Georgiana's face expressed her scepticism. "If it is any consolation, Fitzwilliam would have made certain you were well provided for."
After hours of worry over Darcy, Elizabeth was roused to an unusual resentment. Without a word, she rang the bell. When one of the maids entered, Elizabeth said, "Would you ask Mr. Dunstan to attend me?"
The maid curtsied and departed. Elizabeth ate a few bites of food she could barely taste until the steward arrived.
Mr. Dunstan was young for his position, only a year or two older than Mr. Darcy, though at the moment his visage was lined with anxiety. "Mrs. Darcy, Miss Darcy. I regret to inform you we have not yet located Mr. Darcy. I have men searching the estate and the roads to Lambton and Matlock."
"Thank you, Mr. Dunstan." Elizabeth, her breath catching in her chest at his words, had almost forgotten why she had asked for him. "Please let me know the moment you hear anything."
"Of course, madam."
Elizabeth glanced at Georgiana. "While you are here, Mr. Dunstan, perhaps you could reassure Miss Darcy on a much more minor matter. She seems concerned that my pin money might be inadequate to my needs, although I have assured her this is not the case."
"By no means, Miss Darcy. Mrs. Darcy's pin money is quite generous, and she spends almost none of it, apart from her charitable work. Even that need not come from her personal funds, and I have often told her, for it is an estate expense. Still, she prefers it this way. You need have no concern."
Georgiana lifted her chin. "Thank you. That will be all."
The door had barely closed behind him when Elizabeth dropped her napkin on the table and pushed her chair back. "I do not care if I am well provided for. I have lived as the daughter of a country gentleman of no particular means, and I would have no difficulty returning to that state. I have no need for new pianofortes, expensive gifts, music masters, and paid companions. I will thank you to recall it." Her skirts rustled as she rose, turning her back as she left on Georgiana's frozen countenance.
***
The day turned to twilight and twilight to full dark. Elizabeth grew more hopeless as each hour passed, wondering whether she had realised the truth of her feelings for Darcy too late. The house was silent; even the footmen and the cook's boys were out searching by lantern light. There was nothing she could do but fret. Mrs. Reynolds quietly brought a glass of wine and set it beside her, but it remained untouched.
Hearing a noise outside, Elizabeth hurried to see if there was any news. Through the door she heard Darcy's irritable voice. "Leave off. I will walk in." Tears of relief sprang to her eyes as she opened the door.
By the light of handheld lanterns, she could make out his familiar figure standing beside a horse she did not recognise and holding its saddle for support while three men stood around him. His coat was torn and muddy.
She hurried down the steps. "Are you hurt?"
"It is nothing." He let go of the horse and one of the men moved closer, as if ready to support him. Darcy turned a glare on him. "I can walk."
Elizabeth caught the manservant's eye. "Gentlemen, if you will be so kind as to assist Mr. Darcy to his bedchamber," she said in a firmer voice than she would have thought herself capable of at that moment.
"I need no assistance."
She could see he was barely able to stay upright. It would take a substantial injury to bring him to this state. "Nonetheless, you will accept it, if only to humour me."
Darcy frowned but suffered two of the men to support his arms. They made slow progress, Elizabeth following after with pained concern as she saw how stiffly he held himself. It was a struggle to keep her distance when she wanted nothing more than to throw her arms around him.
It seemed an eon before the little procession, now joined by Mrs. Reynolds, reached Darcy's bedroom. Mrs. Reynolds darted ahead to turn down the bed, then assisted the men as they eased Darcy onto it. He was no longer making even a pretence of independence.
Mrs. Reynolds hovered over him. "Where is your injury, Mr. Darcy?"
He gestured to his left side, wincing as the men tugged off his boots. Ferguson, Darcy's valet, appeared and shooed them aside.
The housekeeper said, "The apothecary has been sent for, sir, but we will need to expose the wound for cleansing."
"Do what you must," Darcy said irritably, "but I need no crowd present."
Mrs. Reynolds, looking disapproving, dismissed the servants, apart from Ferguson. Darcy's eyes turned to Elizabeth. "You should not be here, Elizabeth."
She came forward then and sat on the bed at his right side, tracing the lines of his countenance with her eyes. "Please do not send me away. I have been so worried." She laid her hand on his and thought her heart might break when he turned his hand over to grasp hers. Perhaps it was not too late. Tears started in her eyes, and their gazes locked, at least until Ferguson began to peel away his riding coat from his injured side. Then Darcy clenched his teeth, looking as if he could barely hold back a cry.
His shirt was stained with blood, both the rich red of fresh blood and a dried brown crust around the edge. A rent in the fabric revealed torn flesh, but how extensive the wound might be Elizabeth could not tell. Darcy's breath hissed through his teeth.
Mrs. Reynolds materialised on the other side of the bed with a glass half filled with amber liquid. "Mr. Darcy, I have laudanum for you."
He grimaced. "I want no laudanum."
"Sir, you will need it for when we clean your wound."
"No. It dulls my mind." Lines of pain etched his face.
Mrs. Reynolds looked at Elizabeth, who held out her hand for the glass. She smoothed a stray lock of hair from his sweat beaded forehead. "Please, Fitzwilliam. It would ease my mind to know you have less discomfort."
He turned his dark eyes to her, and she squeezed his hand. "Very well," he said grudgingly. Raising his head, he took the glass and drained it. "Vile stuff."
"Thank you," Elizabeth said softly. She wiped the moisture from his brow with her handkerchief.
He closed his eyes, but she could tell by his clenched jaw his pain had not eased.
"Is there anything I can do, anything I can bring you for your comfort?" she asked.
"Talk to me."
"Very well. What shall I talk about?" The only subject on her mind was not one she could raise in front of servants.
"Anything." He winced as he drew in a deep breath.
"I hate your horse."
The shadow of a smile crossed his lips. "Tell me something new."
"That is new. I was always frightened of him, but now I hate him as well."
"I am glad to see…" He coughed, half-rising as the move ment pained him. "I am glad to see you do not hesitate to speak your mind."
"I do not, and I still hate your horse."
He opened his eyes and looked at her. "I could find another horse, but any horse I choose is likely to be spirited. I prefer them that way."
She surprised herself by lifting his hand and brushing a kiss across his dirt-stained knuckles. "Are there no spirited horses who know when to listen to their riders?"
"No doubt there are." He brought their clasped hands back to his chest. "Are there any further points you wish to argue?" Despite his words, he did not sound troubled.
She could feel his heart beating rapidly underneath her hand. If only the laudanum would take effect, they could discover the extent of his wound. But what if it were something she preferred not to know? What if it was even now too late? She distracted herself by leaning down to kiss his cheek then whispered archly in his ear, "You prefer it when I argue with you."
"My secret is discovered." His speech was beginning to slur.
Elizabeth heard the snipping sound of scissors cutting cloth.
Mrs. Reynolds exposed the wound and began to apply wet poultices to it. Darcy tensed at each touch, attempting to watch the proceedings.
"May I assist?" Elizabeth asked.
Mrs. Reynolds shook her head without looking up. "Distract
ion will help more than anything else."
Elizabeth moved closer to Darcy and clasped his hand in both her own. "Where were you when this happened?"
"Near Curbar Edge." He winced.
She put her hand to his face. "Fitzwilliam, look at me. Try to remain still."
"I am…" his breath caught, "…at your command."
"How did you injure yourself?" The metallic odour of blood permeated the air.
"Too close an acquaintance with one of the boulders you so admire. Hurricane took a sudden dislike to a wildcat."
"A wildcat?" She had not realised such animals lived in the hills of Derbyshire.
"Yes. It inspected me afterwards but decided I was not sufficiently appetising to be worth its trouble. But it was enough to convince me to begin walking back."
His mind was evidently beginning to wander. Elizabeth glanced down and gasped. The wound encompassed most of his side, fragments of torn muscle showed through, and crusted blood was everywhere.
Mrs. Reynolds said, "It is not too deep from what I can see. I suspect he has lost a great deal of blood, but I do not believe the wound itself is grave. If it does not fester, it should heal well."
Elizabeth let out a sobbing breath of relief. Darcy did not stir, his even breathing indicating he was asleep. Now she no longer fought to hold back tears, despite the presence of Mrs. Reynolds and Ferguson. She could not bear to look at the ragged wound.
A knock sounded at the door. Ferguson answered it, then turned to Elizabeth. "Miss Darcy, madam."
Elizabeth dashed the tears from her eyes then took herself into the hallway where Georgiana stood. Darcy would not want his sister to see his injury.
Georgiana looked pale in the dim light. "What has happened? Mr. Dunstan says he is injured."
"A flesh wound only, but he is weak from loss of blood. He is asleep now, thanks to laudanum. He will no doubt be happy to see you when he awakens."
"Will he…" The girl swallowed hard.
"There appears to be no immediate danger. I will send you word if there is any change."
"Thank you." Georgiana clenched her hands at her sides as Elizabeth reached for the door handle. "Elizabeth?"
"Yes?"
"I apologise for what I said earlier. There is much I do not know."
Elizabeth could see her tension and wished she knew better how to support her in this crisis. In this, Georgiana was as alone as she was. Elizabeth touched the girl's arm lightly. "It is forgotten. I hope we will understand one another better in future."
Elizabeth did not stir from her husband's room that night. At first she simply watched him sleep, comforting herself with the sight of his features by the dim light of a lamp turned low. How could she not have realised what he had come to mean to her? In hindsight, it seemed perfectly incomprehensible, yet in truth, it had begun so gradually that she was in the middle before she knew it had begun.
Mrs. Reynolds had offered to have a servant stay with him through the night, but Elizabeth had refused, unable to bear being parted from him. She could not explain it, but somehow it felt as if his recovery depended on her presence, as if her previous failures as a wife demanded she make every effort now. When her eyelids began to droop, she removed her slippers and lay down on the bed beside him.
It was still dark when she awoke from a restless slumber to find Darcy muttering and pulling at his bandages. Clearly, he was still in pain and somewhat confused, so she prepared another dose of laudanum for him from the bottle Mrs. Reynolds had left for that purpose. Eventually, it allowed him to sleep again, but this time he held onto her, his good arm curved around her, his fingers tangled in her hair. She wished she could press her body against his to reassure herself of the reality of his survival, but she was afraid of causing him further pain.
***
Elizabeth awoke when the first streaks of light began to brighten the sky. Careful not to disturb her husband, she slipped out of his bed and resumed her earlier position in the chair. Even in sleep, she could see the lines of pain in Darcy's face.
She left his room only for her toilette, instructing Ferguson to call her immediately should Darcy wake up and urging Lucy to hurry with a clean dress. Being away from his bedside made her profoundly nervous, and she was relieved to find him still sleeping when she returned.
His eyes did not open until Mrs. Reynolds attempted to change his blood-soaked bandages. He winced in pain, but no sound escaped him.
Elizabeth took his hand in hers. "I would say good morning, but I fear you would rather be asleep again."
"It is not so bad as that." His words were belied by the pain fully tight grip he had on her hand.
On the other side of the bed, Mrs. Reynolds measured out another dose of laudanum.
"We have sent to Matlock for the doctor. We trust he will be here today."
"I do not need a doctor. A little rest is all I require." He made a face at the bitter taste of the drug. "Have you been here all night?"
The lock of hair had fallen onto his forehead again, and she gently touched it. "Yes, I have been keeping you company."
He glanced at Mrs. Reynolds, then motioned to Elizabeth to come closer. She leaned down to hear his whisper.
"Elizabeth, you need not be here… for this."
She stroked his hand, still entwined with her own. "I want to be with you."
His mouth twisted in a wry line. "There is a first time for everything."
Hot tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. "Please, Fitzwilliam. Until you disappeared, I did not realise how dear to me you have become."
His eyes widened. "Is that the truth or an attempt to please me?"
"The truth. I cannot believe how foolish I have been," she murmured in his ear. She wished they were alone so she could tell him much more.
He turned his face towards hers. "It is I who have been foolish. Had I but known…"
She could hear the agitation in his voice. "Sh, my love. That is all past, and you must concentrate your strength on recovering from your injury."
The corners of his lips turned up. "Yes, indeed I must, though, it is worth the injury to have a welcome such as this."
"Do not say such things. I only want you well again."
His eyelids drifted downwards. "And to think laudanum usually gives me nightmares, not sweet dreams."
He faded in and out of sleep as the day went on. Elizabeth kept her hand clasped in his, even when she read to him and had to balance the open book on her lap to turn the pages. He did not seem to object, and for her part, she could not be close enough to him.
She stayed with him through the night again. This time her fatigue made her sleep more soundly, but she still woke every time Darcy stirred, and she continued her vigil in the morning.
Towards afternoon, she looked up from her book to see his dark eyes watching her.
"Elizabeth." His voice sounded rough as if with disuse.
She shifted to sit on the bed beside him. "Yes? Can I bring you anything?"
"Just yourself."
Elizabeth smiled. "I am here, my love."
He reached out his good arm. "Come lie beside me."
It was broad daylight, but they were alone. It would not hurt to do as he asked, and it would comfort her as well. "As you wish."
He put his arm around her, seemingly content with her pres ence. Elizabeth wished she dared to hold him, but she was afraid of hurting him. But when he turned his head sideways on the pillow, his eyes clouded with the drug, she leaned towards him to meet his lips with her own. It was a gentle kiss, but his lips were hot against hers. Elizabeth almost shook with the emotion of it. Finally, they were where they ought to have been all along.
But gradually, it impinged on her consciousness that his mouth was warmer than desire could account for. She put her hand to his forehead. Burning hot.
Panic gripped her throat. She knew full well the danger of a fever in such a situation. His wound must be festering. "You have a fever. I must call for Mrs.
Reynolds."
"No, stay with me."
She could see he did not comprehend the gravity of the situation. The pupils of his eyes were shrunk almost to nothing. "I will return immediately, as soon as I send word."
"You will not leave me when the servants come?" She could hear the anxiety in his voice, echoing her own deeper fear.
She kissed his forehead. "I will not leave you, I promise."
Chapter 11
IT BECAME A NIGHTMARE of blurred days and nights. The doctor called each day and said the same thing, that Mr. Darcy was young and healthy, and the fever might run its course. On the third day of his fever, Elizabeth penned brief letters to his uncle and to Colonel Fitzwilliam informing them of his condi tion. Her chest ached as she wrote.
Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy Page 9