Lizzy gazed lovingly at her spouse. “It was so real, William. I woke immediately and he was fluttering crazily, so much so that I could almost feel him with my hand. I knew, I do know, as surely as I know my love for you, that this child is a boy. Does this sound insane?”
He sat up, requiring her assistance, and tenderly stroked her cheek. “Alexander is one of my names, as you know, but there are two facts of which you are unaware. Alexander is the name of the boy in the portrait of the first Darcys from the 1400s, the one who so resembles me as a youth. It is a family name that has materialized frequently, both in males and females, over the generations. I was gifted the name after my father's younger brother, who died at the age of twelve. My father had been extremely devoted to that Alexander, and I grew up hearing stories of this namesake whom I had never met. I always liked the name, not simply because of my uncle, but because it is a pleasing name. Strong, the name of a king, and can be shortened if necessary without sounding idiotic, like Fitz, which I abhor, or Will.” He kissed her gently. “I do not know if it was a message or a premonition, my love, but I can tell you that I have always desired my son to be named Alexander and we have never discussed this. So, I do not believe you insane.” He smiled, kissing her again. “I presume, therefore, that the Christian name has been unanimously decided?”
Lizzy laughed and nodded, hugging cautiously. “By the way, who on earth calls you Fitz?”
“No one more than once, I can assure you. Now, how about some lunch?”
They ate in the sitting room, contentedly snuggled on the sofa, conversing about general topics with laughter and effortless ease. Lizzy excused herself briefly, the need to utilize the water closet frequent. Darcy stood by the window when she returned and she encircled his waist, laying her head between his shoulder blades while he clasped her hands. They stood for a time in silence.
“William, I have something to tell you that I have avoided. Forgive me for evasiveness or concealment, but I feared your anger and disappointment spoiling our reunion. However, I cannot equivocate any longer. Lady Catherine came here on the day you left and… spoke with me. It was… unpleasant.”
Darcy turned and embraced her tightly, voice heavy with emotion when he replied, “I am aware of it, dearest. Lord Matlock wrote me, although not until the day of my accident.” He cupped her surprised face, eyes mournful. “Elizabeth, can you ever forgive me for not being here? I swear, I never thought she would do this. I thought time would have mellowed her opinion and when I wrote to her about our blessed news I imagined she would be thrilled for me. It is inconceivable that she did this, but more so that I abandoned you. Please, I beg you, forgive me for not protecting you and so foolishly assuming she would behave as a proper lady.”
Lizzy was shaking her head, tears springing to her eyes. “Oh William! It is I who should be begging your pardon!” She pulled away and began pacing, Darcy watching her in confusion.
“Elizabeth, I do not understand.”
Lizzy sighed. “She said so many things that were simply inane: accusing me of marrying you for your money, intimating that a Bennet could not birth a boy, saying that I was forcing you to harbor secrets from her and encouraging the rift, and other nonsense.” Lizzy glanced up at his darkening face then quickly looked away, flushing with shame. “She also talked about the lack of invitations as if she knew and how your social standing and the Darcy name had been hurt by marrying me.”
“Elizabeth, surely you lent no credence to that absurdity?”
“Not at first, no. Yet, I wondered. I remembered what you had said when you first proposed, about my rank and circumstances. She was right about the lack of invitations, and I know so little about your world and the requirements. I hated that I may have caused you pain or difficulties, even though I could not have done differently than to marry you. Then, Madeline told me that you knew about Lady Catherine's knowledge of my pregnancy, and I…” she caught her breath with a sob, “was angry and confused and hurt. It made perfect sense that she would attack me, hating me as she does and I thought… you should have…” she covered her face with her hands, collapsing onto the chaise in tears.
Darcy had turned to stare out the window, emotions in turmoil. Damn you to hell, Aunt Catherine! he screamed in his mind, yet it was his own guilt as much as anger that raged through him. Elizabeth was crying behind him; and he longed to run to her at the same moment he wanted to yell at her. How could she believe one word of his aunt's vindictiveness? When would she forgive him his past arrogance and misconceptions? How could she think he would purposely desert her? Of course, that is exactly why you are so riddled with guilt, Darcy.
He sighed, grasping for control and understanding. He turned, heart instantly melting at the sight of the woman he loved more than his own miserable life crying with heartache. He was across the room and enfolding her into his arms before another beat of his heart. Reclining onto the chaise with her cuddled between his legs, he lifted her chin to meet his eyes.
“Elizabeth Darcy, listen to me carefully. I love you. I absolutely refuse to allow Lady Catherine's spite to separate us, even minutely. We must rationally discuss this. You are correct in that I should have foreseen her actions. Yes, I should have,” he confirmed in response to her negative exclamation. “Of course, even if I had suspected that she might still confront you with vicious words, I may not have been available to halt her had I been in Town. I will undoubtedly persist in my self-chastisement because I consider it my duty to shield you from woes, but logically I cannot expect to invariably succeed. Nor can you expect me to, I suppose.”
He held her tighter, speaking softly with old remorse, “I have hurt you so in the past, beloved. I wish I could erase my horrid words more than you will ever comprehend, but I cannot. Instead, I want more than anything to make your life perfect, blissful at all moments, full of the love you deserve. I reckon that you feel much the same for me. Naturally, this is ludicrous. Life is not flawless, no matter how close one may obtain excellence. All we can truly promise each other is to love and honor and respect and communicate.”
“William, I am so sorry. I feel at times as if I am going crazy, my emotions are in such turmoil. Madeline says it is the pregnancy, and perhaps this is so, yet I cannot place all blame there as if it excuses my stupidity. I had to confess my words and thoughts but I did not truly mean it—only fleetingly in the moment of distress. My faith in you, in your capabilities and choices but primarily in your love for me, is unwavering. I have been distraught all week imagining your anger at Lady Catherine or me—or worse yet, your guilt and disappointment. I never want you to regret marrying me—”
“Elizabeth! I will not listen to you speak those words! Angry I may be from time to time. Guilty for not achieving my set standards, yes, but regret? I could sooner regret breathing than to regret having you as my wife.” He embraced her crushingly and actually shuddered, inhaling raggedly.
They held each other for a very long while, reassured by the silence of their hearts beating in tune. Lizzy lazily caressed his chest, the foolish conjectures of the past week fading into the wind as her husband comforted with tender kisses and a sturdy grip. Finally, he asked her to tell him everything that had been said. She did, leaving nothing out except for the revelation of his grief when she refused him. That disclosure was too private and painful to relive, for either of them.