Author's Note: Here it is, the long-awaited final chapter that I am absolutely certain is not as good as it could be. Firstly, let me apologise for not updating for roughly a year. This year has been crazy for me; last term at school, first semester at university which both add up to me being too occupied with other things. Rest assured, my guilt over this unfinished story has always been a thought of mine that would crop up every day and mostly when I was in no position to do anything about it. I completely understand if I have lost some followers, so let me thank you for staying for however long you have.

I won't be continuing this story, at least not for the forseeable future. However, this June I saw Wicked for the first time and it was when writing fiction on that subject that I realised I could not publish it without finishing this first. Therefore, I will be publishing Wicked fanfics very soon. This has been written in a hurry and flurry in two nights and is not how I really saw the ending so please feel free to imagine your own. Thank you so much for all of your reviews along the way, they really have been very helpful. I will always love this story and this couple and someday I'll probably come back and edit it to a higher standard. It has not been beta'ed or even read through by me so any mistakes are the result of it being 12.30am.

Enjoy xxx

Turned and Tossed and Stretched

Friday 10th January 1817

2.30pm

From the Desk of the Mistress of Pemberley,

William, do not be alarmed in response to this letter as I am perfectly well. I thought it would be prudent to inform you that I have gone into labour. I think my sarcastic attitude to this letter conveys precisely how relaxed I am and therefore I beg you not to dash home immediately as your presence here would be quite pointless. My nephew and his father will benefit far more from your company than I will; you would not even be permitted into the room in ay case.

Incidentally, if you are alarmed in response to this letter, do join my mother as she does take such delight in these things.

My love goes to you and our family at Beningbrough.

It was a common awareness that when Elizabeth Bennet used sarcasm to tease those around her she was at her best. This was no less true of Elizabeth Darcy and her husband, by virtue of his intelligence and calmness in pressured situations that were as rife in emotion as this one, recognised this quality in her letter.

He turned to sit at a small writing table and whipped out pen and paper to compose a scribbled answer that would satisfy his wife's need to remain calm whilst subtly making her aware that he still wished to be with her.

"Do not dare to keep us in suspense, Darcy. Out with it." Mr Bennet spoke half in jest and yet his eyes betrayed a certain sincere impatience.

Darcy handed his own missive back to the housekeeper whose trite little steps could be heard clicking to the door. "The baby is on its way. Elizabeth has instructed me to remain here."

"And so you should." Mr Bennet croaked. "Good God, my son, you had me in fits of tension and you are well aware how much I dislike to resemble my wife. She is fine then."

Bingley watched Darcy nod in mechanical agreement. "Man, you would not be permitted into her company even if you were there. Your son would be made far happier with you here and I do not doubt that Elizabeth is enjoying some respite from her multitude of guests."

"Indeed. She has said as much in her letter."

"Darcy," Mr Bennet stood and clasped the taller man's shoulder, "I understand that you would wish to be with her but you would not be welcome where you mean to give her comfort. You are much better to stay here and return home tomorrow when you can ride in daylight. It is raining."

Not wishing to incite worry in the other men, and knowing that he himself was not in a panic despite his expectations, Darcy heartedly agreed and shared another brandy. All three men felt as though they were toasting the chapter of a new generation.

Whilst her husband and her sons-in-law enjoyed the glorious consequences of imbibing alcohol Mrs Bennet was suffering the consequences of writing a reply to her daughter Lydia. Idly, she tapped her pen on the rim of the ink bottle and tried to determine exactly what is was she wished to say to her youngest. Being the last child she had borne, Lydia had always been her favourite but it seemed that her indulgence and good intentions has led where such roads always lead.

'Dear Lydia,' was all that she had written and her paranoia caused her to curse her inability even to address the child whom she had been supposed to love the most. Her surroundings did remind her in the most animated manner that she and her family had indeed come so very far as to make her current predicament almost insignificant in comparison. The fact still stood, however grand these times of new life were and however miraculous their coming about seemed, that she could not seem to recall that relationship she had possessed with her daughter which allowed her to share in happy thoughts when she knew the reality must have been quite different.

"Mrs Bennet." The old woman turned from her unsuccessful letter and acknowledged the presence of her son. Whenever she saw him she hoped he had begun to foster some respect for her, especially since Lizzy had done so. "Elizabeth has gone into labour just now," she raised an eyebrow and eyed his worn papers, "I am to stay until tomorrow morning. When shall you be able to leave Jane?"

He asked the last delicately; Mrs Bennet knew how he must be feeling, the emotions of every member of the household running mad over the arrival of one baby and his own wife thirty miles away birthing his child. Darcy would be affected by the apparent calm and lack of consideration for Elizabeth's position. "I shall not, I think, leave with you. There is no need." At his horrified expression, which she expected he had not meant to make apparent to her, she continued. "Mr Darcy there is no timely reason for my quick departure from here and neither is there for yours. My eldest daughter is in far more of a precarious condition at present and there are at last count three young children in this house and none at Pemberley. Bennet may have arrived quickly but that will most likely not be the case now. Even if it was, if we left tomorrow morning the child still would not have been born." She returned to her letter, beginning for some reason to trust her nature again. "But you are most welcome to leave."

Darcy bowed. "I thank you, madam, for reminding me of my choices in this matter. I will see you at Pemberley soon."

Mrs Bennet had the distinct impression that he had intended that final remark as a sarcastic one.

Sunday 12th January 1817

9am

Lizzy languished in the silence around her and happily identified those things around her that were there in preparation of her child's birth. Like her father and her husband, she valued time alone and thoughtfulness, though she was aware of her own bent towards silliness. Bennet's crib had been painted and varnished again and as she turned her head towards it she received a comforting lick from the puppy. She had lain beside Lizzy since Bennet had gone and the mistress liked to think she was there out of concern for her. Elizabeth knew that animals could sense such things, and was grateful for the quiet presence of the dog.

She saw her husband's reply on the table and sighed sleepily. Elizabeth was rather glad that her house was not full of guests who were well aware of her activities; she felt rather embarrassed that the facts of matter were known by all and yet not acknowledged, that the prevention of men into the nursery signalled to everyone that she was in an inelegant employment. Personally, Elizabeth was slightly irked that her own husband, who by the very nature of his relation to her should have told them that nothing he would see would be a surprise, was banned from the room. She knew perfectly well that she would not see anyone for several days and fervently hoped she would have given birth by the time they all arrived. Silently, she thanked Jane for having absorbed all the company.

In the next hour, she guided herself through more pains with only the help of her midwife and her maids. She chewed ice and wondered why it was more difficult this time around.

"You know exactly what to expect, ma'am." Her maid had said, quite wisely. "Last time you could only guess."

Elizabeth supposed she was right and cursed a good memory. From the corner of her eye, she observed the notices and papers that were scattered across her tables. They documented in words the public announcement that Pemberley was closed to viewers due to the imminent birth of the Darcy's second child, mentioning the young master whose face was well known throughout the region. Elizabeth fondly recalled her memories of her son and his curiosity coupled with his innate adorable and exquisite little face caused her to well up and induced excitement that made the cramp following the most painful she had experienced so far. Elizabeth would swear later that it was worse even than the birth.

"Mistress, you must breathe."

But Elizabeth was finding it harder and harder to obey such orders and too often for the early hours of labour found herself leaning forward in agony only to collapse, sweating, onto her pillows. She began to wish she had begged her husband to come. She missed him and his touch, his calm, his face. But she could not write now.

In her brief moments of rest Elizabeth's mind wandered to the future. She saw the society announcements that surrounded hers and grated her teeth knowing the kind of women whose daughters would jump at the chance of marrying Bennet. She pictured young Miss Bingleys and shivered.

Before she eventually fell into a tumultuous sleep, the hundreds of thank-you notes told her that there were, among the dishonest, those wonderful young people who would make her children as happy as she hoped she had made Fitzwilliam.

Monday 13th January 1817

11am

"Breathing is the least of my worries at the moment." Elizabeth choked out, before panting heavily and wiping her forehead.

"Not good enough." Mrs Ian-Jones warned sternly, fussing unnecessarily with things Elizabeth could not see. She suspected the two women in her room were desperately trying to keep themselves busy with work as she tried to keep her mind occupied with thoughts. "You would not be so tired if you would pace yourself."

"Do not presume you can tell me what to do! I am giving birth and I do not appreciate it!" Lizzy spat angrily at her and, covering her face with her hands, began to sob helplessly. The midwife dismissed the maid and put her arm around Lizzy, rubbing her back. The motion soothed Elizabeth's pain slightly and any relief was welcome, but she struggled to lift herself out of the present to see the bigger picture. It made no difference to be told over again that this would soon be over. "It is so much more painful than before. I want William." Mrs Ian-Jones nodded. "If he comes, I want him in here with me. Do not . . . do not tell me otherwise, I don't care. I love him."

"I know you do, my dear." Lizzy rested her head on the woman's shoulder and wiped her eyes. The pain was severe enough that even when it subsided, there remained a dull, pounding and heavy ache that sat between her legs and affected her ability to move. Mrs Ian-Jones had encouraged her to walk as she had with Bennet, but the intense pain did not allow her to stand unaided and as her waters had gone long before, there was no sense in dragging out discomfort when she was better in bed. The midwife disliked to see her patients in pain and knew that though her experience told her not to admit a gentleman, she would call on Mr Darcy. She resolved to send for him if Elizabeth ever fell asleep again, though that would be a miracle in itself.

When the next pain commenced, Elizabeth acted on instinct and pushed.

3.17pm

Darcy had been convinced by his family to remain at Beningbrough longer than he had informed Elizabeth. Everyone was so convinced that Elizabeth would not be far along and would not want his company that the argument seemed watertight. Why leave a house filled with family at such a time to return to one where he would be accompanied only by boredom and the anxiety that comes with one having time on one's hands?

Bennet had sat with him every waking moment, saying such amusing things as only young children just learning to speak can invent and asking such questions as to baffle even the most eloquent philosopher. Simplicity seemed to open the doors to confusion where children were concerned, thought Darcy, watching his son write a letter to his new cousin and to his new siblings. No-one had a single clue what he had said and could only make out his name and that of his cousins after careful perusal. He hunted with the men and even enjoyed a leisurely nap before his departure.

Darcy was only now approaching Pemberley and only beginning to feel again that anxiety and haste that had filled him the night before. Hunting and sleeping when Lizzy was in God only knows what condition. He'd had no news from them and at the time had assumed this meant things remained much as they were. But as he gained ground his mind concocted probably quite stupid and irrational ideas as it tends to do when one is panicked and excited and frightened simultaneously.

He remembered all those occasions from their first meeting when he could have spent time enjoying her company and had, for whatever reason, declined or been unwilling to do so. "She is having your children, you idiot." He scolded himself and resolved to teach his children the value of those who were beloved to you.

He did not remembered particulars of his arrival at Pemberley; he did not remember descending from the horse or exactly how he had entered the house and what route he had taken to get to the nursery. Those things were not important. Not when he laid eyes on Elizabeth Darcy.

Lizzy had been in agony all morning. Her efforts and those of the women around her had no effect on her progress. Though she pushed and was encouraged to push, no eye could discern any head or foot that would signal the beginning of the end of it all. Mrs Ian-Jones unhappily explained that Elizabeth was pushing the baby well, but as soon as she ran out of breath and had to stop the babe would slip back and she would have to start all over again.

Elizabeth had not cried for hours. Not in an attempt to hold her emotions in place or for any other reason than that she simply had no ability to do anything other than birth her child. She had no time for tears.

Another pain would seize her and she would scream and growl alongside it. When it subsided, and she could not push anymore, she felt the sting of the child returning to its original position. Opening her eyes, she saw her husband and suddenly everything dwarfed her and she cried.

Mrs Ian-Jones watched Lizzy wail and Darcy panic, but left her side to drag him to his wife. "This will require you both to work together. Elizabeth, please try to keep pushing."

Lizzy turned into William's embrace. She felt his kiss on her neck and her lips and his arms encapsulate her, as though she were tiny. He moved behind her and supported her back, dabbing her shoulders and forehead with a wet cloth. "Lizzy, I love you. I'm here, it's alright." She smiled into his kiss. Her tears mixed with his and soaked any material that was not already sodden. When she gripped his hand powerfully, he braced himself. "Lizzy, breathe."

His command did not seem as patronising as her midwife's and she felt more willing to comply with him. She was simply not strong enough without him anymore and his hands entangled with hers gave her the strength she needed to see the end of her nightmare. Furiously, she pushed. Somehow, she managed to breathe without reversing her efforts and she kept pushing.

"Stop!" This command from Mrs Ian-Jones she was perfectly amenable to and she obliged gratefully, receiving a sweet kiss from her husband, who was smiling. "A head, I have a head." Though the pain remained overwhelming, the relief made Lizzy laugh and Darcy captured her lips softly. "I need you to do that once more, Elizabeth. Once more for your children and your husband."

Elizabeth nodded and waited but a few seconds until the next cramp. She heard Darcy whisper his love in the meantime. The end seemed to come so quickly after that moment; the pain both increased and was vanquished not once, but twice. One hurdle conquered and it seemed she gained some part of herself that was lacking. Perhaps it was the presence of her husband. In a deliciously spiritual second, Lizzy thought his energy affected hers and they both partook of the act of childbirth, though she never voiced this to her husbands for fear of wounding his masculine sensibilities and making herself look ridiculous.

Vaguely, she recalled the joy of peace between one daughter and the other. But Darcy recalled it enough for his wife and his own mind. "My congratulations, you have a daughter." Those words accompanied the feeling of a weight, very slight, but a definite weight in his arms before her lay the tiny girl on his wife's breast and watched that bond, unbreakable, seal before him as though it were tangible.

Her hair was blonde. Her movements were fast and spirited. She looked like Georgiana and Darcy kissed them both. "We have two children, Lizzy. Two."

"I love . . . I love it all so much . . . you, my darling and them." Lizzy smiled at him and they kissed, tender and careful. No one wished to shatter the delicate happiness of the moment, though they it was equally vibrant and impenetrable. "But we shall have three, in a moment."

Surprise crossed his features for a moment, before her grip and the loss of his daughter to her nursemaid informed him that it was not the end. This time, however, even for Darcy, the time passed more swiftly. Elizabeth seemed to exert energy more effectively and in several quick seconds they were told a head, shoulders, arms and legs had emerged before a second cry pricked their ears and Lizzy collapsed into his arms, her body subconsciously communicating that it was all over.

A little Lizzy was then handed to his wife. "Goodness," Darcy breathed, taking his first daughter into his own arms and aware that his son was not there, "she looks your twin, my love."

Lizzy turned and met his eye. Then, lowering her gaze, she caught the eyes of their daughter. "You won't believe me, but I can't believe I was right. Twins."

"Twin girls. You were absolutely right. I shall never question you again."

She laughed. "That would be a mistake, my dear, considering we now have three children. I shan't get a moment's rest and you shall have to hold my hand at all times." She jested, but he took her hand.

Quiet and stillness fell around them and Elizabeth smiled excitedly at her daughters, who lay wrapped and sleeping on her lap, her knees bent and apart from the effort of birthing them and her arms providing contact and comfort from their mother. Years later, Elizabeth would tell her husband that at that moment, when she introduced him to their children, the dull pain that was with her in labour had always been there in its aftermath but a pure and unstained happiness overpowered it to such a degree that it was not even granted a small acknowledgement in the furthest recesses of her mind.

Darcy would agree and kiss her in such a way that it would almost always result in the end of it all.