Sons and Daughters, page 18
“Dreadful for him? Dreadful for her, rather. She must have died in agony; the child was stillborn.” Alice shook her head sagely. “Papa said he’s a broken man, was drowning his sorrow in work until he very nearly collapsed and Papa and Uncle Fitz had to sit him down and lecture him. And you know how adept those two are at lectures!”
Anne Marie wiped away her tears and sniffled. “What a horrible thing to have happened to him – I mean his wife and child dying, not the lecture…hold on a minute, why did Papa tell you all this and not me?!”
“He was probably afraid you’d cry.”
“That’s ridiculous. Well, maybe. Oh my,” she suddenly sobbed.
“Do you still harbor a tendre for him? You do, don’t you?”
“No longer, no. That was only a childish fancy, long ago forgotten.” Anne Marie delicately blew her nose and composed herself. “Frankly, I don’t know why any woman would wish to marry. The entire process seems so undignified – I mean the liberties that one must allow her husband – and then face childbirth as well? I have no desire to ever be courted.”
Alice shrugged. “Well, the way I see it, women have been marrying and having babies almost continually since Adam and Eve, haven’t they? And the practice continues, some women even having more than one child. Look at Mama. Heavens, look at Auntie Amanda herself for that matter. Eight babies already and this, her ninth! I mean, why do women go through childbirth so often if it is that unendurable, unless perhaps the rewards were greater than the shame or the risk? Of course, many women do die in childbirth, but that could only happen to her once…”
“Alice, you’re making me ill.”
“Why? What have I said?” But then Alice stopped speaking and glanced in the same direction as Anne Marie stared, at their parents, seeing the concern on her father’s face as he spoke with their mother. After a moment the couple approached their daughters.
“Is something wrong? Mama, Papa.”
Lizzy thought carefully before she spoke, unwilling to instill what would be, hopefully, needless anxiety into young minds, but also unable to lie. “There perhaps is a problem with the birth.”
“Oh, no!” exclaimed Anne Marie. Such a simple statement and yet, following on the heels of their recent conversation, it somehow encapsulated all the apprehensions of motherhood for unmarried girls, all of the terrors of child bearing. The young women held hands and listened intently, their eyes bright with unshed tears.
“Now, now, don’t borrow trouble, girls. Come along,” Darcy stretched his arms out to shepherd his daughters back to the coach, a sympathetic smile softening his face. “Your Mama is needed by cousin Amanda and she could be here for quite a while so I thought I would take you home, then return here later for a spell. There’s really no sense in you having to wait around. Besides, your governess is expecting you, I’m sure you have a great deal to tell her…”
Neither child moved, both yearning for more information. He could sense his daughters growing anxiety for one of their family. “The babe is giving a bit of trouble to his mother, rather like George did with your mother. You’ve both heard the funny story many times.” In truth, the girls had heard the story once or twice and no longer found it quite as amusing as they had as children. The reality was that their father and mother had believed she would die in childbirth and it was only through Amanda’s assistance that Lizzy had survived at all.
“We would both rather be here, with the rest of the family Papa.” Anne Marie spoke, Alice nodding her agreement. “We can both rest in Kathy’s room if needed.”
As they passed through the front doors Alice tugged at her father's coat sleeve and whispered, “Papa, do you need to be Catholic to become a nun?”
When Darcy and his daughters entered the library, Alice’s gaze, as always, first sought out her beloved Harry. She had not seen him in a lifetime, nearly three years, his studies at Oxford and her visits to London or Somerton never coinciding with family homecomings. He looked so different, no longer the gangly, skinny seventeen year old she had last seen. He was a man now, fully grown. His shoulders were wider, his body thicker, his arms and legs long and powerful looking. Her heart patted wildly in her teeny breast. Impossible as it was he had grown even more handsome, an earthbound angel in disguise.
“Uncle Wills!” Harry was leaning a hip on the table where George Darcy sat with someone; however, he stood when he saw the Darcy’s enter. The sound of his voice, so much deeper, more masculine and mature than she ever remembered, left her breathless.
“Father.” George rose and came quickly, along with Harry. “Father, it’s good to see you.” They shook hands and hugged. “Glad I came straight here instead of going to the house. When I heard about Auntie Amanda I knew you and mother would be arriving at some time so I thought I’d stay around, meet the new cousin. I shall ride home with you lot; I’ve sent my luggage on home already.”
“It’s grand to see you boys as well. Sorry I missed your football match at school last week, George. Couldn’t be helped. Fitz and I have had our hands full readying Robert for the election.”
“You’ve missed more than one match, father.”
“I’ve seen more than I’ve missed, George. I do try, and I feel badly that I even missed one. Think how much worse it would have been if I had sought the election for myself. You’re not that upset, surely. I’ll be at the next, I promise.”
George turned away, feeling childish for his momentary pouting and not wanting his father to see the hopeful light in his eyes. He directed his attention, instead, to his sisters. “Hello you two; good heavens, how perfectly dreadful you both look. Did you ride here outside the carriage or within? Why don’t you go up to our old rooms and freshen up!”
“George,” Darcy admonished, shaking his head. “Must you start in immediately teasing your sisters?”
“Who’s teasing?”
“Anyone who wears his hair as wild and as long as you do has no room to comment upon another’s appearance.” Anne Marie flounced by her brother, as ready to fight as any other sibling. Alice had not, however, heard the mocking comments. Her gaze was on the young woman who had been sitting with her brother and Harry.
It was Celeste. It was always Celeste. Alice suddenly felt ugly and little and very silly for still holding a wish in her heart. She was only a child, trapped within a child’s body. Not beautiful or womanly. Not. Celeste. She fought back the juvenile tears already near the surface and turned away.
For a moment Harry was stunned at Alice’s apparent snub. She was such an agreeable, darling little thing, always had been. He loved her dearly and had been eager to see her again, wanting to hear her laughter, always feeling the need to know she was protected, to shelter her from the world. Still reed thin and plain as a duck, she had grown in the three years since he had seen her last, but not by much. She still had much too much hair; and, poor dear, her features – her mouth and eyes – seemed far too bold for such a small head.
None of that really mattered to him though, because she was his little Alice. It was her good opinion of him that he craved, and her company, even as young as she was. Before today her open admiration of him had filled him with warmth – he had come to expect her fussing, her loving gaze, as his due. This coldness toward him was something new and very unsettling.
“What? Oh, I’m sorry Uncle Wills. What did you ask?”
“I wondered if you’ve had any word about your mother?”
“Father says there is some trouble and Uncle Tony is having a difficult time reasoning with her, but that’s nothing new; Mama and Uncle Tony always disagree about something.” He turned to Alice and Anne Marie. “I barely recognized you two. Why is it that the Darcy side of the family has all the good looks? Come and give me a hug and a kiss.”
Anne Marie ran into his arms for hugging, but Alice remained distant. He dearly wished she’d smile at him. The anxious day was weighing heavily on his heart as it was and Alice’s natural optimism and cheerful comments could always make him laugh and feel better. One of the many reasons he loved her was that she brought happiness to all around her with her quick wit and joy of life. “Your brother is an ignorant ass,” he whispered in her ear and sighed a bit with relief when he heard her giggles.
“Hello, Mr. Darcy.” Celeste now approached, gently claiming Harry’s arm. Darcy noticed something different about the couple, a knowing that had not been present before.
“Hello, Celeste, how good to see you again. You remember my daughters, Alice and Anne Marie?”
“Yes, of course.” Celeste smiled kindly at the two girls. She and her soon to be fiancé had started to become rather intimate with each other, actually very intimate, so she felt womanly, and therefore more in charity with little girls who might desire him. She even felt a bit guilty these days for the unwarranted and strange jealousy of the child standing before her. Whatever could she have been concerned about? Little Alice Darcy was still an infant, odd looking and plain, and obviously – poor thing – so obviously in love with Harry. Celeste gave Harry’s hand a little squeeze.
“Hello Anne Marie. Hello, Alice. You’ve both grown so that I hardly recognize you either.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Katherine opened the door barely wide enough to peer through. Fearing her mother to be at the mercy of their usual staff of incompetent maids, her heart pounded at what she might see. The room itself was bright, the curtains having been pulled as far back as possible to reveal a very large, unfashionable room designed more for her parent’s comfort than for style. Hadn’t Kathy moaned to her mother just the previous day how dearly the entire house needed updating, the décor was that old and passé? Nothing befitted the home of an Earl and his Countess. Where was the Rococo, the Gothic styling? For goodness sake Mama still had a Grecian chaise by the window in her sitting room. “Really!” she had exclaimed, “…and vertically striped wallpaper, Mama. What were you thinking with that? Dreadful!”
Kathy shivered at her own words. What did any of it matter with her mother now suffering only a few feet from her and she could do nothing but watch and pray? She was powerless. What if her mother died? Kathy squeezed her eyes shut and gulped back the sob that would expose her, knowing her father would force her to wait downstairs with the others if he knew she was there, watching, waiting. She returned to a chair in the far corner and sat.
The clock striking eight awakened her. She was glad to see she had drifted off to sleep for only a quarter hour but now she heard her Uncle Anthony speaking, his voice raised. Perhaps that was what woke her. She tiptoed to the door and quietly opened it again. Anthony never allowed himself to appear upset or look disheveled, yet there he stood by the window, his shirtsleeves rolled up, his collar undone, shaking his finger in anger over something.
A movement in the cheval mirror, a reflection from the opposite side of the room, caught her eye. It was her father, come to stand beside the bed, his large hands scraping back hair that looked even wilder, if possible, than usual. When he leaned forward he was out of view in the mirror, so Katherine shifted her stance once again, just in time to see him bring something up to his lips to tenderly kiss.
It was her mother’s hand.
Tears stung Kathy’s eyes. That was just too sweet. Over the years she had rarely seen any sort of interaction between her parents without children around. It was strange to see them like this, exposed and vulnerable together; unguarded.
It is as if they were an actual man and woman…a couple…lovers even. Kathy stared on in fascination.
Her father sat on the chair beside the bed, pure worship for his wife in his gaze. He smoothed back the dampened hair from her forehead and she pressed her cheek into his hand, turning her face to kiss his palm. Tears shone brightly in their eyes, their foreheads touching then as they whispered to each other, kissing each other slowly and so very lovingly, almost passionately.
Katherine clasped her hands together beneath her chin, seeing them for once almost as a stranger would. Here was a world in which she had no place – she felt an interloper, but she could not look away because it was so lovely, a private moment of a devoted couple. A couple in love with each other.
A sudden gasp from her mother interrupted her reverie and caused a panic in the room. Her beautiful Mama began to writhe in agony; she grasped frantically for her husband’s hand and bent forward as yet another rolling wave of pain engulfed her.
“Mama…” Kathy sobbed, and though she thought she had whispered the word it was said loud enough for Anthony to hear. He crossed quickly to the door.
“Niña,” he said. “What are you doing here? You would do better to be downstairs with the others.”
“I should like to see my mother – immediately. Stand aside if you please.” Kathy could easily be just as haughty, could be just as intimidating, at ten and five as her Aunt Catherine was at sixty. And how formidable will this one be at thirty? Anthony bit back his grin as the child attempted to push him away.
“No, no, no, little one – Dios mio you are strong – your mother is not able to see you now. Go to your brothers, go speak with Harry. He will explain.” Taking her elbow he forced her to turn around, guided her back into the sitting room and then closed the door behind them. However, she was a determined young woman, driven now with heart pounding panic and fear as she struggled.
“Release me this instant! I wish to speak with my Mama and I wish to speak with her now! Leave go of my elbow and stand away from that door! I’m warning you, I’ll kick you, I swear I will! You cannot prevent me, tio! Let me by!” She was rapidly becoming hysterical, her voice quivering wildly as she raged on and on.
The door behind Anthony suddenly opened and her father stepped out. “Kathy! Lower your voice. Anthony, I’ll take care of this. Please go to my wife and tell her I’ll be with her in a moment.” Fitzwilliam took in the sight of his proud daughter – her eyes flashing a combination of fury and terror, her fists ready to do battle and clenched at her side, her feet prepared to dash past him at any opportunity.
Anthony chuckled. “Better you than me, Richard,” he said then returned to Amanda.
While it was true that the drama of the past months had caused a rift between father and daughter nothing could dim the love. For all of her misspoken French and imperious attitude Fitzwilliam understood his daughter better than she understood herself. She was, by far, the most vulnerable of all his children and the most easily hurt. As second born so soon after the twin boys, and Luke coming quickly after her, she had always sought for an added measure of attention from her father, extra love from her mother; but, with so many children there never seemed enough time to satisfy her, enough love to console her.
“Kathy, you need to go downstairs with the others. Listen to me – look at me. No, you cannot go in there at the moment. I will come down and speak with all of you when I’m able, but I will not leave your mother now and you simply cannot go in.” Weary almost beyond his endurance, Fitzwilliam’s hand began to rub the back of his neck.
“What is that in your hand? A rosary? You can’t have a rosary, Papa, you’re not Catholic! Ooh, that’s a sin, I’m almost certain of it! If anyone should say a rosary it will be me not you – give that to me! Papa, it won’t count if you do it! How do you even have a rosary?”
“Kathy, enough! This was a gift to me from your mother at our wedding, it was her father’s – will you please stop trying to snatch it away!” Finally capturing both her wrists in his hand, he hid the offending beads behind his back, out of her reach. “If you must know your mother gains comfort from praying her beads so I am saying them with her.”
An overwhelming panic began to tighten its grip on her heart. “Oh dear Jesu; Papa, is she going to die?”
“No child, of course not! Why must you always go to these extremes, Kathy? All right, all right, things are very difficult for your mother at the moment. The baby is in a somewhat bad position and we are discussing what’s best.”
“I have heard the maids talking. They say that the baby may kill my Mama! That it won’t come out, that she is in great pain and I myself have heard her cry out, several times.”
Oh Lord, what to say to her. He had never consciously lied to his children, had always included them in any and all decisions that affected their futures; but, this was delving into matters a child her age should not need to hear.
“Sit down here, next to me, and listen. The baby is positioned strangely within your Mama – now do not be alarmed, it happens occasionally. In fact, it happened to Auntie Eliza, and generally things right themselves; but, as the hours pass your mother grows weaker. Anthony knows of several methods to adjust the babe but it is taking time because the child is… a bit larger than the rest of you were.”
“But Mama has had so many children with no problem before. Why is this one being so difficult!?”
“Well, your Mama is older now and the older a woman becomes the more difficulty she has. Having the ‘Marys’ seven years ago was, frankly, well, rather hard on her heart.”
“This is all your fault!” Kathy jumped to her feet. “How could you? Go take a mistress as other men do!” She began to shout and pound on his chest. “You leave my mother alone! Stop sleeping in the same bed as she – oh, that is just so disgusting and common! No one’s parents sleep with each other night after night like that! Find someone else!”
“How dare you say such things to me?” For the first time in his daughter’s short but very vocal life Fitzwilliam had to restrain himself from striking her. Grabbing her by her upper arm he physically dragged her across the hall into his own sitting room then spun her around to face him. Now safely away from his wife’s hearing, Fitzwilliam’s voice boomed out. “You’ve gone too far this time, child, grossly overstepped your bounds! How dare you! Take a mistress! Of all the…damnation, how do you even know of such things? Your mother and I made vows to each other, Katherine; pledges we both hold very sacred. I could never be untrue to your mother – never. This part of our marriage is private! It is between husband and wife and of the most personal nature there can be between a man and a woman! It is certainly of no concern to you!”
