Christmas at Pemberley by Ola Wegner

Author:Ola Wegner
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Published: 2019-11-28T05:00:00+00:00

December 23rd

1813

Pemberley Manor

Never in her life had Elizabeth felt so very uncomfortable. The babe should have arrived at least a week ago, according to the midwife’s best calculations. They were all still waiting, though. There were no signs that the birth would happen within the next day or two. According to Mrs Gordon, the midwife, Elizabeth had not dropped yet, which meant that belly still sat high on her frame.

With some effort, Elizabeth turned from her back to her side and stared at the wall. A couple of months ago she had decided to change the wall covering in the master bedroom. The previous one was in perfectly good condition, but she deemed it to be too dark. Now she was not certain if her choice was such a good idea. The new wallpaper was beautiful but perhaps a little too colourful and busy with all those flowers, birds, and leaves so generously depicted on it.

She was willing to admit that she had made a mistake, but the cost of refurbishing was so high that she pretended to like it despite her own better judgement. Her good husband wanted her to feel at home in Pemberley and even encouraged her to introduce alterations she thought necessary, especially in their private rooms. He did not voice even the slightest protest on seeing the garish design on the wallpaper when it arrived from London. Elizabeth should have asked him directly if he liked it. She did not believe that he would have lied to her that he did. That would have given her the excuse to change her initial plans of brightening the room.

Elizabeth felt Fitzwilliam shifting behind her. Soon his hand moved underneath her nightshirt and over her extended belly. As soon as he touched it, the babe began to painfully push against her ribs.

“Good morning, little one, how are you today?” he crooned. “Yes, just like this, move for Papa. Yes, very good, excellent, just like this.”

Elizabeth rolled her eyes, stifling her irritation. The baby began moving actively, stretching and pushing against her already aching insides, clearly responding to its father’s words.

“You woke it,” she complained, turning on her back to face him.

“He knows that I am his papa,” he said. He pulled the nightshirt up and put his cheek to the naked skin of her extended belly. Then he stared enchanted as the child shifted visibly underneath the stretched skin.

Elizabeth touched his hair, trying to untangle the dark lock with her fingers. He required a haircut.

“How are you feeling?” he asked once he was done interacting with their child.

“It hurts,” she said.

He sat up, his eyes wide. “It is time, is it not?”

“No, it is not time,” she responded, pushing the covers away. She managed to manoeuvre herself to the edge of the bed and get to her feet. “I wished to say that everything hurts.”

She was speaking the truth. Everything seemed to hurt her in the recent weeks: her ankles, back, breasts, joints, hips, and naturally her belly.

The nights were the worst.

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