Georgiana fled across the yard toward the main house, her skirts flying behind her. Elizabeth closed her eyes against the jolting movement as Graham carried her swiftly after.
“It hurts so much,” she cried, clenching her teeth, her breath hissing over the intense pain. “Fitzwilliam should be here.”
“I know,” Graham said softly, his arms secure around her as another contraction gripped her body. “But you are not alone, Elizabeth. You will never be alone while I have breath in my body.”
This was not how Elizabeth had imagined bringing Darcy’s child into the world—far from Pemberley, away from its father. Graham carried her up the steps to the farmhouse where Mrs. Honywood met them, already calling for hot water and clean linens.
Another pain seized her, more demanding than the last, and Elizabeth surrendered to the knowledge that some things could not be controlled or delayed. Fitzwilliam Darcy’s heir was determined to enter the world, regardless of whether its father ever woke to acknowledge it.
And Elizabeth, who had once prided herself on her independence, now accepted with humble gratitude the hands that reached out to steady her on this mostdifficult journey.
Elizabeth held her hand protectively over her belly. “Hold on, little one.”
CHAPTER TEN
FURROWED FIRSTS
August 24,1812, Bellfield Grange, Yorkshire
Elizabeth cradled her son against her chest. He was such a serious little creature, his face pinched red and his tiny fists curled tight. And she couldn’t believe she could love anyone more. He was a miniature echo of his father, his brow carrying that same serious furrow she’d grown to love. Her fingers gently smoothed her son’s tiny brows, and the babe’s eyes fluttered open briefly before closing again in contented sleep.
The newborn blue would surely darken to Darcy’s rich brown. His head was already crowned with his father’s dark hair, soft and silky.
“He has the Darcy look about him,” Georgiana whispered from her position at Elizabeth’s bedside. “See how his chin already shows that stubborn set?”
“I was thinking the same,” Elizabeth replied. Her emotions were choked with wonder and grief in equal measure. Six hours had passed since William had entered the world after a labor that had tested every ounce of her endurance. Six hours of studying hisperfect features, searching for traces of Fitzwilliam in every line and angle.
Mary leaned closer, softly stroking the babe’s head. “He is beautiful, Lizzy. Truly beautiful. I wish Jane were here. Oh, and Kitty and Lydia would have such a laugh at the miniature Darcy.”
“My brother was so much older than me,” Georgiana said. “It’s hard to imagine him as small and vulnerable.”
“May I?” She extended her arms, her eyes bright with unshed tears.
“Of course.” Elizabeth carefully transferred her son to his aunt’s embrace. Both Georgiana’s and Mary’s faces gleamed with tenderness as they cooed over the little one.
“Hello, little nephew.” Georgiana’s voice caught. “Meet your Aunt Gina.”
“And your Aunt Mary,” Mary added, no doubt eager to hold the baby next. “I shall read the Psalms over you until your father comes home.”
“And I shall teach you not to be so serious.” Georgiana giggled. “You must have some of Elizabeth’s good humor inside you, too.”
The sight of Darcy’s sister holding his son while he lay unconscious miles away brought a lump to Elizabeth’s throat.
Dearest God,Elizabeth prayed silently,let Fitzwilliam live to see this child. Let him recover enough to know that our love created this miracle. Do not let death claim him before he can hold his son.
Mrs. Honywood peeked her head into the room. She was the grandmother Elizabeth and Mary never had.
“I believe your dear Mr. Pullen is quite wearing out the floorboards out there,” Mrs. Honywood said. “He has refused all suggestions of rest or refreshment.”
Elizabeth gulped, taking back her son from his aunts. “I suppose he might be permitted to see the child.”
“With your permission, of course, Mrs. Darcy.” Mrs. Honywood exchanged a knowing glance with Mary—one of well-meaningconcern. Everyone other than she and Georgiana feared Darcy might not recover, and that if he did, the marriage would be denied. Their pitying looks suggested they believed her clinging to Darcy as desperation born of the compromise at the Red Lion Inn. They accepted that the babe was Darcy’s son, but they no doubt believe it wiser for her to take Mr. Pullen’s offer.
“I shall fetch Mr. Pullen,” Mary said, rising from her chair. “Though I imagine he will be quite tongue-tied in the presence of an infant.”
When Mary had gone, Elizabeth looked up at Georgiana, whose tear-streaked face betrayed the conflicting emotions of the day—joy for the new life and terror for her brother’s fading one.
“You will be leaving soon,” Elizabeth said, not a question but a recognition of necessity.
