Author's Note:
Hi, guys! Thank you so much for your kind comments! I love it when you tell me that this story makes you smile! I fear this chapter (and a few more) will make you frown, though. I'm not sure you'll like it. Do you remember when I told you, a few chapters ago, that Lizzy and Fitzwilliam will not always act rationally and they will sometimes do/say stupid things? Well, here it is.
Next chapter you'll get a little more of Lizzy's side of this day, and I will probably post it tomorrow because it's pretty short. I hope you like it anyway!
Oh, whenever a month goes by, I will write at the beginning of the chapter both the month and how far along Lizzy is just for reference as I did in this one.
Stay safe!
Jen
"Quite clever, Elizabeth," he grinned. "My letters announcing your pregnancy to Uncle Henry, Richard, and Bingley are not nearly as pretty as yours."
"I am sure they shall be satisfied," she replied and sealed her letters to her family.
26.
April - 4 months
It was not for another month that Elizabeth's bump started to show a little. Although her high waisted gowns still hid her stomach quite well, it was now prominent enough for her family to notice when she turned or sat down. Lady Anne had insisted to start preparing the nursery even though her daughter thought it was a bit early. Still, she indulged her mother and allowed her to buy as many unnecessary things as she wished and helped her decorate her child's room.
Elizabeth's news had brought half a dozen letters full of excitement from every member of her family. Her father had predictably reprimanded his daughter for her teasing and demanded more information along with his congratulations and good wishes. Her mother and sisters had sent long letters describing their joy and how they looked forward to having a baby to cuddle and spoil. And Jane, her dearest Jane, had written with such happiness and excitement over being an aunt that Fitzwilliam found his wife crying as she read. After making sure she was not unwell, but only extremely emotional, he laughed at his now sensitive wife and held her until she had calmed down. Jane insisted she would visit her sister when she neared her confinement and stated, in a very un-Jane-like manner, that she would brook no opposition. Mr. Darcy and Lady Anne were in complete agreement that Elizabeth should have those she loved with her when the time came and encouraged her to invite to Pemberley whomever she wished.
The news had also reached their tenants, for many of them had given their congratulations and expressed their joy at the knowledge that another heir would be born.
And so Elizabeth was nearing her fourth month when she managed to approach her father alone:
"Do you think we could keep riding, Father?" she asked him. "I do not think it would be wise now to keep our plan to start increasing speed, but maybe I could ride slowly for as long as I am able. I would not like to forget what I have learnt."
Mr. Darcy hesitated. "I agree we should not increase speed and I am willing to help you ride at a slow pace while you are not too heavy with child, but I believe it is time you tell Fitzwilliam."
"Yes," she sighed. "I had hoped I would be a decent rider by the time I showed him."
"You are a decent rider, Elizabeth, especially after such a short period of time."
"Well, in any case, it will have to do."
The next day, she asked her husband to meet her near the stables in an hour and quickly donned her new riding habit before she walked outside unseen and asked the stable boys to saddle Sucré for her. She was atop her mount, looking quite regal and proud when Fitzwilliam walked around the stables and finally spotted her. She had hoped for a look of delight at her willingness to share something he loved so much with him and at least some pride when he realised she had both faced and overcome her fears, and learnt quite a lot, in such a short period of time only for him. However, nothing had prepared her for the look of utter indignation and rage that crossed his face when he saw her.
"My God! Are you out of your wits?!" he yelled. "Get down there right now!"
"What?" she asked, confused and offended to be given orders.
"What on earth were you thinking? You cannot ride!"
"I can..." she tried to argue, bewildered.
"You cannot! I knew you were bold and reckless, but this is a level of irresponsibility I did not expect even from you!"
She had never seen him this angry, and her own feelings went from confusion to hurt to indignation as fast as his.
"Irresponsible! How can you call me such?" she yelled back.
"Dismount, for God's sake!"
"I will after I have walked Sucré back to the stables."
"You shall not," he said, and taking her from the waist, put her back to the ground.
Elizabeth stood looking at him in astonishment at the way he had forcefully put her down as if she were a child.
"You think you can order me about?" she raged. "You think you can treat me as a child?"
"I can when you behave like one. It is not about you anymore, Elizabeth. I shall not let you put my child at risk with your irresponsibility. You shall be a mother, you'd better start behaving like one."
Elizabeth wanted to ask: Your child? Irresponsible? Do you believe I shall be a bad mother? But she could not. She felt her throat closing and her tears pickling her eyes. She cursed her emotions, which lately caused her to cry for everything, but she was determined he would not see her cry because of him and so she turned and stormed back to the house without a glance back.
Fitzwilliam did not run after her. He was too furious and frightened to do so and he believed that it would be better if they both allowed their tempers to cool. The moment he had spotted her on a horse, all he could think about was the time when Georgiana was twelve years old and fell from her usually calm filly Bonnie. He remembered cradling her in his arms as Georgie cried out, saying her shoulder hurt. She had been fortunate, for a dislocated shoulder was a cheap price to pay for such a fall. But Elizabeth would not be so fortunate. She had never ridden before and she was with child! One small fall could make them lose the child! Worse yet, she could fall and hit her head to never wake up as his great uncle Joseph had! What could she be thinking!
He took his own horse and rode, trying to shed his fear and anger, but by the time he was back at Pemberley, he was still fuming and still seeing images of Elizabeth sprawled in the ground, frightfully still, disturbingly pale. No, he was still furious and if he knew her enough, which he did, he knew her own fiery temper would not have cooled either. He had seen her beautiful eyes flare up and now he realised he had both given her orders and forcefully lowered her to the ground. She would definitely be furious. But surely he was within his rights! She had to realise... what had she been thinking!
He still had the whole day ahead of him. They would speak at night, he decided, when they retired. By then, they would have both privacy and enough time to calm down and have a rational discussion of what had happened that morning. Or at least, as rational a discussion as one can have with someone who has just acted as if she is out of her wits. He kept busy that day, working with his father in his study and visiting a tenant, and so he did not see her until dinner. She had not even been in her chambers when he went to dress for dinner and he assumed she was avoiding him, for she had always sought him out before. Still, although his temper had calmed, he still could not understand her nor could he forget the image she had forced into his mind of her falling off the horse, and so, he was not too hurt.
He watched her at dinner and she seemed to be perfectly fine. She smiled and laughed with Georgie and ate a healthy amount of food. He watched for signs of distress and found none and so he relaxed back and enjoyed dinner. She did not speak to him once and even seemed to redirect her conversation to his sister whenever he spoke—though he did not speak to her, for he did not wish everyone to know they had quarreled. However, he knew and had expected her to be angry and so he did not worry, for she seemed healthy and happy enough. Her apparent contentment helped ease some of his anger and by the time she retired—early as she usually did now—he had almost forgotten about the incident.
He waited a quarter of an hour after she retired and then followed her upstairs. He went to his dressing room first, as he did most nights, so Rogers could help him undress and then dismissed his valet and walked through their shared sitting room to the door that led to Elizabeth's bedchamber. He tried to open the door and realised it did not budge. For one split second, he thought—quite naively—that the door must be stuck before he realised, to his disbelief and dismay, that his wife had locked him out. He tried again, hoping he was wrong, but the door was definitely locked.
"Elizabeth," he sighed, trying to remain calm. "Open the door."
He waited a moment but heard nothing on the other side. She could not be sleeping, could she?
"Elizabeth," he insisted, "let us resolve this like adults. Open the door and we shall talk."
Silence.
"If you are tired, we can discuss this in the morning, but there is no reason for us to sleep apart."
More silence. He did not know whether he was growing angry or desperate. He had not slept alone for five months! Of course, he still could, but after almost half a year sleeping with his love in his arms, he did not wish to go back to his cold and empty bed. All the anger that had vanished during dinner resurfaced. And fear and frustration are a bad combination that might make even a wise man say stupid things.
"I did not know that carrying a child turned you into one! You have been acting like a whimsical and temperamental little girl all day, Elizabeth, and I am growing tired of it."
Silence.
"Elizabeth, open the door!" he repeated and knocked harder this time. After a few minutes, he realised she would not open the door, no matter how much he ordered her to. "Very well, I shall leave you to your tantrum."
He walked to his chamber and lay down in bed. He stayed still, looking up at the canopy of his bed and realised he was the one who was now pouting like a child. He sighed and turned to his side. He was cold. It was spring now, but he still liked to keep a fire burning low in such chilly April nights. There was no fire in his room because he had never asked to have it lit there. He had never needed one. His bedchamber, he realised, was quite uncomfortable. It was so... uninhabited. He had never slept here, for it had not been his bedchamber before he married. He used to have a bedchamber with a single dressing room and no other chambers connected to it, but when he married, his mother had moved him to a set of chambers designed for husband and wife. They were not the master and mistress chambers, for he and Elizabeth had not wished to cast them out when those had always been their rooms, but his and Elizabeth's were the second best. And so this bedchamber held no trace of him whatsoever. Everything that belonged to him was either in his dressing room or in his wife's bedchamber. Everything familiar was there, and in his old chambers, but he would certainly not walk in shame to his boyhood room.
He remembered thinking only a month ago that he did not wish to have any kind of argument with Elizabeth, but he had never thought he would see her risk herself in such a way while carrying his child! He could still not fathom what had made her do such a thing and why would she be so immature as to lock him out. If anything, he was now too furious to regret his actions. And why should he? He had done nothing but try to protect his wife, which was within his duties! He sighed and turned around, trying his best to sleep alone and cold in a strange room.
I do not own any Pride and Prejudice properties, nor do I make any money from the writing of this story.
Characters and situations, created by Jane Austen, are taken from Pride and Prejudice and from the Pride and Prejudice (1995) adaptation created by Simon Langton and distributed by BBC.
This story is released under the GPL/CC BY: verbatim copying and distribution of this entire work are permitted worldwide, without royalty, in any medium, provided attribution is preserved.