“One more push, Lizzy,” Amanda ordered.
“Push, darling, push,” called Darcy simultaneously.
“It’s coming—the head is clear.” Amanda continued her probing and gentle pulling. Within another moment, the baby swished through, slimy and wet, cradled in her waiting hands.
Darcy gasped out in a choking sob, “Thank God.”
An exhausted Lizzy collapsed back into his arms, and he clutched her tightly to his chest, unknowing and unseeing of the activity happening around them. She was pale, she was weak, but she was alive. Alive and, incredibly, smiling.
After cutting the cord, Amanda brought the child to a table. She ran her finger around the child’s mouth, after which she began to pat its bottom, softly at first and then a good little slap. The wail that emitted from the baby was heard throughout the household. They heard it in the hallways, in every bedroom, parlor, and convenience, and it continued, down into the servant’s hall. It was heard even by people walking outside. There were a full two seconds of quiet before the cheers started from below, from the basement on up throughout the house.
“Mr. Darcy, you may help Elizabeth back into the bed.” Amanda’s voice seemed to come from miles away as he lifted Lizzy up into his arms and placed her gently down. Her eyes blinked and then finally opened to his.
“God, I love you, Lizzy,” was all he could say before he kissed her forehead. “I love you.”
“Have we a son or a daughter?” she asked weakly, but Darcy did not hear nor care. She was alive.
“Mr. Darcy, would you like to meet your son?” Amanda had wiped the worst of the moisture from the child and had wrapped him in a soft towel.
It was a moment before her words penetrated. He was only just beginning to breathe again. Did he want to meet this child, this little interloper who had caused so much trouble and upheaval? Who may have nearly caused his Lizzy her life? He felt oddly indifferent about the prospect, caring only that his beloved wife lived, but there she was laughing and nodding. That is a good sign, he thought vaguely. Suddenly, memories flooded over him of his father’s rage and grief being replaced by an equally ferocious love at the sight of his newborn daughter, even though Georgiana survived but not his wife.
Yes, he thought, perhaps I should meet this son of mine.
Darcy’s first breathless impression of the wriggly, warm bundle in his arms came as a complete surprise. “Oh, my God, he’s beautiful. Lizzy. He’s absolutely perfect.” A groundswell of instantaneous love washed over him, shocking him with its force; protective adoration for the child nearly overwhelmed him. And then the boy opened his eyes. When Darcy saw his Elizabeth in those eyes, and then himself and then his mother and father, a laughing sob escaped his lips, and he brought the infuriated little face to his, kissing it tenderly, his heart overflowing with love. How could he have sacrificed this precious life, this angel? How could he ever have chosen between them? It was inconceivable to him now. “Lizzy, he’s so… huge!”
The baby, looking baffled at all this intense scrutiny, gave a tiny sneeze, and Darcy began to laugh all over again. He took the child toward the window for better light.
“Mr. Darcy,” Amanda called out. “Excuse me, but I suggest you bring that child to his mother before she leaps off the bed. We are not quite finished cleaning the afterbirth yet.”
“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.
Chapter 6
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.”