileged to have encountered in my life. Be aware that there will be some scenes depicting birth but they won't get too graphic. I'll warn you at the beginning of each chapter if there's going to be anything to worry about.
Thanks for the enthusiasm that has prompted me to keep working on this. Special thanks to recoveringrabbit, my fanfic hero, who has helped me out with the overarching plotting. There should still be a surprise or two for you along the way and I hope you can forgive me when I no doubt occasionally break the Regency rules...
Thanks also to atomicsupervillainess/0cicero who has pretty much set herself up as a one-woman cheer-squad for this fic from Day One. I hope it lives up to your high hopes, dude!
And memorizingthedigitsofpi and her magnificent mutton-chopped manips. HAWT!
Alright, recoveringrabbit says the way to conquer a massive undertaking like this is a firm publishing schedule, so here we go! Fingers crossed you can expect a new chapter of this every Friday until Christmas and probably well beyond!
I hope you'll enjoy what's to come! Please let me know if you do!
It is a truth universally acknowledged that the cottage of his father's steward at the moment said steward's wife finds her waters breaking is an extremely awkward location for the master's son to be. Nevertheless, that is precisely where young Leopold Fitz found himself, deeply absorbed though he was in his just-back-from-university chess match against his childhood companion and the cottage-owner's eldest son, Lance.
Lance knew his business, having seen this process begin many times before, and without so much as knocking over the chessboard, calmly hurried the rest of the expanding Hunter brood out to the hayloft where temporary bedding had been stowed for this long-anticipated occasion. By contrast, Young Master Fitz, not nearly so prepared nor so clear-headed, did a spectacular job of knocking over the chessboard, sending knights and queens flying in every which direction. From the floor, as he scrambled to gather the fallen pieces, he watched Hunter Senior take his wife's hand and lead her calmly away from the vegetables she'd been preparing.
"The bairns have been arriving quicker and quicker these last years, love," Hunter murmured. "I don't think we can be too cautious."
In reply, Mrs Hunter, his life-long friend's very respectable and dignified mother, let out the sort of groan that Fitz knew with a deep and utter certainty he was not supposed to overhear.
"Hunter," the young man urged, getting to his feet. "Give me an errand. What can I do?"
"Never mind, young Master," Hunter replied, rubbing circles over his wife's back. "You just return to the house. We'll be alright."
In that moment, Mrs Fitz emitted a sound so unnatural that even the seasoned steward visibly paled.
"Please, Hunter," Fitz insisted. "I'm standing right here and Franklin is tethered outside your own front door. I can have the curricle harnessed at a moment's notice. Isn't there anyone I can fetch for you?"
"Miss Simmons," moaned the labouring woman, apparently already far further gone than she felt comfortable with. "Please George, let the young master fetch Miss Simmons."
Fitz looked to the steward uncertainly. He'd never heard of a Miss Simmons.
"The new midwife," Hunter explained, momentarily leaving his wife's side to usher Fitz towards the door. "She's training with Doctor Coulson and stopping at Battlesden House with his family." He looked the younger man in the eye. "I would regard it as a great service to my family and me if you might fetch her for Harriet."
"Shall I bring Doctor Coulson also?" Fitz asked, glancing over his shoulder at Mrs Hunter in concern.
Another cry, clearly out-of-character for his wife judging by the husband's frightened expression, prevented his usual restraint.
"Bring anyone you can find, lad!" Hunter cried, almost pushing Fitz out the door.
Fitz didn't need telling twice. He leapt up onto Franklin's back, dug in his spurs and left the cottage at a gallop. He was hallooing Mack, the groom, from quite a distance so the big man was already wheeling out the curricle by the time Fitz yanked Franklin to a halt by the stables. Jumping down to harness the gig took but a moment with Mack's deft assistance, and in almost no time, Fitz was off again, sharply encouraging Franklin with the reigns to run full pelt towards Miss Simmons.
The doctor's home was within his own father's estate so it took him no more than ten minutes before he was swinging down from the gig and hammering on Coulson's door. A flush-faced maid opened the door with an initial look of irritation, but when she recognised the interloper as the young master himself she fell to the floor in a deep curtsey.
"Coulson?" Fitz panted. "I'm sent to fetch Miss Simmons to attend to Mrs Hunter."
"Dr Coulson is out on call, sir," replied the maid, keeping her gaze deferentially low. "But Miss Simmons is stopping in the cottage just on the hill there," she pointed over his shoulder.
Fitz could just make out the outline of the little dwelling against the twilight sky. "Thank you," he called over his shoulder, hurling himself back into the curricle and flicking the reigns. "Should the doctor return, please send him directly on to the Hunters'!"
When went to he hammer on the cottage door, he found it swung wide open at his knock. "Miss Simmons?" he called. "You're needed urgently by Mrs Hunter. I've been sent to fetch you."
"I'll be one moment," called a voice much younger-sounding than he had anticipated. While he waited, Fitz cast his glance around the dimly lit room. His eyes widened. One every surface there appeared to be the sort of scientific paraphernalia he had only ever seen in the laboratories at school. As a passionate scientist himself, he was intrigued to imagine what use this Miss Simmons might have for her bell jars and beakers, test tubes and flasks. He almost stepped in to look more closely until a whirling dervish of dark cloak and long chestnut curls flew past him and seated itself in the curricle.
Fitz swung around, somewhat staggered by her speed, and momentarily forgot the urgency of his errand. He looked up in order to greet his passenger but instead of announcing his name, he felt his jaw drop gormlessly open.
The midwife could be no older than himself and, lord, was she beautiful.
She blinked her amber eyes pointedly at him a few times before feeling it necessary to say, "Shouldn't we go, sir?"
Her words snapped him to attention. "Leopold Fitz," he gave a deep bow. "At your service, Miss Simmons."
Was it his imagination or had the goddess above him coloured slightly at his introduction? He tore his eyes away so as to swing himself into the curricle beside her.
Though he had always been quite proud of the roomy little gig with it's cunning red trim, he suddenly found it impossibly confined. At every joint, his body almost touched the body of this woman by his side, and though he worked to channel his concentration into willing instructions through the reigns to Franklin, his head was oddly full of her.
"Mr Fitz," she said in quiet surprise.
Fitz had to strain over the stamping of Franklin's hooves to hear.
"I don't mean to sound impertinent but I'm surprised to learn that someone of your consequence has been sent out to fetch the midwife."
The mention of his passenger's profession suddenly reminded Fitz that he was sadly not on a social call. He slapped the reigns and Franklin took off with something of a jolt. Miss Simmons was momentarily thrown into his lap but recovered her composure admirably. By contrast, Fitz was left so discombobulated that he almost drove Franklin into a hedge.
"Hunter's son, Lance, has been my playmate since infancy," Fitz shouted by way of explanation. "I was in the house when Mrs Hunter, err… took ill and I insisted he give me an errand."
"Mrs Hunter isn't ill, you realise," she pointed out. "Child birth is not inherently dangerous."
"Pardon me, Miss, but you didn't hear her as I did," Fitz replied. "Hunter looked beside himself."
Beside him, Miss Simmons shook her head. "Posterior, as I told her earlier in the week."
"I beg your pardon?"
"The baby is in a posterior position. That means its spine is aligned with hers rather than facing outward. It's a less ideal presentation because the baby's head applies less pressure to the cervix. Posterior births tend to be a little more erratic, a little more intense for the mother and a little more time-consuming."
Fitz found his head suddenly feeling a bit light. "Perhaps I'm not the one to whom you should be divulging this information?"
Miss Simmons fixed him with a look he could feel even though his eyes were on the road ahead. "I don't think it hurts for such an illustrious personage and stalwart member of the community such as yourself to be informed about the intricacies of child birth. Why should it remain simply women's' business? You never know, sir, when you might be called upon to deliver a baby."
Fitz looked at her askance. "I pray that will never be the case!" he cried. "And perhaps I should point out that I have never before had quite such a disconcerting conversation with anyone!"
Miss Simmons huffed her dismissal of the young master's prudery and resolved to further educate him against his will while they were both trapped in the curricle.
Poor Franklin had never been driven so hard as Fitz went to great lengths both to provide assistance for Mrs Hunter and to get this uncomfortably informative midwife well out of his earshot. Yet through the barrage of disturbingly specific anatomical terminology he couldn't help but respect the passion with which she loved her chosen profession. With each brief glance across at her, he caught Miss Simmons' eyes aglow with fervour for mothers and infants that managed to transcend even Fitz's squeamishness and fire his admiration.
He had wanted to make a difference with his life, had wanted to pursue science and discovery, but as the heir to Manderston House and the vast Berwickshire estate attached to it, his father had made it clear that any difference he'd make would be restricted to the lives of those in his immediate community. And he supposed the same was true of Miss Simmons. He wondered if their paths would cross often in the course of their careers and then remembered how many babies he'd seen delivered. A total of zero. And that was the way he liked it.
Franklin intuitively slowed as they approached Hunter's home and Miss Simmons alighted and disappeared through the front door of the cottage before Fitz could even make it around to help her down. He clenched and stretched out his hand by his side, surprised by the keenness of his disappointment at her sudden absence. Had it not been a medical emergency, he might have felt genuinely wounded.
Fitz ambled over to the hayloft to look in on Lance playing mother-hen to his brood of young sisters. The scene that greeted him was endearing. Lance lay on his back in the hay, snoring loudly, with the little girls all cuddled up around him. Clearly none of them were remotely perturbed by the momentous event occurring in their home.
Too worked-up to go back to the house, Fitz paced around the cottage garden under the bright moon and stars. Occasionally he heard a somewhat concerning sound from within but he took heart that the panic of earlier seemed to have abated with Miss Simmons' arrival.
It wasn't very much longer before a lusty cry sounded in the night, accompanied by a joyful shout from the new father.
The door of the cottage creaked open expelling his former passenger, flush-faced and beaming.
"Mr Fitz!" she exclaimed in quiet surprise, as he emerged from behind the hedge. "What are you still doing here?"
Unable to put his finger on an appropriate answer, Fitz thought best to focus on the patient. "I was concerned for the Hunters – is all well inside?"
Miss Simmons' smile grew broader still. "A perfect baby boy," she sighed. "I'll leave them alone a moment so that they can begin to get to know each other."
"And Mrs Hunter?"
"Harriet was quite the heroine once I reassured her and helped her to change her position."
Fitz held up both hands as if to physically shield himself from any further information.
"Don't worry yourself, Mr Fitz," she laughed merrily. "I won't torment you with the details."
He couldn't help but laugh along with her. "For that, I assure you, I am extremely grateful. But it is lovely to hear news of a son. My friend Lance loves his many sisters, but a baby brother will be his pride and joy."
"Do you have any siblings, Mr Fitz?" she asked, rubbing some warmth into her upper arms as she adjusted to the outdoor chill.
Fitz shrugged off his jacket and walked toward her, wrapping it gallantly around her shoulders and failing to supress a little smile at her wide eyes as he answered her question.
"I have only the one younger sister, Daisy, of whom I am extremely fond."
"And does she also live at Manderston House with your family?" Miss Simmons enquired, after thanking him.
"No longer," Fitz sighed sadly. "She married early last year and lives in London with her husband, Mr Grantham Ward."
Fitz was surprised to see Miss Simmons' look of recognition and – was it distress?
"You are familiar with that gentleman?" he asked.
She shook her head emphatically, but it seemed the first wrong note since they'd met.
"Well," she said, entirely recovering her composure. "Now that I've assured you that all is satisfactory, you should return to the house, Mr Fitz, and take some rest. You must be exhausted."
"Me?" Fitz replied. "I've merely wandered around the garden and admired the stars. You, Miss Simmons, are the one who has been doing all the work."
"Not at all," she contradicted, still almost glowing with the marvel she had just witnessed. "The work has all been done by Harriet and by the God who ensured her body was fearfully and wonderfully made for just such a task as this."
Fitz contemplated Miss Simmons' features in the moonlight, his forest green coat draped round her shoulders and the brightness of the moon causing her amber eyes to shine. Something bloomed in his chest for which he felt utterly unprepared.
"Are you required inside for much longer?" he asked, just managing to keep his voice steady.
She shook her head. "I'll return in the morning. All they need now is rest."
"Then, might I drive you home, Miss Simmons? It would be no trouble." He wondered why this simple and obvious question felt imbued with all the nerves of asking for the first dance at a ball.
She smiled warmly at him. "Thank you, Mr Fitz. That would be most kind. I'll gather my things."
She slipped his coat off her shoulders and returned it to him with a grateful smile as she quietly stepped back into the cottage. Fitz put it back on, conscious of the velvet bearing a subtle and tantalising fragrance.
He wandered back to where Franklin was tethered and brought the curricle around the outside of the cottage garden to the front door.
As he walked, his eyes were drawn to some activity through the cottage window and he found himself gazing at Miss Simmons holding the sleeping infant cradled in her arms. She gazed down at the tiny boy with such tenderness, lifting him to her face to place a kiss on his brow.
Though he knew his staring was impolite, he couldn't tear his eyes away. A warmth suffused his every inch as Miss Simmons lifted her gaze to his and something intangible and inexplicable seemed to be exchanged between them. For the first time in his life, Fitz caught a glimpse of a domestic future that delighted rather than repelled him.
He was shaken from his reverie by the rhythmic sound of bells. Turning to look, he saw a horse and cart approaching just as Miss Simmons reappeared, wrapped in her cloak and accompanied by Hunter.
"Thank you, young master," Hunter was saying to him. "Your bringing Miss Simmons made all the difference to Mrs Hunter and my little boy. We'll always be grateful."
Fitz waved away his thanks, unable to convey the depth of his own gratitude for the discovery that a creature like Miss Simmons not only existed but dwelt so very close.
The cart drew up and Dr Coulson hopped down with his weighty doctor's bag in hand. "I came as soon as I heard," he said, looking around at the relaxed faces. "Though I knew that Jemma probably had everything under control."
Jemma. Fitz turned the word over in his mind. It suited her.
Miss Simmons gave the older man an affectionate smile. "Thank you, Dr Coulson. Mrs Hunter and her new baby boy are doing very well."
"Another boy!" Coulson exclaimed, clapping Hunter on the shoulder. "I'm sure young Lance will be delighted."
Fitz felt Miss Simmons' gaze and turned to find her smiling at him in Coulson's echo of his earlier words.
"Well, Jemma," Coulson said. "If you're no longer needed here, shall I take you home?"
"Oh," she sounded disappointed. "Of course. It will save Mr Fitz the trip, though he had ever so kindly offered."
Coulson laughed. "We can't have the young master traipsing across Berwickshire in the middle of the night. Thank you, though, for showing such kindness to my apprentice."
"Of course," Fitz replied as if it were a mere trifle, though he felt utterly bereft.
He at least ensured that it was his hand that helped Miss Simmons up into Coulson's cart, and with his fingertips he sought to memorise the softness of her skin. She looked down at him from her perch on the cart, her bright eyes full.
"Thank you," she whispered. "It was an honour to meet you, Mr Fitz."
"No," he shook his head, smiling sadly. "The honour has been all mine."
Coulson flicked the reigns and his horses moved on, bearing them both away.
Hunter silently shook Fitz's hand and returned inside to his wife and new son.
Fitz lingered a moment, watching the cart rumbling off into the distance.
In the brightness of the moonlight, he saw Miss Simmons glance back at him.
He raised a hand in farewell and then she was gone.
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