April 21, 1812 #3
It is not just a dream? “And has the memory of the first letter diminished?”
“Not diminished. However”—she glanced up—“the appearance of the second more…thoughtful letter…renders more clarity on the character of the writer.”
“You are aware then,” he said, reaching out with hesitation to still the fidgeting of her fingers, “the sentiments expressed in the second letter are…true and just?”
Her voiced faltered. “Yes.”
“And, if I may be so bold to ask what your…own sentiments on that subject are?” His world stood still as he held her hand. All he could hear was the sound of the wind outside and the chiming of the clock down the hall.
“I had…had hoped your feelings were still what they were before the accident.”
He felt himself exhale a breath he had been holding for two lifetimes. “Elizabeth. I––”
“Brother, are you in here?” Georgiana called, entering the room with Mrs. Annesley. “There you are. Oh! Miss Bennet. I just came down for tea and could only find Dr. Wiley and his colleague.”
Elizabeth replied, “I did not realize the hour was so late. Excuse me while I go up to dress.” Her eyes were then fixed on him as she arched her brow. “Mr. Darcy, might we resume our conversation at a later time?”
He bowed his head, wordlessly giving his assent.
“Pray, excuse me,” she said, smiling as she left the room.
A smile? Nay, he would not characterize it as such! It was a gleaming force, brighter than the sun reaching out its fingers to stroke his heart and wrap it in the warmth of its touch. No, it was no mere smile.
As she stepped out into the corridor, Darcy heard Colonel Fitzwilliam. “Miss Bennet, may I introduce you to Dr. Wiley, and his colleague––”
Elizabeth’s cry of alarm had him rushing to the hallway, where Darcy arrived in time to watch her slump to the floor.
She was floating. Floating up higher and higher and the scent of him surrounded her.
Her dreams were more real than ever, but she was at the place between awakening and sleep, where she could feel the blanket tickling her nose, and yet could still see him before her.
He sat by the fire in Mr. Collin’s study, his warm eyes caressing her from across the room.
“Elizabeth.” His voice was soft and inviting, and she needed no other encouragement than his outstretched arms. She nuzzled deeper against the mattress and sighed at his words.
“My love.” His arms surrounded her, and she could hear his heartbeat as her head rested against his chest, breathing in his scent.
“Hurry, William. Before Jane comes to send me to my room,” she whispered as she rushed toward him in her dreams.
The dream emboldened her, and she turned her head and grazed her lips against his jaw, the rough stubble prickling her flesh until she stopped at the soft skin at his throat. “Elizabeth, you mustn’t…”
She giggled at his admonishing, as her lips resumed their path. “William Fitzroy,” she whispered again, placing slow, languid kisses on his throat. “I love you.”
After watching her fall to the ground, and without another thought, Darcy immediately lifted Elizabeth up and followed the doctor’s directive to take her to her room.
His thoughts were as full of her then as his senses were now, with her soft form draped in his arms, and her lips pressing against his collar.
She had started to murmur unintelligible words and sounds. “Elizabeth,” he had said softly, trying to wake her. “My love.” And she had turned her head to him and began nuzzling his chest. His body tensed. His long legs had outstretched the others, but for a footman rushing to open the door.
And then he almost became undone at her words.
“Hurry, William. Before Jane comes to send me to my room.” His body lurched, and he had to regain his balance and continue down the corridor, nodding at the footman who made some inane comment about calling Elizabeth’s maid before hurrying to the servant’s stairs.
And then he felt them. Her lips nibbling at his stubble. “Elizabeth. You mustn’t,” he whispered.
Streaks of white-hot fire ran up his body and his arms began to tremble as she kissed his neck. His newly returned strength began to falter, and in that one instant, Fitzwilliam Darcy would willingly have traded his moral strength for any and all weakness.
He walked into the room and stepped toward the bed to lay her on the counterpane when he heard the words he had dreamed of hearing. “William Fitzroy,” she whispered again, placing slow, languid kisses on his throat. “I love you.”
He paused, and not because of the use of his name from his other life. No, his hope was tied into that one phrase. Lowering his head, he gently traced her lips with his own. “And I love you, Elizabeth Bennet.”
He lay her on the bed and stepped back as Richard ran into the room.
“Is she well? Darcy, what caused such a shock?”
Anne, Georgiana, and the doctors Wiley and Clarence followed close behind, as the patient began to stir.
Darcy ached to go to her as he heard the uncertainty in her voice. “How am I here? Miss de Bourgh? Mrs. Wickham? How am I at Rosings? Is the duel over? Where is William?” His body tensed at Georgiana’s cry of dismay.
“Miss Bennet!” Georgiana cried, her voice hollow. “Why would you say that?”
Darcy turned and saw Elizabeth’s confusion.
“Forgive me…it is only, I must know. Is the duel over? Is your husband dead?” Looking up, she saw who she needed.
“William!” She stretched out her hands and began to sob.
“Oh, my love, you are alive. I knew you would be. I hoped and prayed! But, when I saw you fall after the gunshot from the woods, I must have fainted.” She looked from Anne to Georgiana and then back to Darcy, before repeating, “I have been having the strangest dreams… Is Wickham dead?”
“Clarence, do something!”
“I cannot, Darcy. She must learn for herself, just as you. The purest love will endure. All will be well.”
All will be well. The echo of both the gyspy’s and his father’s words surrounded him as he sat on the edge of the bed, gathering her in his arms. Propriety, be damned. “Elizabeth. Wickham is not dead. The duel never happened.”
“Never happened?” she asked. “But I was there! And so was Anne! Were you not there?” she asked, raising up and turning to Anne.
Darcy’s heart stopped when Anne whispered, “Yes. I was there. And Fitzwilliam was shot by a man in the woods whom Wickham had hired.”
Darcy gasped and whipped around to face his cousin. “What are you saying?”
“He was a servant. The servant of Lord Gafton!” Georgiana whispered. “I remember!”
“He was paid by Wickham.” Anne’s hushed tones were met by silence. And then: “I had gone to the parsonage for Elizabeth, but we were not in time.”
Richard Fitzwilliam, who had been concealed by the door, stepped forward and stuttered, “What the bloody hell is all this? Georgiana married to Wickham? Darcy killed in a duel? What nonsense are you jabbering on about?”
Elizabeth inhaled a quick breath as she pushed away from Darcy and leaned back toward the headboard.
“But you were not alive,” she said to the colonel.
“You were killed in a sledding accident as a child. Georgiana had never met you.” And at that moment, Darcy saw the veil lifting from her eyes as she looked around before settling her attention on him.
“Willi––Mr. Darcy…I do not understand. Am I losing my wits?”
“No,” he said, his tender gaze meeting hers. “You have had quite a scare, Eliz…Miss Bennet. All will be well.”
Clarence interrupted. “I would like to speak to Miss Bennet, Miss Darcy, and Miss de Bourgh alone.”
“I am not leaving.” Darcy squared his shoulders to face the others in the room.
Richard burst out: “I am not leaving either!”
Anne glided over and stood directly in front of the colonel before gently leaning up and kissing his cheek. “Yes, you are. Go.”
Richard froze in place, his bluster dying at her touch. He could only stare.
With a twinkle in her eye, Anne repeated, “Go. I will explain all later.”
Their look held and a sweet smile edged at his lips before he said, “Come, Dr. Wiley. I require a strong drink, and you can join me if you wish.” The two men slowly walked out and closed the door behind him.
The remaining party stood in silence, each afraid of moving, not knowing which world they truly inhabited, their only proof having just left the room in his tall Hessians.
Frustration poured from Darcy’s lips. “Clarence…or whatever your name may be. It is time you told us the meaning of this trickery.”
The old doctor removed his spectacles before taking out a handkerchief.
He meticulously wiped the glass, inspected it, and then replied.
“There is no deception, Darcy. Only a way for you and those around you to understand that the lives we have been given provide more significance to others than we realize. If we all looked at our world through the eyes of those around us, we would determine we are more important than we believed.”
Georgiana’s voice cut through the room. “My brother would never wish to be anything other than a Darcy. Fitzwilliam is a man of honor who fulfills his role admirably.”
“No, Georgiana.” He shook his head and leaned forward on the edge of the bed. “I am not that man. If I were, you would never have gone to Ramsgate…”
“Brother! You will not blame my shortcomings upon yourself!” Georgiana cried.
“I am to blame for my almost ruin. I am to blame for believing one of the most worthless men in all of England! I am to blame for my silly romantic notions. Not you!” She clenched her fists on her lap.
“I am the one who should not have been born. Not you!”
“Georgie!”