Chapter Six: The Countess and the Queen
Dear Victoria,
I am so pleased at your news; Wilhelm came at the run to inform me of it. I am quite sure that you and His Serene Highness are quite gladdened at this turn of events, and I know you shall do well by them. You are my dearest friend, and I shall be praying for you day and night for your ease.
I do not know if Wilhelm has informed His Serene Highness of it, but I am also carrying a child. The physicians say that I must be careful, and I am only permitted a short walk on the grounds in the afternoon, but only if it is not too cold. As such, they've forbidden me to travel outside of Kent. I would do anything to return to court, Victoria, but one must not disobey the words of the physicians, who truly know all things in these matters.
It is quite funny, I feel, to wander about the manor and the grounds rather like a duck, for I seem to walkabout like them more and more each day. I am quite sure that you do not walkabout in such a way, and even if you walked in a different way, it would be as a swan or as a phoenix, not a lowly duck. As for me, I am quite all right with being seen as a duck, and this duck shall continue to write and be called to court as soon as I am able.
Your ever-loyal friend,
Lady Felicity, Countess Marquardt
May had flitted by as quickly as it had arrived, and June and the warmth of summer officially overtook the English countryside. Although Victoria requested that Wilhelm and I travel at least to our house in London, I found that the physician would not even allow me that luxury, even if I swore not to ride a horse. I can feel my belly doubling in size as June continues, and I wonder how on earth Wilhelm will ever love me again. I turn away from him at night, and for many nights afterwards, for I feel that he will not wish to look upon me at all.
"Meine geliebte, what have I done to offend you?" he asks, placing a hand on my shoulder after nearly a week of me doing this. "Is it because you are too tired to talk in the evenings?"
"Of course I am tired," I snap back, tears flowing, unseen, from my eyes.
"Meine geliebte, please," Wilhelm says softly. He manages to turn me about to look at him, and I keep my eyes lowered until he gently pushes my chin up. "How have I offended you, Felicity?"
"You have not," I reply. "It is only..."
"What?" he asks.
"How can you possibly look upon me in the same way?" I demand of him, my voice never raising above a whisper. "I am becoming as large as a plow-horse, and you cannot—"
"Cannot what, meine geliebte?" he asks, likely smirking at the very comparison of me to a plow horse.
"Cannot love me when I am like this!" I cry out, my voice breaking as I stare up at him in the semi-darkness. "The size of a plow-horse..." I smack the bolster beneath me, discouraged. "You'll likely run off now... Run off to a beautiful German maiden—or a French one, with blonde hair and immaculate—"
Wilhelm reaches out then, placing a hand upon my belly, before he leans forward and kisses it, and I find myself quite at a loss for words at this unexpected, yet sweet, gesture towards me. "This gift you have given me, my darling, is the most precious thing any man could ever want or ask for," he tells me simply. "I could not, nor could I ever, think you were more beautiful."
I raise my eyes to his, and find that my lip is trembling. "What... What if it turns out not to be a son?" I whisper.
"You are merely twenty-one-years of age, Felicity," Wilhelm tells me gently. "I think there will be time for a boy after this one."
"My grandmother on my mother's side had five daughters. What if I can only provide you with daughters?" I ask him.
Wilhelm grins up at me before closing the distance between us and kisses me. "I shall not think on that, for it does not matter to me," he replies. "The queen allowed us to bequeath Rosings Park to whomever we see fit. If we have five daughters, then it shall go to the eldest or we shall split it up equally among them. I have no qualms about you giving me merely daughters, Felicity, and neither should you. Even if we have five, ten, or twenty daughters, I'll not care, for in all the world, I only want you."
"And our daughters, should I only provide you with them?" I ask, just wanting to hear his affirmation again.
He smiles, never wavering. "But of course," he replies. "I want nothing but what you can give me, and if it is daughters, so be it."
. . .
When the physician came to see me at the end of July, he further decides to limit my walks in the gardens with Flight, and insisted that I only do so three times a week instead of each day. This pregnancy was progressing quickly, according to him, and he wanted no harm to come to my child. Despite my protests, Wilhelm was fully prepared to honor the physician's wishes, and I, in irritation, wrote about my pregnancy woes. Victoria did her best to be patient with me, but as we were both with child, it was difficult to be so.
August began and I was still permitted to walk in the gardens three times a week, although I was still very tired by the end of each day. Wilhelm was called to London again at the end of the month and, as Papa was feeling better, my husband asked me to send for my mother and father for company. Surprisingly, my mother and father were delighted with the invitation and I had the servants prepare the second-best rooms in the place for them both. I had felt the child move about inside me for the past several weeks, and was quite eager to see how Mama and Papa believed me to look while I was carrying Wilhelm's child.
My husband left for London in the final week of August, while Mama wrote to me that she and Papa would arrive the following week. I spent my time organizing the nursery—which had not been in use since my cousin, Anne, had been born nearly sixty years before—ordering specific meals from the kitchens, and playing games with Flight that did not tire me out so easily. I also spent my time making lists about tutors for my children, deciding that they, too should learn a multitude of languages to make their learning as appropriate as possible. Now that I was a countess, I had access to such people more easily.
Mama and Papa arrived in the first week of September, while I had already begun the final household preparations before I was due to give birth. Mama was shocked to see me so much about the house as when she had given birth to me—as she informed me via letter just a few months ago—that I was not to be considered the only casualty when she gave birth to me. Mama confessed that she, too nearly died after the birth, as she was older than most mothers are suggested to be. I had felt terrible at receiving such news; not only because such a thing had been kept from me, but the time it had been so. Now, that I was pregnant with my first child, she chose to tell me of such a horrible thing...
Papa embraced me and said I looked lovely, although he did not comment directly on the state of me, as such things were considered inappropriate. "I see you've set up tea in the drawing room," he says conversationally, striding in. "Ah, Flight!" he says with joy, and my little spaniel immediately stands at attention, always liking my father.
"He is well, Mama?" I ask softly as I watch him interact with my dog. "Your letters were vague, even when I did question you directly of his condition, which was not strong just a year ago..."
Mama takes my arm and walks slowly into the drawing room with me. "Yes, he is well," she assures me, "but you need not worry about it. You're about to have a family of your own soon, and you must not be troubled." She pushes me gently into the couch, making sure I had pillows stacked all around me, before pouring me a cup of tea and handing it over to me with a slice of sponge cake. "Right, Mr. Darcy?" Mama asks, turning to Papa.
"Quite right, Mrs. Darcy," Papa says, giving a quick smile to Mama before turning back to Flight. "You still give her chicken livers?"
"On Sundays," I say softly, "and on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day—although Her Majesty spoils Dash a bit more, and allows him to eat them more often. But my Fight still quite adores them, Flighty does."
"And the queen writes to you, Felicity?" Mama asks. "When shall she be delivered of her first child?"
"Not until November," I reply, putting a hand upon my belly as I feel the child move within me. "I had hoped to be at court with her, but Wilhelm sends his regrets whenever he attends to His Serene Highness. Prince Albert conveys messages from the queen himself, which Wilhelm relays to me, about her sympathy and wish for my hasty arrival back to court at my leisure. For, who knows, perhaps the next time I have a child, I may do so at court," I joke, and Mama twitters from next to me, while Papa hides his smile.
"How long are we welcome to stay?" Papa asks.
"He means, 'When is Wilhelm returning from London'?" Mama says, sipping her tea with a glint in her eye.
"He is to be gone a fortnight," I reply with a knowing look towards Papa, which he does not catch. "But Wilhelm encourages you to stay longer..."
"For the birth?" Mama asks, and Papa immediately snaps his head to look at her thoughtfully. "You would want me here?"
"Well, yes, of course," I reply, finding my hand upon my belly again. "It is my first child, after all, and I feel that some comfort would be welcoming..."
"You will have Wilhelm with you, in the room, of course?" Papa asks. "As modern custom dictates?"
"We've discussed it, yes, Papa," I tell him. "And yes, Wilhelm wishes to be beside me throughout the birth."
"Is that how things are done in Germany?" Mama asks, not unkindly. "A husband may be beside a wife whilst she gives him an heir?"
"I know that Wilhelm's father was content to leave his mother shut up in rooms for weeks while she gave birth to three sons in quick succession, and then refused to touch her after the birth of Wilhelm's younger brother, Ferdinand," I reply with contempt, and shake my head. "Then he married Charles's betrothed and had three daughters with her, but stayed by her side for each birth..."
"Probably hoping for a son," Papa said nastily. "Terrible man."
"You're just pleased that I provided you with one immediately," Mama says, and swats Papa gently upon his arm.
Papa grins at Mama. "I thank heaven for Fitzwilliam the Younger each and every day, although I've always had a soft spot for Felicity, as you well know," Papa says, turning to wink at me.
"What shall you call the child, Felicity?" Mama asks.
"Victoria for a girl, of course," I reply, running my fingertips along my swollen belly thoughtfully. "Wilhelm has requested Albert for a boy."
"And other names?" Papa asks.
"I quite liked Victoria Henrietta, for it has such a pleasant ring to it," I say with a smile at the very thought of it. "And for a son, Wilhelm and I have decided upon Albert Wilhelm."
"You shall not do more names?" Mama asks.
I shake my head at her with a smile. "Victoria merely had two names, and she became Queen of England," I reply without hesitation. "Who is to say my children cannot achieve greatness with only two names?"
. . .
Wilhelm returned from court in London as scheduled, and Mama agreed to stay behind for the birth, while business at Pemberley called Papa back. He would not say what it was, but he promised to returned to Rosings Park as quickly as possible to meet my first child. In the final week of September, I found walking long ways to be a torment, and when the physician was summoned, he told me that I must remain in bed until the birth. He recommended a midwife to come and stay at the manor, to be there when my pains began. Mama told me that I would simply know when they began, but I never expected to know such a thing.
I was feeling better on the final day of September, and rose at down, something I had not had the strength to do in weeks. Dressing quickly in the darkness without assistance from a maid, I made a grab for Flight and slipped from my rooms, where my husband was still asleep. Careful to keep Flight quiet, we slipped down the corridor and down the staircase, before going out the garden door attached to the drawing room. The sun rose over the tops of the trees, the cool late September air doing wonders for my lungs. I walked along with Flight, who was excited to be out of doors with me again, and who barked happily at the prospect.
I urged Flight to keep silent, hardly knowing what would happen if we were caught wandering about the gardens without a proper escort. Flight would stop every few feet and smell behind various boulders which dotted the gardens; inevitably, they were always there, and she had smelled them countless times before, but it mattered naught to her. She would turnabout every now and again, just to be sure that I was still watching her. I smiled and bent to pick up a stick, which I tossed in the air for her, and she took off, barking excitedly, in order to catch the piece of wood I'd thrown for her to play with.
As I watched her run, I let out a laugh, arching my body and throwing my head back, the cool air entering my lungs. It was then that I felt a crushing pain in my abdomen, and I nearly doubled over from the shock of it all. I soon found myself gripping my belly then as Flight suddenly ran forward, the stick in between her small teeth, looking up at me to throw it again. I ignored her request, instead approaching the garden wall and leaning up against it, attempting to catch my breath. Flight whined at being ignored, dropping the stick and approaching me, pressing her wet nose to the hems of my skirts and proceeding to paw at them, not enjoying this treatment.
The pains subsequently got worse, and I found myself frequently breathing through my teeth before looking upwards at the nearly cloudless sky. "God in heaven help me," I whispered. "I pray you, help me..."
The door to the garden crashed open and I immediately straightened up, seeing Wilhelm standing there. "Meine geliebte, it is far too cold for a walk in the gardens. Come inside now," he says, offering me a hand, and summoning Flight with a slight whistle.
I move to walk to him but am suddenly gripped with the pain once again, and, at once, I look up at Wilhelm with fear. "I'm sorry," I say, fighting to breath. "I'm sorry—they've only just started... Ah!" I cry, doubling over in pain this time as Wilhelm steps forward. "Wilhelm!" I cry out, only to be seized with another wave of pain as he lifts me upwards and into the house, managing to pull the garden door shut behind him, Flight following in our wake.
"I'll not having you hurting yourself," he says through his teeth, taking me through the drawing room and towards the staircase. "Have the midwife brought to our rooms at once!" he shouts to one of the maids, who was walking by. "The child is coming!"
To her credit, the maid scurries off to find the midwife as Wilhelm brings me up the stairs, when Mama's chamber door opens, and she sees what is happening. "I'll help," she says, at once taking charge. "We will need fresh water and towels—tell a maid!" she orders, shooing him out.
"No!" I scream as another wave of pain washes over me. "Mama! Mama, I need him, Mama!" I scream, my forehead covered in sweat as I am promptly pushed onto the bed.
Mama shushes me gently, pulling the coverlet back and exposing the sheets before ripping it off the bed entirely and placing it across the room. She then gets me out of my cloak, gown, stockings, and shoes quickly and efficiently, until I am laying there in my undergarments. Mama fetches a nightgown, which pulls over my head before removing the undergarments. I am much more comfortable now, but I could do without the sweating and the constant pain.
"Wilhelm will be back soon," she assures me and, sure enough, he bursts through the door, with the fresh water and towels.
Although I am relieved at seeing him—and the midwife, who comes at his heels—I am beyond words. I manage to extend my arms far enough for them to see that I want him beside me, and he quickly moves to my side. Tears cloud my vision as I faintly feel the midwife pushing my legs apart to inspect me, tutting to herself as she makes a grab for a towel and some water. I stiffen at the warmth below and feel as if nothing but pain is happening.
The midwife says it will be a while, and leaves the room, and I am left writhing in pain for what seems like hours on end. I see through the trickle of light coming in through the curtains, and see the day going by quickly. The sun sets and the moon rises, and still I writhe in pain. Mama tells Wilhelm that I'm losing blood fast, and I find I am becoming less and less coherent as the hours go on. The midwife returns when night falls, inspecting me quickly, and it is then that I feel almost as if something is tearing me in to two pieces. The midwife lets out a gasp and forces my legs open again.
"The head is coming," she informs my mother.
"Felicity," Mama says, and I manage to look at her. "Squeeze our hands—let us help you, darling. Squeeze them."
"Wilhelm," I sob, and my husband mercifully holds me closer to him. "Never again—please tell me, never again..."
"Whatever you want, meine geliebte," he replies, kissing my forehead.
I let out a scream then, clasping to both their hands as hard as I dared, feeling something slither out of me in the moments that follow.
"God be praised," the midwife says to the squalling infant in her hands as I fall back against the bolsters, breathing with relief. The midwife cleans up the mite and smacks it on the bottom when it doesn't cry out immediately. The shattering cry of an infant fills the room and my ears, and the midwife lets out a lighthearted chuckle before wrapping the baby up and handing it to me. "It's a girl," she says, nodding in approval. "She is strong."
"A girl..." I whisper, my voice hoarse. "Victoria Henrietta..." I whisper, ogling her perfect little face.
"My darling girl," Wilhelm says, leaning down and kissing her forehead. "Pretty as her mother..."
It is when, just a moment later, I am seized with the same kind of pain that Mama promptly takes the baby and promptly whisks her away to the other side of my bedchamber. I make a grab for Wilhelm's hand then, squirming to figure out what is happening. "What is it?" I demand of the midwife, struggling to see as the pain grows stronger. "What's wrong?"
The midwife bends to examine me again, and lets out a gasp. She grips my ankles to help me in keeping my legs open, and looks shocked. "Push!" she orders me then and I fall back on the bolsters, tears flooding my eyes and my vision as I obey her direct command. "Push!" she yells again.
"Wilhelm!" I scream as I feel something come forth, and fall back against the bolsters again, exhausted.
"God in heaven, hallelujah," the midwife declares. She holds something aloft for a moment before I see that she is holding a second baby, which she painstakingly cleans off before handing to me. "It's a boy, countess," she proclaims.
"A boy...my boy," Wilhelm whispers, kissing this child.
"Albert Wilhelm," I whisper, as Mama returns Victoria Henrietta to me. "And my Victoria Henrietta," I say, managing to take them both in my arms. "I think it right if call them Willy and Toria," I say softly, "so as to distinguish them both from the royal couple," I declare, quickly turning to look at Wilhelm. "That is, of course, if their father permits such a thing."
"I permit it," Wilhelm replies, enraptured in his two children. We barely hear the midwife and Mama slip out of the room, as we both gaze at these two small things we ourselves have created. "You have given me an heir twice over," he marvels, never taking his eyes off of them.
"I shall write to the queen, if I may," I say quietly, leaning down and brushing my lips upon their foreheads. "I would tell them of our good fortune, and of the good fortune awaiting them."
"Of course, my love, but not you must rest," Wilhelm rules. "The wet nurse will be brought forth immediately."
"Thank you," I reply, turning to look up at him, and find I cannot cease in my constant smiling. "I love you."
"I love you," he replies, leaning down and kissing me. "Thank you for making me a grand papa."
"Thank you for making me a loving mama," I say simply.
. . .
I was arisen from my bed the day following the birth, and permitted to go down to the parsonage on the grounds of Rosings Park, where my mother's cousin, William Collins, was permitted to perform my churching ceremony. It was quite a bothersome and trivial thing, for all I wanted was to spend time with Wilhelm and my babies, until such a time as Victoria summoned me back to her side. It was not a terribly long ceremony, however, and it seemed to be over just as it had begun. I dared not think of the centuries-ago, Catholic equivalent of such a thing, where a woman had to lie back and be cleaned for what seemed like hours on end. Now, I merely had to listen to Mr. Collins, and to absolve myself of sin by merely speaking in acknowledgement of it, before I was permitted to leave.
I spent the rest of the day commanding the servants, for now I was permitted to eat and drink whatever I wanted or liked. A grand dinner had been prepared, and Papa had returned from Pemberley to greet Toria and Willy prior to their christening, which was to be held the following week, three days before Wilhelm and I intended to return to court. Mama was absolutely doting on the babies, and the look that Papa gave her was one of such love and adoring that I hoped and prayed for a long and successful marriage between Wilhelm and me. As we four sat down to dinner—after Toria and Willy had been returned to the nursery—I felt my cheeks bloom with color as Wilhelm raised his glass to me, informing me of how proud he was of me, and that he looked forward to having our children grow up healthy and well.
The following day, when Wilhelm took Papa out hunting, and Mama was looking in on the twins, I thought it right to send a letter to Victoria. I wanted to know how she was faring at this late stage of her pregnancy, and if she was permitted to get up at all. Perhaps, as she was a monarch, she would be able to have more rights when it came to pregnancy habits.
Dearest Victoria,
Wilhelm and I are pleased to say that exactly two days ago, he and I were blessed twice over, with a daughter we call Victoria Henrietta, and a son which we call Albert Wilhelm. It was quite a surprise, as I initially believed that twins were rare things, but I heard from Mama that they are merely not spoken of as often. Mama and Wilhelm were with me for the entire birth, although business at Pemberley called Papa back rather unexpectedly. All went well, and I was churched just the day before, and the christening is to be held next week.
Do share your news with me, my friend. How is His Serene Highness, and is married life as wonderful as I think? I realize I only speak on my own marriage experience, as well as watching Mama and Papa ever since I was a little girl, but I do hope yours is all the better for it. It is happiness in life, Victoria, which a few select people deserve, and you deserve it most surely of all. As our reigning monarch, nobody's life or marriage should be as blessed as your own. I pray for you by night, while in the day I sing your praises, looking forward to returning to your services.
Your ever-loyal friend,
Lady Felicity, Countess Marquardt
After sending the letter to London via messenger, I made my way to the nursery, where Mama was sitting and singing softly to the twins. I approached the crib then and peered inside of it, my heart filling with warmth for these two beautiful beings I'd successfully created. They each made small noises between them, their quick little fingers gripping one another's, and when I reached in, my own finger as well was promptly grabbed.
"They are well," my mother asserts quietly. "I've not seen a healthier infant since Alexandra was delivered of Honor."
"Are Grace, Mercy, and James not well?" I ask, my heart momentarily squeezing for the plight of my nieces and nephew.
My mother shrugs. "You know as well as I do—from my letters regarding James and your own witnessing of Grace and Mercy—that those three are sickly children and that Honor is the most likely to inherit from Fitzwilliam the Younger," she replies with a sniff. "Honor is kind and well-liked, to be sure, and yet she's beginning to possess that simpering quality that Alexandra possesses. She is even more reserved than Jane and Charles, and sending her to that Catholic nunnery for the first fourteen years of her life didn't help matters either."
"Are you saying Alexandra is a Puritan, Mama?" I ask.
Mama sighs. "I'm not saying anything of the sort about my niece, now my daughter-in-law," she replies patiently. "Although I do suspect that she may not be a good future Viscountess Pemberley, based on how much she favors James and ignores her daughters..."
"James is merely a child," I say softly. "Of course he needs Alexandra around—as much as a mother should be—in the early days..."
Mama shakes her head. "It is more than that..."
"What could be more?" I ask.
Mama bites her lip, turning towards the shut door behind us, whereupon she crosses to the windows, and seeing that Wilhelm and Papa are still on their horses, hunting at the edge of our land. "Alexandra is in the nursery all the time now," she admits quietly. "She refuses all invitations—to the christening next week, to anything Caroline sends out, and she dotes on Alexandra, and ever since she wed Colonel Fitzwilliam just after Fitzwilliam the Younger is born..." My mother tuts then, shaking her head. "She does not even visit Fitzwilliam the Younger in their shared bedroom anymore—she has had a bed moved into the nursery, and all but refuses to leave James's side..."
"But you said so yourself that James is a frail child—"
"Grace and Mercy were born frail as well, and Alexandra never doted on them at all—not once. Not even for their own christenings or for any birthdays. A light kiss on the cheek for one of them or for herself, and that is all. She never holds them, or comforts them, or even attempts to draw conversation from them."
"But she doesn't hurt them?" I press her.
"Not physically—I don't think Alexandra would stand for that," she replies. "She does speak to Honor on occasion, but only when she wants to know something about or for James."
"What does my brother Fitzwilliam say?"
"He does not mind—it gives him more opportunities in London. He has been talking with His Serene Highness for a position at court. I feel as if he wishes to leave off and go far..."
"He is forty years of age, Mama," I say, shaking my head. "Perhaps the age difference, however, will be that of comfort from His Serene Highness, and perhaps he will be able to learn from my brother..."
"Perhaps," Mama allows. "Perhaps this will end quickly, and we shall not speak of this in the years to come..."
"And Papa?" I ask, bending down and kissing each twin as they proceed to fall into sleep. "What does Papa say of all this?"
Mama proceeds to draw me out of the nursery then, arm around my shoulders. "I know he would not wish me to speak of it at all," she tells me. "He would call me 'my dear' and inform me that I am turning into my mother by merely speaking to you of this..."
"It is not for common gossiping purposes!" I say sharply, outraged. "You are merely speaking to me of it for you are apprehensive about Alexandra's rather odd behavior..."
"I am," Mama assures me, "but I find it most unlikely that your father will even attempt to think of it that way."
. . .
Dearest Felicity,
I will admit to you that merely lying in bed, while affording me many hours of thinking, is truly a torment for me. I would love nothing more than for you to return to court at your earliest convenience, and Albert is adamant that you and Lord Wilhelm shall have new apartments close to our own. We shall dine in my presence chamber upon your return, my dear friend, and I know there will be much to discuss in the interim.
I am so sorry that I could not bring myself to Kent to witness the wonderful occasion of your son and daughter's christening, but I do hope the silver spoons and embroidered linens help ease the situation. I am not familiar with many twins myself, but I swear to you, they shall both be companions to my dear children. I find I like the names Toria and Willy, although Albert and I have not formally selected a name yet. I believe he will wish to see the face of our schönes säugling before a final decision is made.
Questions are peppered to me day by day, and now that I have Albert, Lord M has made himself scarce. Perhaps it is for the better, as Albert himself was never really fond of him, as you well know. I do know, Felicity, however, that he is most fond of you, and I believe he prefers Englishman to Germans—with the exception of you and Wilhelm, and of course, his brother, Ernest. We shall expect you in due haste by the end of the week, and yet I know that I can count on you to arrive much sooner to ease my suffering for company.
Yours faithfully,
Victoria, Queen of Many Things and friend of the Countess of Marquardt