Chapter Fourteen

November 24, 1812-February 14, 1813

The Lake House

Ramsgate

Elizabeth

In the two months since Darcy’s last letter, Elizabeth had done her best to maintain her equanimity, but it was proving more and more difficult with each passing day. She missed him, and she was not afraid to admit it. Despite knowing full well that she could not send him a letter for months, she penned a few lines for him every day, creating a journal of her comings and goings.

There was little to tell. Mr Blandishman continued his visits, and Elizabeth often found it difficult to keep a civil tongue. The more she came to know him, the more his presence displeased her. He was both obtuse and oblivious. Any other gentleman might have recognised her lukewarm responses to his inane conversation as a lack of interest, but not Mr Blandishman. Her reticence only seemed to encourage him, even after she reminded him that she did not desire a formal courtship. She remained at a loss as to how she might dissuade him without appearing rude.

Jane’s labour began early on the morning of the twenty-fourth of November. The Bingleys sent for the midwife, but she was already attending another birth and only arrived after several hours, assistant in tow.

“You’ve some time yet, madam,” Mrs Taylor, the midwife, told Jane. Elizabeth stood at a respectable distance. She knew it was not entirely proper for her to be in the room, but Jane had begged her to remain, and she could not refuse her most beloved sister.

Hours passed, and by the next morning, Jane had made little progress. Mrs Taylor was quick to reassure them.

“Tis the first birth, ma’am. The labour usually progresses slowly.” Mrs Taylor then left after being summoned to another’s bedside. By the time she returned, night had fallen once more, and Jane was utterly exhausted. She lay in bed, her hair damp with perspiration, her breathing shallow. Elizabeth sat beside her, holding her hand and whispering words of comfort.

“I cannot do it, Lizzy,” Jane whispered. “I thought I could, but I cannot. The pain is too much!”

The midwife remained oddly quiet as she examined her patient. Elizabeth did not like the concerned look on the woman’s face. Mrs Taylor furrowed her brow and creased her forehead in concentration.

“What is it?” Elizabeth asked her.

Mrs Taylor stepped away from the bed and gestured for Elizabeth to follow. “Your sister is bleeding heavily,” she murmured softly. “If the babe does not come soon, I fear for her life…as well as the child’s.”

Elizabeth’s blood ran cold. “No,” she breathed. “Jane cannot die!”

“Best be praying for a miracle, then,” Mrs Taylor replied. “She’s in a bad way. I’ve no doubt she’ll have no more after this one. I’ve seen the like before.”

Elizabeth nodded solemnly, immediately beginning silent prayers. Jane moaned as another wave of pain wracked her frame. Already weakened by her prolonged illness, it now seemed she might not have the strength to endure this painful trial.

Around midnight, Jane seemed to find some hidden reserve of strength. She rallied, and when the midwife checked her progress, her expression was finally one of satisfaction.

“It will be time to push soon,” she said cheerfully. “You will hold your wee babe in less than an hour, Mrs Bingley.”

Jane cried out as another pain gripped her. When it subsided, a determined gleam lit her eyes. Thirty minutes later, Mrs Taylor declared her ready to push.

“Let us move you to the birthing chair, madam,” she said. With Elizabeth on one side and the midwife on the other, they guided Jane to the chair and helped her settle. Ten minutes later, Mrs Taylor placed a swaddled, tawny-haired boy into his aunt’s arms.

“Tis just a little longer, and we can get you to bed,” Mrs Taylor said, patting Jane’s arm soothingly. Jane’s only response was another cry of in pain. The joyous expression on the midwife’s face turned to concern, and she moved swiftly to check her patient once more.

“Hand the lad to the maid, Miss Bennet!” she barked. “There’s another.”

Another? Another baby? Despite her shock, Elizabeth immediately followed the midwife’s directions. She prepared another swaddling cloth and waited anxiously by Mrs Taylor’s side.

“Now, Mrs Bingley! Push!”

Jane did so, and a moment later, the cry of another infant filled the room.

“Tis a wee girl,” Mrs Taylor said. “Well done, Mrs Bingley. ‘Tis a rare thing to have twins, and rarer still they be a boy and a girl!” She handed Elizabeth the squalling babe who was now wrapped in clean linen, having used the swaddling cloth to wipe her clean. Sally stood nearby with Jane’s son in her arms.

“Go show Mr Bingley his children whilst I help Mrs Bingley to bed,” Mrs Taylor directed. “My assistant will aid me.”

Sally followed Elizabeth from the room and they nearly collided with Charles in the hallway. Her brother looked dreadful—his eyes bloodshot, and his hair a matted mess. He had long since discarded his coat and his cravat, and his rumpled white lawn shirt was beyond repair.

“Is Jane…?” he trailed off, the concern and anticipation on his face breaking Elizabeth’s heart.

“Jane is resting. It was a hard labour. But see here! You have a son… and a daughter.” Elizabeth smiled broadly as she and Sally presented her niece and nephew to their father.

“Twins!” Charles stared at the babies in amazement. “May I hold them?”

“Certainly,” Elizabeth chuckled. “Which will you hold first? Jane is not ready to see you yet.”

“I… might I hold my son?” Sally stepped forward and handed the tiny boy to his father. Charles’s eyes shone with tears, the love on his face a sight to behold.

“Hello, William,” Charles whispered. “Welcome to the world. You and your sister have given us all quite a trial!”

“What will you name your daughter?” Elizabeth asked.

“Margaret Elizabeth,” he said softly, “for my mother and my sister.”

Elizabeth’s heart warmed, and she drew the little bundle in her arms closer. “I hope for your sake she takes more after her mama than her aunt,” she teased gently. She wondered briefly for whom her nephew had been named but Charles was already speaking again.

“I would have no cause to repine if she took after you,” Charles argued.

The door to the bedchamber opened. “Mrs Bingley is ready to see you now, sir,” Mrs Taylor said. “My work here is done. I’ll be going but will return tomorrow to check on your wife. She needs rest, sir. Her ordeal was no easy matter.”

If only he realised… Elizabeth thought but said nothing. Charles need not know how worried the midwife had been for Jane.

Now propped up on a pile of pillows, Jane blinked sleepily as Charles and Elizabeth entered the room.

“It was not a dream, then?” she asked. “There are two?”

“There are two,” Charles confirmed. “Meet William Charles and Margaret Elizabeth. They are as beautiful as their mother.”

Elizabeth placed her niece in Jane’s arms as Charles sat beside his wife, holding their son. Their heads bent together as they admired the precious bundles they held. Elizabeth suddenly felt superfluous and retreated quietly from the room. The Bingleys did not lift their gaze from their children as she closed the door behind her.

Sally was waiting for her.

“Did you summon the wet nurse?” Elizabeth asked. “I believe your mistress will need her services sooner rather than later.”

“Yes, miss—half an hour ago,” Sally confirmed. “The nursery and her chamber are ready and waiting.”

“You are a treasure,” Elizabeth said gratefully. “I imagine my sister will be ready to sleep shortly. There is a cradle in Mrs Bingley’s room for one child. Is there another in the house?”

“I shall check storage,” Sally said. “The cradle in the mistress’s chamber belonged to the master. The owner of the house may have stored another in the attic.”

Elizabeth nodded. “I must retire. I shall be of no use to my sister if I do not rest.”

Despite barely having slept for two days, Elizabeth found she could not settle. Her nephew’s name brought Mr Darcy to mind. True, his name was a little more formal— Fitzwilliam— but she could not help thinking of him as Charles named his son.

Only a few more months , Elizabeth told herself. I can manage that.

~

Elizabeth dispatched letters to family announcing the birth of Master William Charles Bingley and Miss Margaret Elizabeth Bingley. She waxed poetic about the charms of the newest additions to the family, describing them in considerable detail to her father and her brother’s sisters. Replies came swiftly, and Charles left her to read and reply to them, addressed to her or not. They ranged from ecstatic enthusiasm to lukewarm felicitations. The former was from Mrs Bennet, who called Jane a clever girl to give her husband an heir so soon. The latter was from Caroline Bingley, and her words were so insincere that Elizabeth chose not to share them with Charles or Jane. Neither needed Miss Bingley’s poison to mar their felicity.

Jane’s recovery was slow. The birth of her children had exhausted her, and whatever strength she had regained in recent months had vanished. She insisted on helping the wet nurse feed the babies. Although the woman assured her mistress she had enough milk for both babies, Jane wished to leave nothing to chance, and helped with the feedings herself throughout the day.

Elizabeth’s routine returned to what it had been during Jane’s illness in the early summer. She performed the duties of mistress and cared for her sister whilst lavishing attention on William and Margaret.

Mr Blandishman kept his distance for four weeks after Jane’s confinement before calling at the Lake House once more. Elizabeth received him with barely concealed impatience, determined to keep the meeting short so she could assist Jane. Perhaps I ought to have Smythe say I am not at home to callers, she mused.

“Miss Bennet!” the gentleman cried as he entered the room. “It has been far too long since I had the pleasure of your company. Have you fared well? You must miss our strolls in the park. Might I tempt you away from the house for half an hour to enjoy such an activity?”

“I am sorry, but I must decline,” she replied. “Jane has need of me, and I do not foresee that changing anytime soon.”

“Could a maid not attend to your sister and her children?” Mr Blandishman whinged.

Elizabeth frowned. “I am here as a guest to my sister to assist her through her confinement and recovery,” she reminded him. “I will not abandon my duties. My niece and nephew are still quite small and require attention, and I know Mrs Bingley would prefer that care to come from family rather than servants. I do hope you understand.”

Mr Blandishman frowned briefly before offering an ingratiating smile. “Of course, of course. I quite understand. Your dedication to your loved ones is commendable, Miss Bennet. It is one of the many things I admire about you.” He stepped closer and took Elizabeth’s hand, raising it to his lips to place a kiss upon it. It was all she could do to keep from pulling away in disgust.

“Might I call again in a few days? I have missed you dreadfully.”

She could not say the same. “Please remember, sir, that we are not courting, nor are be engaged. If you are content to a visit brief, I am amenable. Charles will enjoy speaking with you as well.” Charles, she knew, could converse easily with nearly anyone, and Elizabeth would gladly share her visitor with him.

“Very good,” came the slightly dejected reply. “I must be going now. Lots to do.”

“Thank you for calling, sir.” Elizabeth breathed a sigh of relief as Smythe showed him out. Hurrying upstairs to check on Jane, Mr Darcy’s admonition not to waste herself on Mr Blandishman resounded in her thoughts.

As the weeks passed and her unwanted suitor continued to pay her a prodigious amount of attention, Elizabeth wondered if her friendship with Mr Darcy had forever altered her perception of other men. She had always valued intelligent conversation, yet part of her questioned whether she might have been more receptive to Mr Blandishman’s overtures if she had never become acquainted with the enigmatic man from the past. It seemed a foolish notion, especially considering the similarities between Mr Blandishman and Mr Collins, for whom she had never entertained such thoughts.

As it stood, Elizabeth found herself constantly comparing one gentleman to the other whenever she was in Mr Blandishman’s company, and her patience grew increasingly thin. His visits to the Lake House became an ordeal, and she endured them as best she could, always seeking to keep them brief. She refused to walk out with him more than once a week. Mr Blandishman, however, remained blissfully unaware, ascribing her reluctance to her devotion to her sister. Elizabeth could not help but wonder if he had ever truly heard her rejection, or, like Mr Collins, believed it only a matter of time before she accepted his proposal.

Though Elizabeth tried to disabuse Mr Blandisman of his assumptions, helping Jane became her ready excuse whenever she wished to avoid his company. Jane, in turn, never refused her sister’s help, though she often cast knowing looks when Elizabeth suddenly reappeared at her side after only recently leaving it. Still, Jane did not press her, for which Elizabeth was most grateful, and she offered no explanation in return. There were only a few months remaining until she would meet Mr Darcy. After that, she could introduce Jane to the man she loved and forget Mr Blandishman forever.

But it was only February. Mr Darcy had promised to meet her in April. She would have to endure a little longer.