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Elizabeth Darcy had many reasons to be contented with her life. She was happily married to a man who both adored and respected her, she had the benefit of a remarkably comfortable and beautiful home, her family was in good health and lived at a significant enough distance that the possibility of an extended visit rarely threatened her tranquillity, and she was nearing her first confinement. There was very little in her life that she did not think near perfect.
She sighed deeply and leaned heavily on the back of the sofa as she passed.
Perhaps there was one aspect of her current situation that she found less than perfect.
“Elizabeth?” Fitzwilliam asked, his tone concerned. “Are you quite well?”
Elizabeth let out a long sigh and suppressed a groan.
“Fear not, Fitzwilliam,” she said, attempting a light tone. “I am only feeling a little fatigued. Our child is taking rather more energy from me than I ever expected before its birth.” She resumed her path to the tea tray with a quick smile for her husband. “I am not used to being so tired after so little movement.”
“Allow me, Elizabeth,” he said, following behind her and attempting to pick up the teapot before she could. “You just sit down and I will bring you what you need.”
“I am perfectly capable—”
“Humour me,” Fitzwilliam interrupted mildly. “I have more than enough energy to pour tea, my dear, and I would rather you conserve your own for your next great expedition.”
“Of course,” Elizabeth replied teasingly, “I shall need all of my energy reserves to ascend the stairs to dress for the evening.”
“If you would prefer to forego such formalities, I will raise no objection.”
Elizabeth took a seat on the sofa and shook her head.
“I am not in such bad condition yet, Fitzwilliam.”
“You are in excellent condition,” he protested, carefully filling a cup with tea and stirring in milk.
“I feel that I am barely myself anymore,” she sighed, looking forlornly down at her gown. “How you can say that I am in excellent condition—”
“I am afraid I must ask you to desist.”
“What?” Elizabeth asked, shocked that he not only interrupted her but to say such a thing. “Fitzwilliam, how can you—”
“I will not hear a word against my wife, Elizabeth, not even from you,” he replied, holding the teacup out to her with a kind smile. “You are carrying our first child and it is only natural that you feel—”
“Awful?”
“Unsettled.”
Elizabeth laughed, but it sounded strange and almost bitter to her ears. She took a contemplative sip of her tea and watched as Fitzwilliam fetched her a piece of cake on a small plate. She accepted it with a grateful smile.
“Can I get you anything else, my dear?”
“No,” she sighed. “Please choose something for yourself and join me.”
“You are sure that you want my company?” he teased.
“There are very few occasions where I do not want your company,” she said simply. “And as I see that you are determined to be positive in the face of my negativity, I will attempt to adopt such an attitude myself.”
“This is quite a role reversal,” he said, taking a seat close enough that she could reach for him if she wanted to but not so close as to encroach on her space. “I never thought that I would be accused of positivity while you assumed the mantle of negativity in our marriage.”
“Well, as you said before, I am a touch unsettled by my current state. I am not used to these days of enforced idleness and endless exhaustion. I long to go for a good, rambling walk and feel the sun on my face for more than a few minutes at a time. I want to complete my work without the need for endless breaks to rest and recuperate. I've done nothing more taxing than walk from my chamber to the breakfast room in a week but I feel as if I have walked miles and miles every day.”
She took another sip of her tea and willed it to soothe her irritation. She turned to face her husband who was maintaining a careful silence at her side. He knew better than to interrupt her when she was in the middle of one of her infrequent outbursts of frustration. He stirred his tea calmly as he waited for her to continue.
“I had not thought that I would be effected this much,” she confessed quietly after a moment. “I had always considered myself strong enough to withstand the trials of pregnancy and I find it incredibly frustrating that I am unable to undertake my usual duties and activities. Do you know that I had to take a rest after writing a letter yesterday? One letter, Fitzwilliam, and I was exhausted!”
“Tis nothing to be ashamed of, Elizabeth,” he murmured gently. “You are close to your confinement, and it is only natural—”
“Oh, I know it is natural, Fitzwilliam! Anyone will tell you that this whole process is nature’s greatest blessing.”
She put her tea down on the table and turned her attention to her cake.
“I am sorry, I do not mean to lose my temper with you,” she said after a moment in which Fitzwilliam wisely maintained his silence. “It is just that I have longed for this moment for so long and now that it is here—”
She trailed off helplessly, feeling her eyes fill with tears. She closed her eyes and leaned back against the sofa before she felt the soft touch of a fine handkerchief against her cheek.
“I wish that I could do more to help you, Elizabeth,” Fitzwilliam murmured. “If there is anything that I may do for your increased comfort, you need only say for it to be so.”
He gently wiped away the tears the had escaped her eyes and then she heard the sound of his teacup being put down on the table. Then, he took the plate out of her hands and put that on the table, too. When she felt him move off the sofa, she opened her eyes in confusion to see him kneeling before her.
“Fitzwilliam, what—”
“I must ask that you trust me, Elizabeth,” he said seriously as he lifted her feet from the floor and encouraged her to put them on the sofa. “I have sought some advice on what may increase your comfort and I would like to put some of the suggestions to the test.”
“Advice?” Elizabeth repeated faintly. “From whom?”
“Your Aunt Gardiner,” he said, pulling her slippers off and putting them neatly under the table. “My Aunt Fitzwilliam.”
Elizabeth gaped at him as he began to massage her feet, carefully at first but gaining in confidence as he went on.
“They suggested this?” she gasped, surprised at how soothing the simple gesture was.
“Among other things,” he replied, his head still bent to his task. “The general consensus seems to be that the late stages of pregnancy can result in significant discomfort and so it is incumbent on me, as your husband, to seek every possible remedy for you.”
Elizabeth bit her lip and suppressed a laugh with some difficulty as she watched her husband, his concentration on the task at hand as complete as ever it was with any matter of the estate. After a few moments more, he raised himself from his position on the floor and came to sit next to her once more. When she went to put her feet on the floor once more, he waved a hand to stop her.
“Leave your feet up, Elizabeth and put your head in my lap.”
He settled himself so he was leaning against the arm of the sofa and with his arms aloft, waiting for her to put her head down.
“Fitzwilliam,” she hissed, glancing around the empty room as if they were being observed. “What if someone comes in?”
“No one will come in,” he said calmly. “I have given strict instructions for no servant to enter this room until I call for them.”
With a slightly bemused smile, Elizabeth adjusted her body until she was laying down almost flat along the length of the sofa, her feet propped up on one arm and her head in his lap. He smiled down at her and then, seeing that she was settled, started to rub gently at her temples. Feeling almost overwhelmed by the tenderness of his expression, she closed her eyes once more and gave herself up to the sensation.
“You are doing so well, Elizabeth,” he murmured as his fingers continued to work. “I know that it has not been easy for you, but you are almost at the end of it, now. And soon enough, you will hold our child in your arms. Our son or daughter that you have carried so carefully and protected with all the love in your heart.” One of his hands left her head and drifted down to her belly, where one of hers was resting. He laced their fingers together and continued, “The proudest day of my life, thus far, was the day that you became my wife. But I feel certain that the day that I see our child, the day that I can hold the proof of our love and devotion—”
He stopped talking as he seemed to be overcome by emotion and Elizabeth, eyes still closed, squeezed his hand encouragingly.
“Seeing our child, knowing that I have been afforded the great honour of fathering your child, will mean the world to me, my love.”
Elizabeth opened her eyes at last, almost blinded by her tears to see him crying too.
“Fitzwilliam, the honour is mine,” she choked out, reaching out with her free hand to caress his cheek.
“The honour is ours, my love,” he said quietly. “The honour is ours.”