The first two chapters have been corrected. I thank my two betas, Gaskellian and NotACursedChild for their help. I hope that the new version will suit you. Enjoy your reading. I would appreciate constructive comments. Thank you.

Chapter 2 Pemberley's Heir

It is a universally recognized truth that a married man in possession of good fortune is in need of a son. George Darcy, Duke of Wrexham, of Pemberley, Derbyshire, was no exception, although he did not really care whether a son or daughter should be born as long as the child was healthy and his wife survived.

Pemberley, Derbyshire,

April 6, 1784

The Duchess of Wrexham woke up suddenly during her sleep and realized that she was completely soaked. She understood that her water had broken. Pains twisted her belly. Birth was imminent.

Without panicking, she rang for Somers, her maid, and got out of bed with no little amount of pain. She lit candles, put on her slippers and waited patiently. When the maid arrived, she immediately understood what was happening.

"Send someone to get the doctor and midwife. Don't forget to warn His Grace. Then come back here to change my sheets." said the Duchess.

"Yes, Your Grace," replied Somers, "Is there anything else you need?"

"No, that will do but it must be done now."

"Right away, Your Grace." said the maid, and then she left the room.

Anne walked to the dresser and took out a clean nightgown of blue silk. The young woman hoped it would bring her luck by giving her a boy. Then she put some wood back in the fireplace and put the baby's clothes on a small stool by the fire so they would be warm when he was born.

Once she was dressed, she went and knocked on the door to her husband's chambers. George had been sleeping there for several weeks to be closer to his wife in case she called him.

He got up when he heard her knocking and inquired, "Yes, Anne? How are you?"

"The baby's coming." she replied.

George asked.

"But how are you feeling?"

"For now, it is not horrible but I know that this is not yet the worst."

Taking her hand, he said.

"Courage. This will be difficult but think of the joy when you hold our child in your arms. It will be the best reward to compensate for all your suffering."

Anne sighed.

"I know. The hardest part is waiting."

They were interrupted by the arrival of the doctor and the midwife. The first wanted the duke to leave. He was not happy to have to do so, but he knew he should not stay in the room. Resigned, he left and went into the library to wait.

Anne made a grimace of pain. The contractions were getting closer and closer. She did not scream, but breathed deeply between each contraction, thus relaxing herself and helping to calm the pain.

She knew that, many times, a first birth took very long. It was likely that the baby would not arrive before dawn since it must have been ten o'clock when her water had broken. Sweat was running down her forehead. From time to time, the midwife would wipe Anne's face with a cool, wet cloth.

When Dr. Anderson announced that the baby's head had appeared, everyone sighed with relief. He slowly cleared the shoulders, then the rest of the body and cut the umbilical cord before handing the child to the midwife who immediately gave him a slap on the buttocks.

The small face became red with anger at such treatment, the small nose wrinkled and the baby began to howl vigorously to show his dissatisfaction.

The young mother looked questioningly at the doctor. He held her hand in his and said with a voice filled with emotion, "You have a boy."

"I am glad," said Anne in a relieved tone.

"May I see him?

"Soon," the doctor answered, "The midwife is taking care of him now and she will bring him to you when she is done."

The doctor finished up with the new mother and shortly after passing the afterbirth, the midwife placed the baby in the cradle of her arms.

Anne turned her head to look at him. A fine down of black hair covered his head and his little face was all wrinkled. When he opened his eyes, she saw a look identical to hers.

"He is a handsome boy," she said. "Would you please inform my husband? I know he will be happy and relieved to know that everything went well."

"Certainly, Your Grace." The doctor immediately left the room to inform the happy father of the good news.

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The Duke of Wrexham had traversed his library from one end of the room to the other throughout the night with great concern. His steps were heavy, and his muscles suffered from lack of sleep. With each cry that rang in the corridors of the big house, George Darcy's mind was filled with anguish, knowing that his wife was suffering.

Father in heaven, please protect her and our child's life, he prayed.

Although Mr. Abbot, his London doctor, had been in residence for three weeks to treat his wife, the man's presence had not allayed George's fears. The previous year, one of his own tenants had lost a child in the delivery process, then his wife to puerperal fever.

"If I lose them, I do not know how I would survive," George whispered.

With Lady Anne's next cry, George could no longer bear the agony. He suddenly threw open the door and rushed out of the room. Running up the stairs, he climbed the steps two by two before going up the hallway to his wife's bedroom. As George arrived at the entrance to her room, he almost ran into his faithful housekeeper, who had a manservant at the door.

"Stand aside, Mrs. Reynolds. I need to see my wife." said he.

"Sir, I'm sorry, but you cannot come in. Mr. Abbot wants you to stick to what was agreed upon and to stay outside the delivery room until he sends someone to inform you that it is over."

He looked at the little woman who dared to challenge him. Although George Darcy sought to ignore the usual expectations of a gentleman's society during the birth of a woman, he also knew it was his duty to ensure that his wife was well.

Regaining his composure, he asked, "How much longer is this going to go on? I fear for my wife's life and that of our child."

Mrs. Reynolds gave a gentle smile and replied, "Your Grace, believe me, everything will be fine. Lady Anne is tired, but her pains are getting closer, and soon the baby will be with us."

"Thank you very much. Please tell Lady Anne that my prayers are with her and our child." With that, George turned around and headed for the nursery.

As he entered the small room, George let himself be briefly distracted by proudly examining everything his wife had done to prepare his child's new home. Decorated in pleasant shades of yellow and sunny green, the room was joyful and welcoming.

Taking a small wooden horse carved by one of his tenants for the baby, he rubbed his fingers distractedly on the smooth wood as he walked into the room. Throughout her estate, Lady Anne was known as an avid walker and an animal lover. Consequently, many gifts had arrived honouring her preferences. Continuing to hold the horse, George sat in the corner rocking chair, in which his wife usually sat for many hours, singing and talking to the baby she had been carrying.

Looking around the nursery, it seemed that every corner had something that would enchant a child. However, it was the personal touches that gave him the most satisfaction. On the table was a diary full of drawings of animals that Lady Anne had illustrated for the purpose of teaching their child. Right in front of where he was sitting, she had hung one of her largest drawings, a watercolour of the pond.

"Honey, you loved that old pond as long as I can remember. Even when your family visited during the summer months, it was a rare day I didn't find you sketching there." He laughed at the thought.

In her youth, Lady Anne had been fascinated by nature and was determined to catalogue every plant, shrub and tree that existed between Matlock and Pemberley. In an effort to accommodate all her journals and reference books on vegetation and animal life, George had devoted a large space in the main library for her use.

"I admit that I will never fully understand your passion for the land, my dear, but I sincerely believe that I am a lucky man to see my heritage through your eyes while I manage this vast estate."

While continuing to study the drawing, George had to admit that this part of the pond had also become his favourite refuge, as it contained many precious memories of time spent alone with his wife. During late spring and most of the summer, George and Lady Anne had often picnicked there when they felt the need for calm and solitude.

One of those days, in mid-May, the happy couple had gone to that very place. Knowing how much his dear wife loved wild flowers from the country, George started looking for a small bouquet for her pleasure while she rested under a large tree that gave her shade. Upon his return, the vision presented before him was magnificent.

With his hat and gloves off, his beautiful wife sat on a large carpet of grass, leaning against the trunk of the tree. Several long curls had come to escape from their pins, tempting him with the desire to make his fingers run through the silky locks as they floated in the gentle breeze. Everything was calm except for the water which lapped lightly against the shore and the simple song of a titmouse which mingled in perfect harmony with his wife as she hummed a familiar lullaby. There she sat, her eyes closed and her hand gently stroking the swelling of her body where her child was growing.

Not wishing to surprise her, he softly placed the flowers on the grass and sat gently beside her. "My darling," he said quietly, "I've never seen you more enchanting... "

He kissed his wife on the cheek, covering her fingers with his hand and whispering how much he loved her. To his joy, George Darcy was rewarded with the miracle of life when, a few seconds later, he felt the baby move for the first time under his fingers. He opened his eyes with surprise, visibly excited by what was happening.

"Anne, is it our child I feel moving under my hand?"

"Yes, my love," she replied with moist eyes, "it is him. Our child gets stronger with each passing day." Thus saying, she made him smile.

He felt the movements again. "Does it make you uncomfortable?" he asked in wonder.

"No, not yet, the baby is too small. The movements will get stronger as he continues to grow. For the moment, I am satisfied, and I find our child's movement very comforting. It gives me proof that he is alive, which is very reassuring."

George was pleased with her answer. "I am glad to hear that."

Interrupting his reverie, George returned to the library to continue the wait. So he knew what to expect when, at dawn, a knock at the door immobilized him in his march and Mr Abbot, informed him with a big smile, "Please accept my congratulations, sir! Lady Anne has delivered a beautiful boy in good health and both are well."

The Duke sighed with relief as his face moved from anxiety to boundless joy. "Thank you, Abbot. Please let me know when I can see Lady Anne and my son."

'A healthy son,' he thought when he was alone again, 'and Anne is well! What a happy result on such a beautiful spring morning.'

He sat comfortably in a well-padded chair to continue his thoughts. At twenty-eight, he was considered a tall and handsome young man, with a pleasant disposition, made happier last year by his marriage to Lady Anne Fitzwilliam. It had been two years since he had inherited the title of Duke, with the vast estate of Pemberley, a house in town, and an income of twenty thousand pounds a year on the death of his father.

The Darcys had been known throughout the country as an old family since D'Arcy's first came from Normandy to settle in England at the time of William the Conqueror. Some had distinguished themselves in battles, some before the courts as lawyers and judges. They had first received the title of Earl at the time of King Edward I; then, that of Duke under Queen Elizabeth I. But their greatest fame was, in most cases, their vast Pemberley estate and the wealth it produced.

George Darcy's father had prudently sold all the property he owned in the North American colonies and invested the money in the West Indies before the beginning of the War of Independence, a wise decision very envied by many of his friends. He had lived just long enough to hear about General Cornwallis' abandonment and realize that the colonies were irretrievably lost to his country.

George Darcy remembered the last two years with some satisfaction. While his new duties as Pemberley's master had kept him in Derbyshire, he had not needed to look far to find a wife.

He had known the Fitzwilliam family since he was a young boy. He had played and attended the same school as John Fitzwilliam, the second son of the Earl of Matlock whose mansion was only ten miles from Pemberley. The eldest son, Charles, heir to the old Count, was five years older than him and there were also two younger daughters, Catherine and Anne.

Catherine was four years younger than George Darcy and John had hoped that she could win his friend's affection. At twenty-four, she had been a beautiful young woman: fashionable, proud, stubborn, dominating, authoritarian and totally devoid of empathy towards others. If he had sought her hand in marriage, he had little doubt that she would have accepted it. He had a title to go with his great estate and he did not doubt that she believed that a title was due to her as the eldest daughter of a count. She had naturally tried to parade before him, acting as if she was granting him a great favour, but it had been in vain. He had not shown any interest in her at all, to her great frustration.

Anne, who was then only twenty years old, had always been his favourite among the two young girls. She was much more beautiful, more accomplished, calmer and much friendlier than her sister. While she had a certain feeling of superiority that the title of her family gave her, she also had the common sense to realize that she had no fortune attached to her name. When George Darcy asked for her hand, she was happy to accept it. She had another reason to be happy: she would no longer have to live in the shadow of her dominant sister.

They were married in May, returning to Pemberley when all the flowers and trees were in full bloom and the park was the most beautiful.

Today, as he contemplated the green lawns and the new spring foliage on the trees, George Darcy thought that the date of April 6, 1784 would be a day to remember: a day that saw the birth of his son and the future of Pemberley assured.

The death of the Earl of Matlock shortly after the wedding did not surprise anyone. He had been very ill for a long time. The conflict that had existed between him and his second son had probably made things worse. The knowledge that he had narrowly avoided a scandal that would have sullied his family name had caused him a terrible shock and he never recovered from that.

After his father's death, the new Earl ensured that his brother would receive the inheritance which had been planned for him and from which he had been disinherited for his disobedience. Charles had thought it better not to tell his older sister, Lady Catherine, knowing that, despite the fact that her opinion on this matter was irrelevant, she would no doubt have been outraged by what she would have considered treason. The only thing that worried the Count regarding Catherine was to find her a husband as soon as their mourning was over. He did not intend to allow her to cause problems in his home and to constantly remind her that she was not the mistress, even though she tended to behave as if that were the case.

?

After the doctor left, George Darcy ran up the stairs to see his wife and meet his newborn son. Lady Anne was tired, indeed, but happy to see him and to introduce him to their baby. In her arms he saw a small bundle with black hair and a sleepy, solemn look as if he were trying to get used to this new and strange world.

"Oh, my precious child," she whispered, kissing the top of his dark, tangled hair. Her voice was soothing, and the baby stopped crying as she continued to speak to him in her sweet voice.

Curious, George removed the sheet to inspect his new son, and he almost choked with pride when he saw his son's long, strong and solid body.

Anne said softly, "He is perfect, my love, like you. Oh, how I love you both, darling."

The duke smiled tenderly and gently put a finger in the newborn's hand, which opened in the shape of a star and closed on the duke's with a surprising force for such a young child.

"Would you agree that we call him Fitzwilliam?" Lady Anne asked, "I would love to connect my last name with yours."

The happy father accepted, much to his wife's delight. "It would be appropriate, indeed, as is often the custom. It is a strong name and will be worthy of his position in society when he reaches manhood."

She smiled, looking at her husband. "And if you will allow me, I would like to add George, for his dear father."

He nodded.

She continued, "If you do not object, I would like to add one more. In honor of your younger brother who is not with us at the moment, I would like to call him John. I wanted him to be the godfather, but he cannot be here for the ceremony."

Her husband responded, "I am happy, my love, a very appropriate name. Fitzwilliam George John Darcy, Pemberley's next heir."

"Yes," Lady Anne repeated, "Pemberley's next heir." The young woman sighed with fatigue. She was exhausted.

The doctor leaned over to her and said, "You must sleep now, Your Grace. I will put the child back in his crib and let you rest."

She smiled softly at her husband. He put a kiss on her forehead and said, "I shall leave you, too, my darling. You've earned your rest. You did a great job. Well done."

After one last look, he left the room. His face radiated with joy and pride. The Duke wondered, however, how the boy would appreciate such a name and what he would be called by his family and friends. But that could not worry him today.

'Nothing could worry him today,' he thought as he left his wife and son in the care of a nanny and returned to his study and duties to Pemberley. He went to his office where he said a prayer in gratitude and waited until he could join his wife and son. Today was the beginning of a new legacy for the Darcy family. Having an heir meant stability not only for his tenants but for all those in the area who depended on and benefited from the presence of his estate. More importantly, he had received the greatest gift a man could ever receive: a son.

George suddenly realized that he was quite hungry. Given the importance of the event, no one had thought of having lunch. But he made up for it and, after the meal, the duke sat down at his secretary to write letters. He wanted to inform his in-laws of the news. He also wrote announcements for the newspapers. He gave the letters to a valet to be sent by post, except for the note to his father-in-law who lived a short distance away.

He was relieved that his sister-in-law was not present. She had demanded warning of the impending birth, but he had not seen fit to listen. She would probably have tried to take advantage of it to try to usurp the place of mistress of house and to strut before him in order to make him regret not having chosen her, which was laughable. Her character was too unpleasant for him to have considered for a single second marrying such a vixen. That she might think otherwise was ridiculous, but he was not surprised.

She was so pretentious, so convinced of her own importance that nothing could have changed her mind. Yet she knew almost nothing. Obviously, she felt it was beneath her dignity to learn accomplishments as all young girls did. And now she was constantly but foolishly bragging that she would have been very good had she learned those accomplishments. He no longer counted the number of times she had been humiliated in public when a hostess at a reception asked her to play the piano and she was unable to do so. Of course, she was furious that she was being laughed at, but refused to admit that she was solely responsible.

It was only in the early evening that Anne woke up. She was starving and ate the entire contents of the tray brought to her with good appetite. Then she claimed her son; it was the nanny who brought him. Nancy Hawton was barely twenty-two. She had lost her baby shortly after birth and her husband had been dead for three months. Anne had decided to breastfeed her son once or twice a day and the nanny would take care of the rest of the time.

The baby, who weighed eight pounds, was strong and vigorous. There was no doubt he would certainly be voracious. Anne wasn't sure she had enough milk to satisfy him. Therefore, the nurse would be useful to complete the meals.

Fitzwilliam started screaming and he was obviously ravenous. Anne undid her nightgown to uncover her breast and grabbed the baby. She gently touched the tip of one of her breasts to the newborn's cheek. He immediately turned his head, his little mouth closing on her breast, and he began to suck vigorously.

Anne experienced a strange feeling of pleasure. She never thought it would be so pleasant to breastfeed a baby. When George entered the room, it took her some time to notice his presence. Her ecstatic smile surprised him. He sat at the edge of the bed and stroked his son's little hand with his fingertips, which closed on his finger with a force that amazed the young father again.

He smiled and so did Anne. They looked, tenderly, at that little being who was a part of themselves, of their flesh, the fruit of the deep and wonderful love that united them.

The baby, now with a full stomach, had fallen asleep, nestled in the soft maternal warmth of his mother's body. He continued to hold his father's finger in his closed fist, as if he unconsciously wanted to tighten even more the bond which united all three of them. Then the Count gently took him in his arms and went gently to put him back in his crib.

Anne adjusted and fell asleep. After depositing a kiss on her forehead, George went to bed. It was only a few days later that Anne's family came to visit them to meet Fitzwilliam.

Anne had been allowed to stand. She felt perfectly fine. Her strength had returned, Fitzwilliam was thriving under the care of his nurse and, within three months, Pemberley was returning to life and hosting parties. George Darcy enjoyed the company and Lady Anne was a generous hostess.

The Fitzwilliam brothers were often welcome in Pemberley. John Fitzwilliam, who was a militia colonel, had often been with them since his return from North America. Charles Fitzwilliam would also bring his family - his wife and their two little boys, six-year-old David and four-year-old Randy. But Lady Anne had no happy anticipation for the visitors expected in August.

Her older sister, Lady Catherine, had married the rich Sir Lewis de Bourgh of Rosings Park, Kent, six months earlier and they were to come to Pemberley for the first day of the harvest season. In any case, Lady Anne was anxious to show off her son, but feared that her sister would abuse her patience and undermine her strength.

Now four months old, Fitzwilliam was an active baby, smiling at his mother and father and chirping happily every time he was with them. But he would not smile at Lady Catherine. That lady did not fail to bother her sister with all sorts of ridiculous advice, one more silly than the next.

"Your nurse is too forgiving," she told Lady Anne, "She does not make him wait for the necessary time before feeding him again. Nor should he have so much freedom when it comes to dressing. Too much air is unhealthy for children; you should cover him with more blankets." Those were but a few of her unheeded warnings.

When the Duke intervened on behalf of his wife and reminded Lady Catherine that, until now, she had no children, she replied by stressing that if her sister were more strict, she would be truly competent: her child would be stronger, more beautiful and smarter than any other.

Lady Catherine was indignant to see her advice disregarded, for she was not a woman who could not bear being ignored, but she soon realized that she would not win her case. Her sister and brother-in-law felt that she was talking about something she knew absolutely nothing about and that she could apply her stupid advice when she had her own children.

Lady Catherine was angry, but she understood that persisting was useless and refrained from insisting.

The baptism took place a few weeks later. Matlock's viscountess carried the baby, dressed in the sumptuous christening dress embroidered with Bruges lace, fur and matching hat, to the baptismal font. The new little Christian received many gifts on this occasion.

Life on the estate resumed its habitual calm and quiet, while the little boy grew up in a united and loving family.