Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy: The Last Man in the World (11 page)

What
if Darcy were lying out in the hills, bleeding out his last? Wrapping her arms
around herself, she began to pace. The mere idea she might never speak to him
again, never see his smile or the warmth his eyes sometimes held when he looked
at her, made her heart pound. The fear was exactly calculated to make her
recognize her own wishes.

She
did not want to forget the last three months; she wanted to start them over
again with the knowledge she now possessed. What might this time have been
like, had she loved Darcy from the first? If he never returned, she might never
even have a chance to tell him. Oh, the opportunities she had wasted!

She
crossed to the window again, but the glare of the setting sun made it
impossible to see anything on the steep hills surrounding Pemberley.

Chapter 10

It
was more to avoid the appearance of impropriety than any desire for food that
caused Elizabeth to join Georgiana for supper. It was difficult to make
conversation when her thoughts were occupied by Darcy's continued absence.

"Elizabeth,
there is no cause for alarm. Fitzwilliam is an excellent horseman and knows
what he is about." Georgiana's voice was cool.

Elizabeth
pushed her meat around on her plate with her fork. "I hope you are
correct. I cannot help but worry."

"Why?"

Somehow
she knew the question did not refer to why she felt he was in danger, but
rather why it would trouble her if something happened to him. Was this some of
the same sort of odd frankness Darcy possessed, or Georgiana's own bitterness?
She would never have said such a thing were her brother present. Elizabeth took
a sip of wine to give herself time to formulate a response. "Appearances
are sometimes deceptive, Georgiana. I care about your brother a great
deal."

Georgiana's
face expressed her skepticism. "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."

"Than
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 realized 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 hand-held lanterns she could make out his familiar figure,
standing beside a horse she did not recognize 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 Elizabeth could not tell. Darcy's breath hissed through his teeth.

Mrs.
Reynolds materialized 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 pained 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 are in 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 movement 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. "Distraction 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 realized such animals lived in the hills of
Derbyshire.

"Yes.
It inspected me afterward, but decided I was insufficiently appetizing 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 showing 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
apologize for what I said earlier. There is much I do not know."

Elizabeth
could see the tension in her, 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 the future."

Elizabeth
did not stir from her husband's room that night. At fi rst 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 realized 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.