Chapter 11 A Lively Disposition
A Lively Disposition
Darcy awoke the next morning to an empty and strangely hushed chamber.
The muffled noises of the inn drifted up from downstairs, but his own surroundings were mired in quiescence.
It took him a moment to fathom what marked the change.
It was the want of his own clamorous breathing.
The constant throb of pain was there still, but so was air, flowing into and out of his lungs without hindrance.
With great caution, he inhaled more deeply than he had dared to in almost a week.
His chest filled, his windpipe made only the vaguest objection, and he was flooded with relief such as emboldened him to call for Elizabeth to inform her of the improvement.
His voice did not answer the summons. His throat closed around the first syllable, and all the advancement of a moment before was lost as he was returned to the agonising spasms of the previous days.
He sat up instinctively and was almost felled by pain as the movement pulled the edges of his wound taut. He put a hand to his throat and fought against rising panic. He had been breathing with ease a moment ago; he ought to be able to do so again.
The door to Elizabeth’s bedchamber opened.
She exclaimed upon seeing him and hastened to his side.
Darcy raised a hand to assure her he was well, though the rasp of his breathing did little to substantiate the claim, and she apparently mistook the gesture, taking his hand in hers instead and sitting on the edge of the bed with it clasped in her lap.
“Try to calm yourself, sir. It will pass sooner that way. Look at me”—as if he were not already—“and let us breathe in time.” Her chest rose and fell as she took slow, exaggerated breaths.
Darcy pulled his hand from hers, turned, and fumbled with the water ewer. Elizabeth had many talents, but slowing his breathing was not among them.
“Allow me.” She reached across him to pour some water, his airways filled with the scent of whatever she had used to wash her hair, their fingers brushed as he took the glass from her—none of which was even remotely calming.
He took a sip, then another and another before letting out a long sigh and allowing his shoulders to relax.
“What happened?” Elizabeth enquired.
With a wry grimace, he lifted his hand next to his mouth and made a gesture akin to a bird’s beak opening and closing.
“You spoke?”
He made an unequivocal cutting gesture with both hands to indicate his total failure to do anything of the sort.
“You are still unable to?”
Her crestfallen expression stirred an unexpected swell of self-pity in Darcy for which he did not care at all.
“Excuse me,” he mouthed as he tugged the bedclothes aside, unduly angry, yet sick of Elizabeth being witness to his unabating infirmity.
She stood from the bed but, to his consternation, rather than moving out of his way, held out both hands to help him to his feet.
Her solicitude had quite the opposite effect to that which he knew she intended, for it made him feel such an invalid that he snarled in disgust—a discourtesy he regretted deeply when her countenance showed first surprise and then hardened into something altogether less forgiving.
“Pardon me, Mr Darcy. I was not aware you were recovered enough to stand unassisted.” She stepped back and indicated his clear path from the bed with a sweeping wave of her arm.
Darcy was caught by the steely flash in her eyes. He had never known a woman who suited angry sarcasm so well, and he wondered whether she were aware of the endearing little crease that formed at the bridge of her nose when she scowled.
Her expression grew stormier still. “You are diverted now? Truly, you are the most contrary man I have ever known!”
Ordinarily, Darcy would have ceased smiling immediately, for he was not used to his expression being under such poor regulation, but he found he did not wish it. Instead, he smiled more broadly and mouthed a rather insincere, “Pardon me.”
Elizabeth looked intently at his lips but did not seem to comprehend.
“Sorry,” he attempted instead, thinking it might be easier to lip read, but she continued to study his mouth, her expression indecipherable.
He could not immediately think of an alternative means of apology so said nothing more, but she did not look away, and therefore neither could he.
He noticed, therefore, the small frown flickering about her eyes.
He saw when her lips parted ever so slightly as though she had forgotten what she meant to say.
He beheld the very slight shift in colour as her eyes darkened.
The longer she stared at him, the faster his heart raced.
Elizabeth took a sudden intake of breath. “You must be desirous of some privacy. Pray, excuse me.”
Darcy watched her go—and after the door closed behind her, he watched that for a long while also, his heart now hammering violently.
All his struggles to conquer his feelings had been for naught; he knew in that moment his fate was sealed.
Duty be damned! It was inconceivable that he not have her by his side to look at him in that manner every day.
Breathing erratically and grinning like a fool, he dragged himself, lightheaded but euphoric, into the nearest chair to await her return.
When she bustled back into the room some time later, it was clear she had been out of doors. Her skirts were wet, and her cheeks flushed prettily with cold.
“Is the snow melting then?”
“Pardon?” she replied distractedly. It was no surprise she had not comprehended him, for she looked away before he finished mouthing the words. He leant gingerly across the table for some paper, reaching it with his fingertips and sliding it towards him to write,
Has the snow begun to melt?
She glanced at the note sidelong. “Oh—no, not at all, I am sorry to say.”
Darcy hoped this discovery was not borne of another attempt to walk the unknown route to the village.
Yet you walked out anyway?
She had busied herself emptying her arms of the things she had brought up from downstairs, and Darcy was forced to hold the note out towards her before she would read it.
She looked at him sharply afterwards, but then her countenance relaxed into a wry grin.
“I wished for some air and exercise.” She shrugged. “I got the air—just not the exercise.”
“I envy you even that.”
“I imagine you are sick of these four walls. Are you warm enough for me to open a window?” Without waiting for him to answer, she walked to do just that.
Delighted at the prospect of some fresh air, Darcy planted his hands on the arms of the chair and steeled himself to stand up.
“What are you doing?” Elizabeth cried.
“Coming to the window,” he mouthed, taken aback by her urgent tone.
“For heaven’s sake, you have barely regained the strength to sit in a chair. You cannot possibly mean to walk over here unaided and stand by the window. You can breathe the air just as well from where you are.”
He could not help but laugh, no matter that it made no sound and caused him to cough painfully.
“And what, pray tell, amuses you so about that?” she enquired.
Still wheezing, Darcy sank back into the chair and wrote his reply.
You look just like your sister when you are vexed.
Elizabeth returned to his side and leant over him slightly to read it. “Jane?”
He looked up at her, delighting in her closeness and finally feeling at liberty to enjoy it. “Miss Lydia.”
She regarded him strangely, her mouth almost smiling but for the frown of puzzlement that pulled at her brow. “You have a singular talent for insulting people without seeming to, Mr Darcy. I cannot decide whether it is by design or by accident that you continually give offence.”
Surprised and a little offended, he hastily returned pen to paper.
You cannot really think I meant to insult you?
“After your recent appraisal of Lydia’s behaviour, you cannot expect me to believe you drew the comparison in order to compliment me.”
She was right: he had been amused precisely because she had appeared less restrained than usual.
Whereas her sister’s ungoverned behaviour was highly objectionable, the thought of Elizabeth being a little wild pleased him very well indeed.
But then, a man rarely desires the same conduct in a sister as he does in his wife.
He held her gaze, smiled slightly, and mouthed, “But I did.” When she scoffed, he wrote,
High spirits become you.
She turned a familiar expression on him, the glint in her eye promising some mischief or other.
“You once told me your feelings were not puffed about with every attempt to move them, but it seems to me they change depending on whatever suits you best at the time. You have now censured my mother and younger sisters for their high spirits, derided Jane for her want of them, and complimented me for mine. I am beginning to wonder if you are half as resolute as you wish everyone to believe.” She leant slightly towards him.
“I think you rather enjoy liveliness but are too afraid to admit it.”
He enjoyed hers. A good deal.
In the right place, at the right time, liveliness can be very agreeable.
“Exactly as I thought!” she exclaimed after reading this.
“I have found you out, Mr Darcy. In spite of the pains you take to disguise yourself, you are really sick of civility and deference and long for a little of the fun you see the rest of the world having.” She grinned widely.
“’Tis well. I shall tell nobody. Especially not Miss Bingley, for she would only try to please you by being uncivil, and she is difficult enough to tolerate when she is being polite. ”
Elizabeth mentioned Caroline Bingley with notable regularity. Darcy felt a ripple of pleasure at the prospect of her being jealous of that lady’s attentions to him.