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She could hear Fitzwilliam's feet treading heavy on the stairs when it was over. Elizabeth's sisters and mother had done what they could, had helped the doctor in the delivery, and now she was washed, dressed and back in bed, with a fresh nightgown and sheets. For once exhausted beyond measure, Elizabeth's lips tipped up into a smile. It was the most she could move considering how thoroughly her muscles and limbs ached. She wanted food, water, and her husband in the room; nothing more, nothing less.
All at once, her wish was granted. The doors to the master suite of Pemberley slammed open and Fitzwilliam came to a halt beside the bed. He tried to righten his posture and swallowed hard, groping for his usual composure. But his eyes went soft when he landed upon her face, and those of his sons, making soft, querulous noises in her overflowing arms.
"Is my mother trumpeting her victory all about Derbyshire?" Elizabeth asked, so that he would not burst into tears.
"Loudly, and obscenely," Fitzwilliam declared. "They can hear her in Liverpool." He then -- without further ado and filled with a presumptuousness that would have made her tease him should she have more energy -- sat upon the edge of the bed, stripped off his boots, and reached for one of the boys in Elizabeth's overcrowded embrace.
Then the stiffness of his posture melted. "Hello," he said softly. The boy in his arms made a squawking noise - he stared at his father with outrage in his eyes, as if he were both disappointed to be thrown clear of the warm safety of her womb and annoyed at being confronted by this dark-haired, demanding giant when he could be eating or sleeping. Elizabeth looked down at the bundle still in her grip. This boy had all the placid, accepting calmness of Jane. One for the army, one for the church? She tried to remember which one had been born first, for this would be the son who would inherit the problems and joys of life at Pemberley.
Elizabeth glanced sideways. Fitzwilliam had stopped staring at their sons and was watching her with solemn, intense affection in his gaze.
It struck her all at once and left her breathless. Oh, she loved him, Elizabeth thought, then felt like a ninny, like Lydia, bless her. It had been odd to know it at the assembly, with him pounding away at her in that lovely, awkward and arousing way. But nine months after that night, it was like breathing; easy and true.
"Do you wish to call them Robert and Edward?" he finally asked. Two names they'd selected for boys as they poured over Bibles and books.
"I think the Colonel would be honored," she said. "As would my father." Bringing up her father caused Elizabeth to think again of the half-siblings she had walking about on other estates, known but casually to her - not the way she knew her own sisters. The tangle of people who added their own colors to the shades of Longbourn and Pemberley.
Her thoughts were interrupted by Fitzwilliam, who pressed his forehead to her right temple and let out a gusty sigh. Elizabeth immediately knew why. "I am well, Fitzwilliam."
"I know," he replied, but burrowed deeper into the flesh of her shoulder. For a long moment, she allowed him to stay there.
"It will be ages before I'm able to...dance again, I fear," she admitted. "The effort one must put into birthing twins is quite prodigious."
Darcy nodded. "I understand the value of patience," he said, quite gravely, which made her snort. "And as for dancing with others?" he allowed the question to trail off.
"They will think us terribly selfish," she remarked.
"Awfully priggish. Terribly so," he returned. "And I would have you happy and running through the grass, Lizzie - not just tied to the house like a breeding cow. You had little time to do so, before I...we...yes," he coughed.
She leaned into his shoulder, contemplating it all. "But if you keep me abed with more children, the decision could be...delayed," she pointed out.
His eyebrows rose. "You are wise woman, Elizabeth Darcy," he remarked, and kissed her cheek.
In their arms, their sons cooed in agreement.