It was a fine evening when Mrs Bennet was informed by her eldest daughter that she was to become a grandmother. This news had been all she had hoped for in the months since she had seen her two oldest daughters wed. Secretly, she did not think it would be too much longer before Lizzie would be making her own announcement and she was looking forward to the days when she could pronounce the birth of the heir of Pemberley to the captive audience of ladies in Meryton. Of course, she would need to take some time to speak to her second daughter tomorrow regarding the pineapple. She didn't like them. They were strange and too extravagant for the society circle that their company was kept in. Yes, it was impressive and grand, and although it would be the talk of Hertfordshire society for Mrs Bennet of Longbourne to be in possession of a pineapple, it was too much. She needed to make Elizabeth aware that she was not in requirement of such an expensive gift. As she retired to the beautiful room which had been prepared for her, she made up her mind definitely. Perhaps in the future, when she came to live at Pemberley permanently once grandchildren had arrived, it would be a much more suitable present and one that she would be grateful to receive.
Jane Bingley was first to rise that morning. It had been the same every day for the last few months, up with the crow and vomiting into her chamber pot. She felt guilty, as the poor maid who had taken it away to empty it each morning also visibly retched. The young girl was no older then her sister, Lydia, and yet their lives would have been markedly different. Mrs Wickham was now happily ensconced with a regiment in Newcastle, where she was able to flirt with officers and make a fool of herself with little embarrassment or negative reflection on her family. There was inevitably requests for money, but the older Bennet girls had obliged their younger sister – who was unable to manage a budget or her husband – with occasional gifts from their own purses. The Wickhams were not welcome at Pemberley and, despite the protestations of both Lydia and her mother, an invite to the ball had not been forthcoming. Likewise, Kitty Bennet was too missing from the Hertfordshire party, lately residing in Brighton with Captain and Mrs Forster, in place of her errant sister. Kitty had become much more refined in the last year or so, and Elizabeth attributed this to her spending considerable amounts of time away from Longbourne and in the company of Georgiana, who she aspired to be like. It was with great persuasion that Mrs Darcy had convinced her father to allow his next-to-youngest daughter to travel to the seaside town with the regiment, and her sister had been significantly grateful.
Charles Bingley looked at his wife's pensive face – she was bearing the brunt of this pregnancy in her amicable way, but he knew that for the most part she was putting on a brave show of it. For the last few months, she had been sicker than he expected, and he hoped that the nausea would soon abate so that she could enjoy her bloom. Jane caught glimpse of his worried face as she turned around on the bed and then settled back into the warmth of the sheets, gently kissing his brow to allay any worries. He returned her embrace, and the Bingleys settled back into their slumber, aware that the residents of Pemberley would probably not be rising until noon.
Mrs Reynolds was always a flurry of nerves in the week leading up to the Lady Anne Ball; it was a massive undertaking, even for an experienced woman such as herself, and that morning she congratulated herself with a small glass of port from Staughton's cupboard and prepared to thank her staff for a job well done. Mrs Darcy had looked beautiful and acted with all the grace and decorum of a lady with twice her breeding. Of course, the Darcy's housekeeper had been aware months before the official engagement announcement of her master's predilection for this Hertfordshire Miss. Her impromptu visit a few summers earlier had sparked something in Fitzwilliam Darcy that Mrs Reynolds had not seen before, and she had wondered how long it would take before Elizabeth Bennet returned to Pemberley as his wife. Now as the evening of the Lady Anne's Ball had passed without setback or drama, Mrs Reynolds helped herself to a leftover biscuit and rested her feet for a while whilst her kitchen staff busied themselves with preparing breakfast for the waking guests.
Elizabeth was frustrated. Her dress fit most ill, even with lacing, it looked… wrong. She was annoyed as the daring crimson morning dress that she had chosen for the post-ball lunch had been her absolute favourite item this season, and she had been looking forward to wearing it since the first appointment with her dressmaker in town. Money was no-longer an object for Elizabeth, as the mistress of Pemberley it was expected that she would have the best gowns in the finest fabrics, but ever the country gentleman's daughter, she had stuck close to her budget and used fabric that she had found in her new home. The sheer, shimmery fabric was interwoven with a thin, delicate gold thread – patterns of diamonds and flowers embroidered into it – it was spectacular, whilst at the same time being understated. She knew that Caroline Bingley would have sneered at her gown, the colour, the fabric, her - but it did not matter, for she would not be wearing it for the unappreciative glances of society ladies, but the admiring glances full of longing that her husband would direct across the table. Darcy loved her in bold colours, and red was his particular favourite. The trouble was that the gown did not fit – not even slightly. Ellen pulled out the new dress that had arrived last week, a replacement for the one she had spilled ink all over, Darcy would have to settle for his wife in yellow this morning, and if time and guests permitted, she might let him take her out of it this afternoon.
A few of the larger State Rooms were still closed off as Darcy's elaborate restorations took place, so Elizabeth found herself taking a shortcut down through the servants' staircase, saying hello to Betsy – one of the younger maids - before crossing the courtyard and entering again through the front door. As she traipsed across the house, Elizabeth acknowledged to herself that she had been walking a lot less now she lived on the estate. She could not simply march the five miles to Lambton through the endless rolling hills that surrounded her new home, and even though she and Darcy had walked the twelve miles to Kympton a few months back, she had to admit to herself that her lack of exercise, coupled with the vast array of new and delicious foods had probably contributed to her expanding waistline. Never to mind, she would wear the dress soon enough.
Unbeknownst to her, it would be years before Elizabeth Darcy would wear the red dress that hung in the armoire in her room. Life would intervene in wondrous and horrific ways, and by the time she did wear it, fashions had changed so much that it was deemed terribly old-fashioned by her daughter, who giggled with glee as her mother paraded down the bright gallery, dancing and laughing, in an old red dress with golden embroidery that glittered in the morning sunlight of a glorious Pemberley summer.
Darcy found his father-in-law in the library that afternoon, sipping on coffee and eating Prince of Wales biscuits left over from the night before. He wondered if it would have been more pleasing to Mr Bennet to place his bed in the library for the duration of his stay as the gentleman was found in here more often than he was found elsewhere.
"Darcy," uttered Mr Bennet, as he took a bite of his biscuit. "How are you feeling this morning? Sore feet?"
The humour of the situation was not lost on the congenial host, who laughed gently to himself before pouring a cup of coffee and joining his father in law in front of the fire.
"I have been informed by your most amused daughter that I may have filled your wife's dance card toward the end of the evening."
"You most certainly did, and most appreciated it was," Mr Bennet stated as he poured himself another cup of coffee from pot engraved with the intertwined initials of his daughter and her husband. "Why, the problematic issue of taking a wife who is decidedly younger than oneself, is that one often does not wish to dance, whilst one's spouse does. This can cause a veritable cacophony of dramatics, where a gentleman is forced to choose between a display of nerves or a show of vexation. Indeed, Fitzwilliam, I find that often it is easier to escape the whole situation entirely and leave the dancing to the younger generation."
Mr Bennet raised his eyebrow at his son-in-law and smiled wryly. Darcy found that it was the exact same mannerism that Elizabeth displayed when she was teasing him, and he was pleased that his relationship with her father had reached a level of intimacy where this could be enjoyed. As much as Darcy had found Mr Bennet's parenting skills lacking somewhat, he hoped that he would have the same easy-going bond with his own children when the time came, although any Darcy offspring would, unquestionably, be reared with a slightly firmer hand than the Bennet sisters had been.
The Darcys and their visitors enjoyed a long and leisurely afternoon. The gentlemen took to the lake for fishing, whilst the ladies enjoyed a meander around the gardens before Elizabeth and Georgiana took out a phaeton and ponies for a jaunt around the grounds. Jane returned to the drawing room, not wanting to risk the high-speed trip around the park, and her sour-faced sister in law joined her. Miss Caroline Bingley was preparing for her wedding, which was due to take place the following month. Her betrothed was a noble, if impoverished, Scottish laird, and she would be spending Christmas in Edinburgh before taking up residence in a remote highland castle. Caroline was apprehensive about the move, she would be so far removed from all of her friends and relations, and whilst she would be elevated to the ranks of Scottish aristocracy and be Lady Caroline Dalhousie, she was not entirely sure that she would be able to persuade Lord Dalhousie to relocate to London on a more permanent basis. Either way, his estate and title held much more prestige for Caroline than she would have ever attained by marrying Fitzwilliam Darcy and being shackled to Derbyshire for the rest of her life. She had done well indeed, and the next time she was at Pemberley she would expect the proper deference due to her rank and the second-best bedroom.
Elizabeth made her excuses at supper that evening and returned to her rooms early. She didn't know if it was the exertions of the day, the heat of the summer night or the long hours that she had been keeping of late, but she was exhausted and though it was bad form to leave her guests without the presence of their hostess, she knew it would be even worse if she fell asleep in the soup. As she walked through the house, Elizabeth gradually realised the reasons for her ills and thought herself hare-brained indeed. Back in her rooms, the yellow and gold suite that had once belonged to the Lady Anne herself, she unbuttoned her gown and stood to look at herself in the mirror. She noticed the change in her body, a rounding of her hip, a fullness of her bosom – how could she have been so blind, how could she have not realised!
There was a quiet knock on the door, before it opened, and her husband appeared with a slice of pie.
"Darcy," she said warmly, before taking the plate from him. "Did we spend so much on the ball that we no-longer have servants?"
Fitzwilliam chuckled warmly, "well, if the lady of the house refrained from promising pineapples to all and sundry then maybe I could have asked a servant to bring you refreshment." He pulled her towards him, "although I must admit that visiting your rooms does have additional benefits." Darcy kissed his wife gently on her neck, breathing in the smell of her. She smelled like soap, and warmth, and home.
"Here, take a bite of your pie – it's very good, in fact I might even go back to our guests and have some more." She laughed at his teasing, and then obliged his request, taking a seat on the chair next to her dressing table. Dressed in her chemise and robe, and with her hair unpinned, she looked positively radiant. He felt a rush of sudden desire for her; wanted to embrace her, kiss her, make love to her in the cotton sheets of the old four-poster bed that had been made for Anne Boleyn.
"Darcy," she started. "I have something to tell you." Her face was serious, and a wave of nauseous anxiety passed over him for a brief second.
"What?" he murmured quietly.
She stood up and walked towards him slowly, her gaze never wavering. Her dark brown eyes were looking directly into his, as though she was gazing into his soul.
"Elizabeth, what is wrong?"
She took his hand and placed it gently on her stomach.
"I am with child."
The slow build-up had been worth the exquisite pay-off – Darcy's face was incredulous, but as he processed the words, the realisation of the news spread all over his face, resting on his lips in the biggest smile. He pulled his wife into his arms and kissed her all over her face, before holding her in front of him, looking down at her belly again, and embracing her. This was the most wonderful news that Fitzwilliam Darcy had heard in his entire life.
He was going to be a father. Papa. Daddy.
He was going to be all these things to this little miracle of life that they had created between them. The Darcys held each other for a long time that evening, talking, kissing and laughing until the sun crested over the horizon of the Cage once more.