Though Darcy had initially experienced some trepidation when he had first learned of Elizabeth’s pregnancy, it had quickly given way to delight at the prospect of becoming a father. As Elizabeth’s slender body slowly increased, Darcy’s joy became such that he did not feel the least bit inclined to dwell upon the moment when his wife would have to give birth. By the time August arrived, however, Elizabeth’s size had increased to substantial proportions, forcing Darcy to finally give thought to the niggling fears he had, until that time, successfully managed to push to the back of his mind. With each passing day, he began to experience more concern for his wife, especially as he could not help noticing how she now found certain tasks, such as walking out for any distance or ascending the stairs to her room, to be more of a challenge. Darcy became on edge for Elizabeth’s safety and, as a result, took great pains to ensure someone was there to watch over her on those occasions when he was unable to accompany her. Though this precaution did go a long way in appeasing Darcy’s worry over her immediate safety and comfort, it did very little to free his mind from dwelling on the dangers Elizabeth would very soon face with the birth of their child.
He remembered all too well his mother’s ordeal when she had been expecting Georgiana and, even more vividly, the long, arduous birth and heart-wrenching sorrow that had followed. Though Elizabeth was not experiencing any difficulties other than those that all healthy young women who are fast approaching their confinement have in common, Darcy’s anxiety for her multiplied. For Elizabeth’s sake, he attempted to conceal his unease as best he could, but it did not take long for his astute wife to notice her husband’s agitation.
Elizabeth sensed Darcy’s anxiety growing daily and, knowing him so well, had her suspicions regarding the cause. She became especially concerned when she noticed his distraction was such that he had resumed his old practice of staring at her from across the room, much as he had done in Hertfordshire, to the exclusion of anyone else who might also be in their company at the time. Elizabeth had asked him, on several occasions, to confide in her, to share the source of his disquiet, but Darcy simply looked at her, shook his head, and kissed her as he assured her all was well and that he was tired or distracted. Elizabeth did not believe him for a moment, and one night, as she sat at the pianoforte and played a particularly moving love song, she happened to glance up to find his gaze fixed upon her with such a look of anguish it caused her fingers to fumble upon the keys. Their eyes locked, and then Darcy quickly turned aside his head and swallowed thickly. Elizabeth turned her attention back to her music with a frown.
At the end of her song, Darcy rose and strode from the room without so much as a word or even a look to her. Elizabeth followed him to his study. Without knocking, she entered to find him standing before a large window as he looked out into the darkness. His forearm rested against one of the window’s panes, his other hand on his hip.
“Was my performance so lacking you felt the need to flee without so much as a word to me?” she asked.
Her words were teasing, but there was a seriousness to her tone that caused him to shift uncomfortably. “Nothing is wrong with your performance, I assure you,” he said in a low, almost painfully quiet voice. “I am only distracted tonight, that is all.”
She crossed the room to stand beside him and placed her hand upon his arm. “Allow me to say, Fitzwilliam, that your assurances in this quarter have come to mean very little. Will you not finally speak to me of this thing that has been weighing upon you so heavily that you would persist in concealing it from me rather than confess?”
Darcy shook his head. “In this instance, I am afraid there is nothing that can be gained from my speaking of it. Indeed, I cannot.”
Elizabeth stroked her hand over his arm and asked, “You cannot, or you will not?”
He swallowed hard then. “Elizabeth, do not ask this of me,” he said, his voice hoarse. “It is not my wish to cause you distress.”
She stared at him, her exasperation and concern at his stubbornness evident. “Fitzwilliam, you cannot possibly cause me more distress by speaking with me than you already have by your refusing to do so. By your failing to confide in me, my agitation shall only continue to increase. Can you not see this?”
She squeezed his arm gently, and Darcy ran one hand over his tired eyes. A full minute passed before he inquired, “Are you certain you truly wish to know?”
“I do,” she said, her voice earnest. “Please, speak to me.”
He sighed and, after a few moments, began to speak in a pained voice, his gaze fixed upon some imaginary point as he continued to stare out into the darkness. “Whenever I close my eyes each night, whenever I think of you during the day—which, as you must know has always been constantly—I cannot help but be reminded of the very great danger I know you shall soon have to face. In vain I have struggled to think of happier thoughts, but I cannot seem to stop myself from dwelling upon the worst. I fear for you, Elizabeth, I fear for our unborn child, and, selfish as it is, I fear for myself. There is no possible way I can continue to exist if you do not. I cannot put it any plainer than that.”
Elizabeth, thankful to have her suspicions confirmed at last, said, “Fitzwilliam, indeed, you need not trouble yourself with such thoughts. You know I shall never leave you, and certainly not like that.”
Darcy turned then and faced her, his eyes tortured. “But you and I cannot know that, Elizabeth. Not for certain.”
“No,” she said. “No one can ever know anything for certain. We can only put our faith in God and hope for the best. Fitzwilliam, my mother bore five healthy daughters, and she survived each birth with no complications whatsoever. My pregnancy, from what I understand, is much like hers. In any case, you have seen for yourself and heard the doctors’ reassurances that nothing untoward has occurred to give rise to any worry.” She paused for a moment before adding, “I am not your mother, my dearest. I am myself. Though you were quite young then, you must recognize some difference in our circumstances. Can you not?”
He pulled her into his arms. “I can,” he admitted. “I know you are not her, Elizabeth, but it is because of her that I cannot help but to think in such a manner. Believe me when I say I do not wish to dwell upon such wretched possibilities.”
“Then do not,” she commanded softly. “Do not think any longer of such things. Only have faith in me when I say to you all will be well.” He said nothing in response, and Elizabeth said, “Fitzwilliam, I am so very happy I am carrying your child. I want for you to be happy, as well. We have only one short month until we shall become parents. Our privacy—our entire lives—will be greatly altered by this new life growing within me. Do not waste this precious time we have alone together with such dark thoughts. Do not dwell upon what may never come to pass. Rejoice in the knowledge that I love you and our child, and all shall be well in the end.”
Darcy nodded mutely and buried his face in her hair. Breathing deeply, he held onto her with a fervency and an emotion he had not dared in days. “Tell me again that you will not leave me, Elizabeth,” he whispered in a pleading voice.