CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE The First Walk
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The First Walk
Dr. Morrison permitted Darcy to put weight upon his injured leg on the second Monday in January.
Darcy treated the announcement as though Parliament had restored a confiscated estate.
“You will use both crutches,” Dr. Morrison said.
“Yes.”
“You will not attempt stairs without assistance.”
“Yes.”
“You will walk only from the chair to the door and back today.”
Darcy’s expression changed. “No.”
Dr. Morrison folded his arms.
Darcy folded his.
Elizabeth, seated by the window, looked from one man to the other.
Richard murmured, “Ten guineas on Morrison.”
Elizabeth whispered, “I do not wager on certainties.”
Darcy heard them. “I am not an invalid.”
“You are a patient with a recently united tibia and a wound that nearly killed you,” Dr. Morrison replied. “If you wish to become an invalid permanently, ignore me.”
Darcy’s jaw tightened. Elizabeth looked down at her sewing.
“Miss Elizabeth,” he said.
“No.”
“I have not asked anything.”
“You intend to enlist me against your physician.”
“I intended to ask whether you thought a turn in the corridor unreasonable.”
“I do.”
“Traitor.”
Richard laughed.
Darcy stood with assistance. The first moment of weight on the injured leg stripped all argument from him. His face went pale. Sweat appeared along his brow. Elizabeth was beside him before she thought. “Sit.”
“No.”
“Mr. Darcy.”
“One step.”
He took it. Pain sharpened his breathing, but the leg held.
Another step.
Then another. By the time he reached the drawing-room door, the whole household had somehow assembled to watch.
Lydia clapped.
Kitty cried, “He is walking!”
Mrs. Bennet burst into tears. “Oh! I knew you would. Dr. Morrison said you would, but physicians are always so cautious, and I said from the beginning you had a strong constitution.”
Mr. Bennet leaned against the doorway. “Darcy, if you can make it as far as the library, I shall consider charging you rent by the room rather than the day.”
Darcy, breathing hard, managed, “I shall consult my solicitor.”
Elizabeth smiled.
He saw it. The triumph in his face softened into something warmer.
He returned to the chair without argument.
Two weeks later he walked outside. The snow had melted from the south-facing lawn, leaving the ground wet and brown beneath a pale winter sun.
Darcy wore a heavy coat. One crutch supported his right side; Richard walked to his left.
Elizabeth accompanied them because, as she told Darcy, “Someone must prevent the Fitzwilliam cousins from turning recovery into a military contest.”
Richard looked offended. “I am the responsible one.”
Darcy snorted. They made it as far as the old elm halfway down the drive.
Darcy stopped.
Richard studied him. “Enough.”
“I can go farther.”
“You can always go farther. That is why someone must stop you.”
Darcy looked at Elizabeth. She pointed toward a bench.
He obeyed.
Richard grinned. “Remarkable.”
“What?” Elizabeth asked.
“I have ordered him about since we were boys. He never listens.”
Darcy sat. “You enjoy ordering for its own sake.”
“And Miss Elizabeth?”
Darcy looked at her. “She is generally right.”
Elizabeth’s brows rose.
Richard made a show of examining the sky. “I must remember this date.” He wandered tactfully toward the stable.
Elizabeth sat beside Darcy. For a while they watched a pair of rooks pick through the grass. Darcy flexed his gloved hand around the crutch handle. “I have missed this.”
“Walking?”
“Outside.”
“I warned you that windows were a poor substitute.”
“You warn me of many things.”
“One of my better qualities.”
“Yes.”
The easy agreement made her smile. Darcy looked down the drive. “When I leave Longbourn, I shall miss it.”
Elizabeth turned toward him. He did not look at her.
“Even breakfast?” she asked.
“Especially breakfast.”
“Now I know your mind has not fully recovered.”
“I have become accustomed to knowing Lydia’s opinion of every officer before nine o’clock.”
“She has fewer opinions now.”
“Better opinions.”
Elizabeth’s smile faded slightly. “She has grown.”
“So have we all.”
She looked at him.
Darcy’s face was serious.
“You included yourself,” she said.
“Yes.”
“What have you learned?”
He considered. “That observation is not the same as understanding. That being embarrassed by a person does not mean the person has no virtues. That reserve can be as rude as noise when used without consideration.”
Elizabeth listened without teasing.
He continued, “That your mother’s concern for marriages is partly fear. Longbourn is entailed. She has five daughters and no power to secure the estate for them.”
Elizabeth’s throat tightened.
“I knew that,” Darcy said. “I did not understand it.”
“That is a distinction you have become fond of.”
“A useful one.”
“Yes.” He looked at her then. “And I have learned that you are less certain than you pretend.”
Elizabeth blinked. “Indeed?”
“You are confident in argument. Not always in judgment.”
She stiffened.
Darcy saw it and did not retreat. “You asked for honesty.”
“I did.”
“You were wrong about Wickham. You admitted it. You were also wrong about me in some particulars.”
“Some?”
“Some.”
She gave him a narrow look.
He almost smiled. “And I was wrong about you,” he said. “I thought your impertinence merely entertaining. I did not understand how often you use it to protect people—including yourself.”
Elizabeth went quiet. The winter air seemed very clear. “Do you dislike that?” she asked.
“No.”
“Do you wish me to stop?”
“Never.”
The answer came so swiftly that she laughed.
Darcy smiled. They sat shoulder to shoulder beneath the bare elm while the sun broke weakly through the clouds. For the first time, Elizabeth thought of the day when he would leave Longbourn and felt no relief at all.