Chapter Seven
Rosemary was tired and dispirited for weeks after Anne's birth. She could not explain it, now that the greatest trial of her confinement was past; but she constantly struggled for composure and her old even-temperedness. Anne's crying wore on her nerves more quickly than anything else in that time, and with her exhaustion she slept more than ever before. She could not rest without knowing that Anne was taken care of, but soon all fears were put to rest. The wet-nurse was an almost unbearably efficient woman who could be relied upon to feed Anne with clocklike regularity; for the rest of the time, Anne followed her mother's lead and slept.
It was only about six weeks after Anne's birth that Rosemary began to recover her spirits. Starting out of her exhausted, depressed stupor, she collected herself and went looking for her husband. He was not in the study, so she made her way to the library — and stopped in the doorway. She could not keep from smiling, charmed at the scene in front of her; Darcy sat on one of the sofas, a battered book in one hand, Anne peacefully sleeping in the other arm. Rosemary could not bear to interrupt and so waited until she heard voices. She peeked in and laughed herself, to see father and daughter examining one another with identically grave expressions, Anne smiling and giggling as she tugged at Darcy's hair.
She discovered that Darcy, quite contrary to his usual habits, had abandoned estate affairs for sometimes hours at a time, instead devoting himself to his daughter's amusement. Anne seemed endlessly fascinated by him, running her small hands over his face and then over her own, frowning in bemused concentration. She did not care to be taken from him, even for meals, and would scream vociferously when forced to do so. Rosemary grew closer to her daughter, one of the few people Anne recognized and smiled at, but she could not be surprised that Anne seemed to prefer her father to all others. From his treatment of Georgiana she had known that Darcy would be a dedicated parent, although naturally she had underestimated his capacity for devotion. She could not help feeling a little excluded, although it was her own fault for indulging herself so after Anne's birth.
The duo of tiny Anne and towering Darcy gladly welcomed her into their little circle once she recovered her strength. Anne adored both her parents, who could not keep from reciprocating the sentiment (even as they admired her fine set of lungs). 'Were you this loud?' Rosemary inquired, wincing.
'No,' said Darcy, 'I was too ill.'
'Oh — ' Rosemary blushed — 'I had forgotten.' He was so healthy that she forgot he, too, had not been expected to live. Lady Anne had only produced one really healthy child — Georgiana — among the eleven conceived.
In December, the Bingleys extended an invitation to come to Netherfield. All three, the couple and their son Charles, had been at Pemberley for Anne's christening, as Bingley was godfather, and exclaimed over Anne just as they ought. ('The spitting image of you, Darcy,' remarked Bingley. 'She'll be a right terror once she grows old enough, won't she?') But Darcy could not help but decline, citing Rosemary's poor health. The birth had been easy, comparatively speaking, but she was slow to recover her health; her constitution had never been good.
There were a thousand fragments of moments that Christmas, that stayed in her memory for the rest of her life. Darcy reading to Anne in Latin and Greek. Georgiana rushing in two days before expected to see her brother, both siblings embracing each other tightly and exclaiming over one another's increased beauty and delightful offspring. Darcy 'accidentally' paying a Lambton shopkeeper over four times the cost of his purchases with a pleasant if reserved, 'Merry Christmas, sir.' Convincing her husband to attend the Cartwrights' ball, and waltzing the evening away in his arms. The enthusiastic welcome of the Fitzwilliam clan when they traveled north to Houghton, listening to Darcy passionately tax his uncle with the conditions in Sheffield and Leeds. Pride, pride in husband and daughter, family, even Pemberley, warmed her that season.
She could hear Darcy reading out loud to Anne as she walked down the hall, a letter and newspaper clipping in her hand.
'. . . and his name shall be called Wonderful, Counsellor, the mighty God, the everlasting Father, the Prince of Peace.' The clipping was from the obituaries, an announcement that the Duke of Albany had died three weeks prior. Rosemary smiled, suppressing her delighted vengeful feelings, and walked in the library, raising her eyebrow at the pair.
'Isn't she rather young for Isaiah, Fitzwilliam?'
Anne was staring at her father raptly; as his voice ceased, her face screwed up.
'Nonsense,' said Darcy, and as Anne prepared to scream in protest, he hastily turned a few pages, continuing, 'Arise, shine; for thy light is come, and the glory of the Lord is risen upon thee . . .'
Rosemary shook her head and kissed Anne's head and Darcy's cheek before retiring.