“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.”
She stood slowly and settled into the seat next to him, snuggling under his arm and resting her head on his shoulder. Pulling her closer, he leaned down for a kiss, first lightly on her forehead and then deeply upon her mouth, their tongues stroking slowly and gently, thoroughly caressing each other.
Chapter 7
It was two hours later, and Darcy was strolling around their bedroom, unwilling to return his son to the family cradle. He was enraptured with the small, sleeping bundle in his arms, so warm and soft and defenseless. This was his heir, the man who would carry the Darcy name and heritage and fortune into the future, the comfort and pride of his parent’s old age. It was heavy baggage for such tiny shoulders, but Darcy would be there to help his son every step of the way, every moment he was needed, until his last breath. He kissed the little head, enjoying the innocent scent unique to babies, his life already in forfeit, never to be the same.
Lizzy kept drifting off to sleep, however, unable or unwilling to concentrate on her husband’s excited chatter, so he made his way soundlessly down the stairs to the front parlor, where he found his cousin sleeping. Both Richard and Amanda were snoring disgracefully, and the colonel did not immediately respond to Darcy’s initial gentle requests to awaken. Finally, an exasperated Darcy gave the bottom of his cousin’s boot a very hard and swift kick. “Fitz, you pathetic sloth, wake up and meet your new cousin.”
“What!” Fitzwilliam awoke with a start, snorted and then gasped. He shook his head to clear it from sleep. “What time is it?!”
“Half past three in the morning.”
“You bloody bastard! You’re lucky I didn’t have a… a pistol in my hand or… a sword… sharp object… lightning-fast reflexes… lethal…” His snores resumed before his head fell back onto the settee.
“Wake up!” Darcy hauled off and kicked his boot again, much harder. “Get up, you imbecile. Meet my son.”
Fitzwilliam’s eyes finally blinked open and focused on the bundle in Darcy’s arms. Yawning broadly, he slowly stood, hoisting the still-sleeping Harry higher onto his shoulder. “Never tell me this is the brute that woke up the entire of Mayfair with his bellowing?”
“Hellacious, wasn’t he?” Darcy beamed as he pulled back the blanket.
“Well, I’ll be damned. What’s he calling himself these days?”
“Bennet George Darcy.”
“Benny Darcy?”
“Good God, no! Sounds like a public-house proprietor. We’ll call him George.”
Fitzwilliam was very impressed, already feeling the bonds of family for the tiny fellow. “He’s rather immense to have come out of our little Lizzy, isn’t he?” he whispered. “Ooh! Look at that head! Fitzwilliam proportion head—very promising. He’ll be a brilliant scholar.”
Darcy nodded proudly. “Yes, and Lizzy assured me that this is our last child and that I can never touch her again.” By the smile on Darcy’s face, Fitzwilliam knew she would soon be required to revisit that declaration.
“God, but he looks a great deal like your father, doesn’t he?”
“That’s because he’s bald.”
“No, don’t be absurd. Look at his nose and the drool on his chin. Uncle George is stamped all over this face. I think I’ll get him a little powdered wig for his christening.”
“You would be godfather, you know.”
“The immense good fortune of this child just keeps accumulating.”
Darcy laughed. “The doctor examined him and Elizabeth and said they are both splendid.” He tenderly kissed his son’s head. “Although, I could have said as much.”
“I’m surprised you allowed that glorified barber anywhere near them after this evening.”
Darcy cooed at his child. “The fucking bastard is lucky he left with his manhood still attached, isn’t he, little one? No, he’ll not come anywhere near this house or my family again, I can guarantee that.” Darcy rubbed his nose against his boy’s tiny mittened fist. “Not if he wants to retain possession of his spleen.” He then continued relating to the child all manner of bloody things he would visit upon the good doctor. “Amanda’s friend, Anthony Milagros, will be called for tomorrow. I’ve heard very good things about him.”
Nodding, Fitzwilliam leaned down and kissed the child’s forehead, then discharged another loud, lusty yawn in the baby’s face. The baby wrinkled his nose and shook his head in disgust, making the two men laugh uproariously.