In a remarkable feat, the grand estate of Pemberley felt smaller and smaller by the passing day for Fitzwilliam Darcy. His dining room, his library, and even his study, provided no refuge from the foibles of his relatives both by marriage and blood. But one sanctuary he and his wife had managed to maintain was his bedroom suite, while the mistress suite of Mrs. Darcy was often frequented by her mother, sisters, and his aunt. His rooms, however, remained private to only Mr. and Mrs. Darcy, and their personal servants, which was the closest attainment of privacy the expecting couple could manage.

It was not remarkable then for him to find his wife, many months gone in bearing his child, slumbering peacefully in his bed after he escorted Kitty to her room closer to the stairs in the family wing. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Darcy struggled as quietly as he could to divest himself of his boots and slip in next to his wife. Unfortunately, his efforts disturbed the well-strung mattress, and Elizabeth Darcy’s eyes fluttered open.

“Mmmmm, Fitzwilliam. Is it time to dress for dinner?” she asked.

Mr. Darcy leaned back and twisted his torso to kiss his wife’s forehead. “No, it’s still early. Though I have news from Mrs. Reynolds that I’m afraid the menu has required a slight change.”

Elizabeth grunted as she struggled to push herself up from laying down. Rolling side to side to get a bit of momentum she finally managed a strong enough position to prop up on her elbows and slide her form closer to the headboard. She patted the bed beside her and Darcy kicked off his stubborn right boot to join her.

For a moment, the two merely sat next to one another and Mr. Darcy’s hand reached out to rest across her midsection. The growing babe did not disappoint as Elizabeth awakening and moving had disturbed the child and Mr. Darcy felt an odd sensation as a large round part of the fetus moved under his hand.

“Do you suppose that’s the head?” he asked, questioning his wife for what sacred knowledge she might possess, being the one to carry the child.

But Elizabeth laughed. “If it makes you happy, then sure, but I think it might be another part altogether.” Her hands reached down to gently press on the other side of her swollen belly, finding what she thought to be the babe’s head. She dragged Fitzwilliam’s hand over to the same side so he might feel the other rounded area, then she brought his hand to the original side where they were both rewarded with a swift kick!

“Still so strong!” he exclaimed as Elizabeth winced, her breathing becoming hitched.

“Yes, Very strong, and uncomfortable,” she grumbled, as she expertly applied pressure on one side to encourage the baby into a position that didn’t kick into her lungs. “Tell me more about the change to dinner?”

Fitzwilliam’s eyes widened as he watched Elizabeth manage her distress, and she had to ask the question again before he responded.

“A minor change. The oysters.”

“Your uncles,” she said, and he nodded to affirm. “Fitzwilliam–“

“Before you fuss, dearest, I spoke to them both. I made it absolutely clear this household had but one mistress and the staff was now instructed to not give into their whims against your wishes.” Fitzwilliam hastily explained how he had handled the situation, feeling quite proud of himself, until he looked up to spy Elizabeth still frowning.

Instead of a restful afternoon with his wife, Fitzwilliam soon found himself alone in his bed as Elizabeth rolled away from him and gingerly pushed herself out of bed.

“Have I made another misstep?” The last months had been not just a trial of family members, but also learning the moods of his wife in a family way. Much of what he said or did resulted in Elizabeth’s displeasure, and he almost anticipated the birth of this child if only to get back the cheerful woman he married.

“Did you speak about when we might expect either of them to leave our household?” she asked, in a breathless tone as she looked around for her slippers that she knew she wore into his bedroom. But they were gone from the place under the bed where she usually left them.

“When they might leave? Most certainly.”

“And?”

“And…” Fitzwilliam groaned as he left his bed too soon for his tastes from when he joined it, helping his wife look for her slippers. “Uncle Alistair gave me the justification that he’d like to go up to Starvet House.”

Elizabeth gasped. “But Jane!”

Darcy moved his wife’s robe from the puddle it lay at the foot of the bed. She had likely removed it before resting as being so far along in her condition made her very sensitive to heat. Almost every fire in the house was too warm for her. Underneath the forgotten robe were the missing slippers.

As Mrs. Darcy’s eyes followed her husband’s down to the very items she had looked for, she waddled forward and slipped them on with a huff, taking her robe from his as well for good measure.

“He cannot go bother Jane and little Robin. If he learns of the child…”

“We agree heartily on the subject, my dear, but this means to protect the child, we jeopardize your mother.”

Elizabeth frowned and pressed her forehead against the tall bed post. Her husband’s hands expertly began to knead the knots and pains in her lower back and Elizabeth moaned her thanks.

“The child is innocent, my mother is . . .”

“A widow,” Darcy finished. His wife turned around and scrunched up her face in a manner he had found endearing since their engagement.

“Is it wrong to sacrifice one family member for another?” she asked.

Darcy shook his head.

“Not at all. Given that the child will have enough challenges to face as he grows up, I believe we are acting prudently.”

Elizabeth sighed and nodded. Then she closed her eyes and touched her fingertips to her forehead. “And the Matlocks leave in a month with Georgiana and their son? Before Easter?”

“Y-yes.  . . ” Darcy answered hesitantly, causing his wife’s eyes to fly open.

“You promised . . . before the babe . . .”

He held up his hands in defense. “I did. I do. But you realize this also means sending away my sister.”

Elizabeth bit her lower lip and gazed down the elegant Persian rug that covered the floor of her husband’s suite. It was not so much that she wanted Georgiana away, but that she wished her home to be simpler, easier to manage once she gave birth.

“If we keep her here . . .” Elizabeth began but her husband shook his head.

“I believe we have all learned the folly of trying to make our sisters bend to our will.” His defeated tone made Elizabeth smirk, and then she began to chuckle which drew he husband near to her as he dearly loved to hear her laugh. One kiss led to another, and they took comfort in each other’s company.

“I am sorry to sound cross and make you feel as though I wish to send your family away,” Elizabeth confessed as she rested her head against her husband’s shoulder and her stroked her lower back.

“Not at all. I wish to send them away! Remember, I’m the one who kept Alistair in India!” Mr. Darcy exclaimed, making his wife laugh even more.

“Perhaps WE should go to India,” she said, and he pulled back.

“Absolutely not! You can barely handle the heat here in early spring, do you know the temperatures in Calcutta?”

Elizabeth shook her head, but reminder of her discomfort made her take a step away from Fitzwilliam and the heat his body produced.

“I’m merely restless . . . I wish this baby would come and then I also wish to keep him safe, forever.” Her hands protectively cradled the swollen expanse of her mid-section.

Fitzwilliam offered her a look a concern, that made her startle with a laugh. “Oh dear, and now I’ve gone and worried you.”

For his part of the conversation, Mr. Darcy stood speechless. He struggled to swallow as any mention of his wife’s time to labor and deliver brought back so many difficult memories from his childhood with his mother. He closed his eyes and remembered his wife’s words the first time they spoke of his fears, that he must remember that he and his sister were safely delivered.

“I do wish you’d allow me to call my physician from London.”

Elizabeth shook her head. “We are in the business of reducing visitors in the household, Fitzwilliam. Not increase them!”

And Mr. Darcy realized it was a lost cause. He would not overrule Mrs. Darcy without consequences he didn’t wish to pay.