Chapter 7
Darcy tried to open his eyes, but his head hurt as if it was being squeezed in an iron trap.
He raised his hand to it and gasped; there must have been an impact.
His right temple hurt too — almost like a small and painful burn.
Strangely, the pain had increased overnight instead of diminishing, and the suffocating warmth could only mean he had a fever. So he had likely caught a cold too.
Or perhaps, he mused with his eyes still closed, the fever was from the image of Elizabeth standing beside his bed, dressed only in a night gown and robe, which had fallen freely around her alluring figure, her long hair loose over her shoulders, her worried countenance, her sweet teasing and enchanting smile.
She had come to bring him soup and medicine.
He had eaten it all — for her. She had seemed concerned for him. She had seemed to actually care.
Since he had no intention of pursuing a relationship with Elizabeth, he had never pondered thoroughly what her feelings for him were.
She must have been upset by his offensive remark at the assembly.
Since then, he had been in her company often enough to be completely enchanted by her but insufficiently enough to know her feelings.
Her manners were natural and charming, her wit sparkled as much as her pretty eyes, and she enjoyed teasing — probably another trait inherited from her father.
When he had spoken to Mr Bennet, the man had assumed Darcy disliked Elizabeth as much as she disliked him.
Till that moment, Darcy had never considered Elizabeth’s opinion of him might be unfavourable.
Her dislike made him feel uncomfortable, but in the end, it served his purpose; he did not want to leave her behind feeling hurt and disappointed.
Since she had left Netherfield after staying a few days, they had not spoken again except for polite greetings.
He had purposely avoided her because he was frightened by the attraction that made him lose control.
He wished for her more than he had ever wished for anything, yet he had denied himself the chance to even consider another outcome but separation from her.
And now he was bound to her by gratitude.
He refused to consider living his life with her — as wonderful as such a dream might sound — but he would have not lived at all if she had not happened upon him.
He had also blamed Elizabeth for her family, including for her mother’s situation in life and her outrageous manners.
As if in revenge for his vanity, fate had given Mrs Bennet a critical part in his rescue.
He had not been fully conscious, but he had recognised that the matron had sat with him, on the cold ground, in the rain, and held his head in her lap until help arrived.
She had probably done it because he was a friend of Bingley’s — whom she hoped to entrap as her son-in-law.
But regardless, he owed her his gratitude.
What perturbed him the most was Wickham’s presence after the accident. Darcy was unaware how long after his fall Wickham had appeared, but he remembered his words.
“So, you are here, after all, Darcy. You refused to talk to me, and yet you can do nothing to avoid me. There is no greater pleasure than seeing you lying at my feet.”
Those words, that laugh, were enough proof for Darcy to assume the worst. How Wickham had come to be there was a mystery, but undoubtedly the scoundrel had no intention of helping him.
In truth, Darcy’s death would be the perfect revenge for Wickham, and a fatal accident was probably what the man prayed for.
Darcy’s presence had become a threat to Wickham’s latest schemes within the regiment, and the exposure of his true character would have ended his new career before it had begun.
Obviously, the scoundrel had no intention of changing his behaviour and making amends for his past errors; he only wished to conceal the past so he could continue his dishonourable conduct in the present and future.
Darcy shivered, imagining that Wickham could have actually done something to push him towards such an ending.
Fortunately, Darcy had been blessed by the appearance of the Bennet ladies.
Pure luck, a twist of fate, or whatever it was, had saved his life.
And apparently, from what she had implied the previous night, Elizabeth and her mother and sisters — who were all on friendly terms with Wickham — had seen the officer.
Had they spoken to him? Had he said anything?
Had he just walked away? But how would he justify such actions?
The situation was disturbingly complicated, and there were many elements missing for a thorough understanding.
And the terrible headache was certainly not helpful.
“Mr Darcy?”
He finally opened his eyes to see the apothecary leaning over him.
“Are you in pain, sir? May I examine you? You certainly have a fever. I have asked for some tea and more medicine.”
“My head hurts a little, but it is nothing to worry about. As for the fever, I am sure it is nothing but a trifling cold.”
“I would suggest more prudence, Mr Darcy, as it is a serious matter. As I feared, many bruises have appeared on your chest and on your right leg, which might indicate deeper injuries. And the fever might increase and affect your lungs. What worries me the most is the swelling on the top of your head. Most likely you hit a branch.”
“If you intended to frighten me, Mr Jones, you have surely succeeded,” Darcy replied. “I promise to follow your advice. I do not wish to worsen my condition with disobedience.”
A knock on the door interrupted them, and Bingley entered. Behind him, Darcy was surprised and thrilled to see Elizabeth with another tray.
“Good morning, Darcy! You look better than I expected. How are you feeling?”
“I feel like I was thrown from my horse,” he replied, and Bingley laughed. “Good morning, Miss Bennet,” he added.
“Good morning, sir. I only came to bring your medicine and tea, as Hill is a little busy this morning.”
“Thank you. That is very kind of you. But you should not have inconvenienced yourself — Stevens could have fetched it.” He paused as he noticed a trace of discomfort on her face. Could she have taken his words as disapproval of her actions?
“Please know that I am grateful for your care and your presence, Miss Elizabeth. I just do not wish to burden you even more.”
“I am glad to help, sir,” Elizabeth replied while Stevens took the tray from her.
“You should know that I took all the medicine you brought last night — as promised,” Darcy continued, and the smile returned to Elizabeth’s eyes.
“There is nothing more pleasant than a gentleman keeping his promises,” she said in a teasing tone.
“So, Mr Jones, can we move Darcy to Netherfield today?” Bingley enquired. “The house is much larger, the servants more numerous, and it would be more comfortable for everyone.”
“I cannot approve such a movement, Mr Bingley. I would recommend waiting for Mr Darcy’s doctor to make any further decisions in regard to his health.”
“My doctor?” Darcy asked, dumbfounded. “Whom do you mean?”
“I asked for your doctor to come, Darcy,” Bingley explained. “Your injuries seemed severe yesterday, and we feared for your life. Mr Jones suggested that his own knowledge was limited and that you needed someone with more experience. Did I not mention it last night? I thought I did.”
“You did not mention it, Bingley. Nobody did. You wrote to Dr Bates?”
“No…I did not know his address, so I wrote to Miss Darcy that you had suffered an accident and required your physician.”
A sharp claw gripped Darcy’s head and chest, and he struggled to breathe.
“You wrote to Georgiana? Have you lost your mind? How dare you?” The sudden movement of his body as he tried to sit up increased the pain so much that he moaned, and rage rushed through him.
“Yes…of course…I do not understand… What else could I have done?”
Bingley’s stupefied expression and the apothecary’s stunned countenance were not enough for him to control his outburst, but Elizabeth’s eyes, widened in disbelief, her frown of amazement, and her suddenly pale cheeks were. He took a deep breath, while Bingley seemed unable to find his words.
“Mr Darcy, if our decision was incorrect, I take full responsibility,” Mr Jones interjected.
“I insisted the doctor be called. Your health was in danger, and I truly believe it still is, despite your being awake and alert. A wound to the head or the ribs can always be life-threatening. I am a simple country apothecary with limited knowledge and a few medicines.”
“All of us who feared for your life agreed with the decision, Mr Darcy,” Elizabeth interjected, her voice trembling slightly.
“I am very sorry…truly sorry…” he said, addressing Bingley and Mr Jones, then locking his gaze with Elizabeth’s for a moment.
“Your concern is greatly appreciated, and I know your actions were for my benefit. It is just that…my sister has not been well this summer. Her state is delicate, and she is still rather weak. She has a kind, sensitive heart, and the news of my accident would surely have been distressing for her. She is alone with her companion. I can only imagine her shock, her sorrow, her fear… Bingley, please bring me a piece of paper. I must write to her this instant. Stevens — you will take the letter and deliver it yourself. Please assure her that I am well and shall return to London soon.”
“I shall fetch you some paper, Mr Darcy,” Elizabeth replied and left in a hurry. Darcy had to face the stunned and confused gazes of his friend and the apothecary, while he still could not settle his heart.
Poor Georgiana. Who knew what words Bingley had used and how much panic and fright it had caused her. She had surely sent Dr Bates immediately, but her suffering while waiting for news must be torture.