Chapter 3
Three
Elizabeth awoke in a darkened room. For several moments she lay still, blinking against the gloom, the heaviness in her limbs a reminder of laudanum’s lingering embrace. Her head ached, and her mouth was dry.
Gradually, she recalled the events of the morning, ending with a hazy recollection of a maid leading them up a wide staircase, her arm draped over her sister’s shoulders for support.
Then, Jane’s gentle voice murmuring something reassuring as she tucked her into bed before slipping soundlessly from the room.
Her eyes slowly adjusted to the dim light, and she looked about, taking everything in.
The chamber was large and handsomely appointed, though its style spoke more of splendour than of true elegance.
The walls were adorned with ornate gilt mouldings and papered in a faded green damask, once fashionable but which now bore the slight yellowing of age.
A vast walnut wardrobe stood sentinel near the hearth, and the counterpane was stiff with gold embroidery beneath her fingers.
She turned her gaze towards the mantel, where a brass clock ticked softly. The hour—half past seven, if her bleary vision could be trusted—told her that dinner had no doubt already concluded.
She had just managed to sit up against the pillows when a light tapping sounded at the door.
Before she could answer, it swung open, and Jane entered, relief evident in her expression as she hurried to her sister’s side.
“Oh, Lizzy, you are awake! How do you feel?”
Elizabeth responded with a weak smile. “Rather tired,” she admitted. “And my head still aches, though not so fiercely as before.”
“I am glad,” Jane replied, settling onto the edge of the bed.
“I had not expected to see you again today,” Elizabeth offered, her thoughts still somewhat muddled. “You remained at Rosings?”
“Lady Catherine invited us to dine. We have only just finished.” Jane reached for Elizabeth’s hand. “You must be famished. I shall ask to have a tray sent up, and then we can have a nice chat.”
Elizabeth awoke early the following day, the faint glow of morning light seeping through the edges of the drawn curtains.
For a moment she lay still, disoriented by the unfamiliar bed and the dull pain lingering at her temples.
But then recollection gradually came—the simple dinner on a tray, Jane sitting by her side, and the heavy silence that had stretched between them.
Her sister had remained with her while she ate the meal that had been sent up—a bowl of clear broth, a small wedge of cheese, and a few thin slices of cold meat arranged beside a roll that had already begun to go stale.
Jane had spoken soothingly, as though addressing someone convalescing from illness, but their conversation never strayed beyond the safe confines of the ordinary.
They talked of the weather, the lengthening days, and the progress of spring in the surrounding countryside.
Of the confusion that still clouded Elizabeth’s thoughts, nothing was mentioned.
When at last her sister had taken her leave, Elizabeth had lain awake long into the night, her mind restless with half-formed questions and fractured memories. Eventually she had succumbed to a fitful slumber but had awoken again at dawn, no more rested and no closer to understanding.
Her head, at least, felt somewhat improved. But the strange muddling of her recollections remained, like a veil she could not lift.
Rising with determination, she shed her night shift and dressed in the fresh muslin gown Jane had left her the evening before. The chamber was still cool and her movements brisk. She crossed to the window and pulled back the heavy curtains.
Sunlight spilled into the room, illuminating the antiquated furnishings with a warm, forgiving light. The sky was a bright, clear blue.
She would go into the garden. Perhaps the fresh air would help to clear her mind.
The gravel crunched faintly beneath Elizabeth’s half-boots as she stepped through the gates that led to Rosings Park’s formal gardens.
She had hoped that sleep would restore her to herself, but the night’s rest had brought no such clarity.
If anything, the world felt more out of kilter now than it had the day before.
Once again, Elizabeth pressed a hand to her brow.
If the accident had merely stolen her memories, leaving blank spaces in their place, she might have been able to bear it with some equanimity.
But it was so much worse than that. It was as though someone had taken the life she remembered and rewritten it while she slept.
Every memory she held seemed suspect now.
How could she trust the evidence of her own mind when the world around her no longer appeared to match the truths she had once held as irrefutable?
Jane, married to Mr Collins? It defied sense! Jane loved Mr Bingley. And even if her sister believed that gentleman’s affections lost forever, Elizabeth would never have stood by and allowed her to marry a man as foolish and insufferable as their cousin. Of that much she was certain.
She gave a small shake of her head, as if motion might banish the fog that lingered there. The gardens unfolded just as she recalled, yet nothing felt the same.
As she came round a bend in the path, a sudden movement drew her up short.
There, not twenty paces ahead, stood Mr Darcy.
Her breath hitched. He was facing away from her, walking with his head bent and hands clasped loosely behind his back, but just as she began to retreat, intending to move in another direction, he turned and spotted her.
His posture altered immediately. “Miss Bennet!” he called, swiftly closing the space between them. When he reached her, he bowed politely before saying, “I gather you must be feeling better. Though I confess, I did not expect to see you abroad so soon after your ordeal.”
Blood rose to Elizabeth’s face. “I thought perhaps a breath of air might do me good,” she said, her tone unsteady.
Mr Darcy inclined his head. “May I accompany you on your walk? I should feel easier knowing you are not alone, should you feel faint or otherwise unwell.”
Taken by surprise and uncertain how to refuse without giving offence, Elizabeth responded with a slight nod. “If you wish.”
They fell into step, proceeding along the winding path. A breeze stirred the trees overhead, and Elizabeth stared idly at the surrounding countryside, keenly aware of the gentleman by her side.
At length, Mr Darcy cleared his throat. “I am glad we have a moment to speak before you return to the parsonage. I wanted to inform you that I went back to the place where I found you yesterday, near the great oak, in hopes of recovering the necklace you spoke of. I searched the area thoroughly, but I regret to say I could not find it.”
Elizabeth turned to look at him. “Thank you,” she said, and after a brief pause, added, “That was very kind.”
Mr Darcy gave a faint smile, and Elizabeth hesitated, before forcing herself to press on. “And…the letter? You did not happen to find that when you went looking?”
Mr Darcy regarded her with a serious expression. “No, I am afraid not.”
Elizabeth looked away, her lips tightening as disappointment settled in her chest.
“I am sorry,” he said gently. “I hope… That is, was the letter of a personal nature?”
Once again, her gaze found his, one brow carefully arched. “I should not know,” she answered coolly. “I never had the chance to read it.”
Mr Darcy appeared puzzled. “I see. So, this was a letter you had only recently received?”
Elizabeth stopped walking, turning to look at the gentleman beside her with mild consternation.
“Come now, Mr Darcy. Surely you must know I am referring to your letter. The one you gave me in the grove, not ten minutes before I was struck down.”
To her astonishment, a flush rose swiftly to his countenance, though when he answered, his tone was as formal as it was bewildered.
“Forgive me, madam, but I do not have the pleasure of understanding you. I have never written you a letter.”
A strange sensation prickled along her neck. “What are you…” She swallowed. “Are you saying that you did not seek me out in the grove yesterday morning with the express intention of putting a letter into my hands?”
“Most certainly not,” he replied at once. “The first moment I saw you yesterday was when I came upon you beside that fallen tree branch. I carried you back to the house immediately.”
Elizabeth could only stare, her heart thudding painfully in her chest.
“And the previous evening?” she managed, the words barely above a whisper. “Are you saying you did not call upon me at the parsonage?”
Mr Darcy looked genuinely startled as he answered slowly, “There would have been no cause for me to call upon you, Miss Bennet. The night before last, you and the rest of your party were at Rosings, dining with my aunt.”
Once again, a chill rippled up Elizabeth’s spine. She blinked back at him, scarcely able to comprehend the world as it now stood.
“Then—you have never…that is, have you at any time professed an…affection for me?”
Mr Darcy’s brows pulled together, his expression touched with confusion rather than offence. He hesitated a moment before replying, his voice lower than it had been before. “No… I have never made such a proclamation.”
“I see,” she murmured, as her cheeks burned. “Forgive me. I should not have… If you will excuse me, I am afraid I am not feeling very well after all.”
Without waiting for a reply, she quickly turned and hastened away, her vision obscured by the sting of unshed tears.