Chapter 25
Darcy clutched his fist into his stomach. It was still there, churning nauseatingly.
The machine had not worked.
Pinching his eyes closed, Darcy saw a picture of Elizabeth’s emotions, displayed transparently on her beautiful face, transforming from elation to dismal disappointment. What he would give to forget that look. To turn back time and spare her another defeat.
Guilt battled with his need to comfort. He could not look at her, but he needed to offer his touch.
Her hands wrapped around his, warm and forgiving. “I will try the machine as many times as it is safe to use. Until the battery dies.”
Darcy’s chest tightened, too small for his heart. Raising her palm to his lips, he tenderly kissed her exposed flesh, felt her tremble, shared it. Her body remembered what her mind had erased, and Darcy grasped onto that small shard of gleaming hope with all the enthusiasm of an unrequited lover.
Placing her hand in the crook of his arm, he asked, “Care to join me for a stroll by the pond?”
She tugged him toward the door in reply, accompanied by the sound of Mrs. Bennet’s glee.
“Papa will thank you for introducing us to Mr. Aldini’s stimulator, if not for my sake then for my mother and sisters’,” Elizabeth teased.
HIs smile came easily. “My purpose is to please.”
She tilted her chin up, gravity overwhelming coquetry. “What if I never remember? What then?”
“You will.”
“You have said that before, but we cannot be so certain now. Too much time has gone by, and every minute that passes lessens my chances of ever recovering my memories of you … and increases the likelihood of madness.”
Her words punched him in the gut, grabbing his insides and twisting. His step faltered. He could not breathe.
Elizabeth stopped, reaching up to stroke his cheek with her fingers. “I wish to deny the possibility as much as you do, but we must think rationally. I could not burden you with such a prospect.”
“And I cannot do without you,” he turned to face her, stepping closer and closer and closer until she was in his arms and all he could smell was the rosewater in her hair. Her fingers tickled a trail from his cheeks to the back of his neck, pulling him closer still, standing on her toes. Closer.
Darcy was powerless to resist. He captured her lips, and Elizabeth leaned into him, her fingers tangled in his hair, their hearts beating in harmony.
She reciprocated his affection with an enthusiasm that left Darcy discomposed.
Sky blended with grass, night seeped into day, and the only certainty was the woman he held in his arms.
They stood toe-to-toe, catching their breath, Elizabeth’s hands pressed against the lapels of his coat. “You will have to marry me now, Fitzwilliam.”
His breath caught in his throat. She had been calling him Mr. Darcy since their wedding day. If a kiss was the cure, why had he not kissed her sooner? “Elizabeth?” he asked. It was all he could ask.
She shook her head slowly, sinking down to the bench by the pond. “No memories yet, Fitzwilliam, but I consider myself most fortunate to have experienced a first kiss twice.” She pushed against him, teasing, “Do not tell me we have not kissed before, for I would not believe you.”
He had no desire to correct her … or lie. They had enjoyed numerous conversations — and several stolen kisses — under the willow tree. “I am relieved. For a moment, I thought you were trying to call off our engagement, and I would have had to object.”
“Like Lady Catherine?” Her eyes glinted mischievously.
“I can be persuasive.”
She hummed. “I believe that. But I will spare you the effort. I would be the worst fool to deny myself more of your kisses.”
A pony and cart rambled down the lane, turning down the path to Longbourn.
Elizabeth popped up to her feet. “That is Dr. Sculthorpe! Fluffy, white whiskers and a jolly, round face. It is him! He has not changed at all.”
Darcy followed her to the house, trying not to resent the doctor’s poor timing when he was their best, and last, recourse.
Mr. Bennet waved from the door, meeting his friend by the cart. “Sculthorpe, my good fellow! It has been a long time.”
“Too long!”
“I hope you had a pleasant trip. Are you well?”
The doctor’s cheeks shone like freshly picked and polished apples. “There will be time enough to catch up, Bennet. Where is this daughter of yours?” His eyes landed on Elizabeth as Mr. Bennet introduced Darcy to the physician.
Sculthorpe bowed elegantly. “The forgotten betrothed. I am glad you are here, sir, as I shall require your assistance.” He clucked his tongue, his stomach bobbing up and down as he chuckled.
“Ah, Lizzy, you must have hit your head very hard to forget such a fine gentleman. Fear not, dear girl, we will soon put you right.”
Darcy liked him immediately, but experience (and his own nature) made him cautious. “Where did you attend medical school?” he asked.
“The University of Edinburgh, many moons ago. And a stint at St. Bart’s.”
“Highly regarded institutions,” Darcy owned. “Have you enjoyed a burgeoning practice since?”
The doctor’s stomach shook again. Up down up down up down.
“Perhaps not as burgeoning as my peers.” He fell in beside Darcy, following Mr. Bennet inside the house, adding, “While I believe much experience is to be gained from a regular medical practice, I admit to a weakness of curiosity. A good deal of my time is spent pursuing the reasons behind popularly accepted treatments.” He stopped outside the door.
“You see, Mr. Darcy, just as you are skeptical about me — and justifiably so — I do not so easily trust common methods unless they can be proved scientifically. My investigations and findings have put me in high demand at the universities that invite me to present lectures. But, alas, I am an old man, and find it more comfortable to settle at Cambridge and continue my experiments from my nearby residence. As you can understand, this does not allow much time for me to attend to patients.”
Darcy had one more question, then he would be satisfied. “What is your opinion on Bichar’s Law of Symmetry?”
The same twinkle Darcy had often observed in Mr. Bennet appeared in Dr. Sculthorpe’s eyes. He leaned forward, lowering his voice. “Hogwash. Trite twaddle. A pretty theory which defies all common sense. Do you know, Mr. Darcy, how Bichat perished?”
“No.”
“Of a head injury.”
Mr. Bennet and Elizabeth had turned to listen in the entrance. They both gasped, as did Darcy.
The doctor continued, “And yet doctors continue to spread his nonsense, bashing their patients over the heads and collecting a fee for their exertion when any mean-spirited drunk would perform the service free of charge.“
Darcy could not contain his laugh. This man was marvelous.
“I am grateful to have avoided such a painful outcome. Mr. Darcy would not let Mr. Jones near me once he suggested the treatment,” said Elizabeth.
Smile reaching his eyes, Dr. Sculthorpe smacked Mr. Bennet on the shoulder. “I see you are to be blessed with a son-in-law with an active, highly functioning mind. I applaud Lizzy’s choice and your good sense being willing to part with her for such a gentleman.”
Darcy bowed his head. “I apologize for my distrust, but this has been difficult enough on Elizabeth. I am desperate for her to remember me, but I will not compromise her welfare.”
Dr. Sculthorpe greeted the Bennets assembled in the drawing room. Mary and Kitty curtsied prettily, uttering the usual pleasantries.
Mrs. Bennet curtsied deeply, her manners calm and pleasant, a lady completely at ease in the world.
“Dr. Sculthorpe, we hope you will stay with us as long as Cambridge can spare you. I am certain Mr. Darcy will enjoy your conversation as much as Mr. Bennet, and I have had the decanter in his study topped off in the expectation you will keep the gentlemen company and help my Lizzy. Hill will carry your things to the guest room with our new footman,” she gushed.
Nary a word referencing her nerves or the vexation of housing another guest. Not one anxious comment about her unmarried daughters or Elizabeth’s injury.
Lydia slipped in behind them, floating into the room with a vacant smile, followed by the rest of their party.
After introductions, Dr. Sculthorpe commented on Mrs. Bennet. “I do say, your nerves have experienced a remarkable improvement.”
“It is that wonderful machine Mr. Darcy brought us from a famous doctor in London,” she beamed. “We will not need nerve tonic so long as we have it.”
Mr. Bennet gestured to the hall. “Would you like to see it? Elizabeth tried it shortly before you arrived.”
Far from scowling in disapproval, Dr. Sculthorpe rubbed his hands together. “I should love to see what is responsible for the peace that has settled over your house, Bennet.”
Darcy knew the moment the doctor recognized the machine.
He gasped like a child in a toy shop, rushing over to the table to pet each piece.
“This is Aldini’s latest machine! I have been badgering him for months to send me one.
How on earth did you get him to part with this?
You say it has already withstood three uses?
I had heard he found a way to improve the life of the battery. ”
Darcy made a mental note to have his man send a special token of gratitude to his physician … and, if Aldini could be persuaded to part with another machine, to send one to Cambridge.
The doctor was too excited to wait for replies.
“One of his first patients was a farmer suffering from melancholia. And there was another, a woman who fell out of bed and could not remember her children the following day.” He looked regretfully at Elizabeth.
“I wish I had been present to observe your first treatment. I have only read the accounts but have yet to witness one.”
“Do you have any objections to observing my second treatment on the morrow?”