Chapter 3
That night he slept fitfully in his borrowed bed. It was not that the large four poster was not comfortable, but he was kept in a restless state by imagined scenes from a fictitious birthing room. The visions that came to him haunted his waking hours, for he had seen how much of a struggle the last birth had been and how distant he had felt from her then. He had not enjoyed the overwhelming sense of helplessness then, and he did not enjoy it now either.
Struggling to erase the terrifying image of his still, white, darling Elizabeth from his mind, and resenting the coldness of his lonely four-poster, he decided to stroll to the balcony and take advantage of the fresh air.
Breathing the cold night air, he was reminded of a not dissimilar occasion soon after George was born, when he had gazed upon the same stars with their sleeping babe in his arms. Wondering if his wife was doing the same, he smiled at the memory as it calmed his racing pulse. The ordeal about which he was so worried had been terrifying, but the result of it had been his charming son, and he would not trade him for all of the gold within or without Pemberley.
He sighed at the stars and felt a foreboding snowflake melt on the warm, hard skin above his eyebrow. He returned to attempt to sleep after sending a prayer skywards that the snow would not fall in earnest before he had reached the comfort of his Derbyshire home. He could not bear the thought of being stuck in Kent due to inclement weather when he could be enjoying his son's first response to the crisp whiteness, or his wife's glittering eyes as she held their second child.
He needed to leave for home in the morning, so there would not be snow. He forbade the sky from betraying him. Sighing softly, he returned to bed and his futile attempt to rest.
~.~
The morning arrived after many hours of discomfort and Fitzwilliam Darcy rushed to the window to determine whether his demands had been upheld. He was pleasantly surprised to find that the sky had indeed listened to his prayers. The gardens were dusted in a light frosting, but nothing so serious as to make travel impossible. He called for his valet with alacrity and was humming in anticipation as the man dressed him for the day.
He was envisaging the scene that awaited him upon his imminent return and a look of great contentment diffused across his cleanly shaven face. He pictured himself surprising his wife in the library with a gentle kiss upon the hollow beneath her ear. She would squirm and chuckle and all of the torment of this unnecessary separation would be forgotten. George would waddle towards him with unsteady steps and his small fingers would clasp and unclasp impatiently as he was prevented entrance from his father's embrace whilst he was already occupied by his darling Lizzy. He would oblige his young son almost immediately, after one last squeeze to her large midsection.
His heart ached for Pemberley and his small family and a slight faltering in his smile betrayed his malcontentment. Considering the miles between them, his countenance returned to the dark composure he had so oft donned in public.
His valet did not mention the fearsome curtness with which his master addressed him, for he was well aware of the delicate situation in which Mr Darcy found himself. The serving staff of the great estate recognized how attached the young couple were, and there was an unspoken wager whenever they were separated as to who would snap at an unfortunate servant first. Their equilibria were knocked off-balance whenever they were apart and each needed the kindest and quietest attentions in such situations as these.
Two hours and thirty six minutes later, he found himself standing on the gravel beside his carriage, saying the necessary - and more pleasant than anticipated - farewells to his extended family. He was relieved that he could once again address them as such. Anne promised to follow him to Pemberley as soon as was prudent and his aunt bade him a begrudging adieu, most put out as she was by his leaving so soon, and then he was embarking on the long journey back to Derbyshire.
He was quite unwilling to stop for any longer that was absolutely necessary. Hence, they paused at an inn for the necessary rest break to change horses and then much later in the day, when darkness fell quickly, blanketing the frosty landscape in a rich black fog that made further travel dangerous.
With a great huff of frustration, Fitzwilliam Darcy acquiesced to a night in an inn. It was in the best interests of his coachmen and the great man himself that they postpone their travelling until the morning.
~.~
Having safely avoided the danger of the perilous darkness, the Darcy carriage continued on its way along the snow-dusted tracks at the break of dawn the following day. Mr Darcy could feel the miles passing in the gentle rocking of the carriage and the heavy rolling of its wheels. The scenery transformed outside his window into the untamed greenness that he was so fond of. It was not until about eleven in the morning, when they had passed four hours on the road, that danger imposed its unwelcome presence anew.
Darcy judged from the fall of the landscape that they were not an hour's walk from his beloved home when the first gentle snowflakes melting upon his cheek alerted the head coachmen to the imminent deluge.
Five minutes later, the party was forced to halt their progress, fortunately sufficiently near to the village of Leedale that they could at least find shelter. Darcy cursed the heavens for keeping him separate from his darling wife for even a second longer. His countenance was a furious storm of disgust and frustration at the weather as they arrived upon a small house on the outskirts of the village and they were bade entry by a matronly looking woman.
His fiery anger soon dissipated into worry, and the tension in his clenched fists was redirected into a repetitive bouncing of his knee. He was consumed with fear when he considered that she could be delivering, that she could have already delivered, their next darling child; that some misfortune may have befallen her during this ordeal; that she was alone, in the snowstorm; that she may have been taking some air when the storm had broken - for he well knew how much she loved to walk their grounds. If he were unable to reach her, so would be the midwife or the doctor should the quickening begin. The thought sent a fresh wave of panic through his skin, and he closed his eyes against the tears that were threatening to make an appearance.
Aware that he was becoming unreasonable, and unable to act on any such worries, he tried to drive his poisonous thoughts away in searching the library where they were ensconced for a tome distracting enough to occupy his turbulent mind.
The coachmen had returned in-doors after seeing to it that the horses were well sheltered. The lady of the house, Mrs Haye, was generously hospitable with her tray of tea and sweets. He gratefully took a warm cup of fluid and groaned softly as the hot liquid made its way into his chilly muscles, but refused the food as his stomach was turning over his breakfast and making him feel queasy. He had not succeeded in banishing thoughts of his family from his mind, despite his constant efforts.
His brow furrowed as he considered that it might be some time that he was prevented from seeing his dearest Elizabeth. And with such a consideration, his mind returned to his earlier worries and his knee reverted to its nervous tapping. The dusty book that he was holding remained unread as his mind wandered.
After an hour of his anxious waiting, the snow began to let up slightly, so that one could once again see the white landscape through the cold glass of the crooked window. He knew it would be unreasonable to ask his men to return to the carriage, which was adorned by a thick layer of snow. Though he desperately wished for them to return to their conveyance, for he would then return to Pemberley within the quarter hour, he could not risk driving the horses on the slippery terrain. He huffed in frustration, the deep creases in his face displaying his dark mood to those in the uncomfortable confines of the library.
He waited for a further half an hour before his frustration was too great to bear. Confident that there would not be another snowstorm, for all had been quiet for a substantial amount of time now, he bade his host farewell and pulled on all of their warmest clothes before stepping into the still, icy air.
There were murmurings of protestations behind him, but no man could refuse the Master of Pemberley when he had decided so resolutely upon his path. His stony countenance brooked no opposition. Their worries were silenced with the slamming of the heavy wooden door and he started the long, bitterly cold walk to his home.