by Head, Gail
She searched her mind again, looking for something – anything – that would explain her alarming condition; and just as before, there were only vague, disturbing impressions that she could not wrap her mind around. Her last clear memory was of Lord Grissholm's lingering good-night kiss on her hand just before she went upstairs. She remembered thinking about what she would take away from Peyton House, but she could not recall actually getting to her room.
Whatever had passed between her leaving Lord Grissholm and waking just now was lost in the thick, hazy fog that clouded her mind. She felt inexplicably sad and mourned the loss of something she couldn't quite put a name to – something that was hidden in the dark shadows of her mind. Another wave of nausea pulled her eyes shut, and she concentrated on her breathing until it could subside.
Suddenly, she heard heavy footsteps thundering in the hallway, almost at a run as they neared her door. Elizabeth's heart stuttered, then began a frantic pounding against her injured ribs. Had Lord Grissholm discovered her plans? Would he be angry? She forced her face into an impassive expression. With any luck, he would think her still asleep and go away. Then she would find a way to get to Mr. Darcy's waiting carriage by herself.
The door crashed open with a thunderous bang and it took all her willpower to remain absolutely still as the daunting footsteps came across the room, making an abrupt stop at her side. She could hear a man's labored breathing, and then it drew closer. Her efforts to keep her breathing slow and steady were suddenly made ineffectual when his hand came down on hers.
“Thank God!” His voice came in a low, strangled whisper as he lowered his lips to her hand and gently kissed it. “You are alive.”
Elizabeth's eyes flew open in shocked surprise. “Mr. Darcy!”
“Elizabeth!” He kissed her hand more forcefully and held it to his chest. “I was so afraid I had lost you!”
For a moment, she only stared, open-mouthed at his passionate declaration; then in the next instant, she reached with her free hand to grab at the blankets she had earlier pushed aside. His eyes followed her movement, catching a fleeting glimpse of gossamer fabric and shapely curves before she covered herself to her chin, biting back an agonized cry.
The twin blossoms of scarlet that colored her deathly pale cheeks and tightened her mouth into a thin line of pain drew a self-reproving scowl from Darcy. What a bumbling idiot he was!
“Please, forgive me! I should not have intruded, only I heard the girl calling for the doctor and she sounded so frantic that I feared you were…that is, I thought you were gone, and I had to see for myself. But you are not, and you shall recover. You must recover!”
“Oh! Well, I shall do my best to oblige, sir.”
“You were so still and pale. How do you feel? Is there much pain?”
“Only when I move,” she gave him a weak smile that quickly faded to a puzzled frown. “Mr. Darcy, what are doing here?”
It was Darcy's turn to be self-conscious. “I apologize for not waiting for the doctor. I could not – ”
“No, I mean what are you doing in this house?”
Darcy's face mirrored her frown, trying to understand the question. “I live here. This is my home.”
“Your home?!” she gasped, looking around the room. “Where are my things?”
“Molly brought your box. It is over there. My housekeeper, Mrs. Adams, is trying to salvage your gown, but I fear it is beyond repair.” His bitter remorse consumed him. “I am so very sorry I failed you! I was a fool not to have guessed he would do something like this. Can you ever forgive me? You have my word he shall pay for it; on my honor, he shall pay!”
“Something like what? Who will pay?”
“Grissholm!”
“For what?”
“You do not remember?”
“The last thing I can recall with any certainty is going to my room at Peyton House; only I do not remember actually arriving. I am curious as to how I ended up here,” she frowned through the throbbing in her head, “because I am certain we had agreed I would go to my uncle's house.”
Another wave of nausea swept over her and her eyes drifted shut, causing Darcy to lean in, pressing her arm gently.
“Elizabeth, what is it?!” He ignored the sound of someone coming into the room until he was pulled back and Dr. Lawrence placed a practiced hand on Elizabeth's brow. “Lawrence?! What is it? Will she be all right? She did speak, but she seems confused!”
“I suspect it is the effects of the trauma to her head – a concussion most likely. It is not surprising, given that nasty cut on her forehead.”
“She cannot remember anything.”
“That is common in these instances. A blessing, if you ask me.”
“Is a feeble stomach common as well?” Elizabeth whispered weakly.
“Yes, Miss Bennet, I am afraid so. But, with any luck, it should improve in a few days.”
The doctor busied himself with checking her bandages, then carefully removed the wrapping from her forehead. She winced as he examined the injury.
“How bad is it?” she asked softly.
“You have eight tiny stitches in your forehead just below the hairline. Once it has healed completely, I do not think anyone but you will even notice. Tell me, Miss Bennet, do you remember anything of your leaving Lord Grissholm or coming to Burnham House?”
The stitches pulled slightly as frustration knit her brow. “Not really. I remember it being very dark, and pain – a lot of pain. Did I fall?”
“Yes, but that is not where all your injuries came from. We can talk about that once you have had more rest.”
“Hmm,” she responded crossly. “And shall my memory improve in a few days as well?”
“Perhaps, perhaps not. Quite often the brain never completely recovers the events that transpired when the injury occurred.”
“I see,” she said, “Perhaps if someone told me what happened, it might restore my memory.”
“That is not necessarily the best course.”
“What would be the consequences if she did remember?” pressed Darcy.
“It is hard to say,” Lawrence hedged. “She is young and of a strong constitution; but in cases such as this, there is a danger to a sudden recovery of the memory. It could induce a severe effect on the spirit that is very difficult to overcome.”
“Dr. Lawrence, surely there is something you can tell me. And what do you mean by 'cases such as this'?”
Dr. Lawrence pursed his lips thoughtfully before answering. “I will do my best to give you some idea of what happened, but we must be careful. Too much information could be disastrous. It is a very fine line we are walking here.”
Too intent on following Elizabeth's every movement, Darcy did not see the pointed look his family physician cast in his direction.
“Mr. Darcy,” Lawrence hemmed softly. “This is a young lady's bedchamber and you have already breached the bounds of propriety beyond reason. I must ask you to leave the room and let me attend to Miss Bennet.”
“Yes, of course!” replied Darcy hesitantly, though he did not move. His heart constricted in profound gratitude as he looked once more at Elizabeth's pale form dwarfed by the massive bedstead. She would live! The effects of Grissholm's despicable attack were not entirely known, but she would live!
“Take yourself off now and I shall come find you as soon as I am finished.”
Unable to resist, Darcy's hand reached out, softly touching her arm once again. “Dr. Lawrence is a good man. He shall have you well in no time.” With a final nod to the doctor, he quitted the room, pausing for one last look at her before reluctantly slipping into the hallway.
It did not take long for the doctor to complete his examination.
“You have considerable bruising, and aside from two broken ribs, there does not seem to be any internal injury. You are a very fortunate young lady. Now, take this compound I've prepared for you. It will not relieve your headache completely, but it will help some. When it has taken effec
t, we shall get you up for a proper wrapping. You were not in any condition to do it right when I first saw you.”
Elizabeth obediently swallowed the bitter medicine, then lay back on the pillows to ease the surge of pain and queasiness the effort had generated. “My condition is what I should like to know about, doctor,” she said softly and grimaced as he applied a dab of pungent ointment to her head. “Please – tell me what happened.”
Dr. Lawrence finished dressing the wound on her head and returned the small white jar to his black leather box in silence. Just as she began to think he had changed his mind about telling her anything, he answered, speaking very slowly.
“Miss Bennet, as I said, your injuries were not all caused by a fall.”
She flinched involuntarily as a memory of grasping hands flashed through her mind. In the next moment, it was gone and she looked anxiously at the doctor, hoping for an explanation.
“You were assaulted – most violently.”
“Assaulted?” she whispered faintly.
“Yes. It is unclear what Lord Grissholm's motives were, but – ”
A violent shudder went through Elizabeth. “Lord Grissholm?!”
“I'm afraid so. Are you remembering anything more?”
Elizabeth paused, but the images in her mind were vague and menacing. “No, not... not anything definite.”
“Sometimes the memories come back with time and sometimes not. In your case, it would probably be better if they did not.”
Haunting, nightmarish images of Lord Grissholm teased at the edges of her memory, draining what little color she had from her face and widening her eyes with horror. “Are you trying to tell me he…do you mean I was…?” She couldn't bear to finish the question, too afraid of what the answer would be.
“Compromised? Thankfully, no, my dear; although judging by your injuries, I have no doubt that it was his intent. From what Mr. Darcy and the Colonel described, they arrived not a moment too soon. The important thing is, they did arrive in time, and your virtue is still intact.”
“My virtue may be intact,” whispered Elizabeth, tears filling her eyes, “and I am grateful to Mr. Darcy and the Colonel for that; but my reputation is not. You know as well as I that it is the female who receives the blame in cases such as this. Lord Grissholm will feel no consequence and I am ruined.”
She remembered the angry edge Mr. Darcy had tried so hard to conceal when they spoke in the park, and her heart dropped. He had answered her plea for help and benevolently offered his assistance to her and her family only to end up embroiled in a violent scandal – something she was certain his private nature could not abide. He had said before that he made it a study to avoid that which exposes one to ridicule. Helping her had definitely exposed him. In spite of his obvious concern for her health, the reality of the consequences would soon become apparent.
There was the smallest hope that Lord Grissholm's similar penchant for privacy would keep the affair quiet; but she also knew there was the inevitable propensity for servants to gossip, even in his lordship's household. It was unforgivable to bring this down on Mr. Darcy. She had to leave! She must go to Uncle Gardiner's immediately, before any more damage could be done.
“Dr. Lawrence, my uncle resides in Gracechurch Street. I should like to go there until I am well enough to remove to Hertfordshire.”
“Gracechurch Street? From what Mr. Darcy has told me, your uncle will not be in town until sometime tomorrow morning. But, even so, it is out of the question. You are in far too fragile a condition to make any journey. The slightest bump in a carriage, no matter how well-sprung, could be fatal. No, my dear; you will stay right here for the next five or six days at the very least. After that, we shall see what may be arranged.”
“Five or six days! Sir, I cannot possibly stay here another day! Mr. Darcy is a single man. For me to stay unaccompanied in his household would certainly incite gossip. It can no longer matter for me, but his generosity does not deserve that kind of recompense!”
“He is far more concerned with your health than what the gossipmongers might have to say – as am I, Miss Bennet. In any case, you need not worry. His sister, Miss Georgiana Darcy, is here at Burnham House as well. Mr. Darcy's reputation is quite safe.”
“His sister?!” Elizabeth sat up in alarm only to be driven back to her pillow by a violent tilt in her head. The sudden wave of nausea was nothing, however, compared to the pain of Mr. Darcy's sister knowing her misfortunes. “Could this be any more wretched? I do not care what the risk may be. I cannot possibly impose on the family in this way. I must leave now.”
“That you cannot do, and you are not imposing on the family. Miss Darcy considers you her honored guest. She has been especially anxious for your recovery and is eager to make your acquaintance. I assure you that she will not countenance your removal until I deem it prudent, which will be no sooner than next Friday.”
Still trying to control the spinning in her head, she realized he was right. She could not go anywhere – yet. “Very well, I shall abide by your wishes for now, doctor; but as soon as I am able, we shall re-visit the matter.”
“Indeed. Now, shall we get you up and wrapped before that medicine wears off? I will leave more for you to take later so that you can sleep. I shall return tomorrow afternoon and see how you are doing. In the meantime, you are to remain in bed and rest as much as you can. That alone will do a great deal to speed your recovery.”
In short order, he had replaced the bandage around her chest with a tighter, more stable wrapping. She watched as the silver-haired physician finished packing his instruments into the black medical bag and buckled it closed. He looked back to the bed to assure himself that she would stay put and gave her a slight bow as he turned toward the door. Elizabeth closed her eyes, allowing the full effects of the medicine to settle over her, but in the next moment they flew open again as the doctor's murmured words reached her ears. “Now that she is out of danger, perhaps I can finally convince young Darcy to get some rest as well.”
For some time, she lay staring at the canopy overhead, thinking about Mr. Darcy's passionate words and the feel of her hand in his as he kissed it. He had been worried for her life. Was it possible he still cared for her? Did she want him to? Stop thinking about it, Lizzy! she told herself sternly. Wait until the realities of your situation have sunk in. Then we shall see what his feelings are – and yours.
* * * *
“Hello, Elizabeth. How are you feeling this afternoon?”
“Much better, thank you.” Elizabeth laid her book of poetry aside and eagerly greeted Darcy's sibling. “I can now sit up without feeling as though my head will fall off and I have learned how to move without causing much pain – at least for the most part.”
“Do you like the book?” Georgiana asked eagerly. “Fitzwilliam picked it out. It is one of his favorites and he thought you would enjoy it as well.”
“I like it very much. Please tell him I appreciate the kind gesture.”
“I shall do that,” Georgiana flashed a smile that did not reflect the girl's normally cheerful manner, and Elizabeth studied her new friend. The shyly persistent girl had presented herself at Elizabeth's bedside the day following Mr. Darcy's surprising visit and quickly became a regular visitor.
Mr. Darcy, though, had not come again and Elizabeth spent many of her convalescing hours trying to sort out his perplexing behavior. From what she could remember of the night he had come to her bedside, he had shown no reserve, no reluctance to make his feelings known; and yet he now remained strangely aloof. Had the gravity of her situation finally sunk in; and if so, why send volumes of poetry for her to read – his favorites, no less? His actions were such a puzzling contradiction that she could not begin to make him out.
She had no idea how she would come to comprehend the man – until she discovered a surprising source of information. Georgiana, much to Elizabeth's delight, was a free-flowing fount of knowledge on the subject of her beloved brother. And so it was
in this manner that Elizabeth began to understand the full depth of Mr. Darcy's character. A character that had been forged by the loss of both his parents early in his life, leaving him with the vast responsibilities of caring for a large estate and a sister nearly half his age. His unswerving loyalty to both was explanation enough for the solemn, reserved demeanor she had first encountered in Hertfordshire.
As the days progressed and her health improved, Elizabeth continued to be entertained and educated by Georgiana's illuminating stories. Even the girl's actions had been a surprising source of insight. Georgiana's painfully shy manners, which very often mirrored those of her brother, had given Elizabeth an entirely different view of Mr. Darcy's own reticence. What mortification it must have cost him when he willingly admitted his inability to converse easily with strangers – and she had treated his candor with ridicule and contempt! Elizabeth's wretchedness at her behavior toward Mr. Darcy grew each day in direct proportion to her admiration for him.
She could barely think on the injustice she had done him in refusing to acknowledge any goodness, willfully ignoring the excellence of his person, character, and circumstances. Instead, she had privately and openly accused Mr. Darcy of immoral, irreligious, and shameful conduct without making the slightest effort to confirm Mr. Wickham's villainous accusations.
Mr. Darcy's subsequent kindness to her, in expending such great efforts to find her, and to save her virtue and possibly her life, made these revelations inexpressibly painful; and the discovery of her foolishness was not only mortifying, but increasingly the source of the greatest regret she had ever suffered in the course of her life. To think that such a man had actually offered her marriage – and that she had answered him with anger and scorn!
During the endlessly long nights, she had shed many bitter tears of vexation, shame, and remorse at the realization that her prejudice had utterly ruined her greatest chance for happiness. Having now witnessed all her foolishness and misjudgments, Mr. Darcy could only be feeling a sense of the greatest relief at having escaped such a connection! Now, when there seemed so little hope, she was sure she could have loved him; that she could have had the happiness she always hoped for.