The last month of the year was passing in a flurry of excitement and activity, with Mr, Mrs and Miss Darcy eagerly anticipating playing host to their greatly extended family. This was Elizabeth's second Christmas as Mrs Darcy, the first spent away on the continent in a blissful honeymoon state, where the newlyweds had little regard for any festivities apart from each other. However, this year was different, and Darcy was determined to make Elizabeth's first Christmas at Pemberley a most joyful occasion, especially as the birth of their first child was imminent. For Georgiana this would be her first Christmas spent in the embrace of family, and she was excited to spend time with people her own age, as well as those that she truly loved.

The Bennets, including Kitty and Mary, who had recently become engaged to a well-spoken, well-read pastor from Kent, were to arrive on the twentieth, with the Bingleys arriving a few days later. Charles and Jane had spent the last few months busy with introducing their new daughter to relatives far and wide, and everyone who met the strawberry-blonde haired babe declared her as beautiful as her mother and as affable as her father. Jane was enjoying motherhood and could not think of a time when her days had been better spent, Lydia wrote to her second eldest sister to say that she had never seen Mrs Bingley look so well and it made Elizabeth ache for the arrival of her favourite sister. The Darcys were yet to meet little Charlotte Bingley and, despite letters being sent almost daily, Elizabeth and Darcy were both eager to meet their new niece in the flesh.

Fitzwilliam was attending to some business at his desk in the Stag Parlour. He had taken it upon himself to supervise the preparations for the Christmas feast, as he did not want to place any undue strain on his wife. He had spent most of the last eight months fruitlessly trying to convince her to rest, which had forced Elizabeth to call Dr Jeffries who confirmed that walking, and lots of it, was good exercise for the mother-to-be and would also help with an easy birth. Elizabeth did not like to be still, he found, and even when he tried to find her less vigorous activities, such as painting, he ended up watching her march to the hunting lodge on the hill, dragging an easel with her. It was all he could do not to lock her in her rooms and watch her closely for the next few weeks. As much as her liveliness and stamina had once attracted him to her, now it made him somewhat apprehensive, especially as the babe in her belly grew larger and she would not admit to herself that she was now impeded by it. She refused to. This wife of mine could be the death of me, he thought, smiling to himself, but what a blessed life we would have had.

"Mr Darcy, Sir, would you like to try the millefruit biscuits before we box them up?" Mrs Reynolds gestured at the decadent, fruit jewelled biscuits that she was holding on the tray in front of him. He could smell cinnamon and cloves, the rich, sweetened smell taking him immediately back to childhood. He remembered vividly sitting in this same room as a small boy, cuddled up on his mother's lap as she read stories to him in her gentle, melodic voice, stroking his dark brown curls until he fell asleep sated, content and safe.

"They were your mother's favourite, if I remember…"

"Yes," he nodded. "Yes, they were."

Mrs Reynolds studied the gentleman before her, she had known him since he was four years old and knew that he felt the loss of his mother most keenly during this season.

"Forgive me if I speak out of turn, Mr Darcy," she said hesitantly. "But, I understand why you are nervous about the next few weeks."

Darcy looked up at the woman who had cared for him in those dark days after his mother's death and gestured for her to sit, which she did before continuing.

"Sir," she uttered softly. "What happened with your mother was very rare, and very quick. There was nothing that could have been done that your father did not do, he would have moved heaven if he could have brought her back."

"Mrs Reynolds, I am…" he started before biting his lip and rethinking. "I am aware that childbirth is a risky, yet necessary event." Darcy's statement tried to disguise his inexperience, his only knowledge taken from the day that Georgiana had been born. He had been twelve years old and the sounds and cries from his mother's chambers had terrified him. He had gained a sister that day, but his dearest Mamma was gone.

Mrs Reynolds looked her young Master in the eye. "I cannot promise you that everything will be alright with this birth, Mr Darcy, but the mistress is strong, and you have ensured that she has received the best care." She paused for moment, trying to make him look to the future, rather than remember the past. "What I can assure you is our new young master or mistress will be so spoiled by the whole of Pemberley, as we are all of us so eager to have children in the house again."

She tentatively placed her hand on his knee, he covered it in his own and held it for a moment. It was a comfort. Darcy was unable to explain his underlying anguish to Elizabeth, nor was he able to disguise it from her, which meant that she had believed him to be in a foul mood for the past few months. He could not explain to her that he was filled with the insurmountable dread that in the act of bringing their child into the world, she would be taken out of it

"Thank you, Mrs Reynolds," he said quietly. "Your words have been much appreciated."

"You're welcome, Mr Darcy," she smiled softly. "Now, I think it's time for tea."

Elizabeth was sitting in the drawing room after lunch, listening to her remarkably accomplished sister-in-law practice for the Pemberley tradition of carol singing on Christmas Eve. She had been watching the preparations all day and was exhausted at the observations. Greenery and foliage had been being prepared in the courtyard to be brought in on the twenty-fourth, whilst the smells of spiced fruits and sweet delicacies hung in the air, the drawing room had been dressed with holly, ivy and mistletoe, and all around there was a feeling of merriment and festivity. Pemberley was getting ready to welcome guests and even though she was cumbersome with child, Elizabeth was just as excited.

"Lizzy, would you like to join me in a duet? It will sound better if you play with me," Georgiana stated boldly.

"Georgie, you know as well as I that I will play the wrong notes and then try to cover them up," Lizzy grinned, as she walked over the pianoforte to look through the sheet music. "When one has four sisters it is a rare thing indeed to be able to practice as much as one would wish."

"If I had many sisters as you, Elizabeth, then I would never have practiced at all! There is something very lonely about being the only child in a house such as this," Georgiana paused reflectively. "You must promise to have a whole host of little Fitzwilliams to fill these rooms with laughter"

"I think I should probably concentrate my efforts on this one first before making any plans for further additions." She placed her hand on her belly, which was now large enough to prevent her from getting into the bath without assistance or fastening her own boots.

Georgina observed her, hesitantly questioning "can I touch it? Is that odd…can I ask that or am I being terribly rude?" Her brow creased in the same way that Darcy's did, Elizabeth noticed. Surprising how two people could be so similar and different at the same time.

"No, of course it's not odd – it's perfectly normal, in fact," Elizabeth reassured the younger woman, taking her hand in her own and laying her palm flat on the most prominent part of the baby bump, "if we press here very gently, I think we will disturb him and he may say hello."

Almost on cue, the youngest Darcy responded from inside the womb with a firm kick. Georgiana pulled her hand back, shocked by the gentle force.

"Oh my! That was so strange! Elizabeth, I am all astonishment that you even manage to walk about with such a commotion going on in your insides."

Elizabeth laughed at Georgiana's shocked face and embraced her gently. It had been wonderful to spend the last few weeks in her company, and she was looking forward with eager anticipation at the months to come.

The snow fell on Christmas morning, coating the grounds with a fine dusting of white powder. Downstairs the Pemberley servants were preparing a feast for their guests – they would have their respite tomorrow when Mr and Mrs Darcy would present them with the boxes for St Stephens Day and, for the more senior members of staff, a half day holiday. This was not a commonplace occurrence, especially amongst domestic staff in larger houses, but Darcy prided himself on rewarding hard work and he saw to it that everyone could enjoy the festivities of the season, not just his own family and friends.

He woke to find Elizabeth standing by the window, they were now sharing the bed in her rooms more often that not, and he delighted on seeing her first thing in the morning. The heavy drapes, which had been hung in preparation for her lying in, had been opened slightly and he could see the bright, winter sunshine glinting through. He watched her for moment; rounded and beautiful, she meant everything in the world to him, but he was tormented by the innate fear that he was somehow not deserving of lasting happiness, which lingered away inside his sub-conscious. She stood for a moment, obviously aching with the weight of her pregnancy, and he rose quickly to stand beside her. The room was chilly, it must be early as the fires had not yet been lit, her skin was cold to touch, and he enveloped her in his embrace. He didn't know if he was trying to warm her up or if he was holding onto her as tightly as he would allow himself, scared that she might slip away. Elizabeth sensed the tension in him and, turning around to face him, kissed him gently on the nose. He closed his eyes, somehow scared to open them in case she had gone.

"Darcy," she whispered.

She took his hand and stroked the back of his knuckles gently, before intertwining her fingers in his. His hands were much larger than hers, and she always felt delicate when he took her hand in his as he had done now. He held her hand firmly, as if the slightest move to relinquish his hold would cause him to lose her forever. Elizabeth knew that he was scared about the birth, she was scared too and her talk to Jane had done nothing to alleviate this. His brow was furrowed and he was quiet and apprehensive.

"Lizzy," he said, barely audibly. "What if I lose you?"

She studied his face for a moment, Fitzwilliam Darcy was a lot of things: a master, a landlord, a husband, a brother – well respected and well liked, he held the livelihoods of hundreds of people in his hands. For a young man not yet thirty years old, it was a massive undertaking, and one that she understood took its toll on him both physically and mentally. When people heard of Mr Darcy of Pemberley, Derbyshire, and his ten thousand a year, they were instantly of the understanding that here was a wealthy gentleman who had so great a fortune that there could be nothing else able to trouble him. She remembered with some unease that on their first acquaintance she too had those similar thoughts. However, her husband was all too human, his fears and worries were very real and as he stood before her, she wanted him to know honestly and wholeheartedly that whatever his fears were, he did not have to face them alone.

"Darcy," she whispered. "What if I lost you?"

"If you lost me?" he said, confusion echoing across his face.

"Yes, what if you fell off your horse and banged your head and you were dead."

"Lizzy, why are you mocking me?"

"I am not mocking you – you travel out on your horse every day, and I have to trust that you won't have a horrible accident and die."

Darcy looked at his wife, she was speaking with a forthright honesty, but had tempered this with an expression of great care.

"Mrs Darcy, please."

"Mr Darcy, we cannot live out our lives every day thinking that the worst of things could happen. What kind of life would that be?"

"I understand, but…"

"I know that you are apprehensive about the birth of our child. I know that you are worried that the same fate will befall me as it did your mother." He looked up at her quickly, had Mrs Reynolds betrayed his confidence, surely not. "I spoke to Georgiana, she is very perceptive, you know, you should give her more credit for her ability to read people. She can read you like a book, perhaps more so than I can myself."
Darcy walked over to the window, threw open the curtains and looked out onto the east front of the house, outside he saw two of the younger maids playing in the snow, before they were quickly shooed back inside by one of the under-butlers. The garden was still once more and the feeling of panic started to overwhelm him.

"You do not understand, Elizabeth," the words exploded from his mouth, angrier than he intended them to be. She caught his instant look of remorse and took his hand again in hers.

"Well if you do not expect me to understand, then you will need to take the time to explain to me where I am going wrong and failing to comprehend your feelings." She was not angry, she was concerned. "You can be a public man but a private husband, Fitzwilliam. There is no requirement for you to withhold your concerns from me." She looked at him, searching for his gaze and finding it. He held her hand, traced along her fingers with his own. How had he managed to convince this wonderful, sparkling woman to spend her life with him? In that instant Fitzwilliam Darcy realised that he could not hide the most secret parts of himself away from the person whom he loved with his whole being. He held his wife's hand tightly in his own and he slowly let the fears seep from his body.

Georgiana Darcy noticed a change in her brother that afternoon. He was all humour and smiles, his laughter filling the room as he enjoyed the company of his nearest and dearest.

By midnight, everything would change.