Chapter 3
Fear for her sons’ health added to Elizabeth’s worries as she watched them eat their breakfasts.
Neither showed signs of fever or cough; their eyes were as bright and alert as they were every morning.
Still, she shared her concerns and the news about Darcy with Mrs Vickers and requested she keep the children busy without overexerting them.
The nurse agreed and, clearly seeing Elizabeth’s preoccupation, suggested she and a footman walk Bennet and Henry to the orangery; the warmth could only do them good and would engage their imaginations while tiring them for an afternoon rest.
The boys wore twin expressions of disappointment to learn their father would not join them in the ‘jungle’, where he often held them aloft to pluck flowers or lemons.
Elizabeth caressed Bennet’s cheek, then Henry’s.
“Frederick is as tall as your papa, and he has spent little time in the orangery. Henry, perhaps you can show him the trees and flowers, and Bennet, you try to remember their names?”
Elizabeth watched as they trotted down the corridor, the footman and the nurse staying near to prevent any falls or crashes into the statuary lining the long gallery hall.
Then she hurried back to her husband. As she entered the bedchamber, Edwards rose from his seat by the low-burning hearth, bowed, and disappeared into the sitting room.
Darcy was asleep, his large body swaddled tightly into a sitting position, his brow damp with fever.
Swallowing, she leant over him, dabbing away the sweat from his pale, heated skin with her handkerchief.
“I am here, my love.” She reached for the basin and dipped a cloth into the water, placing the first on his forehead and two others on his wrists.
Elizabeth curled up beside him on the bed, watching his chest as it rose with every rattling breath. Her eyes stung with tears she did not wish to shed; if she began to cry, she expected she would not stop. Fear for her husband and anger with herself warred.
Why had she not noticed he was unwell? Why had she not asked him to slow down?
She would not have missed a sign that one of their sons was feeling poorly, so why did she assume her strong, healthy husband was invincible?
She had seen him bleed, weep, fret, and thunder about in anger.
She had seen him vulnerable—to her, to their children, and to his sister.
Yes, she had been occupied preparing for Christmas, and yes, she was suffering from the familiar tiredness of the early months of pregnancy.
But nothing could excuse her for neglecting to see that her husband—burdened with estate business, the difficulties of the weather, concern for her and for his sister, caring for the boys—was ill.
Had Darcy known he was sick, he would have hidden it from her, not wanting to worry her.
Had Edwards sensed it and pressed him to rest?
My mother called for her salts and took to her bed at the slightest sniff or cough or upset, ensuring she was the centre of attention at Longbourn. But Darcy wished no one to know that he felt poorly. Stupid, selfless man!
Seeing him rendered weak, not by feeling or blushing sensation but by illness, overwhelmed her emotions, and she closed her eyes, silent tears dampening the pillow beneath her head as she fretted for her husband.
“‘Husband?’ Oh, I like that very much.” Darcy rested his head against the velvet squabs of the carriage carrying them away from Hertfordshire.
“It is a far better title than Master of Pemberley, or grandson and nephew of an earl, or the man with ten thousand a year,” Elizabeth said, smirking.
“Married less than three hours, and the teasing begins anew.” He laughed.
“You have gained more new titles than I—wife, Mistress of Pemberley, niece of an earl, and impertinent relation of the esteemed Lady Catherine de Bourgh.” His smile turned tender and he drew her nearer. “More importantly, you are my heart.”
Elizabeth met his endearments by expressing her own, reaching to kiss him soundly and softly.
It was only the third time she had initiated such affection.
During their engagement, she had thought frequently of kissing Darcy—so frequently and in such public settings to have been queried about her blushes—but discovered that whilst she had enthusiasm, she lacked good timing.
Interruptions came often at Longbourn and Netherfield, and they each had too many sisters.
Now, as the carriage drove north along the Great London Road, taking her away from the only home she had ever known, she was both heedless and single-minded in fulfilling her longing to kiss her husband.
His fervour matched hers, and he pulled her onto his lap to better prove his ardency. And his skill.
At last and yet all too soon, he was moving her back onto her own seat, breathing heavily and staring at her with a dark, beseeching gaze. “Elizabeth,” he said in a low, hoarse voice unlike any she had known from him. “Much as I… We must stop. The cottage is just another few miles or so.”
The cottage where they would spend their wedding night. Yes, he had told her of it. Elizabeth’s newly bruised lips ached slightly as they stretched in a reassuring smile. Did she look as he did—hair tousled, cheeks reddened, lips swollen, eyes nearly black with love and desire?
“I am celebrated for my patience,” she said, hoping to relieve his discomfort with more teasing.
“And equally known for expressing opinions that are not your own,” came his amused, if still breathless, response.
Reaching again for her, his hand took hers—each had stripped off their gloves within moments of climbing into the carriage in their need to touch one another’s flesh freely—and lifted it to his lips.
“Elizabeth.”
“Elizabeth.”
She sat up, startled to hear her name, alarmed by the gravelly voice that spoke it.
Darcy was staring at her, his eyes glazed with fever.
He began coughing, a great racking cough.
Jumping from the bed, she tugged the bellpull, telling the maid who evidently had been waiting in the corridor to fetch steaming hot water and towels.
Minutes later, she and Edwards held Darcy steady underneath a blanket as he breathed in the steaming vapours. The harsh rasp in his breathing softened as he coughed up bits of the infection.
“All will be well, sir,” Edwards murmured. “All will be well.”