Late in the afternoon, after returning from the fields, bathing and dressing, Darcy still had not seen his wife that day. From his study on the main floor, he summoned a footman. "Please send Mrs. Darcy to me."
"Sir, she went walking earlier today and has not returned."
"Thank-you." Darcy, leaned back in his chair, thinking. Elizabeth stopped taking walks of any significant length over the summer. It was nearly time for dinner and she was still out. Darcy called the footman back. "Please tell Cook that my wife and I will dine in our rooms tonight and have dinner held until we call for it."
"Very good, Sir."
Darcy pulled on his great-coat and hat and walked with long strides towards the small family graveyard on the side of Pemberley chapel. In the old days, it was used for the family to attend daily mass. But, since the Reformation the chapel was little used except for small family funerals and weddings. Georgiana was christened there because their mother was too weak to attend the main church in Kympton. Darcy and Elizabeth had buried their two sons there.
In the fall, after Georgiana's Season in the first year of their marriage, Elizabeth had been brought to bed much too early. The tiny boy cried only once and then his breathing slowly faded. Nearly a year later, at the middle of the next summer, it had happened again, but this time, the boy was born dead. Elizabeth had been ill for several weeks following these deliveries. The doctors had told him that it was a great loss of blood and a great deal grief that kept her to her bed, but that she was young and strong and would recover. It was now nearly 15 months since the last boy had been born and died. There had been no announcements from his wife and she seemed to be fading before his eyes. He would look for her at the cemetary first.
The sight that met him as he opened the cemetary's gate made his heart stop and then leap to his throat. His beloved wife was lying between the graves of their sons. Her bonnet was off and her hair was coming loose in the breeze. As he moved closer, he saw that she had been crying and it seemed as if she had cried herself to sleep.
"Elizabeth," he murmured softly, gathering her up in his arms. "Elizabeth, we must return to the house."
"Hmm?" she mumbled. "Where are we?"
"You are with the boys. We must go indoors."
"Oh, Fitzwilliam," she cried as she looked up at his face. "I am so sorry." She began to weep again.
"All will be well, my love. Let me take care of you."