Day 1
Darcy’s head was pounding, and he saw bits of light shooting across his closed eyelids. His limbs felt cumbersome, and his tongue thick. I do not remember drinking into such a stupor, but obviously, the port drowned my sorrows last evening. In vain, he slowly attempted to sit up and open his eyes.
“Oh,” he moaned, leaning back.
“He is conscious,” a voice said. “Please tell Mrs. Collins that he is awake.”
Elizabeth? He willed his eyes open, but much like his torpid limbs, they were heavy and refused to obey.
More footsteps came near, and a vaguely familiar voice asked, “Has he opened his eyes?”
“No,” Elizabeth said again. “But he was moaning and attempting to move.”
“Persist with the cold cloths, Lizzy. I will have a servant fetch the apothecary.”
He heard footsteps retreat and felt a cool, wet cloth trace across his brow. “There now. Just rest, and we will take care of you.”
What has happened that Elizabeth would be attending to me, and Lady Catherine would allow it? I must be dreaming!
He forced his eyes open and discovered he was not dreaming.
As the woman before him came into focus, he could see she was, in fact, Elizabeth Bennet, but he was not in his room.
No, he somehow recalled that this furniture had come from Rosings years previous when Lady Catherine had chosen to redecorate her small sitting room.
The faded draperies hung limply at the window, and the threadbare cushions rested on the chair by the parlor door.
“Am…am I at the parsonage?” he asked, his voice cracking.
“Oh, you speak! Yes, you are at the parsonage, and I am so grateful you have awoken. Allow me to get you some water.” She stood and retrieved a glass from the pitcher on the sideboard.
He could scarce believe she was there. Her kindness soothed him. This was not the look she gave him yesterday after so cruelly rejecting his proposal or this morning when taking his letter. And his heart swelled with hope.
With her assistance, he satiated his thirst. “Thank you, Miss Bennet. How have I come to be here?” He allowed his eyes to meet hers and was surprised at her look of confusion. “Miss Bennet?”
“How…how do you know my name?”
“What?” He reached up and touched his head, throbbing anew.
“It is only… We have never…”
At that moment, a maid entered. “Miss Bennet, Mrs. Collins has asked if the gentleman is hungry.”
Elizabeth turned back, carefully eyeing him. “Would you care for some nourishment, sir?”
“I thank you, no. But if you could have both the colonel and Dr. Wiley summoned?”
The servant looked quickly to Elizabeth and then left. Darcy grimaced, attempting to shift his weight and maintain composure. Although his head throbbed, he was still surprised at Elizabeth’s question. “Shall Mrs. Collins join us?”
She still stared at him in wonder, but nodded, not making a sound. “Please excuse me. It is just that…”
At that moment, in walked Jane Bennet followed by both a maid and a gentlemanly looking man.
“You are awake. I am so pleased you are recovering. This is Mr. Clarence, the apothecary. He has been waiting for you to regain your senses. Elise, inform Cook we will have tea once the examination is concluded. How are you feeling, sir?” she asked, turning in Darcy’s direction.
He looked back and forth between Elizabeth and Jane Bennet. “I…I am well, thank you, Miss Bennet. When did you arrive in Kent?”
Jane gasped, before glancing at Elizabeth. “I am here with my husband. Pray, excuse me, sir. Have we met?”
Exhausted by their strange behavior, he attempted to sit up and winced, ignoring his pounding head.
“Miss Bennet, Miss Elizabeth, I am unwell and should retire to my aunt’s.
Please send for the colonel to retrieve me, and I shall not trespass any longer.
” He leaned back against the chaise and sighed at the exertion.
“While I wait, would you please inform me what transpired to cause my injury? I would be most grateful.”
The room remained silent after his pronouncement, save the sound of Mr. Clarence scribbling notes and clearing his throat. The women’s mouths were agape as the master of the house walked into the room and stood with his hand upon the back of Miss Jane Bennet’s chair.
“Good day, sir,” Mr. Collins effused, bowing at Darcy.
“My servant informed me you were awake, and I am glad. I have just come from telling my patroness, the great Lady Catherine de Bourgh, of your unfortunate accident. It was a blessing my sister came upon you and called for help before more harm could have come to you.”
Jane Bennet interrupted Mr. Collins. “Sir, pray do not overtax our guest with your concerns.”
“Of course, my darling. Forgive my unseemliness.” He walked around and sat on a chair near Miss Bennet and looked back at Darcy. “It is only that I have just come from meeting with my noble patroness, and she was certain of your demise. I will gratefully rush to Rosings and inform her at once.”
“My dear,” Jane Bennet replied, reaching for Mr. Collins’s hand. “You have only just returned. Allow Her Ladyship to have some time alone with her guests.”
Darcy’s jaw had gone slack, and his mind was whirling. Her guests? What is the meaning of this? “Mr. Collins. Where is your wife? Miss Charlotte Lucas? I thought she was the mistress of the Hunsford parsonage and your Mrs. Collins.”
Mr. Collins stared dumbly at him. “Miss Lucas? Sir, I am uncertain how you have such an intimate knowledge of the people of Hertfordshire, unless you have resided there yourself. With no slight intended to the playmate of my dear sister,” he said, glancing at Elizabeth, “I could not hide my intentions once my dear Jane was presented to me by her benevolent mother. Would you deny such beauty when it is before you?”
A stillness had settled on the room as Darcy stared in disbelief, while the apothecary’s pencil scratched across his paper. “You,” he said, uncharacteristically pointing at Jane. “And he”—indicating Collins–“you are married?”
“Yes, sir. Am I not the luckiest man in all of Christendom?” Collins replied, while Jane Bennet remained silent, eyes averted.
Darcy looked at Elizabeth and then back to Jane. “Miss Elizabeth, I…you…”
“Excuse me, sir. Pray, how do you know my wife and sister?”
“Mr. Collins,” Mr. Clarence interrupted. “Might I ask you to vacate the room so I might examine the patient? We do not want to tire him.”
“Of course. Of course,” Collins said, pulling Jane beside him. “My darling, shall we go out into the garden?”
The lady demurred. “I fear there is a chill in the air, and I would like to remain within.”
“Yes, yes. I believe you are right. Never mind. Maybe you, too, need a lie down.” He waggled his eyebrows.
Like Elizabeth, Darcy shuddered as her sister recoiled. “I think you are in the right, sir. We should check on the plants Lady Catherine said would thrive no matter the season. Allow me to get my wrap. Lizzy, will you join us?”
“Sister,” Mr. Collins said before Elizabeth could reply. “You may find us when we return. I wish to have a moment with my wife. Clarence,” he said turning to the apothecary, “summon the maid if anything is needed.”
Mr. Collins turned his attention back to Darcy as he proceeded out the door. “Sir, Mr. Clarence might be new to Kent, but he has the complete faith of Lady Catherine de Bourgh. You are in the best hands possible.”
Darcy watched Jane go up the stairs before his eyes fixed on Elizabeth, who was standing just beyond the room.
“And only your head is in pain?” Mr. Clarence asked. For three-quarters of an hour, he had checked for any broken bones, listened to his heart, and was now making sure the master of Pemberley’s eyes could again track the movement of his finger.
“I am sore, but I think it is mostly my head. You see”—he raised his hand to his temple—“never mind. There must be a logical explanation. I am uncertain what is happening, but I just need to return to Rosings, and then home.”
The old apothecary chuckled as he put his instruments back in his bag. “But you don’t have a home to go to, Fitzwilliam.”
Darcy quickly turned his head and shot the man a look. “You know me? How do you know me, but Elizabeth Bennet does not? What do you mean I do not have a home?”
This Clarence person sat on the ottoman, clasping his hands before him, then letting out a nervous chortle. “This is always the most difficult part,” he said more to himself than to Darcy. “They never understand at first. Always doubting me…” He looked up and began. “You are not Fitzwilliam Darcy.”
“Yes, I am!”
“No, you are not.”
“You just called me Fitzwilliam. How can you say I am not?”
“Because,” the older man answered, shrugging his shoulders, “Fitzwilliam Darcy does not exist.”
Silence permeated the room but for the ticking of a clock. A look of incredulity crossed Darcy’s face before he responded. “That is absurd!”
“Fitzwilliam Darcy does not exist by your own provocation.”
“My own provocation? Of what are you speaking?”
The man stood. “Yesterday, the yesterday in your memory, you came to the parsonage when Miss Elizabeth did not come for tea with Lady Catherine. You proposed. She refused.”
“How do you know that?” Eyes wide, he attempted to mask the confusion in his voice.
Clarence exhaled, seeming to weigh his next words. “I know of that event because it did not happen. At least to this Miss Elizabeth Bennet, it did not.”
“I assure you, most vehemently, sir, that it did. And, as you say, I was rejected.” Darcy stumbled over the final words, never having anticipated revealing his shame to anyone, let alone a stranger, an insignificant apothecary.
“You were. And after delivering your letter in the grove, you fell from your horse and hit your head. Yet, in this life, you met with an accident. Miss Elizabeth found you bereft of any identifying papers or crest and only a small pouch with coins on your person.”