April 19, 1812
Darcy’s head was pounding, and he saw bits of light shooting across his closed eyelids. His limbs felt cumbersome, and his tongue thick. Where am I? What happened? And then he remembered. Wickham!
He slowly tried to sit up and open his eyes but could not.
“Oh,” he moaned, leaning back.
“He is conscious,” a voice said.
He tried to force his eyes open but, much like his non-responsive limbs, they were heavy and refused to obey. After a moment, he recognized her clean, sweet fragrance, and a warm glow spread through him. My Elizabeth! I am at the parsonage.
A cool cloth traced over his brow. She was leaning against the bed, and he could feel her body move when she spoke.
“Remain still, sir.” Her voice tight, she called out. “Send to Rosings immediately and tell them he has stirred! Lady Catherine and Miss de Bourgh will want to be made aware of his improvement.”
Darcy heard quick footsteps across the floor, down the stairs, a door slam, then silence.
She exhaled a deep breath before speaking again. “Now, sir. Will you not open your eyes for us? We have been worried about you for several days.”
Several days?
He shifted and heard the smile in Elizabeth’s voice. “There you are.”
His head was whirling, but he forced his eyes to flutter open. The brightness shocked him, and he squinted at the rays.
“My eyes.” His voice was raspy and unused as he closed his eyes again, finding comfort in the darkness.
“You will be well. It is bright in here, to be sure. Elise, please, close the curtains,” she said.
“Your family and the doctor will be most pleased with your progress. Now drink. You are weak and need sustenance.” She put her hand behind his shoulders and raised him slightly, holding a cup to his lips.
He drank deeply, and covered her hand with his own, bringing it to rest on his chest when he had finished slaking his thirst. “Thank you, Elizabeth.” He heard a slight gasp and grinned at the surprise of using her Christian name before the servants. It is no matter. We will be wed soon.
He rubbed his fingers over hers. “Tell me of Wickham, my love. Was he injured?”
“Wickham?” Her voice was stilted.
“Yes. Is he dead? That will please my aunt, but I take no joy in death. Although he has used me ill, I am no murderer.” He closed his eyes and breathed in her calming scent. “How did I come to be injured?”
Her silence forced him to pry his eyes open again. She was nervously fixed on their hands, her brow furrowed. “I am uncertain of what to say––”
“You need not say anything, my love. It is as it has been all his life. Wickham escaped untouched, while someone else will pay for his crimes. But do not fear,” he said, removing his hand from atop hers and weakly reaching up to trace her jaw with his fingers.
“We will be settled at Pemberley. He will not harm us again.”
“Sir…”
“My sister. I know. I will seek an annulment between him and Georgiana––”
“An annulment?”
“Yes. We will bring her back with us, and you can help her reclaim the woman she was before he destroyed her.”
“I do not… It is only that…” She stared at him with wide eyes.
“Elizabeth, what is it?”
“I…”
There was a commotion in the hall. Soon after, the door swung open, and instead of the doctor, came Lady Catherine in all her glory.
“Remove my nephew to Rosings at once! Where is the physician?”
Behind Lady Catherine, Georgiana ran into the room, throwing her arms around Darcy’s neck, tears streaming down her face.
“Oh, Fitzwilliam, you are alive. I was so afraid I would lose you.”
Darcy stiffened slightly at her familiarity but knew the fear of losing a loved one and found comfort in her affection.
“Thank you, Georgiana. I am well, only a little dizzy.”
“It is no wonder,” Lady Catherine declared, looking at the small room. “But now that you are awake, you can remove to Rosings and will be in better comfort there.”
“I am certain my nurse has been nothing but attentive,” he said, reaching over to squeeze Elizabeth’s hand.
A shocked silence consumed the room, and he looked about. “Elizabeth. What is amiss?”
There was a sharp intake of breath before Lady Catherine attempted to speak, her words coming out clipped. “E-liz-a-beth?”
Darcy turned his head back at the older woman. “Where is Bingley? I must ask him about the duel.”
“The duel?” Georgiana asked, shaking off her stupor. “Fitzwilliam…”
“Do not fear, my dear sister. We will seek an annulment from that blaggard. You will be free from him if it is the last thing I do on this earth.”
Georgiana gasped and stepped back from the bed. “Brother! What are you saying?”
Darcy looked at the faces of everyone in the room and pushed up on his elbows, his head still spinning. “I will not see you married to the scoundrel!”
“But… I…”
Heavy footsteps thundered down the corridor as a man’s voice boomed. “He is awake?”
Fitzwilliam Darcy felt the blood drain from his face, and Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam stormed into the room.
“Praise be. You are alive, Darce!”
“As are you,” Darcy whispered before his head fell back and the room went dark again.
Georgiana Darcy was troubled. The last week with her brother’s injuries had been one of fear and uncertainty.
How would she go on if she lost him? Would Pemberley go to a distant cousin she did not know?
Where would she live? Would Richard realize his full shame of her and send her away to a seminary?
Her fear intensified at night when she slept. Dreams. I have become a slave to my dreams. All eyes had been upon her too many times to count. She felt the censure and derision of her family and Miss Bennet when they looked upon her.
They know. Surely, they must know I have dreamt of Wickham. Of being his wife. Tears pooled in her eyes. But it was not as I imagined marriage to him would be.
She picked up the cat rubbing against her legs and scratched his gray ears.
“He told me he loved me,” she whispered to one she knew could not judge.
“That my fortune meant nothing to him.” She stroked the soft fur and nuzzled the top of its head.
“He lied. Fitzwilliam told me the truth, and George lied.”
But she had always known. In her heart of hearts, she had known that her brother was the honorable man; that her decision to “surprise” him with her marriage was not an idea of which he would ever approve.
“It had all been so romantic, so much like a novel.” Up until this week, a part of me still hoped George would prove Fitzwilliam wrong.
But my dreams were so vivid, even if he arrived tonight and showed himself to be the best of men, I would never marry him.
Not the way he treated me! “He slapped me! He was going to send me to Bedlam! No!” Even in my dreams, I will not be the whipping boy for any man.
She stomped her foot and turned with a huff allowing the cat to spring from her arms and walk to its bed, pawing the soft blankets.
“If Fitzwilliam has taught me one thing in this life, Fleur,” she said, leaning down to give her companion one more scratch behind its ears, “it is that I am cherished. I will not marry a man who believes otherwise!”
The clock’s chime arrested her attention, and she pulled the cord for her maid to dress her. Yes. I will put these dreams from my memory and will not think on George Wickham any longer, and there is nothing that can make me change my mind!
Lady Catherine’s protestations had died with her removal, and calm had finally settled upon the parsonage. The doctor had insisted Mr. Darcy remain for at least three days, so the colonel volunteered to maintain his vigil.
Elizabeth had blown out her candle and lay in darkness.
Listening to the quiet of the house, she tried to ignore the man who was in and out of consciousness in the bedroom down the corridor.
My love. “He said, ‘My love.’” She allowed the words to float in the air, uncertain where they would land or how she felt about the intimacies.
She traced her cheek as her skin tingled at the memory of his touch.
Lizzy Bennet, you are foolish. A man calls you ‘my love,’ and you become unreasonable?
Stephen Lucas used those words when you were a bantling, and you boxed his ears for it.
“May I remind you, you quite enjoyed Stephen’s company?
Today, those words were spoken from a man you detest!
” Her whispered voice echoed around the empty room.
Detest. But she knew the truth. Having spent several days taking care of him with the words of his letter festering in her soul, and waking every morning having been lost in dreams of him, she could not detest Mr. Darcy any longer.
At least the Mr. Darcy of her dreams. His concern, his consideration. His kisses!
Her cheeks flushed hot and she began to fan herself.
There were mornings I did not wish to stop dreaming.
Most notably the proposal at my aunt Gardiner’s.
She whispered, “Oh, that the Mr. Darcy of my dreams could teach the real Mr. Darcy the proper methods of offering one’s hand in marriage.
” She giggled at the thought. “Morpheus, you have used me quite ill indeed this last week. How am I to recover?” She lay back in bed and closed her eyes, hoping for another visit from the god of slumber when there was a light knock at the door.
“Lizzy? Lizzy, are you awake?”
“Come, Charlotte.” Elizabeth sat up and leaned back against the headboard as her dearest friend closed the door behind her, walked over to the window, and drew the curtains back.
“It is a beautiful night. I am surprised you are in bed and not sitting out in the garden.”
“It is past midnight.”
Charlotte smirked. “And that has stopped you before?”
Elizabeth smiled and said, “It has been a long day.”
Her friend sat on the edge of the bed. “Lady Catherine was quite beside herself when she left.”