I am sending this letter with young David and have instructed him to put it in no one’s hands but your own. Pack your bags, my love. You are needed at home. My pains began early this morning. Once I realized what was happening, I sent for the midwife and then a messenger. If you leave immediately, you are likely to make it home before your son makes his appearance.
I know it is a month before we expected it, but I feel strong and the babe is obviously large. Perhaps we miscalculated?
Come directly to me when you arrive. I have need of you.
Kiss Georgie for me and please tell her we really must cease having babes at the same time. People will start to suspect a plot of some kind.
Your Elizabeth
Pemberley, Derbyshire
26 November, 1823
My Dearest Love,
Thank you for sending for me. I would not have liked to miss yet another birth. I am so very proud of you, my dear. Once again, you have amazed me. You truly are a wonder! Little Frederick is perfect, though I do not understand where he came by his red hair. Though Jane and Catherine have each had a red-haired child, so I suppose it is in your family somewhere.
That our perfect son was followed by his equally perfect brother Richard is the greatest surprise of my life. I shall write to my cousin directly and tell him to come meet his namesake and his godsons. He will be more than a little shocked, I am sure. I hope that seeing Frederick and Richard together in this new generation will give his heart a measure of peace.
I knew your grandmother had had twins, but I had never thought we would have them. I wonder if any of your sisters will do the same? Two of them are now with child—would it not be interesting were one of them to be carrying twins as well?
I shall cease speculating and return to watching our babes sleep. They seem so peaceful, do they not?
Thank you for such a precious gift, my love. You have made me deeply happy.
Your Husband,
Fitzwilliam Darcy
10
In Which Lydia Is Very…Lydia
12HarcourtSt.,Newcastle
30 April, 1826
Dear Fitzwilliam,
I have arrived safely in Newcastle and the situation is worse than we feared. Poor Jane is so horrified she can barely speak. Bingley has proven his worth once again and has gone off to see to the merchants. Jane is consoling Lydia, who is a ridiculous, weeping mess, and I have taken it upon myself to see to the children.
She has not had a nurse for some time and they are in complete disarray. Their clothes are dirty and torn and who knows when they last had a bath.
There is still no news of Wickham, though knowing what we do of him, we will likely not hear from him until he has run out of money or becomes desperate enough to show his face. Perhaps it was foolish of me, but after so many years without a significant incident, I thought he had tamed his ways somewhat. Oh, how naïve that was! Lydia said Mr. Wallace still stops by every day to harass her and ask if she has heard anything of him. Of course she has not, and I doubt very much that she will.
He is in the wind, which is probably the safest place for him. Poor Miss Wallace is disgraced. From what I understand, she has been shipped off to some faraway family member, but the gossip here is such that I doubt she will ever be able to return, with or without her babe. The poor girl. She was only nineteen. She was no match for a practiced liar like Wickham.
There was a letter from Longbourn waiting when we arrived here. My father is willing to take in Lydia and the children, though he is not happy about it. Jane and Bingley have offered to take Beatrice. She is quiet and sweet (though how she became so with such parents we shall never know) and she already gets on well with the Bingley children. It is very kind of them to offer. The girls will have a harder time of it than the boys, who will at least be able to seek a profession one day.
My dear, what do you think of taking on little Matilda? I know W is the scourge of your life and you wish nothing to do with him, as do I, but she is my niece. And as we have discussed before, there is precious little chance she is actually Wickham’s child. She looks nothing like either of her supposed parents, but Lydia has told me that she has her father’s eyes. Why she says such things where anyone can hear her, I will never understand. Anyhow, Matilda does have lovely brown eyes (and as you know, both Lydia and W have blue eyes), so it is all but confirmed.
She is three years of age now and seems to have a quiet temperament, but that could be due to her situation. All the children are unusually quiet. Jane and I discussed whether it was best to separate the children, but Lydia cannot possibly take care of five children on her own—she can barely take care of herself!—and the girls would benefit from a better example. The boys will have father at Longbourn, and while I know he is not the most conscientious parent, he never had a son, so I hold out some hope that he will take more of an interest in them than he did his daughters.
If you do not wish to take her in, I will think no less of you, my love. You have done more than enough for my family and you are certainly not obligated to do any more. If your answer is no, I will say nothing more of it.
We plan to stay here a few days to settle Lydia’s affairs and pack up what belongings she has remaining, and then we shall leave for Longbourn. I am not looking forward to the journey—despite being nearly thirty years of age, my sister does not seem to have grown up much at all.
Oh, my dear! It is such a dismal situation! I am heartened that you do not have to see it for yourself. You would have had thunderclouds on your brow the moment you walked in the door. That Lydia allowed herself to be treated this way, that W dared to house his family in such circumstances! I am appalled.
