Now, he looked up at her, confused. “What are you saying?”
“You are…” She wrung out her hands. “I don’t know why I thought there was anything good in you at all.”
“I suppose I deserve that.”
“You can’t think that simply giving me money will actually fix what it is you’ve done to me.”
“I don’t see why not,” he said.
“If you annul our marriage, it’s all well and good for you. You’ll still be Mr. Darcy of Pemberley. You can get married again. But I shall never be able to do so. I shall be ruined and used up, no matter that you never touched me. No one will—”
“I shall give you so much money that you can have your pick of pretty fortune hunting men,” said Darcy, lifting his chin. “You can marry again, if that’s what you wish. You can be Lady Something-or-Other. I guarantee there are a great many heirs out there with nothing but worthless titles, and they’d be glad enough for an influx of income.”
Her lips parted as he spoke, and she stared at him, utterly flummoxed. “You would… that is… you couldn’t be so foolhardy to part with so much of your fortune.”
“Couldn’t I? Haven’t I treated you very badly? Don’t you deserve it for what I have done to your reputation and your future? And what is it you suppose I might be saving it for? I shan’t marry. I am not a good husband. I shan’t have heirs, and I shall simply watch everything crumble around me for the rest of my days. There is no reason to hang on.”
“But…” She bit down on her bottom lip, and she appeared to be torn between saying something to him and staying quiet.
He’d had enough talk for one morning. “Get out of my sight.”
“What?”
“Go.” He nodded at the steps. “Oversee your maid packing your dresses. As soon as the snow is cleared, you will leave.”
* * *
Elizabeth dashed off a letter to Jane, telling her everything that occurred, how Mr. Darcy had raged and broken plates, how he had dragged her down the steps and tried to throw her out of his house, how she was glad to be leaving him.
If she was truly going home, there was no reason to send the letter. She could tell Jane when she arrived.
The horrid truth was that she wasn’t sure she wanted to go home.
She instructed Meg to hang all her dresses back in her wardrobe and to mend the ones that had been damaged by Mr. Darcy. Then she sat at her desk and composed another letter to Jane.
I cannot still be in love with him. Surely, I’ve fallen out of love with him. He is a monster, and he will not change. He will only get worse. It is the height of stupidity to want to stay with such a man. So, what has gone wrong with me, my dear sister, that I am in no hurry to leave him?
I feel as though his anger is not about me or about the dog or anyone in the house. I feel as though it has something to do with that Georgie Wickham, whoever he was. And whatever I said, I don’t think Mr. Darcy did kill him. Or if he did, I don’t think he meant it. Perhaps it was one of these rages that comes over him. Perhaps he was not in control of himself.
But that’s not an excuse.
And it shouldn’t reassure me. After all, what if one of those rages came over him, and he and I had a child? I could not bear that. Of course, it is impossible for there to be a child, and I am rather sure he will never touch me, so there is no worry on that score.
I have to try, Jane, don’t you understand? We are already married. The damage is done. I have to attempt to see if I can find a good man in him. If he can work through his anger and leave it behind, perhaps things could be different.
True, he has not ever said that he loved me, but he has professed to want me, which is a close thing, is it not?
Why do I feel as though I am the most idiotic woman in all of England and that I should be bodily restrained and carried away from this man for my own safety? What is it about him that affects me so?
She folded up this letter too, putting it in her drawer, never to be sent.
Outside, the snow continued.
She dined alone. Mr. Darcy was nowhere to be found, even when she went looking for him in the house. She did not go to the east wing, though. Perhaps he was there.
When she woke the next morning, the snow had stopped.
* * *
The lack of frozen water falling from the sky seemed to clear her wits. She gazed out the window at the vast expanse of unbroken snow, and she knew that she would leave.
It was ridiculous to stay. Mr. Darcy was quite unpredictable, and he might do all manner of dreadful things to her. She would leave, and if he would really give her all that money, life would be bearable afterward.
She could travel with Jane and Bingley, pay her own way. Why, with that much money, she would be very like a rich widow. She would be free to do as she pleased. She could buy a house in town. Nothing could stand in her way. She wouldn’t need to marry again. It would mean she would never have children, though.
That saddened her.
But she resolved that she would have many chances to be an aunt, what with all of her sisters, and she would take full advantage of that.
Yes, she would leave, because it was the intelligent thing to do.
Of course, it was going to break her heart.
That was ridiculous too. How she could love this man, she didn’t understand. It made no sense at all. Such are the ways of a wayward heart, she supposed.
A broken heart would not be pleasant, but she could bear it up.
She called for Meg, dressed for breakfast, went down to the dining room.
Mr. Darcy was nowhere to be found again.
Well, perhaps it would be easier not to see him. She broke her fast and then went to a sitting room upstairs, determined to read and look out the window on the snow.
But when she did, she saw that there were four or five men gathered outside in the snow, tramping about in it and ruining the pristine perfection of the surface. They appeared to be trying to move a large branch that had fallen off one of the trees near the drive. Probably it had fallen under the weight of the snow.
She squinted.
Was that Mr. Darcy out there? What was he doing? He couldn’t be working with the men in the snow, could he?
But yes, there was his cane.
And then she thought that there was no leaving Pemberley with that large branch in the road. He must be eager to move it.
She closed her book and called for Meg to dress her warmly.
Within a quarter hour, she was outside, strolling through the snow to Mr. Darcy.
He was swinging an ax. She supposed the tree branch was too big to move on its own and that it would be more easily removed in pieces.
She stopped short, watching him. The movement of his body was mesmerizing. He raised the ax and then it bit into the wood, and then he raised it again. She watched, her lips parted, soundless.
“Sir, that is enough,” said one of the men nearby. “Let me finish that for you.”
“I’m not an invalid, Mr. Marshall,” said Mr. Darcy, who was a little out of breath, but sounded invigorated and happy. Then he caught sight of Elizabeth, and he very nearly dropped the ax. “Madam, what are you doing out here?”
“You’re quite eager to be rid of me, I see,” she said.
“What?” Mr. Darcy scoffed. He handed the ax over to Mr. Marshall and crossed to her. “Why, even after this is moved out of the way, it’ll be some time before the roads are passable again. All this snow? It’s not going anywhere and neither are you.”
“So, then, what are you doing out here?”
“Well, I was walking with the dogs.” Mr. Darcy gestured across the yard, and there were three dogs running in the snow.
“All of the dogs?”
“I have given Lady a pardon,” said Mr. Darcy. He looked about. “Where the devil is my cane?” Then he saw it, sticking up out of the snow, and he started for it.
“You have?” She went with him.
He found t
he cane and leaned on it. “Yes, it has been pointed out to me that visiting punishment on a poor beast for the actions of her previous master is…” He shrugged, giving her a helpless smile. “Madness.”
She couldn’t help but smile back.
“Lady can stay,” said Darcy. “She is a good dog, and the staff is fond of her. I was wrong to be harsh with her.”
“You decided this? When?”
“This morning, I suppose.” He sucked in air through his nose. “There’s something about snow, isn’t there?”
“Yes,” she said quietly. “There is.”
He pointed at the dogs with his cane. “Well, if you are out here, would you like to walk with me and the dogs?”
She hesitated. “I don’t see why not.”
They took off together through the white powder. It was magical stuff, so beautiful.
Elizabeth looked at him sidelong, feeling more confused than ever. “And, um, what about Lady’s previous master?”
He turned to her sharply. “Please, it’s so nice out here. Don’t ruin it.”
She nodded. “All right.”
They walked together, and the dogs came running for them, cavorting in the fluffy whiteness, tongues hanging out, balls of fur and joy.
She petted Lady’s head, and scratched Rex under his chin.
Mr. Darcy sighed. “I feel as if all I do is apologize to you.”
She laughed. “Yes. In between being horrible, that is.”
He chuckled. “Well, I’m not going to this time. It’s pointless. We can be civil to each other for this last remaining time. You’ll be leaving soon enough.”
She nodded. “I will.”
They held each other’s gaze for a minute, and she thought she saw something pained in his expression, and she was horrified her own pain was visible too.
But then there was a shout from the men who were wresting with the branch.
She and Mr. Darcy both turned to look.
Darcy’s brow furrowed in concern. “That’s Mr. Nelson on his back.”
“Oh, no,” said Elizabeth. Nelson was one of the footmen, the one everyone gossiped over, who was likely to marry one of the kitchen maids.
Together, they took off towards the men and the branch. Mr. Darcy, despite his cane and his limp, got out ahead of her and reached them first.
When she got there, Darcy was on the ground next to Nelson, whose face was very white.
“What happened?” said Elizabeth.
Darcy looked up at her. “He lost his grip on a big chunk of the tree.” He pointed to it. “It fell on his leg. It may be broken.”
“Oh dear,” said Elizabeth. She looked around at the men. “Well, someone must go for the doctor.”
“In this snow?” said Mr. Marshall.
“Go on horseback, of course,” said Elizabeth.
“Yes, quite,” said Darcy, nodding. “And we must get Mr. Nelson inside.”
“I’ll go and fetch a blanket,” said Elizabeth. “You can make a makeshift litter of that, carry him inside.”
“Very good,” said Darcy, nodding at her.
* * *
Darcy squeezed Nelson’s hand. “Steady there, man, you’ll be all right.”
Nelson looked up at him. “I’m really fine. Perhaps if I stood up.”
Darcy shook his head at him. Nelson had not seen his leg yet, and that was by Darcy’s design. He knew what it was like to look down at one’s body and to see things twisting unnaturally. It was a dizzying sort of knowledge to have, and it only made things more difficult.
When Darcy had seen his own leg so badly mangled, he had been affected by it. Georgiana had been yelling for him, and it took him a bit of time to get himself together, to move, to drag himself down to her.
By then it had been too late.
Perhaps if he hadn’t seen…
But no, because then he might have tried to stand, and that would never have worked. Nelson must not try it either.
“Just lie back,” said Darcy. “We’ll have you inside soon enough.” He looked up and there was Elizabeth coming out of the house with Mrs. Peters and Nelson’s sweetheart. He wondered if that was a good idea.
Miss Jennings was a kitchen maid, a young and pretty thing. What would she do when she saw Nelson’s injury?
But when the women arrived, they were all business, seemingly less shaken by the events than some of the men, and Elizabeth took charge, instructing everyone how to move Nelson onto the blanket she’d brought.
“You, Mr. Darcy, stand back,” said Elizabeth.
“I can help,” he said.
She shook her head. “No, not with your leg. You’ve done quite enough already, come back here.”
He did as she told him, and he had to admit he liked this side of her. She was so self-assured and strong. Perhaps he had misjudged her. Perhaps she was not quite as fragile as he might have thought.
They got Mr. Nelson inside and laid him out on a couch near the fire. He was given a great many cups of whisky, because he was now in some pain.
But he did not cry out or moan, perhaps because he didn’t want to look weak in front of his sweetheart. She stayed at his side, keeping up a steady chatter of cheerfulness, telling him that he would be right as rain once the doctor arrived.
When the doctor did come, Nelson’d had so much whisky that he had passed out, and only woke when the doctor set the bone.
Then he did cry out, but only once.
Darcy stood in the corner, away from it all, watching, and trying very hard not to think about Georgiana’s crying for help when he was helpless to get to her.
* * *
“And this is Mrs. Darcy,” Mrs. Peters said, introducing Elizabeth to the doctor. “She was most helpful this afternoon.”
“Why, that’s very good indeed,” said the doctor, smiling at Elizabeth. “It wouldn’t be anything to be ashamed of if the lady of the house needed to retire to be away from such unpleasantness.”
“It is only a broken leg,” said Elizabeth. “I cannot think it would be too much for me.”
“Well, if you are at all versed in dealing with Mr. Darcy, I should say not,” said the doctor. “You know, his leg was not well mended.”
“No?” said Elizabeth.
“His injuries were great,” said the doctor, “and there were many things to care for. I don’t think he was a good patient either. I cannot blame the doctor who cared for him entirely, but I will say that it could have been set much better.”
“Oh,” said Elizabeth, searching for Darcy in the room, feeling sympathy for him, yet again.
“Indeed, it could be corrected,” said the doctor.
She turned to him. “Corrected? How?”
“Well, it would be agonizing for him,” said the doctor. “It would mean rebreaking the leg and then setting it aright so that it would heal properly. But then he might likely do without his cane and be in quite a great deal less pain in the long run. I have mentioned it to him before. He refuses. I think it is less about the immediate agony, and more about some idea that he should suffer indefinitely. I believe he blames himself for his sister’s death.”
Elizabeth raised her eyebrows. “Well, you do not mince words, sir.”
“I find it best to come right to the point,” said the doctor. “I am well-versed in mending mens’ bodies, but I cannot say I know what to do about their spirits. But perhaps you, his wife, you could convince him to let me mend the leg. He might listen to you.”
“To me? Oh, I don’t think so.” Elizabeth sighed.
“Well, try,” said the doctor, giving her an encouraging nod. “Nothing lost if he says no, after all?”
“True,” she said. “Is there anything else that can be done for his pain?”
“He refuses laudanum,” said the doctor.
“No, I know,” she said.
“And perhaps he is right to do so,” said the doctor. “It can be quite a thing to stop after one has started.”
“But he seem
s to drink liquor so much,” said Elizabeth. “I don’t know if it’s that much better in the end.”
“Ah, true,” said the doctor. “There are demons in many bottles, are there not? Well, you could try massaging some of the scar tissue.”
“Massaging it?”
“Yes, in a hot bath,” said the doctor. “It may help ease the pain a bit. I have given some instruction to his valet, but apparently Mr. Darcy is resistant.”
She sighed again.
The doctor winked. “Men may let their wives touch them in ways they will not allow their valets, though, madam.”
And Elizabeth blushed, her face getting quite hot.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Darcy stood in the doorway. “I don’t seem to recall having ordered a bath.”
“No,” said Elizabeth, who was standing next to the tub. “That was me. I did that.” She felt nervous about it all, but she thought she must try to talk to him. If he was keeping himself in pain when he did not need to, that was madness too. The pain seemed to drive his foul temper. Easing it might make things better for everyone in the household.
He stepped into the room. “Very forward of you.”
“Well, I am your wife,” she said.
“Not for much longer,” he said, furrowing his brow.
She licked her lips. “About that…” Then she shook her head. “No, let us not speak of any of that now. That is not important. Please, come here. You needn’t remove all your clothing. You may keep your smalls on. But do get in the bath, if you please.”
“Bathe here? With you?”
“I have had a conversation with the doctor, and he recommended hot baths and massage for your pain.”
Darcy raised his eyebrows. “Well, well, I see you’re insistent on poking your nose where it doesn’t belong.”
She raised her chin. “He also says that he could mend your leg if you would allow him to break it again, and to set it aright, but you will not allow it.”
“Have you ever broken a bone? It’s rather painful, you know. It’s not an experience I want to repeat.”
“He says that once it healed, you would no longer need your cane, and that it would alleviate a great deal of your persistent hurting.”
“Perhaps,” said Darcy.
Mr. Darcy, the Beast Page 11