Karen Wasylowski - Darcy and Fitzwilliam - A Tale of a Gentleman and an Officer

“Oh, Lizzy, forgive me.” She had already squirmed to the edge, about to launch herself across the floor and claim her son in another moment. He swiftly brought the child over to her eager arms, and she reached out, bringing the tiny bundle into her embrace. Darcy sat behind her and held them both, the new parents gazing lovingly together at their child.

Darcy took off his neck scarf, wiping the perspiration from Elizabeth’s face, kissing her over and over, hugging her head to his chest. “I love you, William,” she whispered. “Thank you for my son.”

It was over.

With the new family huddled together on their bed, the very proud and proper Mr. Darcy finally gave in to his own tears as his arms wrapped around his world.

His wife and his child were alive.

After allowing them their first few moments as a family, Amanda took the baby to the side table where a basin of sudsy warm water was waiting. She washed the child gently, checking that his cord was securely protected, carefully cleaning between each finger and toe, then wrapped him in a soft blanket and placed the bundle back into the couple’s waiting arms.

Darcy took her hand and squeezed it tightly. “Forgive my actions, Amanda. How can we ever thank you enough?” Amanda wiped away a few tears of her own as she laughed at the disheveled man before her, his hair flying every way, his neck cloth gone, his shirt half pulled out and hanging at the sides.

“You have a beautiful child and a wonderful wife, William. Be good to them both, and that will be payment enough.” Darcy surprised her then by suddenly cupping her neck and pulling her face down for a proper kiss firmly on the mouth, and she giggled as he instructed her never to tell Fitzwilliam that he had done that.

A timid knock on the door by a maid brought the information that the doctor had arrived. He entered the room much like an avenging angel, striding over to a chair, flipping off his heavy cape, furious over his disturbed evening at the opera, and unmoved regarding the seemingly early arrival of the infant. “This was most inconvenient, most ill-timed,” he announced to no one in particular as he gave the tiny child a cursory examination. That it was not a tiny, premature infant, but a healthy seven pounds plus, put him further out of sorts, and he placed the blame for any incorrect calculations solely on Darcy and Elizabeth, who had thoughtlessly misled him.

After this pronouncement, he ordered everyone from the room so that he could examine Elizabeth. The last thing Amanda heard as the door closed behind her was Darcy’s furious voice saying it would be over the doctor’s cold, dead body that he would ever leave his wife or his son again.

At that moment, Amanda realized she was exhausted, wanting nothing more than to see and hold her own little boy and to see and hold her own husband. She washed off her hands, removed her stained apron, and made her way downstairs.

The staff was milling about the ground floor, accepting glasses of the champagne Fitzwilliam had ordered opened. Some were emerging from their safe haven below, while others had just arrived back from their Boxing Day holiday with their families. They were thanking her and congratulating each other as she passed by, relief evident throughout the house. “Where are my son and the colonel?” she asked Mr. Winters at the foot of the stairs.

“We’re in here, Amanda,” Fitzwilliam called out softly.

She entered to find little Harry sound asleep in Fitzwilliam’s embrace and her heart was touched deeply by the sight; this was her whole world. Her only reason to exist was there before her—a child looking so small and safe in a gentle husband’s arms. Crouching down next to the settee, she rested her cheek on Richard’s shoulder and thanked God silently for his goodness.

“Has he been asleep long?” she whispered, softly stroking her son’s hair.

“Yes, well, a good bit of the time.” Fitzwilliam tenderly laid his arm across Amanda’s shoulders, concerned at how weary she looked. “Before he grew bored and fell asleep, he was curious enough to ask me where babies come from.”

“And what did you tell him?”

“Cornwall.”

As tired as she was, he still could manage to make her laugh.

“Well, what did we have?” He spoke softly, loving the tender look in her eyes whenever babies were involved. “It is over, I take it? I heard an infant’s wail. I figured it was either the babe, or Darcy discovered I spilled brandy on his better night robe.”

Amanda nodded. “A little boy… quite large… very loud.”

“In other words, a typical Darcy. Excellent! How is Elizabeth?”

“Blissfully happy and relieved that it is over. We had a spot of trouble at the end, but God was with her.”

Fitzwilliam tucked a few stray hairs behind her ear, then he wiped a tear from her cheek. She brought his palm to her lips to kiss.

“You look tired,” he whispered, and she nodded.

“And how did the imperturbable Darcy manage?” His eyes had taken on a dreamy, emotional quality as he watched her.

“Wonderfully. They should force all fathers to be present at their children’s births.”

His hand moved lovingly across her back, caressing her body. “I suppose that now you will want me to do that for our child?”

“Would you?”

“I imagine it would depend on when I felt I was up to the task.”

“And you would be up to the task… when?”

“When pigs throw pies…”

She laughed softly. “Well, it would be only fair, wouldn’t it?” She whispered. “After all, you were there for the ecstasy of the conception. You should be there for the agony of the birth.” Her sudden smile was filled with such tenderness and wonder that his heart nearly burst.

He was overwhelmed as always by the depth of love that he felt for this woman and with his concern for her own pregnancy. His fear for her upcoming labor and delivery had been churning up within him from the moment she told him. Hearing Lizzy’s screams this night had merely given that fear a terrifying substance. Never again, he vowed, would he allow her to get with child—never would he place her life in jeopardy.

His hand came up to caress her cheek. “You know, I think I’ve loved you for years, from the moment I first saw you in the distance, walking across the park in St. James Square. But I never loved you more than I do this very minute.”

Her manner turned very serious. “It appears our carefully laid plans for escape tonight have been ruined. What do we do now?”

“I would say sleep. I’m exhausted. I don’t know about you.”

She nodded and allowed some of her tension to disperse. “Good. I don’t know that I’d be up to traveling right now. It’s been quite a day.”

“I went to the house, and they said you had already left. Why didn’t you wait for me? Did your mother-in-law return unexpectedly?”

She picked lazily at strands of Harry’s hair and grunted. “We evidently had another miscommunication concerning time.”

Knowing his protest of innocence would be futile, he let it go. “I dismissed the coach I had hired to take us to Portsmouth in the morning. I told him I would send a message when to return. I think it best if we cross over to Copenhagen as soon as possible, though. I have several friends still living there. And then, when you are safely delivered, on to America, perhaps.” Her returning smile could not disguise growing apprehension, and she sighed. He was giving up so much for them—his career, his family, his friends… his very country.

“Here, come up and sit by me and let me take care of you now. You look like you’re about done in.”