Chapter Twenty-Two
The next day
Elizabeth was reviewing household accounts with Mrs Reynolds in the morning room when a footman appeared in the doorway.
"Pardon the interruption, Mrs Darcy, but Dr Newport has arrived for Mr Darcy's appointment."
"Appointment?" She set down her pen, surprised. "I was not aware Mr Darcy had summoned the physician.”
"It is a routine visit, ma'am," Mrs Reynolds explained. "Dr Newport has been calling occasionally since the accident to monitor Mr Darcy's recovery. He examines him, asks questions about his memory and general health. Standard practice for head injuries of that severity.”
"I see." She rose from her chair. "Where is Mr Darcy now?"
"In his study, ma'am. Dr Newport is being shown there presently.
She dismissed the footman and turned to the housekeeper. "Please excuse me. I should ensure Mr Darcy has everything he requires."
Elizabeth made her way to Fitzwilliam's study, arriving just as Dr Newport was being shown in. The physician was a man of middle years with salt-and-pepper hair and the calm, assessing manner of one who had seen much illness and injury in his practice. He bowed to her as she entered behind him.
"Mrs Darcy. A pleasure to finally meet you. I trust you are settling into Pemberley comfortably?"
"Very comfortably, thank you, Dr Newport."
Fitzwilliam stood as she entered. “Elizabeth, I did not mean to disturb your morning. This is merely Dr Newport's regular visit—nothing to cause alarm."
"I know. Mrs Reynolds explained." She moved towards the door, suddenly conscious that she might be intruding on a private medical examination. "I shall leave you to your—"
"Stay." She heard her husband say. “Please. That is, if the physician here doesn’t mind."
The man in question nodded his approval. "Not at all. In fact, it may be helpful to have you present."
She settled into the chair near Fitzwilliam's desk while the physician conducted his examination—checking pulse and breathing, asking about headaches and dizziness, testing reflexes and responses. Her husband answered each question patiently.
"And your memory?" Dr Newport asked, making notes in a small leather-bound journal. "Any improvement since my last visit?"
"Yes. Considerable improvement, actually."
"Excellent. Can you describe the nature of this improvement? Are we speaking of vague impressions still, or actual recovery of specific memories?"
"The latter." Fitzwilliam's fingers drummed against the arm of his chair. Was it a nervous gesture? She couldn’t tell. "Events that were previously hazy or absent entirely are now... clear."
"Can you give me an example? Something specific that you could not recall before but can now remember in detail?"
Fitzwilliam was quiet for a moment, his expression turning inward as he searched through his recovered recollections.
"The assembly at Meryton. When I first arrived in Hertfordshire with Bingley.
I could not remember the general facts of it prior—where we visited, the various people I met. Those details were missing."
"And now?"
"Now I remember it clearly." His eyebrows furrowed slightly as he continued.
"Bingley was insisting that I dance. I remember standing near the wall, observing the company with what I now recognise as insufferable disdain.
And I remember..." He paused, his gaze moving to Elizabeth.
“…meeting Mrs Darcy—Miss Elizabeth Bennet, as she was then. "
Elizabeth felt her pulse quicken. He remembered. This was the moment she had been dreading, the return of the proud, disagreeable gentleman who had dismissed her so thoroughly.
"Fascinating," Dr Newport murmured, scribbling in his journal. "And other memories? Beyond that specific event?"
"Many." Fitzwilliam's expression shifted, a slight frown creasing his forehead. "I recall meeting Miss Rochford and the dance we shared afterwards. And the correspondence that occurred when I returned to Pemberley due to the mine accident. That is all.”
Elizabeth's hands clenched in her lap. This was it—the moment when he would realise the depth of the deception, connecting the discrepancy between the letters and Cassandra's character.
Dr Newport appeared oblivious to the undercurrent of tension in the room.
"This is remarkable progress, Mr Darcy. Truly remarkable.
The fact that you are recovering not just fragments but detailed portions of your memory suggests your injury was less severe than we initially feared.
With continued rest and care, I expect a full recovery. "
"That is good news indeed," her husband said, but his attention remained fixed on Elizabeth.
After several more questions and examinations, Dr Newport pronounced himself satisfied and prepared to depart.
"I shall return in a fortnight unless you have need of me sooner.
Continue as you have been—avoid excessive strain, get adequate rest, and do not hesitate to send for me if you experience any concerning symptoms."
Once the physician had departed, silence settled over the study. She remained in her chair, her heart pounding, waiting for him to speak. When he did, his voice was soft, almost hesitant.
"Elizabeth, I owe you an apology."
She looked up, startled. "An apology? Whatever for?"
"For my behaviour at that assembly. For my rudeness.
" He rose from his chair and crossed to stand before her, close enough that she had to tilt her head back to meet his gaze.
"I remember what I said about you that night.
The words I spoke to Bingley when he suggested I dance with you. They were... unforgivable."
"That I was tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt you? It’s all forgotten.”
“It was arrogant and cruel, and you did not deserve such treatment."
The irony of the situation was not lost on her. She was the one who had wronged him deeply. And here he was apologising to her. “Of course I forgive you. That was months ago, and you have been nothing but kind to me since."
“I now remember spending the day after the assembly thinking about you and being irritated that I found you attractive despite my initial assessment. It made me irritated to learn that you were intelligent, witty and absolutely nothing like the practised society ladies I was accustomed to.”
He shook his head, his expression rueful. “While I’m sure Miss Rochford is a decent lady, I let myself be guided towards someone I did not truly want because it seemed easier than pursuing what I did want."
“Which was?” She barely dared to breathe.
“You. I wasted so much time. Time we could have spent actually getting to know one another and building something important. I apologise for that too."
Elizabeth stared at him, her mind reeling. "You are not upset with me?"
He blinked, clearly surprised by the question. "Upset? Why would I be upset with you?"
Because—" She struggled to find the words. “At that first meeting, you seemed to dislike me intensely. I thought that when you recovered your memory, those feelings of dislike would return. And you would regret our marriage, as well as being trapped with someone you found barely tolerable."
To her amazement, Fitzwilliam laughed. "Dislike you?
Elizabeth, I was never able to dislike you, no matter how I tried to convince myself otherwise.
Your blunt way of speaking, your refusal to simper or flatter—yes, it took me aback at first. I was not accustomed to women who challenged me so directly. "
He took her hand and squeezed gently. "But I came to love it as our acquaintance grew.
Now it is my favourite trait of yours—that absolute unwillingness to be anything other than yourself.
Your intelligence, your kindness, the way you see through pretension and speak truth even when it is uncomfortable—these are the things I value most about you. "
Elizabeth felt something loosen in her chest, a knot of anxiety she had been carrying for months finally beginning to unravel.
If he was not upset about this—if he could look past his initial arrogance and see what they had built together—then perhaps he would not be upset about the other deception either.
Perhaps she could tell him about the letters and he would understand.
The thought crystallised into certainty. She needed to tell him. Now, before more time passed, before the weight of the secret grew any heavier. He had just poured out his heart to her, apologised for wrongs she had already forgiven. She owed him the same honesty.
"Fitzwilliam, there is something I need to tell you.”
“I’m all ears.”
She opened her mouth to speak, but only a sigh emerged. Her thoughts were scattered, her emotions too close to the surface. She needed to compose herself, to find the right words to explain what she had done and why.
“I need to take a quick walk on the grounds. Will you be here when I return?"
"I will be wherever you need me to be." He replied, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. "Take your time. I am not going anywhere."
She left the study in something of a daze, her mind churning with everything that had just occurred. He remembered their first meeting and had admitted to being interested in her even as he made the decision to pursue Cassandra. He valued the very qualities she feared he would despise.
If he could be so understanding about that, surely he would understand about the letters. He would see that she had meant no harm and that the deception had simply spiralled beyond her control.
She made her way in the direction of the entrance hall, intent on slipping out for her walk before anyone could delay her. She needed air alongside time to organise her thoughts and steel her nerve for the confession ahead.
The sound of the butler announcing a new visitor filled the air. Lady Catherine de Bourgh, her husband’s aunt. A formidable woman, from what she had been told.
She stopped short, a new wave of anxiety spreading through her. Of all the times for Lady Catherine to make an appearance, this was perhaps the worst possible moment.
The heavy sound of approaching footsteps only further increased the turmoil she felt.