Chapter 4
Elizabeth Darcy huffed in frustration, her warm breath dancing in the icy air. The snow-storm had vanished as rapidly as it had come about, and she had taken advantage of the break in the relentless deluge to escape the stale air of their bedchambers. A fire had been blazing in the hearth ever since the landscape had become blanketed in white, and the air hung thick around her.
Regretting the promise she had made her anxious husband that prohibited it, Lizzy longed to once more walk through her favourite woods and gardens. She would not go against her word to him, no matter that he was not there to hold her to it, or how much she wished to do so. As she stood shivering in the frosty morning, she imagined herself enjoying a long circular walk around the estate after the babe was safely delivered. Her belly warmed with the anticipation of two tiny pairs of feet following her in the not-too-distant future. There was so much joy to be had at Pemberley with her small family.
She knew she was trying her luck by merely being outside, but the cold stone floor soothed her aching ankles and the view restored her spirits. From their balcony, she could see a good distance across the expanse of their land. She had spent many a delightful hour in the privacy of the balcony enjoying her husband's company. Feeling the chill on the air, she was transported to a memory of a time shortly after her son was born, when she had awoken to find her husband comforting their crying son on this very spot. She smiled to think he would soon return so that they could continue to enjoy such quiet and intimate evenings together.
All too soon, the heavens poured forth with flakes of white yet again. So lost in her imaginings was she, that she did not notice the snowfall until she felt a cold, wet droplet trickle down the back of her neck. The gentle caress of the cool droplet made her shiver.
With a start, she spared an awed glance at the beauty of the falling snowflakes and hurried inside, ushered by her ladies maid into the warmth. The balcony door was closed behind her and the residual snow melted quickly on her skin as she felt the warmth of the fire embrace her. With a last backwards glance through the glass, she set off for the green parlour, where she knew she could pass a pleasant hour in the company of her dear sister, Georgiana, and her son, Bennet George.
The rest of the morning passed uneventfully as she fell into the same patterns as had occupied her days since Mr Darcy had left for Kent. They entertained the charming and adorable heir to Pemberley with his growing collection of toys.
Then followed a delicious lunch together in the nursery, before George was set down for his afternoon nap. They worked a bit more on a challenging duet that they were practising for the Christmas gathering to come, and then Elizabeth retired for a rest before dinner. She was very much looking forward to not being so endlessly tired after the safe delivery of her second child.
Her mind drifted often to her darling husband and she found her footsteps often leading her to the handsome portrait of him in their gallery. She felt a wonderful comfort perfuse through her being when watched by his likeness. He had departed six days ago, and she missed him most keenly.
Irrational worries came unbidden to her as she looked upon his handsome face. Her thoughts rushed into each other as she fretted over his safety.
Where he had gotten to? How had his confrontation with his aunt gone? Was he suffering in the unpleasant weather?
She hoped he was not caught in the snow without a comfortable place to rest in the warmth. She knew that she could not be without him.
~.~
Fitzwilliam Darcy; Master of Pemberley, proud and loving husband of Elizabeth, and anxious and overprotective father of nearly-two young children; could not tell the difference between his breath swirling in front of him, or the endless flurries sent from the sky to vex him.
He took it as a personal attack that the most recent deluge of ice had come not twenty minutes into his final trek home. Could it not have waited until he was safely in his darling wife's embrace? Could it not have allowed him to hold his small son before the onslaught?
When he had gained the threshold of Pemberley, then he would be easy. As it was, the snow began to permeate his greatcoat and he could see the pink tip of his nose in his peripheral vision. He was appropriately dressed for a brisk walk home, but he began to worry about his chances of making this journey as the temperature continued to drop. Pulling his collar across his cheeks, he braced himself against the wind and carried on walking.
It was so cold.
He couldn't remember the last time he had felt this numb.
His ears were frozen. His hands were shaking. His heart was desperately trying to warm him through his ribcage, to little success.
His toes had felt as though they would fall off, but he realised with great concern that he could not even feel those extremities as he continued his slow progress.
He felt the murmurings of fear rise in his throat for the first time that day, when he realised that he could not see further than five yards ahead of him.
The very real threat of losing his way and not making it back to Pemberley reared its ugly head. He picked up his pace.
"Elizabeth," he shouted, willing her to hear him and make the snow stop.
The echo returned to him without pretence of reaching its intended listener, reverberating off of the trees in this part of their grounds.
He was so alone.
He was certain he would be able to see the great house from here if not for the snow storm. Being so close and yet so apart from them pierced him as though an icicle had been launched into his chest.
Still, he kept walking in the direction he thought would take him to his wife, although he realised with a sinking feeling that his footprints were hastily covered in fresh snow the second they were made, so he may well be walking in circles for all he could tell. Still, he could not stop going for risk of frostbite. He could not give up on himself.