Page 56 of His Dark Heart
“I shall see ye at dinner, husband,” she said in the softest, gentlest tone as she held his hand tight for a moment.
“At dinner, my sweet.”
* * *
He missed the evening meal upon learning of a missing child who turned out to be hiding in a barn. Having gone out to search for the misplaced boy, Darcy was late in returning to Pemberley proper and when he entered his bedchamber that evening, he found Elizabeth sitting upon the window seat, sobbing hysterically. He was at her side in a breath, his arms encircling her body as though she were a brittle glass sculpture. She clung to him, fingers unconsciously clawing at his neck, looking for a way to anchor herself in the tumult of her misery.
“My sweet, what is the matter? What upsets you so? We found the child.”
She met his eyes for a mere moment then pushed him away and pulled her knees to her chest. Heart in his throat and full of fear, he tried to approach her again.
“No. I am not fit,” she croaked, pulling her body tighter on itself.
“Whatever do you mean?”
“Ye shall hate me if I tell ye.”
He covered her cheeks with his hands, kissing her wet mouth gently, reverently. “Have you not realized yet that I could never hate you? You are my salvation.”
“I am ashamed,” she whispered, not hearing his words.
“Why, Elizabeth?”
Unable to meet his gaze or escape his firm grasp, she closed her eyes. With a long, shuddering breath, she let her watery eyes look to his, then all of a sudden, hurled her body into his arms as though she needed his assurance desperately.
“I am not with child!” she wailed. “I began my cycle this evening.”
Glad she could not see his face; he bit down on the amused grin that teased the corners of his lips. Slowly, he pulled back to brush a sweet, loving kiss over her salty lips.
“Is that all?”
“Is that all?” she cried. “I cannot give ye a child—our child—and ye merely brush it aside? Yearethe heartless rogue who forced me to marry ye!”
He let the words bounce off him, since she must no longer think such things.
“Why do you think you cannot bear a child, my sweet?”
“Because of all—” she bit off the rest of the sentence and stared out the window.
“Elizabeth, this modesty does not become you. You should be able to speak about it if you are partaking of it.”
“We have bedded many times. I do not understand how I am not with child.”
“Perhaps we are simply not ready, and nature knows such things. I would not object to keeping my beautiful wife to myself a few months longer, but if you were heavy with child, I would love you no less.”
Her head swung around, and she looked at him sharply, breath frozen in her chest at his admission.
Darcy swallowed hard and raised a sheepish eyebrow. “You know what I meant.”
“Of course,” she whispered.
“My sweet, how can you know what brings about a baby and yet not understand that your cycle does not mean you are barren?”
“I have spoken with Jane about the subject. She told me that once I am increasing, my cycle shall stop. I took it as meaning I shall never have another.”
“Not while you are increasing. It will resume after you give birth.”
“Oh.” She appeared uncomfortable again and resumed her vigil at the window.
