“I can walk up these stairs on my own, thank you,” Mrs. Darcy scolded her husband as she waddled up the grand staircase of Pemberley, with his hand decidedly on her lower back as though to brace her should she fall.
“Forgive me for thinking perhaps you lost all of your senses,” Mr. Darcy retorted. “I could only surmise as much when you arrived at the Harvest Ball when I had said that your presence was unnecessary.”
“Unnecessary, not forbidden,” she answered, pausing to catch her breath. The child growing in her womb felt the moment was a fine one to kick and torment his mother’s lungs. Such was his excitement anytime her husband’s voice was raised in her vicinity. Ordinarily, Elizabeth found the behavior of their unborn child charming, even endearing. But not as she tried to climb the stairs and fought off the backache that had tormented her for two days.
“I felt the later was best left unsaid, though what woman in your condition would think to hoodwink the stable master into rigging her a gig—”
She cut him off.
“I did no such thing! Georgiana ordered the gig when I told her to find us transportation.” Elizabeth began to climb the stairs once more, with another wave of her hand to shake her husband’s cloying actions for her safety. “Oh, please do not touch me!” she said, gritting her teeth and pulling away from him with a sudden burst of energy.
“Elizabeth,” he said, hurrying after her in disbelief that the woman could be gasping for breath one moment, then thundering up steps the next. But his wife grasped the banister and her knees buckled, yet she held her balance. An ungodly scream echoed in the hall and the servants pretending to be out of sight came running at once in lines rivaling a trained infantry.
“This way, Madam, I have sent the boy to fetch the midwife!” Mrs. Reynolds called, as she hurried to Elizabeth’s side. Two footmen suddenly stood beside the mistress, while another fulfilled his assignment of standing next to Mr. Darcy.
“Mrs. Reynolds!” Mr. Darcy called, as the irritating footman stood between the master and the housekeeper and two footmen helping his wife to her chambers. “Out of my way, man!” he managed, as the servant stepped left and right to block his master.
Finally, Mr. Darcy pushed the lad to the side, and finished climbing the steps to find his wife doubled over in the hall, groaning once more.
“All is well, Mr. Darcy!” Mrs. Reynolds shooed the master away, as a puddle of liquid pooled at Mrs. Darcy’s feet. “Oh dear, we shall not be able to wait for the midwife,” Mrs. Reynolds commented, seeing Mrs. Darcy’s face of horror stare back at her.
“No, no, madam, this is good! The baby will come quickly!” Mrs. Reynolds opened the door to the mistress chambers where two maids readied the hot water and cloths, and another stoked the fire with a makeshift spit upon it and a kettle. Mr. Darcy took one look at the puddle on the floor, began to say something, and promptly fainted to the floor.
“Thomas!” Mrs. Reynolds yelled sharply, “I told you what your assignment was! Get Mr. Darcy to his bed!”
“Fitzwilliam?” Elizabeth said, worried suddenly about her husband more than her situation. But then another contraction hit, and she could do nothing but bear the pain.
“He’s fine, Ma’am. That’s right, you must breathe when the pains come.”
“What about my husband!” Elizabeth shouted, as the two footmen who had helped her into bed retreated to the situation in the hall. She watched as three men carried a limp Mr. Darcy down to his adjoining chamber.
“He fainted. This is not the work of men.” Mrs. Reynolds said, closing the doors behind her and taking charge of the makeshift birthing room. Mrs. Darcy cried out again, holding one hand to her belly and the other to her back, writhing in pain as the poor maids knew not what to do. Mrs. Reynolds remained calm, setting up sheets and blankets, and then instructing each maid to gently help Mrs. Darcy out of her gown. It took much work, and the hastening contractions did nothing to speed along the efforts, but at last she was in her shift.
“Forgive me, Madam, I am just going to look to see the progress,” Mrs. Reynolds said, as she nodded for the maids to help hold Mrs. Darcy’s legs. As she peered below, Mrs. Darcy began to grunt and cry out. The doors to the mistress’ chamber flew open and Georgiana Darcy entered before anyone could bar her entry.
“Miss Darcy,” Mrs. Reynolds began to say, but she hastened to Elizabeth’s side in the bed.
“I am here, I am here,” she said, brightly, keeping her back to the work occurring below her sister’s waist. She took Elizabeth’s hand. “After you left, everyone cheered your name,” she said.
Elizabeth yelled as another contraction caused her to twist to her side, even as Mrs. Reynolds and another maid gently tried to hold her legs.
“She has back painss,” Mrs. Reynolds announced as more experienced maids clucked their tongue.
Elizabeth grew alarmed. “Is that bad?” she asked, as she bore down for another wave of pain. This time she didn’t twist away, but held the position and squeezed Georgiana’s hand.
“Miss Darcy, you should not be in here,” Mrs. Reynolds said.
“DO NOT MAKE HER LEAVE!” Mrs. Darcy roared, as another wave crescendoed too soon after the last one for her to catch her breath.
“Where is my brother?” Georgiana asked braving a look to the other side of the room where white cloths were being laid everywhere in the bed.
“He,” Elizabeth struggled to say as she panted through her labor, “fainted.”
Georgiana giggled as another strong contraction had her sister cling to her hand for comfort. Georgiana’s giggle was short-lived as Elizabeth’s grip began to pain her. Still, the young woman of sixteen was adamant she would not leave her sister’s side, especially as her brother had failed to live up to the calling.
Elizabeth’s brow was covered in sweat and Georgiana took over for the maid pressing a cloth for Elizabeth’s comfort. Gently, she wiped not only Elizabeth’s forehead, but also the back of her neck and cheeks.
“Jane,” Elizabeth said, with her eyes closed, between groans and moans of the pain.
Fearful, Georgiana looked back at Mrs. Reynolds. The Bingleys were not expected to arrive until the following week, as Mrs. Bingley had been delivered of her first child at the beginning of August.
“What do I say?” Georgiana whispered.
Mrs. Reynolds gazed down at the situation before them. “There is no time,” she said, as she accepted a large white cloth from a maid and stretched it across her hands to form a billowing slack between her arms.
“Mrs. Darcy, there is someone quite keen to meet you. On the next pain, can you push?”
Georgiana’s eyes widened as Elizabeth began to shake her head.
“But you must, Sister,” Georgiana stressed.
“Jane?” Elizabeth said again as she grunted when another pain came.
“Push!” Georgiana cried in unison with Mrs. Reynolds. Elizabeth’s eyes remained closed and when a maid showed something small to Mrs. Reynolds, the housekeeper nodded. A vial of smelling salts was waved below Elizabeth’s nose, and a waft of the scent made Georgiana’s eyes water as she remained close to her sister in need.
Startled, Elizabeth shouted for her sister Jane, until her eyes focused on Georgiana smiling brightly at her.
“Push on the next pain,” Georgiana said, coaching her brother’s wife as her words barely registered to Mrs. Darcy before the inevitable struck. Fully conscious, Elizabeth screamed as a searing pain ripped from her womb stretching around to her lower back.
“Push!” Mrs. Reynolds urged, and Elizabeth focused her efforts to bear down and bring the next generation of Pemberley into the world.
Slightly less than an hour later, a babe’s cries joined the cries of his mother and aunt, as the monumental labor had exhausted everyone. Mrs. Reynold’s washed her bloodied hands in the basin near the fire. Gwyn tended to the young Darcy heir that had come so quickly, none had much of a chance to adjust to his imminent arrival before the adrenaline rush wore off. As such, the room filled with elation and fatigue in equal measures.
“He is beautiful, Ma’am,” Gwyn said, bringing the child to his mother wrapped in swaddling clothes.
“Miss Darcy,” Mrs. Reynolds placed a hand on the young woman’s shoulder.
“I said that I am staying,” she said, in the same strong tone her brother used when he wished to exert his will on others.
Mrs. Reynolds held up another vial and pressed it into the young woman’s hands.
“I thought you might wish to awaken the lad’s father,” she said, with a mischievous smile as Georgiana flew off the bed eager for such a mission. She took three steps, then ran back to the bed and kissed Elizabeth’s cheek and stole a glance at her nephew. As she stood again to head to the adjoining door, Mrs. Reynold’s blocked her way.
“Use the main door, dear,” she said, gently, obscuring the view of necessary tasks for an afterbirth from the young maiden. Georgiana, taller than Mrs. Reynolds by half a foot, could spy the basins of blood and sullied cloths over the housekeeper’s shoulder. But she scrunched her nose in disgust and nodded in agreement.
“I will tell Mr. Bollins to take his time in readying my brother,” Georgiana said, as the housekeeper nodded in agreement.
“Oh,” she said, pausing again at the door, “and I will begin the announcement letters!”
Mrs. Reynolds ushered the jubilant new aunt out the door, and then turned her focus on Mrs. Darcy. She refrained from reminding Miss Darcy it was the middle of the night and she could easily hold off on the letter writing until morning. But the birth of the first heir would keep the entire household up with excitement.
Elizabeth sat mesmerized at the bundle of joy in her arms, while maids pressed and massaged her midsection to aid in expelling the afterbirth.
“You were supposed to be the work of hours,” she said, as she cooed at the baby in her arms. Glancing up to Mrs. Reynolds, she felt the need to ask about her labor, memories of what occurred began to flee her mind swiftly. “My aunt and mother were never so efficient in their labors,” Elizabeth remarked, curious at her unique experience.
Mrs. Reynolds smiled. “It is different for all women, but those with dispositions towards rigorous activity I find go the fastest,” Mrs. Reynolds reached down for the child, but Elizabeth held him away. “The wet nurse is here,” she started to say and still Elizabeth refrained.
“My husband and I were clear the wet nurse was to help me rest, but I will feed him now,” Elizabeth said, feeling instincts for her son overrode any willingness to entertain the thoughts and wishes of others.
“Gwyn, will you help me?” Elizabeth requested, and her maid aided her to sit upright as they lowered her shift down. But the baby began to wail, and the garment became stuck. After some jostling, with Elizabeth refusing to put the baby down, eventually she trusted Gwyn to hold the boy while she lifted her shift completely and discarded it. Naked apart from the bed clothes that kept her warm, she accepted the child once more and eons of a mother’s intuition guided her movements. The child kept his eyes scrunched closed and with a small amount of adjustment, she filled his next cry with her bosom. Earnestly, the lad latched on and Elizabeth yelped.
“He’s so strong,” she said, with a laugh and then a sigh. The maids busied themselves with clearing away the last of the linen and a fresh basin of warm water was brought to Elizabeth’s side. The young maid standing next to it lowered her eyes.
“Yes?” Elizabeth asked, gently urging her son’s mouth into a slightly different angle before pulling the latch completely away. He startled, then opened his eyes and began to fuss once more.
“I shan’t take him away, but may I help?” Mrs. Reynolds asked and Elizabeth, massaging her sore nipple agreed. Mrs. Reynold’s scooped up the boy, wrapped his thin swaddling more snugly around him, and then plopped him practically face down on Mrs. Darcy’s other breast. Elizabeth began to protest, but the baby squirmed a little and then his mouth found what he wanted. The position proved much more comfortable for Elizabeth and Mrs. Reynolds helped her lower herself back to a recline.
“My babes all loved to sleep and nurse just so,” Mrs. Reynolds said, approvingly, as the other young maid stood shifting her weight from foot-to-foot. “Millie, what is you would like to say?”
The young maid curtsied, anxious over the sight before her. She had not been present for the birth, but awakened to help with the cleaning.
“Forgive me, Mrs. Darcy, um, Ma’am, I just didn’t know if you’d like me to clean you, that is, while you’re with the baby,” she stammered.
Elizabeth’s large dark eyes opened wide to Mrs. Reynolds over her as she no longer cared a whit about decorum or privacy. The whole room had seen her at her most exposed, and she was well aware how messy the business of child birthing could become.
“Yes, please, as I’m sure someone has already fetched Mr. Darcy?” she asked, with a yawn.
The entire room was almost completely transformed one hour after the clock struck midnight, and young Master Darcy had since had his fill and then some. Gwyn fetched Mrs. Darcy a shift that was cut down the middle, designed specifically for the condition of motherhood, in case the babe woke hungry again. Both mother and baby slept when finally Mr. Darcy entered the room with only Mrs. Reynold and Gwyn sitting sentry over the vulnerable pair.
“Georgiana said I have a son?” he asked Mrs. Reynolds, trying not to disturb his wife and child. But the deep baritone of his father was a voice the child knew all too well, from the months and months of the voice reading to him and his mother. At the familiar stimulus, the boy stirred and squirmed in his mother’s arms, as he had in her womb, awakening her and then in turn, himself as well.
When his cry shattered the silence of the room, Mr. Darcy bit his knuckle at such a glorious sound and turned, misty-eyed to see them both delivered safely from the work he could not aid in.
“Yes, we have a son. Come meet him,” Elizabeth said, sleepily, not bothering to rise for her husband from the bed. The hours since his birth had long sapped her of any energy she had left, and carefully, her husband sat in a chair next to the bed.
“My wondrous wife,” he said, reaching over to tuck her hair behind her ears. Quietly, Mrs. Reynolds and Gwyn left the room to take their first break since Mrs. Darcy’s water broke hours ago. “And you, beautiful boy,” he said, reaching out to touch the child he had only felt through the kicks and movements he could sense from placing a hand upon Elizabeth’s midsection.
Elizabeth snorted as their son quieted when his father spoke to him, and when Fitzwilliam brushed the child’s clenched fist, the baby grasped his finger with determination.
“He’s strong!”
“I said the same thing the first time he fed,” she said, to her husband’s astonishment.
Grimacing, Darcy apologized to his wife. But Elizabeth absolved him of responsibility.
“You were never going to birth him, Husband. And it’s just as well that you fainted in the hall and not in here,” she said.
“I did not faint.”
“You most certainly did.”
“Well, we don’t have to tell him about that, now do we?” Mr. Darcy said, nodding his head towards his son who refused to relinquish his father’s finger.
A small cry escaped his mouth, a sound pleasing to both parents for its novelty, until the child’s lungs kicked in to aid him in voicing his discontent. Elizabeth opened her shift and adjusted her position to give her son access to feed again. Her husband watched with fascination and reluctantly pulled his finger from his son’s grasp to allow mother and child to connect more easily.
Though Elizabeth lifted the yet to be named child to lay on her in the same position Mrs. Reynolds had taught her earlier, the baby turned his head so that he could see his father. As he suckled, his eyes grew heavy, and eventually closed, until he was nursing a few moments and slumbering the next.
Elizabeth closed her eyes and yawned once more.
“What should we name him?” she asked, sleepily, a smile on her face as she basked in the unadulterated bliss of holding her child.
Mr. Darcy cleared his throat, startling the babe one more, but he began to nurse again to put himself to sleep. Mr. Darcy gently reached out to rub the child’s head before finding his small hand again, escaped from his swaddling.
“He is strong, and I believe will slay dragons,” Darcy whispered.
“Mmm, dragons,” Elizabeth repeated, until the absurdity of the words registered. “Dragons?” she asked, more clearly, but still softly so as not to awaken the baby.
Her husband nodded, and she began to weep at seeing his loving gaze of concern focused completely on their child. Her heart felt as though it might burst at the seams from loving him and their son, too much.
Mr. Darcy wiped the corner of his eyes before schooling his expression to speak without quivering emotion.
“Arthur. My son is Arthur Fitzwilliam Darcy.”
Elizabeth kissed the top of her son’s head, further anointing him as she whispered his name. “Arthur.”
With a last yawn, she reached out a hand for her husband, who for a moment held both his son’s with a single finger, and his wife’s.
“At least you didn’t want to continue the tradition of the maiden name or he would have been a Bennet,” she managed.
Mr. Darcy leaned over and kissed his wife’s forehead.
“Shh,” he whispered, “rest my dearest. I’m sure one day Arthur will need a brother, and we will name him Bennet.”
Elizabeth chuckled as her husband kissed her again and settled into the chair beside the bed to watch over them.
As the early streaks of dawn carried forth a new day, a silly notion became clear before her dreams took over. She had once thought she would never feel happier than the day of her wedding. But it turned out, she had been entirely mistaken.