April 21, 1812 #2
“If these doctors deem me fit”—a small smile crept across his lips—“would you care to go for a ride in the phaeton later?”
Her answer was not immediate, and a trace of anxiety spread through him.
“I would like that very much.”
“Then I shall find you…?”
“Guess.”
He grinned at her teasing. “The library?”
“You know me well.”
Darcy waited until she was at the top of the stairs and turned down the corridor. There is still hope.
His thoughts left the woman herself and strayed to the letter he had begun to read aloud. It is not possible! I wrote that in my dreams with the threat of Wickham’s duel before me.
He heard the door open down the corridor, and Richard walked toward him.
“Darcy, there you are. The good doctors shall join us shortly. Wiley’s associate is quite a find!
Been traveling throughout India for years learning all about the brain.
Hopefully, he can tell us if you have one.
” Richard’s heavy hand thumped the middle of his back, and Darcy scowled.
“I am going to my room to clean up. Send the doctors to my rooms?”
“I will,” Richard said, following Darcy up to his room. “But I am only half-joking. I hope whatever the good doctors find, you will help me alleviate Georgiana’s need to blame herself.”
Darcy stopped in front of his apartment. “Georgiana is blaming herself? Why?”
“I am uncertain,” Richard replied, walking through the door and over to sit in a large chair.
He laced his fingers and rested them upon his chest. “To be truthful, it made no sense to me, but I am an old bachelor, not familiar with the minds of a young lady. Yet, she said she woke up crying that if she had not married Wickham, you would be safe.”
“Not married Wickham?” Darcy spat out his words. “She said that?”
“Yes!” Richard held up his hands. “She has been worrying for you, and her thoughts are muddled, disturbing her dreams.”
Darcy sat down on the edge of his bed, visibly fatigued, and rested his head in his hand. “I am just perplexed about Georgie.”
“And about Miss Bennet?” The colonel waggled his eyebrows and dodged the pillow Darcy threw at him.
“Yes, if you must know. But that, I can attempt to remedy. Georgie…I cannot. Why would she feel to blame?”
Richard leaned back in the chair and crossed his legs as Darcy rose and began to prepare.
“Mrs. Annesley said she would wake Georgie up from these nightmares when your sister would scream out in fear and anger. Our young charge could not discern at first between reality and dreams once awake. She seemed quite addled.”
“Addled? How am I only hearing of this now?” His voice began to rise. “I am her brother, her guardian. I should be kept informed when things occur!”
“Darce. You have recently been in the sickroom, remember? We have taken good care of her. It is nothing…merely difficulty sleeping. Worry. Forget I mentioned it. Now, shall I send a footman for the doctors?”
“Yes. Let us finish this examination quickly so that I might move to more enjoyable pursuits.”
His cousin sent a footman to retrieve the doctors, and within five minutes, there was a knock at the door.
A footman opened it allowing the doctors into the room, and Richard stood as Darcy said, “Doctors, thank you for coming. You will see I am fit, and my cousin worries…” His words died on his lips as he stepped back, the color draining from his face. “Clarence!”
He had not thought of the day he and George Wickham had encountered the old gypsy woman when they were boys for many years, but her words had always floated just under the surface of his conscious thoughts.
“You will become a great man.”
“You will have the chance to change your life and choose your circumstances.”
“The purest love will always recognize your soul.”
“When you have lost all hope, I will send you a sign.”
“All will be well.”
All will be well. That memory had been the furthest from his mind as Darcy had welcomed in Doctor Wiley and his associate an hour before.
His shock at seeing Clarence could little be disguised during the whole of the examination.
Richard’s concern was evident as the typically direct Darcy was pensive, even distracted.
However, when the examination concluded, he spoke.
“Doctor, you have no concerns for a full recovery?”
“No, Darcy,” the physician said, putting his instruments in his bag. “You are further along in your convalescence than I hoped when I first saw you a week ago.”
“And I am also quite pleased with your clarity of mind,” Clarence added.
“If my colleague is pleased with your clarity of mind, that is commendable,” Dr. Wiley said, closing his bag and walking to the door.
“How so?” Darcy asked.
The doctor stopped. “Because as I mentioned to the colonel, Clarence’s studies on injuries to the head are quite thorough and respected. His recent studies gave us insight into the mind we have never known before.”
Darcy raised his eyes to meet those of Clarence. “If that is the case, sir, might I discuss a few things with you privately?”
“I would be happy to oblige.”
Both men stood silently waiting as Richard and Dr. Wiley left the room. As the door latched, Clarence turned to Darcy.
“Mr. Fitzroy.”
“You are real,” Darcy said, falling into a chair and sitting forward, staring at the older man.
Nodding his head. “Yes, I am. As are you.”
“So, it was not a dream? All of those events occurred?”
Silence was Darcy’s affirmation.
“Why? Why did that happen? Why did you show me the joy of what could have been?”
“Why did I show you? If you recall, you were the one who asked.” Clarence walked across the room and sat on the ottoman. “You were the one who in a letter said you should never have been born. I was only a steward for your wishes.”
“But how are these events occurring? The handkerchief? The letter? And who knows what will come next? If it was all a dream, how did it come to pass?” His eyes sought the older man’s.
“But was it all a dream?” A sad smile played on the corners of his lips. “Do you not recall from your youth? ‘Do not change your destiny for false hopes. Only the purest love will recognize your soul.’”
“The gypsy?”
“The gypsy.”
“But how? Why?”
“Darcy, I know you will not be pleased to hear this, but that is something you must discover for yourself.”
A low groan escaped his lips. “I knew you would say that.”
Clarence checked his watch. “I will depart in the morning.”
“But what if I have another question? What if I need your guidance?”
“Darcy, when have you needed anyone’s guidance but your own?” The older man walked toward the door and paused. “I will see you at dinner, Darcy. All will be well.”
Elizabeth had waited for him in the library long enough to have closed her eyes, falling into an easy slumber. A wind began to blow, and she had awakened when the servants came in to close the curtains and add wood to the fire. She untucked her feet before stretching in place.
She knew Mr. Darcy had not forgotten their appointment, as he was fastidious in all his responsibilities. But the shock of the letter may have been too much. I am certain he is uncomfortable with his professed love.
Love. He had loved her. Not only in this life with that horrible proposal, but in her dreams. But now, her dreams were muddled into reality, and she did not know what to trust. How could that letter have been real? How could Mr. Darcy have known about the duel or the night in Mr. Collin’s study?
“I hope he does not believe I fabricated its existence,” she whispered to the room while walking to the window, peering out at the mercurial spring skies.
She reached up and ran her hand up and down the green velvet curtains, taking comfort in the soothing texture. I know not how to explain what has occurred, but I am certain Mr. Darcy wishes to have answers too. And if there are no answers, what is the state of my mind?
Her fingers pressed against the cold glass when the man himself walked in the room, stealing any semblance of sense from her mind.
“Mr. Darcy.”
“Miss Bennet. Forgive me for keeping you waiting. Our phaeton ride must be postponed.”
She shook her head. “I had been reading The Tempest and lay my head down for a moment, only to open my eyes to a storm brewing.”
He raised an eyebrow. “The Tempest? ‘The clouds methought would open and show riches ready to drop me…’”
“That when I waked,” she said, continuing the quote, “I cried to dream again.”
“And do you? Do you wish to have not awoken from your dream?”
She shivered at the huskiness of his voice and a warmth rose from her bosom to her throat. “I do believe the world of dreams has an appeal that this life does not.”
“Such as?”
She paused for only a second. “In dreams, we often see the truth of our…hopes and fears.”
“And do you?” he whispered, stepping toward her and touching her hand. “Did you see what you hoped for?”
She swallowed, gaining courage. “Yes. Yes, I did.”
Darcy picked up a chess piece on the table from an unfinished game and rolled it around in his fingers. “Do you believe in Fate?”
“Fate?” He heard her swallow and then sit back down in the chair. “I am unsure, but believe there is some force which moves us toward our destiny. Yet, the idea of Fate seems predisposed to the control of others. I could not imagine you believing in Fate, sir, as you rarely are not in control.”
A mirthful sound met her words. “Miss Elizabeth, it has only been these last two hours where I could have imagined disagreeing with you.” He turned and indicated the chair next to her.
With her nod, he sat down, leaned forward, and clasped his fingers together.
“I would like to ask you if you were ever in possession of another letter I had written?”
“I am uncertain.” At his confused look, she responded. “My dreams and reality seem to have blended together.”
“So you do remember a different letter than the one you showed me?”
“Yes. But that letter is gone. And all that remains is the letter we read earlier.”