Chapter 19 Consequences
Darcy woke. His muscles were stiff, and his arm was numb. Memory returned. He lay within an old ruin with Elizabeth. The scent of her hair was pleasing, and he was keenly aware of her warmth as she lay nestled against him. He opened his eyes.
Her head rested upon his arm, her curls falling about her face. Heat radiated from her. He raised himself and looked down at the lovely woman who lay nestled against him. Color burned in her cheeks. He set his hand to her forehead. She was burning with fever.
“Miss Bennet, how do you feel? I fear you have taken cold.”
She shifted and settled nearer, still asleep. He gave her shoulder a gentle shake.
“Miss Bennet, I fear you have taken cold.”
A cough broke from her, deep and heavy. Concern sharpened. He withdrew his arm and pushed himself upright, then shook her again.
“Miss Elizabeth, you must wake.”
Her eyes opened with effort, unfocused. “Sir, is it morning? Do you know the time?”
He drew out his watch. “It is but half past six, ma’am. How do you feel? I fear you may suffer an inflammation of the lungs. You are burning with fever.”
She raised her hand to her temple. “My head pains me, sir.” A cough seized her, and her hand pressed to her chest. “My chest pains me.” Another fit followed.
“You are very ill, Miss Bennet. We must return to Rosings and place you under a physician’s care.”
She turned her face toward him. “No, sir. Take me to the parsonage. Lady Catherine is angry.” A cough cut her short.
“Very well, if you will be easier there, though neither my cousin nor my sister may attend you at the parsonage.”
“They may visit me.”
“I shall saddle my horse and return for you.”
“No, sir, remember our plan.” Her voice failed beneath another violent cough.
“You would have me return alone, and then come back for you?”
“Yes.”
“I do not like to leave you in this condition.”
“I shall manage, sir.”
He rose.
She rolled over and pushed herself upright. “Take your coat, Mr. Darcy, or there will be questions.”
“I will not leave you alone in the cold, Miss Elizabeth.”
“Please, sir. Pray do this for me.”
He looked down at her. “Very well, ma’am, if you insist.”
He assisted her to her feet and took up the garment.
“Help me to the landing. I shall wait for you there, in the light.”
He offered his arm, and she leaned upon him as they made their way to the landing.
“Allow me to leave my coat with you.”
“No, sir. Questions will arise.”
“Yes. They will inquire where I lost it and under what circumstances. Is marriage to me so dreadful to you?”
“Sir, I have always wished to marry for love, not from compulsion.”
He guided her to a place where a shaft of sunlight fell and settled her there.
“Miss Bennet, I cannot reconcile it to myself to leave you here alone and exposed to the cold. Are you certain you will not return with me?”
“Yes, sir. I shall wait for you here.”
“I shall return for you as swiftly as I am able.”
He left her then, determined to return to her within the hour.
“Fitzwilliam.”
Georgiana hurried down the stairs. “Did you find her?”
“No, my dear. Has Richard returned?”
Anne stood at the entrance to the drawing room. “He has not. I fear for him.”
“You need not fret for Richard, Annie. He is a seasoned soldier. He has endured far worse than an autumn storm.”
“What you say is true, yet those ancient trees drop branches with every strong wind, and I cannot help but fear for him.”
Lady Catherine spoke with irritation. “Why should you concern yourself with that soldier? You ought to feel gratitude that your betrothed has returned apparently uninjured and in good health.”
“Mamma, not now. This rests upon you, and if any harm comes to Lizzy, I shall hold you to blame.”
“It is well, Anne. Do not quarrel with your mother. Pray pack a few boiled eggs and toast for Miss Bennet while I go up and change, and then I shall ride out again. She is certain to be hungry by the time she is found.” He turned to the butler. “Drake, I will leave Rowan. Have them bring Ares.”
“Georgie, remain with Anne. Sister, do not fret yourself. I hold no concern for either Miss Bennet or Richard. All will be well.”
“Yes, brother.”
Clothed in dry garments and supplied with a woolen blanket and breakfast, he mounted his horse and set out. The brook had fallen within its banks, but the path lay in a thick mire, so he took another route along the higher ground at the foot of the hill. When he reached the tower, he called out.
“Elizabeth.”
She did not answer.
He secured Rowan to the vine and hastened up the stairs. She leaned against the cold stone wall in the corner, her curls fallen across her face. He brushed her hair aside.
“Miss Bennet.”
No reply.
“Elizabeth.”
He roused her, yet she did not answer. He raised her, and a violent cough seized her. He gathered her against him.
“Elizabeth, you must stand so I may place you upon the horse and take you home. Can you manage it?”
“Yes.” The effort to speak produced another spasm of coughing.
“I shall carry you down. When we reach the bottom, you must try to stand.”
She did not speak, but offered a tiny nod of ascent.
He lifted her and began the slow descent. At the foot of the stair, he set her upon the lowest step.
“I shall bring Rowan closer.”
He led his horse as near as the ground would allow, then returned to her, helped her to her feet, and wrapped the blanket about her.
“Elizabeth, I shall lift you up, and then mount behind you.”
“Yes.”
Once they were mounted, he settled her firmly against his breast and guided his horse from the tower.
He looked down at the lovely woman and feared for her life.
Her lips bore a bluish cast, and the pallor of her face was so marked that for one dreadful instant, he feared she had ceased breathing.
Then a violent cough seized her, and relief swept through him. She still lived.
He drew the blanket more closely about her to shield her from the cold. As he rode through the silent woods, he prayed, bargaining with God that if only this woman might live, he would double the charitable contribution he made to the orphanage each year.
Looking upon the woman who possessed his heart, he murmured words of devotion against her damp curls and, at times, succumbed to tears. “Elizabeth, you must fight, my darling. You must fight it.”
They rode back to Rosings at a measured pace.
She wished to return to the parsonage, yet he could not oversee her care there; he brought her instead to Rosings Park.
At the entrance, Drake stood ready. Richard waited to take her from Darcy’s arms. Georgiana stood nearby in tears, while Miss Anne directed the servants to warm bricks and send for the physician.
Lady Catherine remained at the drawing room entrance and observed from a distance as Richard carried Elizabeth up the stairs, the others close behind.
No one questioned him. That reckoning must come later. For now, he held to one hope alone, that she might survive the illness.