Chapter 4

December, 1821

Willicot, Derbyshire

The day was finally here. The earl would not need to hold on much longer, and indeed he did not think he could. He was seated in the library with the gentlemen staying in the house – save Henry, who was with his wife – occupying his usual seat across from Bennet by the fire. For once, he was finding Bennet an irritating companion. The master of Longbourn read his book with the complacency of a man with three daughters who had already survived childbirth many times over, while the earl had just this one daughter-in-law, just this one chance.

He had been simply glad to see Henry's desire to settle down and marry – particularly given the circumstances – but he had rapidly come to love Kitty as a daughter. They had enjoyed some happy months, here at Willicot, the happiest of the earl's life since Eleanor had passed. He would see his dear wife again soon, he hoped, although he could not be entirely certain; he would face judgement over what he had done to his elder son. He hoped they would not meet again, for he felt certain the former Ashbourne was in Hell.

Kitty had been astonishingly quiet through her ordeal thus far, but a series of shrieks down the hallway indicated that things were progressing. Bennet set his book down on his lap and sighed; by his countenance the earl thought worry had finally caught him up as well.

The shrieking stopped. They all sat waiting: the earl, Bennet, Colbourne, Bingley, Gardiner, Darcy. Then finally Elizabeth entered the room, and said,

"'Tis a boy. They are both well."

She left to happy exclamations from most of them. The earl merely exhaled. A boy. Lord Foston, a title that had not been used for decades. The hope that the family would continue on for generations more.

The earl sat there, basking in such happy thoughts. The other men began to leave the room, until it was just him and Bennet, sitting there. Bennet took his book back up, but the earl still could not contemplate reading.

Then Henry entered, with a little bundle in his arms. The earl's breath caught in his throat, and he said,

"You should not have brought him so far, Henry – the draughts in the hall – "

"Dr. Whittling said they would not be worrisome so long as he was bundled up well," stated Henry. "We thought it would be easier to bring him to you."

Henry was likely right. The earl had not walked half so far as Henry and Kitty's apartment in some months.

"How is Kitty?"

"As well as can be hoped – very tired, of course. She is resting."

Henry crossed the room with the babe, then knelt down before his father and gently laid the child down in his trembling arms.

"Stay close, Henry. I could never forgive myself if I dropped him."

So the earl held his grandson while his son knelt before him, ready to take the child when he tired. But the earl was longer than either of them had expected in tiring. The happiness of knowing his son and daughter's happiness, the peace of knowing the succession of his family settled, filled the earl's heart as he watched that tiny little face, blinking in the confusion of this new, large world he found himself inhabiting.

The earl held the little babe until his arms ached, and then Henry gave the child over to Bennet to hold. A man with a vast brood of grandchildren already to his name could not feel the same about one more as the earl did about his lone grandson, however, and soon enough the child was handed back over to Henry, to be returned to his mother's bedchamber.

Dinnertime came, and with it the servants with trays and the light meals the earl and Bennet usually enjoyed in this room. They ate in mutual companionship, quiet, relieved, happy. Bennet retired early, but the earl stayed by the fire for hours, not wanting to retire, not wanting this day to end.

The sun set, and Greene came in, asking whether he wanted the candles lit or wished to go to bed. The earl asked to have the candles lit and sat there still longer. Then Henry entered, looking to him with concern.

"Papa, have they neglected you? 'Tis near midnight."

"Nay, I am well looked after, as usual. Simply not ready to retire yet. Pour an old man a brandy?"

Henry did as asked, pouring one for himself as well and coming over to sit in Bennet's chair.

"To little Lord Foston," said the earl, raising his glass.

Henry mimicked him. "Lord Foston. My son," he said, smilingly.

"Will you call him Ashbourne, when the time comes? Or is the name still too poisoned, even for the next generation?"

"We shall, I think. I hope he might reclaim the name, make it good again."

"Oh, Henry, I hope and pray that he shall. Do not spoil him, please," the earl whispered. "Make him take on responsibilities. Do not make my mistakes."

Henry nodded. "I will do my best, papa, but I do not think all of what happened in my own generation can be laid upon you. I believe some men simply have inherent flaws within their character, flaws that cannot be fixed by any method of raising them."

"I am not sure that I agree with you, but I am grateful to you for trying to soothe an old man's feelings. I should not have raised the topic on such a happy day, anyway." The earl sighed. "Today has been a good day, Henry. A very good day."

"It has, papa. It has, indeed."

That night, the earl finally gave himself up to death.