The new Mistress of Pemberley had perused the lists a hundred times. All was prepared, all arrangements confirmed, all essential items purchased and delivered, all staff assignments covered, all entertainers present. Barring a sudden freak rainstorm or equally cataclysmic event, all should transpire as planned. No one was worried; everyone from Darcy on down was quite used to handling such operations, albeit not on this scale, but the staff was imminently competent and would sooner die a painful death than disappoint their Master and Mistress.
Nonetheless, despite all logic to the contrary, Lizzy worried.
The day itself dawned bright, the sky cloud free, and promised to be as scorching as the one prior. The occupants of Pemberley observed the unfolding drama upon the grounds from the relative calm of the Manor. In the Master chambers, Lizzy had tossed restlessly for the bulk of the night. Her mind fretted and raced, preventing deep sleep, and what dreams she attained involved a Festival tragedy or dilemma of some kind. Darcy soothed her as best he could, finally unconsciously retreating to the far side of the bed to avoid her flipping body. Somewhere in the darkest hours of the morning, she fell into an exhaustive sleep so overwhelming that she did not note her husband departing for a morning ride or his return several hours later.
She woke from the faint breath of a cool breeze tickling her face, combined with the baby somersaulting on her bladder. The room was empty, windows open wide to encourage available airflow, and it was nearly ten o’clock. Lizzy jolted up in a panic, rushed through her toilette, and dashed toward the sitting room where she seriously prayed food of some sort was left lying about. Food was thankfully present, the sidebar laden and smelling delicious. Also present was her husband, dressed from riding sans his boots, slumped in a chair with long legs propped on the ottoman and newspaper open. He glanced up as she practically vaulted through the door, he the epitome of blithe serenity.
“Good morning, sleeping beauty,” he greeted her with a debonair grin. “Hungry?” Of course, the query was unnecessary, as she was always hungry when she woke these days. He rose as he spoke, crossing to where she stood torn between delight at seeing him so devastatingly handsome and irrational vexation at his tranquility. He kissed her cheek, smoothing her wildly rumpled hair, smiling knowingly as he met her eyes. “Sit, love. What shall I get you?”
He turned toward the breakfast bar, Lizzy speaking but not answering his question, “You were out this morning. Is all well?”
He arched a brow in amusement. “All is according to your well-laid plans, Elizabeth. If they were not, heads would be rolling, I assure you. Marmalade or strawberry jam?”
“Very funny, William!” She retorted, again ignoring his inquiry, although she did flop into her chair with a heavy sigh.
“I was not attempting to be funny, although I suppose heads would not actually roll, but you get the picture. The staff knows what is required and will perform brilliantly. You, Mistress Darcy, are ordered to rest as much as possible today. No argument, Elizabeth,” he said, this last spoken sharply and with a severe glower, Lizzy's mouth snapping shut. “My duty for the day will be to ensure your obedience. How I shall accomplish the feat, I have yet to decide.” He grinned roguishly from the bar, where he was piling her plate high with everything since she seemed unwilling to inform him as to her craving. He returned to her slowly, speaking in a low tone as if perplexed, “Let me think. How can I make certain you lay about at perfect ease, expending minimal energy, engaged in activities delightful and requiring only fundamental cogitation? Hmmm… quite the pickle.”
He handed her the plate, smiling broadly into her frowning face. “Now I am attempting to be funny. Humor is a chore for me, so you should laugh so as not to damage my fragile ego.”
She took the proffered plate with a grunt. “Your ego, Mr. Darcy, is about as fragile as tempered steel, and you are still not funny!” He laughed boomingly and her frown deepened. Nonetheless, she attacked the food, Darcy returning moments later with a cup of tea, still chuckling.
He kissed her forehead then resettled into his chair, peering sidelong as he attended to the newspaper. Lizzy woke famished everyday, weak and shaky from hunger, yet in the end ate not much more than she ever had. Darcy was certainly far from an expert on matters relating to females and pregnancy, but it amazed him how essentially unchanged she was. Her breasts were fuller and darker, with fine veins visible as they had not been previously, her belly seemed daily to swell and she was slightly wider in the hips, yet her waist was as narrow, and viewed from behind, one could not tell she was with child. The remainder of her perfect body was unaltered, Lizzy as svelte as ever. However, she was only at the midpoint of her pregnancy and he knew the majority of their son's growth was yet to come.
Most of the symptoms of pregnancy as related by Dr. Darcy and the text had not affected Elizabeth. Occasionally fatigue would grip her, but generally her stamina was as inexhaustible as always. Her skin remained alabaster and supple, she did not experience the strange food cravings reported, she felt no pains or further muscle tingling in her back or hips, she slept very well, weight gain was minimal, and her sexual appetite was undiminished. George had stressed the importance of exercise, surprising Darcy, as he would have imagined laying about being preferential. Thankfully, this was not so, as Lizzy had no intention of being confined until, as she phrased it, she was too enormous to be evicted from their bed! Since Darcy simply could not fathom this, he rather expected she would be trudging the Pemberley gardens mere hours before their son arrived.
With visions of a waddling, rotund wife navigating the rose garden, Darcy chuckled lowly and seriously studied the paper. Lizzy finished her meal, about a third of what her husband had piled onto the plate, irritation vanishing along with her hunger. Naturally, Darcy was correct again. The staff would execute all details brilliantly, not only because they were loyal and stellar, but because their own entertainment depended on flawless implementation. In fact, her part to play was essentially complete. Even if a few minor snares or mishaps occurred, the entertainment planned was such that no one would be leaving having not enjoyed themselves fully.
She sighed, sipped her tea in peaceful silence for a spell, and then turned her musings to Darcy's jesting allusion to bedroom activities. Scrutinizing him unobtrusively, Lizzy smiled a slow and decidedly decadent grin. He sat once again with legs stretched onto the ottoman, crossed at the ankles, one hand holding a coffee cup with index finger tapping on the rim, the other hand gripping the paper while he read the finance page with intent examination. His beautiful lips were slightly pursed and those two little creases were fixed between his brows as he read. Lizzy's smile deepened. She loved watching him when he concentrated. The past hectic months had assigned them scant time to merely be together in placid pursuits. With a sudden and profound surge of sheer selfishness, she decided that she would take him at his threat. If he wished her to lie about and relax, then she would do so, but only if he was with her.
Relishing the moment, she candidly and adoringly studied him, allowing internal desires to rise as they invariably did whenever he was near. With a near jolt it occurred to her that he was growing more handsome each day. Perhaps it was just her personal prejudices, but she honestly believed it so. His face was mildly tanned from his daily rides, a faint scattering of tiny freckles across his nose and neck, and his hair was longer, having not been trimmed for several weeks, lending an air of barbarism to his normally cultured mien. Of course, his riding clothes always excited her and being half dressed meant his fine figure was readily visible.