Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy: The Last Man in the World (12 page)

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 painfully 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. Hopefully 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 realize 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 toward hers. "It is I who have been foolish. Had I but
known ... "

She
could hear the agitation in his voice. "Shh, my love. That is all past,

and
you must concentrate your energy 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 downward. "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 took a turn reading 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 continued her
vigil in the morning.

Toward
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 presence. 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
toward 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 blurred nightmare of 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 condition. Her
chest ached as she wrote.

Mrs.
Reynolds continued to give Darcy laudanum to prevent him from reopening the
wound as he thrashed in pain. Elizabeth did not leave his bedside, catching
little bits of sleep either in the chair or near him on the bed, but never
lasting long before she awakened with the taste of fear in her mouth. She could
not lose him now.

Darcy
would wake from time to time. Sometimes he knew her and sometimes he did not,
but she always told him she loved him. There might
not be another chance. One time he
took Mrs. Reynolds for his mother, bringing tears to the housekeeper's eyes.

Another
time he looked at her with furrowed brows. "You should not be here, Miss
Bennet. Where is my aunt?" His speech was slurred.

"Your
aunt?"

"Lady
Catherine," he said irritably.

She
touched his forehead. Still hot. "We are at Pemberley, not Rosings, and we
are married, my love."

"Oh."
He turned his head from side to side, as if to clear it. "Married?

Are
you certain?"

"Quite
certain. Look, here is Ferguson, and he will tell you so."

"Indeed,
Mr. Darcy. Mrs. Darcy is quite correct. You are injured and have a fever."

"And
we are married?" He seemed to find this quite astonishing.

Elizabeth
held out her hand so her wedding band was visible. "Quite indelibly,
sir." She would not say 'Till death us do part.'

"Oh.
That is well, then." His face seemed to relax and his eyes drifted shut
again.

There
were more hours of placing cool cloths on his forehead, of checking the swollen
red flesh around his wound, of trying to convince him to take sips of broth and
the remedies the apothecary had provided. Georgiana came in each morning and evening
and sat with him briefly, unable to stay long without sobbing uncontrollably.
Elizabeth tried to offer her what consolation she could; Georgiana's attitude
toward her had changed considerably since the day of Darcy's accident.

Colonel
Fitzwilliam arrived at Pemberley three days after she sent her letters; he had
ridden post-haste from London and came directly to Darcy's sickbed before he
had even changed his out of his dusty riding coat. As usual, Darcy was in a
restless sleep.

The
colonel did not mince words. "Has he shown any improvement?"

Elizabeth
was too tired to stand when he entered, and too worried to care about this
breach of etiquette. "Very little, I fear. His fever continues, and he is
growing weaker with time. He is often confused, and has no interest in food or
drink."

"What
does the doctor say?"

Elizabeth
closed her eyes for a moment before she answered. "He says Mr. Darcy's
youth and healthy constitution are our best hopes."

Colonel
Fitzwilliam snorted. "Doctors."

Darcy's
eyes fl uttered open. "Richard?" His voice was little more than a
whisper.

"At
your service." Colonel Fitzwilliam placed his arm under Darcy's shoulders,
lifting him partway from the bed. "Darcy, you must drink." He
motioned to Elizabeth for a cup.

Darcy
shook his head weakly. "Not thirsty."

The
colonel's voice hardened. "Drink this, or I will drag you out to the old
stable and thrash you soundly."

Elizabeth
stared at him in shock, but her husband obediently sipped the broth. His cousin
held the cup for him patiently, then wiped the corner of his mouth when he was
done. Darcy's eyes drifted closed, and the colonel eased him down on his
pillow. "You may rest a moment, but then you must sit up."

"But
he cannot sit," Elizabeth objected.

"He
will sit, and later we will get him to his feet. I have seen my share of
festering wounds, and the ones who lie abed do not recover. He must use his
body, no matter how weak it may be."

Elizabeth
nodded. She had no idea if it was true, but she would take any hope. "Tell
me what I should do."

"No,
thank you. I will have a tray here, I think." Elizabeth, in her accustomed
seat at Darcy's bedside, did not pause in her embroidery.

Colonel
Fitzwilliam frowned. "Elizabeth, go down to dinner. I will stay with
him."

"Thank
you, but I prefer to stay here."

"You
will not help him by making yourself ill. Georgiana, tell her."

Georgiana
stepped forward. "He is right, Elizabeth. Please, come away for at least a
few minutes."

Elizabeth
looked up in surprise at the genuine concern in the girl's voice.

"I
appreciate the sentiment, but truly, I am perfectly well here."

The
colonel crossed his arms. "Elizabeth, either you go down to dinner with
Georgiana of your own accord, or I will wake your husband and have him tell you
to do it."

"You
would not! He needs his rest." Elizabeth recognized his implacable look,
the same one he used so effectively on Darcy. It was definitely a new side of
the gentleman she knew. "Very well, since you insist. But I will return
after dinner."

"The
change will do you good," Georgiana said earnestly.

Elizabeth
laid aside the embroidery. She did not want to add to Georgiana's worries. She
forced a smile to her face. "You are right. I should take more care."

"Up
you go," Colonel Fitzwilliam urged, with a hand on Darcy's shoulder.

Darcy
opened his eyes. "Not you again, Richard."

"You
were about to sit up, Darcy. Now," he said sharply. With Ferguson's help,
he assisted Darcy to a sitting position. Darcy's face was tight with pain.
"Good." Supporting his cousin's back, Colonel Fitzwilliam looked at
Elizabeth with a hint of a smile. "There is something to be said for being
three years his elder."

Elizabeth
could picture the two men as squabbling boys. "And did you indeed take him
out to the old stable and thrash him?"

"Not
often, and he soon learned to thrash me back." For a moment he looked like
his old amiable self, telling an amusing story.

Darcy
began to cough, deep, hacking coughs that made him clutch at his side. Colonel
Fitzwilliam held his shoulders. "That's right. Cough it up.

Get
it out of you."

Elizabeth
hated seeing him in such discomfort. "Are you sure this is helping
him?"

Colonel
Fitzwilliam looked across Darcy to her, his countenance more serious than usual.
"It is the best I have to offer."

She
noticed he had not answered her question.

"Mr.
Dunstan, what can I do for you?" Elizabeth was puzzled by the steward's
request to speak with her, but Colonel Fitzwilliam had urged her to meet with
him, no doubt to get her out of the sickroom for a few minutes.

He
cleared his throat. "I have a question regarding the estate which requires
a timely response."

"I
will be happy to help if I can, though I know little of estate
management."

"Thank
you, madam." He clasped his hands. "It is a matter of poaching.

Jack
Bridges, who is the youngest son of one of our tenants, was caught taking a
rabbit on Pemberley grounds. He could be sent to the magistrate, but this is
his first offence, and Mr. Darcy's custom in such cases has been to suggest
some form of restitution instead."

"Is
there some reason it would not be suitable in this case?"

"No,
madam; it is simply that Mr. Darcy feels such decisions should come from him,
not from me. In his illness, I thought it best to bring the matter to
you."

Elizabeth
could see why it could cause difficulties if the steward were to administer
justice on his own. "What would he usually suggest as restitution?"

"For
poaching? Most often six months' labour on the estate."

"Six
months for a rabbit?"

"Madam,
it needs to be a serious enough punishment to deter others, or we would have an
epidemic of poaching. It is preferable to transportation."

"Is
the estate in need of labour?"

"Not
at the moment, madam, but something can always be found."

Perhaps
she should ask Richard to make the decision. If Darcy did not recover, the
colonel would be running Pemberley as Georgiana's guardian.

She
swallowed the lump in her throat. No, she would not allow for that possibility.
She would choose for herself.

The
safest option would be to do as her husband had done in the past, but she knew
the Bridges family from her tenant visits, and they could ill spare the labour
on their own farm. Yet there must be some consequence.

If
she acted as judge, would it affect her position with the tenants? She
preferred to be the one who brought them relief rather than punishment.

"Mr.
Dunstan, what would you say to this? He should chop firewood for the widow
Gibbs for a year and make the needed repairs to her cottage, as well as work
two days a week at the Hammond farm until Mr. Hammond's leg is sufficiently healed
for him to return to his fields."