Chapter 4
FOR HAVING SUFFERED
The foursome never did have a picnic that next day.
Prior to the planned outing, Lord Holland treated his guests to an exhibition of his horsemanship prowess.
Darcy, Elizabeth, and Lucy watched his lordship execute the row of hurdles with the adroitness of a seasoned jockey.
One by one, he accomplished each feat without incident, and then it happened.
His horse failed to clear the last hurdle on the course.
Lord Holland went flying through the air.
Horrified by what they saw, the spectators, which included members of his staff, raced to the field.
Elizabeth gasped at the horrific sight. The viscount lay stretched out on the ground, motionless, his head swimming in a crimson pool of blood. Shouting orders to a servant to summon the physician, Darcy and the attending groom acted quickly to remove the viscount to the manor house.
The entire household was in turmoil over the fate of the future earl.
Lady Vanessa had been summoned to attend Lady Clarissa.
Consoling the panic-stricken mother proved difficult.
Her wailing flooded the halls. After spending several hours with the viscount, the physician, whose bloodstained clothing bore evidence of Lord Holland’s suffering, descended the stairs with the prognosis.
Lord Holland had lost a significant amount of blood and remained unconscious.
His words set off a cascade of disheartening refrains: we must wait and see and pray for the best.
We must wait and see and pray for the best. Those ten little words struck Elizabeth like a bolt of lightning. There had been only one other time in her life that she heard those words, and that had proved to be the most heartrending day of her life. We must wait and see and pray for the best.
Elizabeth drifted towards the window, her heart heavy with grief and her eyes leaden with unshed tears.
It was too much. The pain she believed she had taught herself to endure with quiet grace and dignity threatened to flood her entire being.
Unwilling to allow anyone to bear witness to the depths of her despair, she raced from the room.
Darcy had watched in wonder as Elizabeth paced the floor the entire time that the physician was with his friend.
As disquieted as he had been by the physician’s prognosis, Elizabeth’s reaction struck him as particularly troubling.
Given her brief acquaintance with his lordship, how can she possibly be so distressed by any of this?
Surely she had been traumatised by the sight of the viscount lying on the ground, his head swimming in blood.
Who was to say how long a gently bred young woman would carry such an image around with her.
However, even Miss Lancaster, whom Darcy knew to be quite taken with Lord Holland, did not wear her anguish as openly as did Miss Elizabeth.
No—something greater is at the root of her discomfort.
When Elizabeth bolted from the room, Darcy was not long in following her.
He walked fast to catch up with her. Once she became aware of his presence, she halted her frantic pace and allowed him to accompany her.
He longed to reach for her, to take her in his arms, and to comfort her.
He clasped his hands behind his back to stop himself.
“Thou doth not see,” Mr. Darcy said, his voice tender and soothing. “Neither intruder, nor foe, nor stranger unknown. Thou shalt not fear—for thou are not alone.”
Elizabeth gazed up at his face. “I am not familiar with that particular stanza, sir.”
“It is personal, from me to you.”
Elizabeth studied his eyes and saw in them something she had never seen before—compassion.
“Lord Holland is young and vibrant; he shall recover.”
“I know you are correct, sir.”
“I cannot help but feel you are disturbed by concerns of a different matter. It might help to talk about what is truly at the root of your worries.”
“I recall the last time I was with someone whose prognosis was the same as Lord Holland’s physician described. She never recovered.”
“She?”
“My sister … Jane.”
“I am sorry.”
She reached for the brooch she always kept close to her heart—an exquisitely carved ornament, which contained a lock of Elizabeth’s beloved sister’s golden hair encased on one side and her sister’s likeness on the other. Opening it, she showed it to Darcy. “This is Jane.”
“Your sister was beautiful … and so young.”
Elizabeth nodded in acknowledgement. “Jane was always considered the beauty in the family. She was kind and good and always saw the best in everyone. Never had she uttered an unkind word.”
“Is your loss recent?”
“Nearly two years have passed.” Elizabeth closed her brooch, and her eyes drifted towards the sun settling over the horizon. “I should have done more. My sister needed me, and I failed her.”
Darcy placed his hand on Elizabeth’s arm. “Would you like to talk about what happened?”
Caught between despair over what she had seen earlier and longing to share her sorrow with another living being, she hardly recognised her own voice.
“My papa did not want me to be there. He feared I was too young, but what he failed to understand was there was no place else on earth for me. I would have traded places with my sister if I could have.” Her eyes prickled with tears. “Jane died in my arms.”
There had been a succession of rainy days from the moment her beloved sister fell ill until the day she found peace.
Melancholy had become Elizabeth’s favourite companion whenever rain poured from the skies.
The unspoken truth was that the incident needed not to have happened.
Elizabeth’s mother had the idea of sending Jane to a neighbouring estate nearly five miles from Longbourn on horseback in a misguided attempt to land a husband.
Halfway into the journey, common sense had prevailed, and Jane returned home, but not soon enough to escape the onset of what Mrs. Bennet had proclaimed a trifling cold.
Whether or not Mrs. Bennet suffered any guilt as a result of the tragedy was hard to say, but things had never been the same at Longbourn ever since that time.
Elizabeth wanted to find fault in someone, but to ascribe blame to her mother was not something she would allow, even as a passing thought.
Hence, she took the burden upon herself.
Darcy wanted nothing more than to touch Elizabeth’s face and wipe away her tears, but he could not. Such a show of affection surely exceeded all bounds of decorum. He cupped her hand in his. “You did not fail your sister.”
Elizabeth looked deep into his eyes and then slowly pulled away her hand.
What am I doing confiding in this man? I hardly know him.
Sniffing her tears, she managed a slight smile.
“Of course you are correct, sir. As time goes on, I realise there is little I could have done. But then a dreadful accident like this occurs, and I find myself experiencing the harrowing pain of losing my sister all over again.”
Recalling how hopeless she felt during Jane’s ordeal, Elizabeth resolved that she must do something, anything to set her mind upon a different course. “There is an urgent matter that I must attend.”
“What is it?”
“You will see.” She led him into the rose garden. “Sir, may I borrow your pocket knife?”
“My knife?”
She arched her brow. “You do possess one, do you not?”
“I do, but what are you planning to do with a knife?”
“What do you think I plan to do?” She stepped closer and held out her hand. “I shall gather a fresh bouquet of flowers and send them to Lord Holland.”
“There is a fine idea. Perhaps the aroma will revive him.”
“Do not make light of my scheme unless you have a better idea, Mr. Darcy.”
“I was thinking of giving him a good shake for his perilous attempts to impress you, followed by a stern speech. His lordship hates any sort of rebuke. He will want to put forth a proper rebuttal.”
“What say you we first try my way?”
Later that evening, Elizabeth paced the floor.
In spite of the lateness of the hour, sleep was the furthest thing from her mind.
She had stayed at Avondale for as long as decorum allowed and finally accepted an offer of the Holland carriage to return her to Barrington Hall.
Lady Vanessa spent the night at Avondale with a mind of being of some service to Lady Clarissa.
Events of the day wreaked havoc in Elizabeth’s composure, and she knew but one way to calm herself.
I have not felt as awful as I did today for a very long time—not since the day I lost you.
It was painful to suffer many of those same feelings again.
I pray for a happier outcome than my fears portend—that I shall soon receive word that Lord Holland has awakened.
The alternative is untenable for his friends and his acquaintances and especially for his mother, Lady Clarissa.
She was most inconsolable today. She is most fortunate to have such a dear friend in Lady Vanessa who remains by her side.
I, too, found a comforting presence in the form of Mr. Darcy.
Until today, I truly suspected the gentleman barely tolerated me, and his wont of looking at me was merely to find fault.
Today, I witnessed a different side of him: a kind, gentle, and attentive being.
He allowed—nay, encouraged me to show my pain by being an unbiased listener and a reassuring voice of reason.
If it is possible for men and women to be friends, then I believe I have found a friend in Mr. Darcy.