Chapter 17
Darcy knew Elizabeth was upset. He ought to have asked her what she thought instead of assuming the full responsibility of her care. He winced. For treating her like a mindless invalid.
The damage was done.
If only she knew how helpless he felt. Had he been in the carriage, he might have protected her. Had he stopped by Longbourn before the ceremony, as he had yearned to do, he might have seen the damage and prevented the accident.
He ought to have prevented it.
Heaving a sigh, Darcy said, “I am sorry, Elizabeth. My eagerness to protect you from harm makes me presumptuous and imperious. Please understand I am only thinking of you.”
Her confusion pained his heart. Knowing Elizabeth could no longer read his reactions and thoughts as clearly as she had the day prior robbed him of certainty.
He held his breath, waiting for her humor to shine through, and was rewarded. She teased, “How can I stay angry at you when you admit to your error so easily? It is impossible.”
Elizabeth did not hold grudges as he did — thank goodness, or he never would have persuaded her to love him.
She forgave as quickly as her anger flashed.
As many times as Darcy had been the recipient of her clemency, he marveled at her ability to forgive and forget.
Now that she was unable to recall him and his errors to mind, he appreciated even more how affection had allowed her to cover over his transgressions of her own volition. It was her gift.
He extended his hand to her. “I have some urgent letters to write. Do you wish to return with me, or would you rather remain here?” His fingers reached for her, aching for her touch.
She folded her hands together. “I have a great deal to consider and wish to be alone for a few more minutes.”
Disappointed, he dropped his hand.
“Do not fear, Mr. Darcy. I will not be long,” she added with an impish grin, “not with a saboteur lurking about.”
Drat. In his eagerness to please her, he had forgotten. He looked about, tugging his fingers through his hair, unable to leave her after he had offered to do that very thing.
Arching her eyebrow and tilting her chin, she said, “My father’s study overlooks this pond. I daresay he would not deny you the loan of ink and paper while you assure my safety from the window.”
Maybe she could still read his thoughts. He bowed, reluctant to leave her. However, the letters would not write themselves, and Darcy would waste no more time without his Elizabeth.
He hastened up the path and down the hall, not slowing his pace until he reached Mr. Bennet’s door. Had it been slightly ajar, he would have been tempted to barge in. But it was closed, and he was obligated to knock.
In the time it took Mr. Bennet to open his door, Darcy overheard Lydia touting the superiority of her northern physician to anyone who cared to listen.
“He has the most scrumptious nerve tonic. Not like that horrible, bitter stuff Mr. Jones makes for you, Mama. It tastes like bilberries, and its effect is immediate. I shall let you try some when you need it.”
Mrs. Bennet replied, as Mr. Bennet opened the door, that with one daughter so advantageously married and another with child, she could not imagine ever feeling vexed again.
Mr. Bennet peered over his spectacles at Darcy. “When the mistress of the house is happy, everyone is happy.”
“Wise words I shall keep in mind.”
Mr. Bennet chuckled. “Come to the window. The prospect is lovely.”
As Elizabeth said, it faced the pond. Though the land slanted downward, he could still see the top of the bench and the chestnut curls caressing her profile from his perch.
“My Lizzy is as strong-willed as you are, Darcy.” He chuckled. “If she has her way, which she often does, she will be well by morning.”
“And if she is not?”
“It will be an obstacle I hope you will choose to contend with.”
“Of course.”
“If both of you are determined to be happy, then I have no doubt you shall meet with the greatest success.” Leaning back in his chair, Mr. Bennet clasped his hands together over his stomach.
“I do not suppose you came here to discuss my correspondence with my Polish beekeeper friend or to see my drawings for the panels I plan to insert in my skeps?”
Politeness made Darcy glance at the drawings spread over Mr. Bennet’s desk. “My land steward is a greater authority than I am. If you are able to extract honey without harming the bees, the scientific community will be eager to hear about it.”
Mr. Bennet’s eyes gleamed. “I suppose I could write a paper on it.” He gazed off into the distance, his eyes resting on Elizabeth.
Then, just as suddenly as he drifted off in his daydreams, he cleared his throat.
“I suspect you have a reason for coming to my study. Is there a matter with which I might help you?”
“I have several urgent messages I must send.”
Motioning to the small writing desk between them and the window, Mr. Bennet said, “You should find everything you need there. If there is anything else you require, I will be with my drawings.”
Darcy pulled a sheet of paper closer. The first letter would go to his London housekeeper. She was expecting him and Elizabeth that evening.
The easiest letter seen to, he pulled out another piece of paper, dating it and addressing it to his personal London physician.
Dear Doctor Chambers,
I trust your delicacy and discretion to carry out a request of the utmost importance to me.
The young lady I was to marry suffered an accident, a blow to the head resulting in amnesia.
The local apothecary, an informed gentleman whose diagnosis I trust but whose methods I found wanting, deemed her condition selective.
I am inclined to agree with him, as the only lack in her memories seem to be any and all pertaining to me. She does not know me at all.
My request is that you seek out the foremost doctors and scientists of the mind, those particularly knowledgeable regarding amnesia, available in London.
Inquire into treatments and therapies. I am unable to travel to London immediately, but I will do so at the first opportunity to discuss your findings.
I trust you will have several, or at least a few.
Attentively,
Fitzwilliam Darcy
He folded the note, confident in his doctor’s assistance (for which he would make sure to reward him handsomely.)
The next letter was a struggle.
Dearest Georgiana,
I am eager to join you at Pemberley with Elizabeth, but I fear we have been unavoidably delayed.
The next line was impossible to pen. Accident sounded too grave. As did calamity and disaster. Little incident, on the contrary, was too flippant. Mishap? Misadventure? That was it.
A misadventure befell Elizabeth, and I would not dream of insisting she travel until she is fully recovered.
He wrote at length about other matters between glances through the window, careful to keep his tone light so as not to cause his sister alarm.
There was no need distressing her when, in all probability, Elizabeth’s memories would return before the evening.
Or, as Mr. Bennet suggested, on the morrow.
That was the estimate Mr. Jones had given them.
Beyond that…
Darcy shivered. He would not allow Elizabeth to worsen. He would see to it she had every advantage she required.
His final letter was for his cousin.
Richard,
I need you immediately. The Bennets’ carriage was sabotaged, and Elizabeth was hurt. She is sound in body, but she has no memory of me.
I am at my wit’s end.
Please come directly. We have an enemy to expose, and I have a bride I am desperate to have restored to me.
Make haste,
Darcy
Elizabeth could have sat by the pond for hours, but Mr. Darcy would not remove himself from his observational perch until she returned indoors.
She was pleased to hear him offering hearty congratulations to the rejoicing couple, and it was with a lighter heart Elizabeth crept up the stairs to her bedchamber.
Her room would feel empty without Jane. It already did. Elizabeth wrapped her arms around herself, a paper fluttering on the corner of the dressing table catching her eye.
Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy.
Mrs. Lizzy Darcy.
Mrs. Elizabeth Darcy…
Looped letters and swirls adorned the length of the page, bittersweet in their un-fulfillment. She had looked forward to taking Mr. Darcy’s name. She had been on the brink of a new happy beginning.
A happy beginning an evil, unknown foe had stolen.
She would discover his or her identity. She would find him and expose his blatant injustice against her. She would demand satisfaction.
Filled with indignation, Elizabeth set to work, writing names along with means and motives, facts and potential clues.