The Price of Family
By DJ Clawson
Another sequel to "A Bit of Advice" and "A Matter of Consent"
Author's notes: I know I said the last one would be darker than the first, and though it had a more serious plotline, it still ended up having humorous bits in it. Well, the same will probably hold true for this one, though quite obviously (from what you're about to read) there will be some tragedy in this one. This is a more major undertaking, and will be longer, and resolve some issues that I've not yet brought up. Also, because of my current health, I can't promise a post every other day, but I'll try to keep the updates regular, because it's unfair to do otherwise.
For those of you just coming in, the first story featured the marriages of the Darcys and the Bingleys and the births of a son and a daughter to each, respectively. The second story concerned Jane's pregnancy with twins and Caroline Bingley's eventual marriage to the lovably hapless Doctor Maddox. We now return to our plotline, a few weeks later, with Elizabeth pregnant and the Maddoxes settled in London.
Chapter 1 – The Master of His Realm
Looking out on the lands of Pemberley and the surrounding Derbyshire as a king would his kingdom, surveying all that was in his grasp, Fitzwilliam Darcy would normally breath in a deep sigh of relief that all was under his control, and that he was the master of his own fate. He had been a loyal son, a good student, an excellent outdoorsman, a suitable gentleman, a good friend, a loving husband and brother, and now was a caring father as well. Every situation that had arisen, no matter how trying, had been handled, usually with the utmost civility and control (not always, but usually).
He supposed, with what little emotional distance he had left in him, he could look on the matter and say that one who tempted God forced the Lord's hand to prove that Mr. Darcy of Pemberley and Derbyshire was not, in fact, the master of his own fate. He just wished it could been done in a manner that was a bit more subtle.
"Brother?"
He didn't turn to address her properly when he heard Georgiana's voice. That would have required him getting up, and he did not find the inclination to move. Manners would just have to suffer. Manners were gone from him entirely. "Yes?"
"Do you want something?" she stammered. "I mean, can I get you something? You've – you've just been out here a long time."
Her, serving him? Didn't he have a well-paid staff for that? No, he remembered, he'd shooed them all away. "No, thank you. Is she awake?"
"No."
Good. "I'm fine. Thank you for inquiring."
She took that as a dismissal, which was good enough for him, because he was not interested in having a conversation with his sister, or anyone for that matter besides Elizabeth, and even then he had no idea of what to say. There hadn't been a course for this at Cambridge. What a waste of time, studying literature, when it all amounted to nothing. He should have gone to medical school. He should have had a profession as a doctor and not been a uselessly idle gentlemen who could do nothing in a crisis of any worth.
Georgiana had returned, because he felt her soft touch as she put a blanket over his shoulders. There was a chill on the evening air but so far his mind had been elsewhere. "Just so you don't catch cold." And then she disappeared again. Maybe she didn't know what to say either. Not that it was a situation for excessive confusion or sorrow. That it had been unexpected just proved fools of them all.
Elizabeth's course descended on her when it shouldn't have, four months into her pregnancy. He could only think "courses" because it seemed a less vulgar way to describe it than just bleeding, which was what it was. And pain. She had been a little stoic at first, but did nothing to hide her alarm, and rang for the most knowledgeable woman on these matters on the grounds, which was Mrs. Reynolds. She was so dismissive of his worries, perhaps fearing they would eclipse her own, and tried to toss if it entirely if it hadn't continued, and if pain hadn't set in, and by the time the doctor arrived, their child was gone, though the doctor insisted on not calling it that, or having them call it that. That the Darcys hopes for a second child disappeared for no apparent reason and in a bucket hit them both, quite obviously, at a level they hadn't expected. Of course, Elizabeth was a normal woman and in the course of their marriage, could expect to miscarry, perhaps as often as she carried to term. That her mother had never done so was a wonder unto itself, and Elizabeth admitted to not having noticed it, what with all of the emphasis on the lack of sons in the Bennet families. She said that somewhere between sobbing and being forced into bed from exhaustion.
This was not a formal mourning; no one had died, and there was every temptation to close ranks, at least for the moment. Nonetheless, from the very first look he had at the amount of blood she was losing (and where she was losing it from), Darcy had called for Doctor Maddox, who very unfortunately lived in Town and therefore could not appear in Derbyshire at a moment's notice, and they had to settle with the local doctor, who was perfectly competent and they had relied on in the past, but Daniel Maddox still seemed this magical wonder who could save everyone and do no wrong, perhaps because he had in the space of three months saved both Darcy and his own brother's lives. But no, he was in the south, and the message would not have reached him by the time it was all over and done, and if he did apply to Pemberley, it would only be to give his regrets as a relative for the unhappy circumstances.
Elizabeth had to tell Jane; of course, everyone had to be told, because everyone had been told she was pregnant some time before, but there was an order, and it was not formally set out like a party invitation. It was more that Elizabeth demanded no one see her, then finally cried for her sister, leaving Darcy to fill in the order of the correspondences. In the shortest note and with his most precise and ordered handwriting, betraying nothing of what he felt, he wrote to Longbourn with the unhappy news and left it entirely to the Bennets' discretion as to who would come. Mary Bennet was still on the Continent, and Lydia was still the wife of George Wickham and therefore did not enter into his thinking entirely. He also wrote to the Gardiners even more briefly, barely more than a line. The Hursts he would leave to Bingley, who he applied to by courier, and they arrived within the hour. That was the only reason he was willing to leave Elizabeth's side, was when she was joined by her sister. Whether they were talking or not was none of his business.
He was genuinely both happy Bingley was there and not in the mood to have a conversation with him, something he made known mainly (he hoped) by inflection when he addressed him, and then disappeared onto the balcony outside his rarely-used bedroom. He remembered through a haze that gentlemen did not show their tears, and that much stuck with him enough that he took the privacy afforded to him by Jane's arrival to disappear.
When he finally went inside, it was nearing midnight and his wife was sound asleep, so he only kissed her on the cheek but could not find the lack of energy required for his own retirement. Instead he went to the nursery, where his son was also asleep, and Darcy began to conjure what it was he was to say to him in the morning, but nothing came, and Geoffrey Darcy slept on. All he could think of, that he said out of earshot as to not wake him, was, "You have no idea, the burden on your shoulders someday." Because, to be Master of Pemberley was to inflict a horrible circumstance on his wife, however unintentionally. Everything was colored by the circumstance; he had in him still enough sense to see that.
It was Georgiana, again, who found him first. "The Bingleys are staying the night."
He just nodded numbly.
"Mr. Bingley is in the drawing room, but he said he doesn't require anything, and Jane went to her room. And the dogs are still outside." Because, how they'd howled. It was unnerving when they knew something was wrong. "I'm sorry, brother."
"I am, too," was all he could think of to say as Georgiana embraced him.
"As much as I love my sister, I am so sorry it is someone as nice as Elizabeth to have the fate of being Mrs. Darcy," she said, and then added quickly, "Oh, I didn't mean –"
"It's fine."
"No, I meant, Mrs. Darcy. As in, our mother."
This lowered his guilt and self-pity and raised his curiosity enough to say, "What do you mean?"
"Well, I mean, you know – surely you know."
"No," he said. "I don't know."
She put her hand over her mouth. "Then maybe I shouldn't have said. Certainly now isn't the time."
"Actually, you haven't said anything," he said. "As to what this is about. What about our mother, that you know and I do not?" Because, after all, Mrs. Anne Darcy had died shortly after giving birth to Georgiana. "Please. I insist."
"I suppose you should know. It's just – ill-timed," Georgiana whispered. "Our mother lost more babies than she kept, brother."
She gave him the time to properly sort it out. She was nearly ten years his junior, and he had no other siblings. So, with the twenty years of marriage between his parents, who as far as he remembered cared for each other at least decently, it made some sense that there had been either periods of barrenness or failed pregnancies. But the subject had never been openly discussed with him. "How did – "
"Mrs. Reynolds. Before I was to go Out, she thought it prudent to know what to expect. Oh, please do not blame her."
"Not in the least." Mrs. Reynolds had been in the employ of his father since his own childhood, and had been head of the household since his adolescence. It was no surprise that she knew more of the personal family history of the Darcys than he did – when it came to women's issues, at least. "Thank you for telling me."
"I hope it was ... some comfort."
He smiled sadly to her, which apparently was enough of an assurance that it was, because she said her goodnights and disappeared. Most of his staff had retired, and he was inclined to wander for a bit, because the halls had always given him comfort, even though now they just seemed empty and ... barren.
The lights were still lit in the sitting room. Bingley was reading by the fire. Darcy took a seat by his side and he nodded but said nothing. One of the things that Darcy valued very highly about their friendship that despite Bingley's reputation for being oblivious and talkative, he knew precisely when to be quiet – at least around Darcy. He was there but he did not puncture the silence for a very long time, as his friend and brother stared numbly into the fire.
Only after he began to play with it with the poker, and make some noise, that Bingley said softly, "It was never a competition."
"I know," Darcy replied.
And that was all that needed to be said.
The letter posted to the Maddox townhouse in exceedingly good time, but the doctor already knew from the description that it was too late, and shrugged sadly. When inquired as to its contents, he told his wife the unhappy news. Even though he would never hold back from his wife unless absolutely necessary, especially on family matters, Elizabeth was not her favorite person, and it could mildly be concluded that at one time she had wished ill on her now. Whether that was still true he doubted, but he still found himself surprised at her emotions, as she did seem saddened by the news.
They were in bed when the letter came, but he knew he would be getting up and racing to Pemberley. He ordered the carriage ready, but stayed in bed nonetheless, at least for the moment.
"I suppose there's no reason to rush," Caroline Maddox said.
"No," he said. "I mean, I will go, but not this instant. And by now, she may well be fully recovered, though not fully emotionally." He sighed. "He wants me to work a miracle, I suppose. Or he did when he was writing this letter. Mr. Darcy does not seem like he would remain insensible for an entire day. And I doubt I could have done anything, even if I was standing there. I am not an expert on ... womanly issues, but I know that much."
"Perhaps you should become an expert."
He smiled, but then he looked at her in the lamplight and realized it wasn't meant to be a joke. He took her hand, and found it trembling. While he was processing what he was going to say to Darcy, he hadn't even considered ... He kissed her palm, as if that would placate her fears. "Everything will be all right."
"And if it's not?"
"These things are not of our control," he said. "Perhaps something is wrong, and the body just ... rejects it. Instinctually." He cracked a weak smile. "I tend to be one for trusting a woman's instincts." His hand strayed to her stomach, feeling under the bed robe.
"It's what makes you a good doctor," she said, kissing him on the cheek. "That and your skill with a needle. If we have a daughter you could teach her how to embroider cushions and tablecloths, and turn her into a nice little lady."
"I think I've just been insulted," he said. "And I think I'm going to ignore it." He eventually heaved himself up off the bed and began to stumble around for his clothing.
"I want to come. I mean, to Kirkland, where I imagine you'll be staying. Unless you think – "
"No. You can ride to France if you want."
"Darling, you can't ride to France."
"I meant it metaphorically," he said. He leaned over and kissed her again. "You will be fine."
Because, apparently, she needed reassuring.
On the pretense of visiting Jane, the three available Bennets made their way to Hertfordshire. Since officially nothing had happened, or nothing to be spoken of except in privacy, there was no family gathering except at Kirkland, and those who were want to visit Elizabeth could easily do so.
Mrs. Bennet was the first to appear, fortunately with Jane. Darcy took Mrs. Bingley aside and said quite quietly and clearly, "If she says something that upsets Elizabeth, I will cast her out of Pemberley. Not to be rude to my mother-in-law, but you understand?"
"Perfectly," said Jane, and followed her mother.
Elizabeth Darcy was still in bed. She had not left her chambers in several days, and was rarely upright. The shades were drawn even though it was past noon, putting the room further into stupor right along with her.
"This, this won't do," said Mrs. Bennet nervously, as if she didn't know how to act around her own daughter, and she pulled open the curtains, filling the room with light. "Two hundred servants and you can't have someone opening your own curtains?"
To this, her shocked daughter had no response. Mrs. Bennet ran around the bed again and sat beside her daughter, embracing her, and with this, she was silent. Jane sat down on the chaise, somewhat bemused.
"Now now, Lizzy, we're all very sorry, and I am sorry to be the first one to tell you this, but as mothers are to suffer some unhappiness in our lives."
"Mama," Elizabeth said incredulously, "I do know that."
"No, there is nothing to compare, then to the trials of motherhood. No matter how happy or well-settled or loved we are, we will all suffer a bit in our turn. But I spent far too many years wrecking myself with guilt to watch you do it. Do you wish your wonderful Mr. Darcy to have suddenly married me?"
"Mama," Jane said in Elizabeth's place, "What do you mean?"
"You know precisely what I mean. You're both women with children. But you had the great ability to bear sons and I did not. So you have already succeeded where I failed, and that itself is cause for joy, no?" She stroked her second daughter's hair. "It may not feel this way now – we women have a tendency to lose perspective, even you, Lizzy, but you have all of the treasures of the world in front of you – a loving husband, a wonderful home, a beautiful son."
"Are you telling me to cheer up?"
"No, I'm barely in control of my own nerves; I hardly see how I could give advice about other people's." And yet, Mrs. Bennet seemed perfectly calm, if appropriately sad at the situation, and that in itself left her two daughters utterly put off. "You will be your old self in no time, you will see."
Darcy did not invade the privacy of his wife's bedroom, usually very much his own domain as well as hers, until his mother-in-law and sister were done and gone, and by then it was getting late. Elizabeth did not eat with the rest of them, her appetite being sparse, and so he did not see her again until he could be properly excused from his guests.
"Lizzy," was all he said as he entered, surprised to find her sitting up and reading, something he hadn't seen in a while. He kissed her and climbed into bed beside her. She had never shooed him away since the incident, as would have been her right, certainly, and he had not been at all desirous to be apart from her. "What are you reading?"
"A Midsummer Night's Dream."
"You have not read it?"
"It was my first Bard, actually. But I haven't read it since childhood. I thought a man with the head of an ass was the most amusing thing in the world, at the time."
"And now?"
"And now, what?"
"What do you think is the most amusing thing the world?"
"I could tell you, but it might insult your considerable dignity."
"So you mean me, with the head of a donkey. And perhaps opiated and saying ridiculous things. Or drunk and punching people."
His wife laughed. He could not remember when it made him feel better, like a weight off his chest. "I love you," he said, "and I might venture a strange guess that your mother may have not said something too terrible."
"On the contrary. She might have even been encouraging. It was so bizarre, it was hard to tell. You may have to get Jane's opinion for any perspective."
"Your mother? Are you sure it wasn't Mrs. Reynolds in Mrs. Bennet's dress?"
Lizzy giggled again. "Stop insulting my mother. She was very comforting."
"Then I owe her a great debt. Perhaps I should marry one of her daughters."
Despite all of the attention, despite her husband's loving diligence, Elizabeth did not return to her own self, and only seemed to brighten in private, in front of her sister Jane, and playing with Geoffrey. Darcy could not admit that the wind had also been knocked from his own emotions, but society dictated that they recover, and move on. Unfortunately, he privately suspected that would only happen when she was pregnant again, or something happened to distract her. Despite his best efforts, he could not provide the first.
Three months later, providence provided the second, when a letter from Mary Bennet arrived.
Next Chapter – Dark Clouds at Brighton