The scorched remains of a medieval tapestry still smouldered in the early hours of St Stephens Day. The fire had caught just before midnight, silently climbing its way through the entrance hall and up the newly finished grand staircase, catching light to the dried foliage and greenery decorating the banisters, creating a trail of destruction. At the stroke of twelve, Staughton and the other senior male servants ran through the house waking up the residents, leading them to safety and ensuring that all members of the household, regardless of status, were accounted for. Elizabeth and her family watched in their nightgowns as teams of men from all over the estate formed a bucket brigade to put out the fire. Darcy, his face covered in soot, was at the front – trying to control the flames. At just after one am, the fire was out.

Mrs Reynolds organised for the guests to be moved away to rooms in the west wing of the house, the furthest point away from the scene of the fire, as usual she noticed that Mrs Darcy's mother was on the verge of hysterics and made arrangements for her to be administered with large amounts of brandy and a sedative. Elizabeth refused to leave Darcy, asking him what she could do to help, where she could put herself to be of most use. Eventually she wrapped herself in a coachman's jacket to preserve her modesty and positioned herself in the Servants Hall. When her husband was confident that the fire was now out he found her there making cups of tea for the young men who had helped him to fight the flames. He walked directly over to her and, with no regard for decorum, held her close to him, pressed to his heart, in front of anyone who could see, whispering prayers of gratitude that no souls had been lost that day. Darcy was not a particularly religious man, but he decided there and then that God, who had deigned to save all of those most precious to him, was worth thanking indeed.

The next morning, Fitzwilliam decided to open the London townhouse for the coming few months or until the start of the new season, this was primarily for the comfort of Elizabeth and the child whose birth was forthcoming, but also for their guests who would be conveyed to house on Grosvenor Square until the New Year.

"Please reconsider and travel down with us today," Charles Bingley demanded of his host, as the two men walked around the almost unrecognisable entrance hall.

Darcy shook his head, "that I am afraid I cannot do." He walked over to the tapestry on the wall that hung there longer than he could remember, it was barely recognisable and as he pulled the remains down from the wall, the impact sent soot and ashes swirling up into the air, causing the two men to cough and splutter.

"Of course, you can," Bingley said, his recent elevation to the status of father giving him a greater confidence with his standoffish friend. "You are choosing not to because you think your duty is simply to remain here and sort out this mess, when you are fully aware that your duty is to remain with your wife."

The master of the house chose to ignore Charles and walked through to the foot of the staircase; the yellow and cream wallpaper, which had only recently been hung, was black with only the faintest hint of the pattern remaining, everywhere the acrid smell of burnt wood and canvas hung in the air. Bingley was wrong; his duty as a Darcy was to remain here and ensure that his family would be able to return home as soon as possible, plus there was also the necessary administration and paperwork that he would have to complete. Surveying the damage, he realised that they had been exceptionally lucky, fires like this usually razed houses to the ground, and it had been the quick alarm of his manservants and the fast-acting work of Staughton that had saved Pemberley, and Darcy was profoundly grateful for all that they had done.

Elizabeth travelled down to Derbyshire House the following morning; she had often wondered why the house had been so-named, thinking that it would have been better called Darcy House to save confusing it with the London residence of that other great Derbyshire household, the Cavendishs of Chatsworth, where that honourable family, somewhat confusingly to Elizabeth, were titled the Dukes of Devonshire. It was only in whispered conversations with Georgiana that she learned the Darcys had once been titled as the Dukes of Derbyshire, but this had been removed by royal attainder over a hundred years earlier for reasons unbeknownst to the younger lady. The Darcys seemed to have weathered their demotion to the landed gentry admirably, and Elizabeth mused privately on how Aunt De Bourgh would have reacted to enduring the social requirement of addressing the 'obstinate, headstrong girl' as 'your grace' and deferring to her rank. The image of Lady Catherine's face alone made her smile to herself as the coach bounced and jolted her over the hills of her adopted county and towards the capital.

The journey was proving uncomfortable and had not been something she expected to endure so late in her pregnancy. Dr Jeffries had confirmed that all was well, and she would be fit to travel on the good roads to town. The youngest Darcy confirmed his agreement with kicks and thuds so fierce that Elizabeth was convinced her son was going to be a great sportsman. She hoped that this boisterous babe was a boy, partially due to Darcy's innate longing for a son and society's expectation that she provide an heir as soon as possible, but then again they had discussed the possibility of a girl and he was similarly delighted at the prospect of a daughter with fine eyes and an impertinent manner. They stopped at the Inn at Stamford for refreshment and found themselves waited on most agreeably, despite it being only two days after Christmas. The whole party, glad to remove themselves from the cramped conditions of fine coaches, rested and ate their fill of tasty meats and breads, as well as mulled wine which provided much needed warmth.

Elizabeth ensured that each member of her party was suitably reinvigorated, specifically Jane who was caring for baby Charlotte. The child had slept for most of the trip, wrapped up warm against the biting winter wind, and her aunt took time to coddle the baby whilst her mother enjoyed the respite and the chance to stretch her legs. Kitty was most aggrieved to be sharing the coach with Mrs Bennet, who had complained about the cold and inconvenience, whilst at the same time commenting on the fine upholstery and comfortable springs of Mr Darcy's second best coach, which she was sure cost more to run each year than her husband's whole income. Mr Bennet decided that for the remainder of the journey he would travel with the Bingleys, much to the vexation of his wife. Charles sent a messenger back to Pemberley to assure Darcy that all was well, but it would be a letter he would not receive. The coaches were barely out of view when Darcy made a decision; and nobody was more surprised than Elizabeth that he had arrived in London before them and was there to meet her on her arrival.

Feeling somewhat chastised by the words of his friend, Darcy had his head coachman saddle his horse, Hermes, and prepared to ride down to meet his wife. He had left Staughton and his steward, Willis, to ensure that repairs were carried out and the house restored to the best of their ability in the time allowed. This horrible incident had taught Darcy that he was just one person, in a team of slightly over a hundred, who worked tirelessly to ensure that Pemberley continued to thrive and grow. He gave permission for the annual servant's ball to go ahead on New Year's Eve in his absence and authorised the distribution of the sum of one pound to be paid to each upper servant and 10 shillings each to be paid to the rest. Staughton, the butler who had been in charge since before Darcy was born, had resisted this, stating that the servants of the house were only doing their duty and that there was no requirement for additional reward outside of their own wages, but Darcy insisted, most adamantly. He knew that, if he had the taste for gambling, he could easily lose that total amount in half an hour on the tables at his club in Bermondsey, but he was aware that this small gift would make a significant difference to the lives of his servants and he wanted to show his utmost appreciation for their efforts. Hermes thundered on over the hills, as Derbyshire passed into Leicestershire, into Northamptonshire, and beyond.

Elizabeth retired early, before dinner, causing a level of concern amongst her husband and Jane, who knew it was most unlike her sister to miss out on any fun, especially when in the company of her father, and she took it upon herself to see how she was. Jane gently opened to the door of Elizabeth's bedroom and saw her sister sitting up, bedclothes thrown back, the stench of vomit in the air.

"Lizzy," she exclaimed as she hurried towards where her sister sat in obvious discomfort. "What has happened, what is the matter?"

"Oh Jane," Elizabeth said pitifully, "there is so much pain. So much, I can't bear it."

Jane put her arm around her sister, holding her close to her, she was acutely aware of what was happening. Elizabeth's nightgown was drenched from the waist down, the pallor of her face, the pain radiating through her - Jane knew, from her own experiences, that the eagerly anticipated Darcy baby was preparing to make an appearance.

"Lizzy, it is time."

"No!" she exclaimed. "It is too early, it cannot be…" Her voice took on a wailing tone and she grasped Jane's hand tightly as the wave of pain came over her again.

"I must call for Fitzwilliam, Lizzy," she said softly, removing her own hand from her sisters and ringing the bell for attendance. "It's going to be alright, you have ten times the resilience I have, and I managed perfectly well. I found that if you concentrate as the pain washes over you and…." She was unable to finish as Elizabeth screamed out in pain. Ellen knocked on the door and entered as Jane yelled at her to fetch her master. Even though she was concentrating on the wave of pain as advised, Elizabeth took a moment to note that she had never heard her sister yell at anyone before.

Darcy was enjoying a game of billiards with Bingley and Mr Bennet when the under-butler advised that this presence was requested upstairs immediately. He ran up the stairs and could hear his wife, obviously in great amounts of distress; it was so reminiscent of the haunting cries of his own mother that he felt immediately nauseous fearing the worst. He paused for a moment before recovering his composure and entering the room.

"Is it now? But, you said February… surely this is too early, is it too early?" he looked pleadingly at Jane for confirmation.

"They say that it is not an exact science…" she reassured. "But for the sake of Lizzy and the baby, you need to call for your doctor or ask the servant girls if they know of a midwife."

Darcy knew all of this; all of the plans that he had so carefully put in place for the birth to take place at Pemberley – the arrangements with the doctors, acquiring the services of the midwife – all of it for naught, and now the baby was coming and he had not been able to prepare any of it. Jane sensed Darcy's trepidation and directed him towards his wife, whilst she hurried down the stairs to seek her husband and the services of a medical professional who would be able to assist. Bingley sent his man out into the cold, dark December night and they waited for help to arrive.

Elizabeth looked at her husband, he was holding onto her so tightly, helping her move and breathe and tolerate this immense pain. It was almost as if she was being wrenched in two, and she did not know how she would bear it.

"My dearest love," he murmured frantically. "What can I do?" His brow was furrowed, and he looked scared half to death.

"Just stay, please. I need you here."

Ellen came in with hot water and clean linens, she placed them next to her master and observed her mistress writhing uncomfortably on the bed. Elizabeth's maid was a girl of not quite twenty-two, but she had seen this before and she wanted to help. Mrs Darcy was always kind to her – treating her with a great respect and appreciating the work that she did – and Ellen was grateful to have a senior position with the family when most girls her age were working as under maids. Being the oldest of seven in a household that could not afford a doctor, Ellen had seen her share of births and she knew that she could make it easier for her mistress, could even deliver the babe if she needed to.

"Excuse me, Mr Darcy," she said hesitantly. "Please forgive me if I speak out of turn, but Mrs Darcy needs to stand. It will help."

Darcy nodded; he did not know why he was trusting the advice of a ladies' maid in the matters of childbirth, but he felt so helpless that any assistance was well-received. They helped Elizabeth to her feet, Darcy supporting the weight of her on his shoulder, her legs buckled again as her body shuddered with the intensity of another contraction and, as she cried out in pain, Ellen could see tears of fear and frustration running down her master's face.

Where was the doctor? The midwife? Where was any help at all? Jane had appeared an age ago to assure them that help was on the way, she had brought water flavoured with orange flowers and calming words, before the cries of her own child had forced her to leave. They had been in this room for what felt like hours now; the yellow walls and heavy drapes felt like they were closing in on him and he felt claustrophobic with panic. He had taken a seat and a shot of brandy as he watched Ellen press cold flannels to Elizabeth's forehead and whisper words of encouragement. He did not know what was worse; watching his wife suffer so much pain or feeling so terribly helpless because there was naught he could do. He had no idea what Elizabeth was feeling, but with her hair hanging loose and with beads of sweat dripping from her, she looked completely exhausted. He understood now why men were not usually present during the birth of their offspring; not because of decency, but because this was horrifying – any man subjected to this would surely never want to impregnate his wife ever again and he sincerely hoped that his wife would be happy with just the one child.

"Mr Darcy, the baby is nearly here," Ellen prompted. "You need to get Mrs Darcy to push when I say so."

"Push?"

"Yes! Stand there," she said pointing to the head of the bed. "When I say push," she said to Elizabeth, "you need to push. You need to push hard."

Elizabeth nodded and looked up at Darcy, taking her hand in his she squeezed it tightly, looking in his eyes for confirmation that all would be well. He looked back at her, scared witless, but trying to hide it.

"Mr Darcy, now!"

The head was crowning; Elizabeth had never felt a pain like it, the immense burning sensation running through her whole body. She screamed out in pain, taking the intensity of it and using it push down. There was relief and then, four weeks earlier than planned, Fitzwilliam George Darcy gave out a loud cry to announce his entry into the world.