He was off-balance, no question. And he needed to take better care of himself, for Elizabeth’s sake. He had not eaten anything since that morning unless he counted the elixir, which might explain his odd sense of disorientation. “You are right. I should eat,” he told the footman.
Immediately several more servants appeared, carrying a small table and a stool. The food was set before him, and all he needed to do was sit and eat. Just as it had always been, all his life, until he went to France and hadto fend for himself. He looked at each servant in turn, met their eyes, and said, “I thank you.”
They looked startled, but the footman who had brought him the port recovered first. “We are glad you are back, sir.”
As soon as he tasted the first slice of venison, his hunger came roaring back. He demolished the entire plate between glances at the cottage door, as if watching it closely would make something happen.
Another pained cry, a longer one, and then more silence. He had learned that much, that the pains came and went, with an easier time in between. But this silence continued. Was Elizabeth better, or had something gone terribly wrong?
Finally Mrs. Reynolds came out of the cottage, closing the door quietly behind her. Exhaustion lined her face.
Darcy jumped to his feet, almost toppling the stool, and hurried to her. “What is happening?”
“It is a girl, sir,” she said, but without any of the triumph or joy he would have expected.
“Elizabeth,” he said, his heart in his throat. “Has something happened to her?”
She shook her head. “She is as well as can be expected. But the babe is small and not as strong as we would like.”
Dread filled him. “What does that mean?”
“I cannot say, sir. Only time will tell.”
“May I see Elizabeth? And…the baby?”
“Not yet. Once the afterbirth is delivered, if Mrs. Darcy is agreeable, you can come in.”
The midwife carried a lantern as she came out of the cottage. “May I speak to you privately, sir?” she asked Darcy, gesturing towards the servants by the tent.
His heart rose in his throat. “Of course.” He led her away from the others, up the slope towards the ruined keep. “What is the matter?”
She met his eyes. “The baby is still with us, but I do not expect her to live. It happens, when they are born too early. I am very sorry.”
His mouth was dry. Their child, on whom they had pinned so many hopes, whose existence had let him draw on his land Talent while in France, whom he loved so fiercely even without meeting her. Dying before she had a chance to live, just like the son Anne de Bourgh had carried. “And my wife?”
“She does not appear to be in any danger.” She watched him steadily.
There was one thing he had to know. “Did this happen because of her travels? Or because of the Talent we used?”
She rubbed her hands together. “We do not know what makes some babies come too soon. Oftentimes it seems to happen for no reason at all. Your wife tells me her mother lost an early child, too. It is tragic, but not uncommon.”
“I thank you for helping her.” The words seemed to burn in his mouth. He ought to say something more to her, now that he knew she was his half-sister, but there was nothing left in him to give.
“I have asked the others to leave to let you have some privacy. I will remain just outside if you need me.”
He moistened his lips. “How long…” He could not even finish the sentence.
“Hours, perhaps, or even a day or two. It is in God’s hands.”
He nodded jerkily, not trusting himself to speak. Instead he headed for the cottage door.
Inside, Elizabeth sat propped up in the bed, a tiny bundle in her arms and a slow trickle of tears running down her face. She barely looked up at him as he entered, but she shifted to make room for him to sit beside her on the bed.
As he sat, he placed his arms around hers, a double ring of protection around the baby. If only it could make a difference. “I am so sorry, mylove,” he whispered.
“She is so tiny and so perfect.” Elizabeth’s voice shook. “It is my fault. I should have taken more care.” A sob broke through.
“Elizabeth, listen to me. You know my first wife had a child who did not live. He was born too soon, too, and Anne was as coddled and as careful as any woman could be. It made no difference. The fault may be in me, or in my seed.” He could not fix anything for their child, but he would protect Elizabeth with every ounce of his strength.
