Early May, 1814 – Pemberley
As Elizabeth had come to recognize, there is frequently a degree of inevitability about certain events. A couple will wed and, if they are blessed, children will be conceived and then birthed; a couple may court, become engaged and then wed; a conception that was so welcomed but seemingly taking forever to come to its usual conclusion will eventually do so. One can set something in motion and then one is left powerless to alter, in any significant manner and mostly unwilling to do so, the course that is followed to its predestined end. So it had seemed to her for the last four months. Perhaps, she thought, it was that her confinement was wearing on her; certainly her inability to walk comfortably for more than – to her – a short distance without tiring and being required to sit down. Feeling bloated and ungainly as well was not designed to improve her mood and all the solicitous care of her husband and sisters was frequently a cause for irritation – which she tried to conceal as much as possible. If not for the comforting presence of Jane and her Aunt Madeline, she probably would have loosed her ire at them all more frequently.
As she thought back, it was little more than a year ago that William had proposed to her here at Pemberley and in little more than fortnight, they will have been married for a year and in a few days, or less, they will be presented with their first child. With all that had gone before, the humiliation that followed Lydia's ruin, the despair of believing that due to her own immaturity and prejudices she had lost the affections of Mr. Darcy and the unbelievable pleasure that arose when she met him once again and realized his affections had not faltered in the period of their separation, she could now see as akin to one of her morning rambles where the path rose and fell, twisted and turned presenting a different landscape with every change. That she was only on the early stages of that ramble and the prospects ahead – although certain to present some troubles and sorrows – were, for the most part, likely to be full of joy and love. If her days were tedious at the moment, she knew that state would not continue for long.
Fortunately, today was one of the better days and she had managed to walk to the conservatory to rest in the comfort that it provided. If she could not wander the wilds of Pemberley, here she could feel close to trees, plants and rivers she had come to love. As she relaxed in the warmth and sounds of the nearby fountain, she watched her sister cradling her child beside her murmuring and crooning to him and remembered the day of his birth.
About a week after the Pemberley Ball, the day started rather earlier than was usual for Jane who, as she admitted later, could remember only poorly her last night of uninterrupted sleep. That morning's discomfort was quite a bit different from the usual need to visit the water closet or to change position because the ache in her back or her hips or some other part of her body. The cramp that caught her by surprise was like none she had ever previously experienced and, if not unduly painful, had been sufficient to wake her thoroughly. A return to sleep proving impossible and, as the discomfort of the cramp receded, she had risen to begin her preparations for the day. Her maid was called to assist her and a request for tea and a light breakfast sent to the kitchen. A quarter hour later, dressed and refreshed, she had moved to her sitting room awaiting a tray from the kitchen which arrived at virtually the same time as the next cramp. Alarmed now, she had called for her maid who, understanding what was happening immediately moved to assist her mistress and then, when the cramp had passed, to make Mrs. Gardiner and Elizabeth aware of what was happening.
From this point there was an inevitability about the process and although the labour was not complete until late that night, Thomas Joseph Stovall – named in honour of both of his grandfathers – made his appearance to a tired but joyful Jane Stovall and only the absence of his father could diminish that joy by the slightest portion.
Mrs. Bennet, who had been removed to Derby, when Jane's labour began – a fact which was kept from her by her husband - for the purpose of shopping in the stores there and hence did not greet her grandson until two days after his birth. That she was displeased at the inconsideration shown her was made known to all her family – several times; however, Mrs. Bennet's delight in the child quickly was sufficient compensation such that, within minutes of being allowed to hold him, she proclaimed that he would be much the handsomest of any grandchild she could possibly have.
For her part, Jane had consoled herself for the absence of her husband by writing him a letter describing the child's perfections in great detail. Another, less voluminous letter was dispatched to York to impart to Amos' mother the important news. Her reply was swift and contained all the assurances that a new mother could wish, the regrets that she was unable to have been present at the birth and the best wishes of Amos's sister and brother.
For Elizabeth the months that followed were a time of quiet enjoyment with but herself, her husband, Jane, Georgiana and Kitty as the Bennets and Gardiners removed to their homes a week after the birth of Jane's baby. Her own increasing size and a blustery winter largely confined everyone indoors and, for Elizabeth and Darcy in particular, the conservatory became a favourite retreat. Music, reading and chess were the staple of an evening's entertainment and while several dinner parties were arranged in January, Elizabeth found more interest in remodelling her own bedroom into a nursery.
It was only the need to remove to London to attend the wedding of Richard and Janet that had disturbed their quiet. Accompanied by Georgiana – Kitty deciding to remain at Pemberley with Jane – Elizabeth and Darcy had made their way carefully to London. Janet and Richard's preference for a quiet Hertfordshire wedding had been overruled by the two mothers who, for different reasons, wished for a more prominent ceremony. Their original proposal for a wedding in April – to allow for the most exhausting of preparations – ran into opposition quickly when it became apparent that the Darcys would not be able to attend since it was too close to the expected date when Elizabeth would deliver the heir to Pemberley. Janet and Richard insisted on an earlier date and eventually agreed to a date in late February which Darcy stated was the latest that he could allow Elizabeth to travel – ignoring, it must be added, the eye-roll performed by that lady when informed of his decision.
Fortunately, the weather, although cold, was good and the roads clear and hard with the result that the trip was more expeditious than usual. They arrived several days in advance of the wedding, and if Elizabeth's activities were limited to family dinners, the constraint was borne by them both with great equanimity. The wedding took place as planned and both matrons could not help but be pleased with the result of their endeavours. The bride was beautiful and the groom, if not handsome, was most presentable and his adoration of his wife hidden from no one. Darcy had the joy of having his cousin happily and safely married and Elizabeth, the pleasure of one of her best friends becoming a close neighbour. The newly–wedded couple had chosen to remove to their estate in Derbyshire with the intention of taking a bridal trip during the summer months and chose to return in company with the Darcys albeit in their own carriage.
The sound of footsteps drew Elizabeth's attention and she looked up to see her Aunt Madeline and, to her surprise, Janet Fitzwilliam approaching her.
"Janet, I am surprised to see you. When did you arrive?"
"Richard and I arrived but a half hour ago. He is with your husband now."
"Can you stay for the night? Or longer perhaps?" Janet did not miss the hopeful note in Elizabeth's voice.
"Richard and I are here until the baby is born. Richard rather thought your husband would wish for the company and I believe his father and mother can be expected shortly."
Elizabeth began to laugh, "With my aunt, my sister, Aunt Eleanor and yourself the birthing room will not lack for support. Will there be room for the midwife do you suppose? You know Mrs. Reynolds will want to be there as well. I fear to disappoint you all by only having a single baby. Should I not have twins to merit such a congregation?"
Mrs. Gardiner chuckled, "You should not joke about twins, Lizzy. They have appeared in the Gardiner family in the past."
Elizabeth paled, "Oh, that I did not know. Surely I do not have twins now. Would not I have been told? Would they know?" Her agitation started to increase until finally Mrs. Gardiner managed to calm her with assurances that twins would represent no more of a problem than a single child and, where there were nurses to care for the children, she should not worry about something that was unlikely.
The arrival of Jane with her baby successfully diverted attention and the conversation reclaimed its happy tenor for the rest of the day. The arrival of the Earl and Countess of Matlock completed the party that awaited the birth of Elizabeth's baby and the next day or so passed in relative ease although everyone admitted, out of Elizabeth's hearing, to finding the wait to be tedious and tense.
As with all things of this nature, the waiting did come to an end. The delivery was relatively fast and Elizabeth endured not more than four hours to safely deliver the Pemberley heir. While she was quick to appreciate the support of those who attended her, she drew her strength and calmness from Jane as the travails of the birth grew most painful. In the early hours of the afternoon, Bennet Joseph Darcy arrived healthy and strong and, as his father was wont to concede, possessed of a healthy set of lungs.
Darcy had tarried not at all when apprised by the countess that his wife and babe were both healthy and arrived in the birthing room within minutes of receiving the news. Presented with the picture of his obviously tired but glowing wife cradling his child – his son – in her arms, he could not control the tears that flooded his eyes. As he knelt beside her and enveloped them both in his arms, he whispered, "Lizzy, I do not believe I can be happier than I am now."
"William, I have thought much lately of the journey we have taken to get here. I know the journey is not over - that we have much joy ahead - but this moment, this day I will never forget. I am in your arms and holding our son. I can ask no more. Are you truly happy?"
"Such a foolish question from such an intelligent woman. The husband of Elizabeth Darcy must have such extraordinary sources of happiness necessarily attached to his situation that he could, upon the whole, have no cause to repine."
