Chapter Eleven
About three weeks after Fitzwilliam Darcy had shot Mr. Wickham, he found himself acting once more in an impulsive manner.
Elizabeth—he had slowly stopped referring to her as Mrs. Wickham in his mind—had been preoccupied with some thought for the past few days. He thought it was since she had received a letter in return from her father.
She had not spoken to him of the contents of that letter, though he hoped that she would eventually.
In the middle of that day the doctor attended on Darcy, and he at last received permission to try standing up and walking about a little.
It was not a surprise, but it was unpleasant to find that he could barely stand up and walk around the room once, and that with support from both Colonel Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth.
Darcy had again the thought that he wished he could give some money to Elizabeth.
What she wore today was not quite so fine as what the servants wore.
She only had one decent dress, and while she carefully kept it clean so that she might wear it every day, a mess that Emily had made the previous day had necessitated it being sent to the laundry.
She always worked hard. It was a happy thing to have her around.
She superintended the servants, automatically taking the role of a housekeeper. She always prepared his bandages herself by hand. And she always spoke to Georgiana every morning, made her laugh, and encouraged her to smile.
She kept up a correspondence with friends in London. When she infrequently was not busy, she improved her mind by extensive reading—usually with texts of a medical nature.
That day Darcy twice more made the effort to walk about the room, and by the third time he was finding it an easier task than at first.
The next morning, he managed to walk a full circuit of the room without any help.
After breakfast that day, Sally went out with little George who was bouncing and wild for a run about in a park, or to sit about on the beach with the children from the neighboring houses whom he’d made an acquaintance with.
Emily being most absorbed in playing with the piano with Georgiana did not go out.
As Darcy understood it, George in fact did have a great deal of automatic respect amongst the children round about on the basis of his father having been killed in a duel.
Shortly after the child had gone out, Colonel Fitzwilliam said to Darcy, “I fear that my business will take me away in a few days. Your wound is starting to close over. I’ve seldom seen anything heal in a neater way. You do not need me at present—while my regiment needs me desperately.”
“The essential colonel,” Elizabeth said. “I have heard often of how regiments cannot function without their commanding officer.”
“Precisely,” Colonel Fitzwilliam replied.
Darcy shook his cousin’s hand. “When shall you leave?”
“I think the day after tomorrow.”
“I shall miss you—we will see you again at Christmas?”
“Like as not. I do not believe they intend to send my regiment to the Peninsula. But the workings of the war department are oft a mysterious thing.”
Elizabeth also smiled at Colonel Fitzwilliam and said, “It has been a pleasure making your acquaintance.”
“And yours as well.”
“Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth then said, “since departures are being announced, I also plan to leave a few days after your wound fully closes. It should be another week.”
Darcy swallowed. “So soon?”
She laughed, “I will have been your guest for more than a month at that point. That does not qualify as a little stay.”
“You plan to leave?” Georgiana exclaimed.
“You can hardly expect me to remain forever,” Elizabeth replied.
She smiled at Darcy’s sister and took her hand. “I have been pleased to meet you, and I hope we shall remain friends. Please write freely to me, though I suspect I may be occupied so much that I will return your letters a little less quickly than I would wish to.”
“But—but…I relied upon you. Don’t go. Please.”
“Georgie,” Elizabeth said in a way that had some significance to it, “you will do well.”
The girl then leaned up to Elizabeth and whispered something into her ear.
Elizabeth nodded to her and then embraced her and whispered something back to Georgiana.
Georgiana fiercely embraced Elizabeth and then started sobbing. Elizabeth held her and patted her on the back.
Darcy felt a sort of sick clenching in his stomach. He did not want to her to go. He could not manage without Elizabeth. He would have, and this was an actual fact, probably have died without her.
Colonel Fitzwilliam frowned as he watched Elizabeth with Georgiana.
Darcy wondered if the suspicions that Colonel Fitzwilliam had at first had about her had not been wholly removed by time and observation.
Emily came up and started crying too, seemingly imitating Georgiana, and she wrapped her little arms around Elizabeth’s legs. Elizabeth smiled, and with her own teary look, she picked up the child.
“There, there,” Elizabeth said. She then took Georgiana’s hand again with her free hand. “Perhaps tears are not so useless as I once said, and I know you’ll find something useful to do.”
“I wish you were staying with us forever.”
Elizabeth smiled wistfully.
Colonel Fitzwilliam asked, “Mrs. Wickham, might I inquire as to your next plans. I believe your father is in Hertfordshire. Do you mean to stay with him now that your husband is deceased?”
“For a time. And I mean for the children to stay permanently with him. I have a thought that I can pursue a career doing what I have these last weeks, as a nurse for hire. I enjoy the work, and I believe I have a decent talent for it. There is enough money in the profession that if I diligently save, I shall be able to afford a decent apprenticeship for George and set aside something for Emily afterwards.”
“Not a bad scheme,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said approvingly.
“I’ll happily recommend you to anyone. I do not see anything that lacks respectability in that idea.
Your youth and beauty is such that some may not trust your experience, but I have watched you closely.
The present case is a famous one, and when it is known that you nursed Mr. Darcy back to health, it will add to your credit in the profession. ”
“Should I use rouge to make myself appear ugly and old?” Elizabeth laughed.
“No, no,” Darcy said. “You cannot mean to do that.”
“You mean the rouge?” She replied with a forced smile.
“No, going into service. You should not.”
Elizabeth put Emily down and placed her hands on her hips. “Why would I not?”
“You are a gentlewoman. You should be able to live as a gentlewoman. It is wrong that—”
“None of that nonsense about how you killed my husband and robbed me of support. I would have found myself forced to do this, or something similar, within three months if he was still alive—only then I would be constantly frightened that he would visit someday to demand my wages and anything I saved. I do not believe I shall ever marry again. There is too much dependency, too much anxiety. One depends on the good character of their husband far too much for comfort.”
“Does not George need a father?” Darcy asked. “And Emily?”
“Need does not come into it. And as for niceness, you have convinced him that he can hold his head up high in any society by talking about how bravely his father shot and was shot. What does a child ever get from a father but bragging rights and money?”
“Affection, love. The time spent with them. I learned much of my character, and what I know of importance from my father.”
“And, as I understand it, Mr. Wickham had an excellent example both in your father, and in his own, and it availed him little.”
“There were mistakes in his education,” Darcy replied. His throat was tight.
Elizabeth shrugged, and she smiled. He could see from how her eyes looked that it was not a real smile. “So, while it is certainly not goodbye, not for a while, you have heard my plans.”
“You cannot, cannot.” Darcy said, “Mrs. Wickham, surely you do not mean to cease to live as a gentlewoman.”
“I prefer by far the work and wages of a nurse to that of a governess.”
“Your father cannot approve of this!”
“It will not be the first time that I did something which my father did not approve. And, though I look forward to seeing him again, very much, I do not always approve of him.”
“You cannot have considered this properly. A life of endless toil and drudgery would wear on you—this cannot be a well-reasoned plan.”
“An endless life of toil and drudgery? Mr. Darcy, I assure you, I have no fear of effort, difficulties, or frustrations. That is the usual lot of mankind, and I will not recoil. But, while I am deeply grateful to you for your friendship, and for your kindness, in the end, such decisions solely belong to me.”
“It is unnecessary—you can ask your friends for aid. There is nothing shameful. I can—”
“I will not take charity.” A flash of anger crossed Elizabeth’s face. “Never, never. Never.”
She glared at him.
“Then marry me.”
Elizabeth blinked at him in confusion. Emily had come back to grab Elizabeth around the legs, and she slowly picked the girl up without looking away from Darcy.
“Oh, yes,” Georgiana exclaimed with sudden glee.
“By Zeus.” Colonel Fitzwilliam pressed his hand against his face to hide a wide smile. “Cousin, I perceive that you have taken leave of your senses. Piercing arrows from childlike gods, and all.”
“No, that cannot be the case,” Elizabeth said. “But Mr. Darcy has quite clearly taken leave of his senses. Where could such a notion come from? Why—why?”
“I assure you I am serious. I do not make any joke or jest. I would not in such—”
“Heavens,” Elizabeth replied. “I know that you never joke about serious matters. And it would not be an amusing jest. What are you about? Why? Where did the notion come from?”