Crossing into the chamber that Lizzy still persisted in thinking of as Darcy's mother's, they entered the nursery. Darcy was grinning with undisguised excitement. Several boxes marked “baby items” were scattered about the room among large sheet draped pieces of furniture. In the middle of the floor, resting on a canvas tarp spotted with drips of paint and varnish, sat a cradle of hard English oak. The cradle was big, elaborately scrolled with etchings of trailing ivy along the side railing and an incredible carving of a horse, naturally, gracing the head panel and the Darcy family crest on the footboard. The entire cradle had been freshly stained, varnished, and polished to a high gloss. It was exquisite, the workmanship unparalleled.
“It is still wet, my love, so you cannot touch it, but what do you think? Do you like it?” He was staring into her face with puzzlement, Lizzy displaying a mingled expression of appreciative awe and faint fright. “It has been in the family for generations, carved and constructed by a distant grandfather from an oak cut down in Pemberley's forest. However, if you do not like it we can purchase a new one.”
“No, no, William! I love it, truly. It is astoundingly beautiful and I am overwhelmed. It is just,” she paused and swallowed, looking into Darcy's anxious eyes with her own teary ones, continuing in a whisper, “in my dream of you with our son, this cradle was there! I remember the horse and beveled rails, although it was lighter in color. I know I told you how real the dream, like a premonition or message, and I do feel certain in my soul we are having a boy, yet this…”
Darcy smiled and laughed, enfolding her into his arms and kissing the top of her head. “I assured you before that I did not warrant you insane and I still do not. Nor do I reckon you are suddenly a soothsayer.” He cupped her face. “Undoubtedly your unconscious mind recalled the cradle, as it has appeared in several portraits in the Hall. Particular heirlooms have a tendency to do that. For instance,” he pulled away and stepped to one of the sheet covered bulks, tugging an edge to reveal an equally exquisitely sculpted rocking chair, “Was this what my dream-self sat on?”
Lizzy nodded an affirmative, relief washing over her countenance. She moved to his side, touching the fabulous chair. Darcy stroked her back. “Sit on it, love. I want to envision you there with our baby.” He spoke huskily and Lizzy glanced up at his tender face, smiling as she did his bidding. The chair was sturdy, comfortably structured with armrests at the perfect level for holding a baby to one's breast, curved support for the lower back, and a seat worn smooth by generations of Darcy mothers. Lizzy rocked slowly, caressing palms over the wide armrests while gazing at the shining cradle, touched anew by the significance to being part of a lineage with such a wealth of history. Happiness and peace consumed her soul, enhanced by a sense of intense pride for the family she was now indelibly a part of.
Darcy knelt before her and placed one broad hand over her belly, the other grasping her hand, entwining her delicate fingers with his long, mildly calloused but elegant ones. It was then that Lizzy noticed the stains on Darcy's generally pristine fingers.
“You painted the cradle yourself?” she asked in surprise.
Darcy smiled and arched a brow. “Of course! Do you think I would allow anyone else to touch the bed my son shall lay on? Or perhaps you are merely amazed at how competent I am?” he teased, leaning in to kiss her soft lips. “You may be surprised, my dearest, at how diverse my talents.” Lizzy laughed and hugged him tight.
LIZZY WOKE THE FOLLOWING day—the day before the Summer Festival—earlier than she normally would have, although it was well after the dawning sun had rose enough to blaze through the cracks in the curtains. Darcy was soundly asleep, which was unusual at this late hour, but he had been a busy man yesterday. Upon returning to the parlor from the nursery, Lizzy and Darcy discovered Bingley returned from the Hasberry Estate and clustered with the men around the liquor cabinet, all of them sipping slowly on small tumblers of whiskey. Colonel Fitzwilliam suggested riding for a spell before dinner and the idea was greeted with enthusiasm, the men simply waiting for Darcy's reappearance. Therefore, Darcy shortly found himself again on Parsifal's back—not that he was in the least dismayed—and exercising for another two hours, albeit not as vigorously as his morning horseback excursion. Between his long day of riding, working on the cradle, managing Pemberley affairs in his study, and the evening in the game room with the gents, he was exhausted when finally crawling into bed beside his slumbering wife.
Now, he lay slightly curled next to Lizzy, clutching her arm and hand with hot breath tickling her neck and shoulder. It was the combination of his radiant warmth seeping into her skin and the fact that his head and shoulders were painfully trapping her hair that woke her. Darcy was a furnace while sleeping, a delight in the winter but rather annoying at times in the summer, especially lately as Lizzy noted her own internal temperature rising. The book said this was a common occurrence while pregnant, but it certainly made sleeping next to an inferno intent on snuggling difficult. Body dripping with sweat, Lizzy realized that she had been subconsciously attempting to pull away from her husband but could not due to the bulk of her long tresses being secured under the mass of muscular flesh comprising his torso.
As usual, he had thrown all the covers off his body, unknowingly landing them on top of his wife, adding to her burning distress. Lizzy rapidly discarded the coverlet, baring her flesh to the slightly cooler air of the room. It helped a little, and as long as she did not move away, her hair did not pull her scalp. With no real choice in the matter, Lizzy turned toward her comatose spouse, gently grabbed a shoulder, and shoved. He rolled onto his back with a grunt, mumbled something unintelligible, sighed deeply, and remained asleep. Finally free, Lizzy dashed to the windows and opened them wide.
She stood naked in front of the last window, allowing the cool breeze from the hills to wave over her skin, drying the perspiration, and lowering her temperature. The first few times she had seen her husband—who had not the slightest embarrassment about baring his flesh in the privacy of his quarters—positioned in front of the open window gazing at the landscape, Lizzy had blanched in shock. Darcy had laughed at her scolding, reminding her that, at three complete stories above the ground on this side and no other buildings in sight, a peeper would be in plain view on the field below and need binoculars to see into the window.
Long over her trepidation, Lizzy leaned against the edge and fingered the white chiffon curtain as her mind wandered. The Festival was tomorrow and all the plans were laid. Today the additional workers would be arriving to prepare the feast and begin setting up the pavilions, tables, and orchestra stand. Later today the musicians and other performers would be descending. In light of the chaos that would reign throughout the day, all of which would be handled skillfully by the Pemberley staff, Lizzy decided that it would be wise and fun to vacate the premises. Therefore, she had planned a picnic.
Lost to her musings, Lizzy did not mark Darcy rotating toward her side of the bed and reaching. His hands pressed into the hollow formed by her head and body, mumbling sleepily as he roused. Yawning and opening his eyes groggily, he spied his wife poised majestically by the near window. His breath caught and groin jerked at her sumptuous beauty.
“Elizabeth?” He rose onto one elbow as she turned her head with a ready smile. “Are you well?”
“I am fine, dearest. Merely soothing my scorching skin, thanks to my own personal heater.”
He extended his arm, palm up “Come back to bed. I shall only heat you further in a pleasant manner.”
Lizzy laughed, launching onto the bed as an exuberant child, Darcy instinctively adducting his limbs to protect sensitive regions. She attacked his ticklish sides briefly, but he need not worry overly as his wife was exceedingly cognizant of all his delicate areas and had no intention of harming him. Instead, she stretched next to him, kissing over his chest as she rolled him onto his back. Arms crossed above his nipple line, Lizzy rested her chin on his arms and happily stared into his face as he played with her
hair.
“Mr. Darcy,” she began, Darcy raising one brow at her form of address, “I hereby challenge you to a game of croquet during today's outing. Are you up to a beating?”
“It is my duty to inform you, Mrs. Darcy, that I am quite skilled at croquet. I would hate to humiliate my wife in front of all our guests, but I cannot back down from a challenge once extended.”
“We shall see,” she smugly rendered, directing her focus to the nearest nipple, Darcy sighing happily. She tantalized with lips and tongue all about his hard chest, croquet challenges rapidly forgotten by both. Rising eventually, she straddled his thighs, bending over to caress further along his muscles. Darcy stroked her smooth skin wherever he could reach, as aroused by the feel of her body under his hands as by her actions.
Lizzy stimulated him unhurriedly, always moved by the impression of his flesh touching hers. The pulsating power and raging heat of him pressed against the swell of her belly was a beautiful reminder of his strength and desire for her. Frequently their eyes met between their studied gazes that cherished the body of the other, his dark with passion and hers smoldering, both rimmed with unbridled love. She lightly fondled, Darcy groaning with eyes closing in sheer ecstasy, hands stroking her inner thighs.
“Elizabeth,” he whispered with a throaty rumble. “Lord, that feels good. Please do not stop.” She obeyed, rousing him further and further, Darcy reciprocating until they were both overcome.
He crazily seized her face, pulling roughly and engulfing her mouth in a penetrating kiss.
They held each other securely, stroking tenderly as they calmed. Darcy murmured sweet, loving endearments into her ears as he kissed over her face. In what was becoming a typical conclusion to their lovemaking, the baby expressed his thoughts on the subject by flipping about, easily sensed by his parents as their bodies were pressed harshly together. Lizzy giggled against his lips as the sensation felt mildly ticklish. Darcy's eyes were sparkling with mirth, the perception a bit ticklish to him as well, but primarily it was joy. Joy for this woman whom he loved so profoundly and with a greater depth each day, and joy for the healthy life created by their love and passion.
Darcy smoothed her hair, asking in a soft voice, “Is it at all uncomfortable having the child between us?”
“Not yet, although I imagine there will come a time when we will necessarily need to alter our positions. I will grow quite large in the midsection. Are you prepared, my heart, for how distended I shall become?”
He smiled and kissed her brow. “I am anxious. Then he will be readily felt and we will be closer to the moment when we can hold him. As for your midsection or any other part of your glorious body, I shall forever adore you and find you beautiful. Have no fear, precious wife, you excite me even if all I see are your toes!” Lizzy smiled with pleasure at his devotion, laughter bubbling over as he continued, “Allow me to amend that slightly. I become embarrassingly aroused merely at the thought of you. Be thankful you do not have the physical ramifications as I, since I know you are as lecherous!”
“Uncle George, may I disturb your peace for a spell?”
Dr. Darcy looked up from the enormous leather chair, where he was sprawled with one leg draped over an arm, into the earnest face of his nephew. George was reading in the library, escaping the picnic and festival clamoring that had invaded the hallways, reclining on Darcy's favorite chair primarily due to the fact that it was the one most accommodating for tall frames. Darcy was holding a rather large book clasped to his chest, the title hidden, although whether on purpose or accidentally George could not be sure.
“Of course, William. You are always welcome. How can I help you?”
Darcy dragged a chair close to his uncle, sitting and placing the book onto his lap, giving Dr. Darcy an opportunity to read the title. With a raised brow and crooked smile, he answered his own inquiry, “Ah, I see. Honestly, William, you are the married one not I, although I do have some limited experience and will happily assist if you need. Or is it pregnancy-related concerns you have?” His grin widened at Darcy's expression of amused disgust.
The book Darcy held was the medical text, boldly emblazoned with the title: The Compleat Cyclopaedia of Midwifery and Reproduction. “The latter, Uncle, thank you,” Darcy replied sarcastically. “Elizabeth and I were talking after the whole skin-stretching scare,” he paused for a brief shudder before continuing, “and we realized that this book, which has been our primary resource for pregnancy information, may be lacking. We do not want to be unprepared for any eventuality, especially those details which are apparently so common as to not warrant entry into the text. You are our best asset.”
Dr. Darcy nodded seriously, all traces of humor receding. “This is wise. You know you can always count on me, son.” He smiled. “You know, William, I must applaud your enthusiasm and interest. It is the rare man who deigns to partake in matters generally deemed totally female issues. It warms my heart.”
Darcy waved his hand dismissively and flushed slightly, but he met his uncle's direct gaze with equal intensity. “Thank you, sir; it is not a tribute to my character, but rather to the rare woman I have been gifted. Someone as special as Elizabeth deserves a husband who will support her in all ways.”
“I will not argue your wife's stellar attributes, as I wholeheartedly agree with you, but do not sell yourself short.” He undraped his legs from the chair and sat up straight, leaning toward Darcy. “William, I have not been so fortunate as to find love to the degree as you have and James before you, but I do have a vast amount of experience with families and their interpersonal relationships. When one primarily encounters a family at their worst, suffering from disease or loss, one quickly notices what sets the successful, adjusted, and therefore capable of surviving trauma families apart from those who will fall to pieces. Always it is a deep devotion among the members, whether it parents or siblings or spouses. This devotion translates into the realm of childbirth as well. Those women who have strong support will manage far more capably then those who are alone or unloved. Elizabeth is blessed to have you there for her.”
“That is why it essential for me to know all I can about this process. I have seen hundreds of animal births and have a fairly firm knowledge base of human anatomy, but the books all seem vague regarding the details.”
Dr. Darcy nodded. “Yes, most would, although I daresay I could acquire a newer text than the one you hold and more comprehensive. Unfortunately, birth, as I said, is considered a female issue relegated to midwives and therefore deemed unworthy of a physician's attention, hence the lack of textual information. Personally, I believe the tide is turning on all matters sexual, and a revolution of enlightenment is approaching, but that is for another discussion. As for me, I do have superior knowledge in the field, having delivered hundreds of babies. Indian women prefer their dais, their term for midwife, but often one is not about or trouble arises and a doctor is called for. Also, the English women will not allow an Indian dai to attend their birth, usually, so if I am around, I get summoned!”
“Is birth truly as horrible as one hears? Horses, for the most part, birth so easily with rare complications. Humans seem to suffer profoundly and frequently…” He looked at his uncle with undisguised fear. “If anything happened to Elizabeth, I…”
“She is young and healthy, William, so I am sure all will be well.” He patted his nephew's trembling knee comfortingly. “Women in childbirth seem to fall into three basic categories. There are those who pass through the entire process with ease. This seems to be a combination of an innate control and an effortless, relatively pain free labor. They are the lucky ones. The worst are the women who fight the process, scream and thrash uncontrollably no matter what we do or say. Often the labors are not actually that horrible, but their lack of control and serenity create an atmosphere of intense stress, frequently leading to a negative outcome. Most fall into the middle category. Labor is so named because it is arduous and painful. There is no escaping the fact, but there are wa
ys to control it and smooth the procedure.”
Darcy leaned forward, listening avidly. “What ways?”
“Breathing techniques, focus, meditation, positions, and the like. However, the one essential is loving support. I cannot stress enough how vital it is for the mother to be surrounded by calming, strong, devoted presences.”
Darcy sat back with a heavy sigh, mumbling sadly, “I wish I could be there with her.”
“Why can you not? You are the one she loves the greatest. You have the premiere relationship with her so should be there if she needs you.”
Darcy was staring at his uncle with stunned amazement. “You cannot be serious? Men are not allowed in birth rooms, Uncle!”
Dr. Darcy laughed, reaching into his coat pocket for a cigar. “I know you tend to be a stickler for the rules, William, but it is not a law from the Crown after all. You are the Master of the house and if your wife needs you, I judge you will rise to the occasion.” He lit the cigar, inhaling leisurely while watching Darcy's contemplative mien. “In the meantime, let us open that book and see what wisdom is imparted. Just promise me you will not blush every time the word vagina or penis or breast appears, alright?” He grinned and Darcy blushed.
It was close to noon before Lizzy was lovingly persuaded by her husband to relinquish the Festival management into the proficient hands of Mrs. Reynolds and the rest. Yesterday the thought of evacuating the house had appealed to Lizzy. Today, with workers arriving, wagons by the dozens rolling up to the side entrance, performers appearing, decorating and construction visibly transpiring, Lizzy experienced an internal sense of abandoning her duties. Only Darcy's gentle reminder that this is precisely the job of the commander, to delegate the responsibilities to his or her subordinates and trust that they will competently execute the tasks, finally swayed her. He certainly had no doubts regarding the adequacy of the Pemberley staff and his assurance in the end eased Lizzy.