Darcy's Hope at Donwell Abbey, a WW1 Pride & Prejudice Companion

by Ginger Monette

  Darcy rolled onto his side and reached for the lavender sachet on the bedside table. Bringing it to his nose he inhaled, then slumped back on the pillows. It had been the most exhausting day of his life. His heart was still bleeding from the hole left by Elizabeth, but the telegram, the letter from Richard, and the words of Scott had injected him with a spark of hope.

  If Miss Thomas hadn’t intervened with the glass, he wouldn’t have been alive to hear the news. And neither would he be walking with Elizabeth in eternity. She wasn’t dead! His chest constricted with joyous regret. She would always be a part of him, but Scott was right, he had to find a way to let her go. Georgiana needed a brother, and Pemberley needed a master—even if he was blind.

  Darcy chuckled. How ironic that the stable boy whom he’d educated was now giving him words of life, hope, and wisdom. He replayed Scott’s encouraging words: Headaches seem to coincide with stress and nightmares...common for head injuries...not fatal.... You’re a brooder. Left with your own thoughts, you’ll think negatively.... Learn to ward off the demons of negative thinking. Your sister needs you, your tenants need you, Pemberley needs you, England needs you.... It’s what Miss Bennet would want for you.

  Darcy sighed. If the situation were reversed, would he want Elizabeth to persevere through hardship and grief to fight for her life? Of course! Even if she were reduced to a blind spinster.

  In spite of his grief, he would battle the demons in his mind and press on.

  For her.

  

  ….A shell ruptured on his right and another on his left, sending two bodies and chalky mud catapulting into the air. “Steady on!” he called through a haze of smoke.

  He ducked as a shot whizzed past his ear but forced himself to continue across the Somme into the firestorm. Dum spiro spero. Dum spiro spero—while I breathe, I hope.

  Machine gun fire swept over them again. He glanced over his shoulder; Tipper dropped. Turning back, Boom! He was falling. Down, down, down inside an endless dark chimney. With chunks of bricks and mortar pummelling him, he flailed his arms to slow his descent. “Tipper!” No sound emerged. “TIPPER!”

  A gentle force caught him up, sweeping him onto ethereal clouds. Elizabeth! With one arm she held him, the other stroked his hair. He relaxed, but she began fading away. “Don’t go! Stay with me!” He reached out and clung to her.

  Darcy jolted awake, breathing hard. “Miss Thomas.” He released his grip on her. “Forgive me. I thought you were....” He swallowed hard as she lowered him down.

  Just a dream. But I will stay with you.

  He relaxed into the sheets and closed his eyes. The vision of Elizabeth lingered in the fringes of his mind. Was it a sign? Could he let go of her and metaphorically embrace Miss Thomas, the symbol of his present and future?

  All he could do was try.

  For Elizabeth.

  - - -

  Oh, it was glorious to be held by Fitzwilliam—if only for a moment. Elizabeth gazed down at him, then brushed her thumb over his brow and whispered, “I won’t go. I will stay with you, tonight and many more nights, until your hearing returns or you are settled. Don’t lose hope, my love.”

  The hard lines on his face soon relaxed, and his breathing slowed. Lying there he looked so peaceful—and handsome and perfect. It was hard to believe his eyes saw no light and his ears heard no sound. Dr. Scott still believed his hearing would return. But what of his vision? His world was just as dark as the day he’d arrived. And what was going on inside of that beautiful head of his that caused such terrorising nightmares? She pushed a dark lock from Fitzwilliam’s forehead. Maybe in the coming days she could help him find out.

  With a sigh, Elizabeth rose to her feet and pulled an upholstered chair closer to the bed. Nestling into it, her gaze settled on her beloved. She’d now committed to stay with him at Donwell. How long would it take for him to regain his hearing or a more stable frame of mind? A few weeks? A month? Two months? What if someone discovered her identity? If Colonel Fitzwilliam or Lady Catherine visited, her ruse would be up.

  At least she was safe from a surprise visit from Robert. He’d been on leave just before Elizabeth arrived. But Charles or Jane could come again. Was she willing to risk being revealed? Yes. She’d almost lost Fitzwilliam to despondency. Nothing was worth that. If he remained inconsolable now that he knew Elizabeth was alive, she would reveal herself. The consequences would be ruinous for them both, but it was a worthy exchange for his life. Dum spiro spero.

  She had breath.

  She had hope.

  

  The next morning Elizabeth shifted in the bedside chair as she rose to the surface from slumber. Massaging her neck, she sat up, her gaze falling on Fitzwilliam sleeping peacefully.

  A tranquil assurance flooded her and she smiled. Yes, staying with him was the right decision.

  She pushed up from the chair, then retied the sash on her dressing gown and padded into the adjoining room to dress before he awoke.

  A quarter of an hour later she stood before her room’s mirror and clasped her garnet cross around her neck as she did every morning. As she dropped it beneath the neckline of her blue uniform, the bed creaked in the next room.

  Darting to the door, she peeked in. Fitzwilliam raked a hand through his tousled hair, then made his way to the bathroom with his hand stretched before him. She bit her bottom lip. Should she make herself known? He hadn’t called for her, and he looked well enough. Perhaps she would give him a few minutes to himself. Besides, she had yet to arrange her hair.

  With an ear towards his room, she worked her wavy tresses into a chignon and covered it with her white kerchief cap. Crossing into Fitzwilliam’s room, she stopped short just inside the threshold. Fitzwilliam stood at the window, wrapped in his dressing gown, with his brows contracted in thought and his fingers tracing the peppery stubble on his chin. His other hand held the garnet bracelet, his thumb chafing its stones.

  Suddenly the clouds shifted, and sunlight flooded the room. Dropping his hand, he raised his chin and closed his eyes. Brilliant light illumined his dark lashes splayed beneath his eyes.

  Love and compassion welled in her. Something had changed in him. He radiated a resolute peace instead of bitter melancholy. Her heart stretched towards him, longing to join him in the warmth of the sunlight. To slip her hand into his and assure him she would walk beside him through whatever lay ahead.

  She released a resigned breath, creaking the floorboards beneath her feet.

  “Miss Thomas?” His eyes popped open, breaking the ethereal moment.

  She crossed to him and brushed his arm to confirm her presence.

  He sighed. “Please forgive me for my despicable behaviour yesterday. Your sacrifice to remain here and lend your expertise deserves my appreciation, not my temper.”

  Her heart melted. It wasn’t what she’d expected him to say. Men of his rank rarely humbled themselves in such a manner.

  She squeezed his arm in affirmation. I understand now it was more out of pain than anger.

  A moment of silence passed.

  He massaged his forehead with steepled fingers.

  Headache?

  “A slight one.”

  Then he chuckled. “But the room’s aroma of stale roast beef, glazed carrots, and gingerbread lends no consolation.”

  A spark of light-heartedness! Her heart sang. I’ll have it cleaned up.

  “No, please.” He turned serious. “I’ve been reconsidering my situation. My arrogance and self-pity yesterday deserved your firm hand. I lost someone to the war, but thousands of others have as well. My grief is not a licence to burden others. I will clean it up.” His brows contracted in regret. “I may never regain my senses, but I’ve resolved not to be consumed by it. You and Scott have assured me I can be productive in spite of my condition. Though I don’t see how, I’ll trust you. Your offer to teach me is generous, and I will work hard to be a worthy pupil—for the sake of my family. And Pemberley.”

&nb
sp; Tears welled in her eyes. She was proud that a man of such character had loved her. Proud that he was willing to persevere. And proud to be his teacher.

  Resting her hand on his arm she tapped, Dr. Scott expects hearing restored. Be patient. Don’t lose hope. If you lose that, you lose everything. She hesitated then added, I lost someone to war as well. I understand grief.

  He laid his hand over hers. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  Their spirits fused like two notes blending in perfect harmony.

  He dropped his hand, breaking the connection.

  Closing her eyes, she released a tattered breath, then cast about for something to fill the void. Outing this afternoon? Looks to be lovely day.

  He chuckled and expelled a relieved breath. “By all means let us open the windows and then avail ourselves of the outdoors and fresh air. The room smells more like trench filth than manor fare.”

  

  Darcy settled back in the wheelchair as Miss Thomas ploughed him over the lawn. With the warm May sun and a whisper of stirring air, it was indeed a lovely day for a surprise outing. Where could she be taking him?

  Miss Thomas. He smiled. She was certainly a god-send. She seemed to understand him in a way that neither Sarah nor Thornton did. With her, cleaning up the food this morning had been more like a game of blind man’s bluff than an unpleasant chore. He’d even managed to shave and don his uniform without incident. But in spite of a nap after luncheon, he was still exhausted. Nonetheless, he would push himself, even if the demons in his mind taunted him over his blindness and thoughts of Elizabeth stabbed at his heart.

  He pushed his hand into his tunic pocket and rubbed his thumb over the rough stones of the garnet bracelet. Elizabeth was a beautiful part of his past, and the time they’d spent together at The Ritz had been some of the most memorable days of his life. But he needed to focus on the here and now. To make the best of his situation for the sake of those who depended on him. It’s what Elizabeth would want for him.

  The wheelchair bumped, then rumbled over a new terrain. Cobblestones. A breeze licked his cheeks, and he smiled. “You’ve brought me to the stables.”

  The chair stopped. Her small hand landed on his shoulder. Aroma gives it away. You’ll have to walk rest of way.

  He pushed up from the chair and inhaled. Manure had never smelled so sweet.

  She threaded his arm through hers, then proceeded four steps and stopped. Met Lawson? He’s chauffeur. Looks after horses.

  “How d’ya do.” Darcy nodded.

  He’ll show you inside.

  With his hand on the groom’s shoulder, Darcy followed the man’s lead, though he preferred the familiarity of Miss Thomas’ arm. Would he always be forced to depend on others to escort him about?

  The scent of hay and manure grew stronger. They turned, and the warmth on his face disappeared. Had they entered the stables? They moved forward eight steps, then stopped. A moment later Lawson pressed reins into his hand. An expectant thrill coursed through him. It was the first time since his injury that he felt at home, capable, and marginally in control.

  He traced the leather lines upward and palmed the horse’s warm velvety nose. When the animal relaxed beneath his hand, he stroked its forehead for some time, then glided his hand along its long neck. Could a deaf-blind man ride?

  He trailed his hand along the horse’s sleek back, its flesh firm and powerful beneath his palm. “What’s his name?”

  Samson, Miss Thomas’ fingers spelled out on the back of his arm.

  “Sam—” Darcy startled at a nudge on his leg. Turning towards the source, he bumped into Miss Thomas fluttering about at his knee.

  It’s a dog, came her taps from below. He’s determined for your attention.

  With his fingers splayed, Darcy reached down. Miss Thomas took his hand and guided it, laying it atop a furry head. His scratching was rewarded by a lick on his palm. He smiled. This was certainly preferable to a dull afternoon indoors.

  He smoothed his hand over the dog’s head and across its back. The dog stepped forward, its hind quarter dipping beneath his hand. “Is he limping?”

  Injured leg.

  A nudge by Samson recalled his attention. Straightening, he scratched the horse’s neck, but the dog remained by his side, its tail thwacking his leg.

  He’s enamoured with you.

  “Might I sit down?”

  Miss Thomas led him a short distance away, then guided his hand to a crate. As Darcy lowered himself, the dog nuzzled his palm. Darcy smiled. The animal was certainly persistent. “Is he a Labrador?”

  Yes. Black. Appeared two weeks ago.

  “What happened to him?” Darcy rubbed the dog’s ears.

  Don’t know. Vet says he’s useless. Lawson hasn’t heart to put him down.

  “Put him down?”

  Repairing leg would require expensive surgery and massage.

  “That’s unfortunate.”

  Miss Thomas pressed a stick into his palm. Throw it.

  Hurling it, the dog bolted from his side. A moment later the stick dropped on his feet. He threw it again, and again the dog retrieved it. After four more throws, Darcy was exhausted and left the stick on the ground. Stroking the dog, his thoughts turned to Lili, Monsieur Dubois’ Yorkie. For months he’d shunned the affectionate terrier in an attempt to shield his heart from the pain of love and loss. Now, having lost Elizabeth, he would have to fight the temptation to shut himself off again.

  You all right?

  Darcy sighed and smiled. “Yes. Fine. I was just recalling some memories.”

  Nearly teatime. We should go.

  Darcy pushed to his feet and allowed Miss Thomas to lead him back to his wheelchair. As they rumbled over the cobblestones, Darcy poised his hand over the edge of the wheelchair’s armrest. The dog nuzzled his hand, then trotted by his side, only abandoning him when they started across the lawn.

  Darcy returned his hand to his lap and breathed in the fresh spring air. It had been a surprisingly pleasant day. Certainly a stark contrast to the despondency he’d felt yesterday. He’d come so close to ending his life!

  The poor dog was oblivious that his days were numbered. So unfortunate that a smart dog with so much to give would be discarded simply because of an injury. Just like you. He startled with the realisation. He saw potential in the injured dog. Could he not see it in himself? Miss Thomas saw his potential. ...use that brilliant mind of yours and carry on as master of your estate....

  “Wait.” He held up his hand. “Please...turn around. I’ll help the dog. He deserves to live.”

  ~THIRTY-ONE~

  Four days later

  Elizabeth spread a white cloth over the small writing desk and stood back. It wouldn’t qualify as a fine dining table, but it was a decided improvement over a bed tray.

  It had been four days since Fitzwilliam committed to the Labrador, and the surgery yesterday had gone well. Believing in “Dog” seemed to help him believe in himself. He’d worked hard each morning at mastering the stairs and learning to navigate outdoors with a cane. Every afternoon he was rewarded with a visit to the stables. Samson welcomed his presence, and he’d even taught the dog to sit. And although Fitzwilliam often fingered the garnet bracelet, Elizabeth could tell he was working to press through his grief and accept his condition.

  “Is that breakfast I smell?”

  Elizabeth turned to Fitzwilliam emerging from the bathroom. Desire sparked inside her. Goodness, he was handsome with his dark hair smoothed back, angular chin cleanly shaven, and impeccable captain’s uniform.

  She closed the space between them, then tapped on his arm, It is breakfast. To be served at table. She led him to the desk she’d pulled out from the wall and directed his hand to its accompanying chair. He crawled his fingers along the chair’s back, then pulled it out and lowered himself. After his palm probed the clothed surface, he slid the chair forward.

  Well done!

  “Is this the writing desk?”

&nb
sp; She squeezed his arm, then turned for his breakfast tray.

  “Well, good morning.” Dr. Scott paused at the threshold to take in the scene. “Our patient is looking smart this morning.” He crossed the room and greeted Fitzwilliam with a friendly pat, then set his medical bag on the floor.

  “Scott.” Darcy acknowledged him with a nod and reached for his fork.

  Elizabeth set the last of the tray’s dishes on the table. “He is indeed looking smart. Good-humoured as well.”

  “Excellent. I see you have him eating at a table. And I hear he’s adopted a dog. I commend your initiative, Thomas. Both should aid in his recovery. I’d like to discuss some additional plans, but first, might I have a look in his ears? He can resume his meal as soon as I’m finished.”

  Elizabeth conveyed the message.

  Fitzwilliam turned towards the doctor. “Certainly. Especially if it will expedite my hearing.”

  The doctor squeezed his patient’s shoulder. “I don’t know about expediting, but I suspect those eardrums are close to being healed. Let’s have a look.” He retrieved his otoscope from his bag, then looked into Fitzwilliam’s left ear.

  “Scott, I’ve been meaning to ask. Is there any harm in my riding? The Knightley’s gelding seems gentle enough.”

  The doctor sat back. “Riding creates a lot of jostling. I don’t think we want to invite headaches. It would be best to wait a few more weeks until your brain is fully healed.”

  Elizabeth tapped the answer while Dr. Scott probed his other ear.

  Fitzwilliam’s shoulders slumped. Clearly he was disappointed with the answer.

  The doctor patted Fitzwilliam’s arm to signal the exam was completed. “Well, perhaps he’ll be more encouraged with news of his ears. The tears in the tympanic membrane have healed. When his brain decides it’s willing to listen again, his hearing should return to normal. The only exceptions being a possible slight loss of hearing, and familiar noises and voices may sound different.”

  Elizabeth relayed the news.