Chapter Thirty-three - A Desperate Man

Her eyes widened in shock and terror as Wickham swiftly closed the distance between them, grabbing her by one arm and dragging her out of Darcy's reach. She found herself roughly spun around so that her back was against Wickham's chest, pinned there by a viselike grip as one of his arms pressed against her throat. The other still held the pistol, cocked and ready to fire, pressed firmly against her temple.

"Calm yourself, Darcy," said Wickham, a chuckle in his voice. "If you come closer, you might not like the consequences. These things are notorious for going off unexpectedly."

Darcy froze, horrified. "You wouldn't dare..." he said, menace in every syllable.

"On the contrary, old friend. I would dare a great deal; so you can stop thinking of heroic strategies right now." For a moment the pressure on Elizabeth's temple increased; she cried out involuntarily, but was wise enough not to struggle. The rage on Darcy's face was unmistakable, his fists clenched in frustration at his helplessness. Elizabeth's eyes pleaded with him to keep still; as frightened as she was, she did not want the pistol pointed at Darcy.

"What do you want, Wickham?" Darcy forced himself to speak.

"Well, it seems my military career is at an end, due to certain false rumours circulated about me. I had a notion you might know who was responsible - or does Miss Bennet have any ideas?"

To her surprise, the initial panic she had first felt was passing, and Elizabeth found herself able to think clearly again. "I am sorry, Mr. Wickham," she said, a tremor entering her voice despite her best efforts. "I have not the smallest clue who would have done such a thing."

He laughed, and his arm tightened, nearly choking her. "Well the list of possibilities is not so large, is it, Miss Bennet? Those in possession of certain so-called "facts" cannot be many - and I believe Darcy told you much whilst at Rosings."

"Not so much, sir," Elizabeth managed to reply, her voice hoarse. "And in any case, I always believe in giving people a second chance. Any unfavourable reports you heard did not come from me."

Wickham gave a bitter smile. "It is all one to me, in any case. But it seems my luck has turned. You have given me the perfect leverage, Miss Bennet - for I believe our hero will give me anything I ask before he will risk your life - am I not right, Darcy?"

Darcy glared at him, but had no choice in his response. "Yes. Make your demands, then let her go! I will give you whatever is in my power to grant. You have my word."

"Indeed," smiled Wickham. He must have felt some relief at Darcy's declaration, or else was lulled by Elizabeth's lack of fight; the arm holding her loosened slightly, and the pistol left her to point at Darcy. "I find it best if I travel, perhaps to America. I will require the means to live comfortably there; perhaps you would be so good as to use your influence to secure me a good position - in government, maybe."

"You shall have it," said Darcy grimly. He looked at Elizabeth, concerned, and was surprised to see no fear in her eyes; only resolution. There will not be a better opportunity to try something impulsive and imprudent, she thought to herself. She gave Darcy the smallest of smiles. He frowned at her, trying to warn her to do nothing foolish.

"Or I may prefer the life of a landowner," Wickham continued. "I am sure you could purchase me - Aaarrgh!" His recitation was transformed into a howl of pain; Elizabeth had lowered her head and bitten his hand as hard as she could. He tried to pull away from her, whereupon she kicked him solidly in the shins. Wickham was in disarray; Darcy sprang. In his terror Wickham discharged the pistol wildly, missing Darcy, who knocked Wickham staggering backwards, then seized his collar and struck him with all his might. The would-be blackmailer lay groaning on the ground, bleeding. Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner came running frantically; they had been following the lovers at a discreet distance, too curious to stay away. Wickham's scream and the pistol-shot had alerted them; they had not had to come far.

Darcy bent and hauled Wickham to his feet, so that he could hit him again, which he did with great satisfaction. This time Wickham lay stunned, barely moving; Darcy cradled his right hand, which felt broken.

"Lizzy!" screamed Mrs. Gardiner. Something in her tone sent a cold fist clutching at Darcy's heart. He turned to see Elizabeth lying crumpled, still as death, behind him on the grass; there was blood all down her face, and pooling beneath her head. For a moment he thought the earth had stopped; he could hear nothing, understand nothing, could not move. Mrs. Gardiner threw herself to her knees beside her niece, distraught.

"Oh my God, Lizzy!"

Mr. Gardiner arrived, out of breath. "Don't move her, Madeline! Let me see."

"She breathes! Oh thank God," cried Mrs. Gardiner, who had been watching closely for signs of life. "Edward, can you see how bad it is?"

"No," said Mr. Gardiner, pale with shock. "There is too much blood. Mr. Darcy, have you a handkerchief?"

But Darcy could not respond, so deeply in distress was he. The Gardiners exchanged a quick glance, and Mrs. Gardiner rose, taking Darcy's limp hand.

"Mr. Darcy," she said, her tone low and calm, "You must go and fetch your servants at once, and call for the doctor. Go swiftly, sir, for Lizzy's life depends on it."

His breathing ragged, Darcy looked down on Elizabeth's aunt as though seeing her for the first time; he nodded, and with a last despairing glance at Elizabeth's still form, left them at a run.

Mr. Gardiner, meanwhile, practically tore off his cravat in his haste to remove it. He pressed it to Elizabeth's forehead, trying to stem the flow.

Three hours later, Darcy was pacing outside his rooms at Pemberley. He had insisted that Elizabeth be given his own suite, which boasted comforts that some of the guestrooms did not. The Gardiners had accepted his invitation to stay at Pemberley for as long as need be; Mr. Gardiner and two maids were currently assisting the doctor inside. Darcy's hand had swollen, but he was grateful for the pain. There was a terrible sensation in his chest, as though his heart had broken open, or something had torn inside him; any distraction was welcome.

Mrs. Gardiner entered the sitting room, carrying a tray with the makings of tea. She regarded Darcy worriedly. He was taking it all very badly indeed, and no wonder, she supposed. If the scene she and Mr. Gardiner had inadvertently disturbed earlier was any indication, her niece would soon have had some very happy news to impart to her family. Or perhaps an understanding had already been reached? Darcy had not said anything - but then, he had not been able to discuss Elizabeth at all since the dreadful accident. Only the sketchiest details of the incident were known, though the general import of it had been plain for anyone to see. Thank goodness, that fiend Wickham was now in custody and suffering. Darcy had broken his nose and jaw; it would be some time before Mr. Wickham would be able to charm anyone again. His hand, also, had been quite badly injured by a deep bite. Well, Mrs. Gardiner reflected with a sigh, Mr. Darcy was a dangerous fellow when roused. And an utterly miserable fellow at present.

"Mr. Darcy," she addressed him compassionately. "Come and sit down. You must have some tea; it will do you good."

Darcy looked over at her. His face was pale, his hair unkempt. "I cannot, madam. I...forgive me."

"Come, sir. You cannot help Lizzy by punishing yourself," she assured him earnestly. "Do you really think she would wish to see you like this?"

"Who else will punish me, if not myself?" he muttered hoarsely. "It was my fault; all my fault."

Mrs. Gardiner said nothing more; but with a determined glance, she stood up and approached the unhappy man. She seized his good hand and pulled him gently to the sofa; he could not resist without being rude, and had to follow her. She seated him firmly, then sat next to him, facing his way.

"Mr. Darcy, I cannot pretend to know you well," Mrs. Gardiner began, "But I believe that I know you well enough to say this: that whatever George Wickham may have done, whatever he may have said, you drove him to nothing. His behaviour is his own decision and his own problem. Do not fault yourself over the actions of a most worthless young man!"

Darcy shook his head. "I should have moved faster; I should have seen it coming."

Mrs. Gardiner rolled her eyes. "That is hardly helpful, or even honest, Mr. Darcy," she admonished him lightly. "You do not mean it. Now, I know this will be unpleasant, but I believe the time has come to tell me all that happened."

Darcy rubbed his face, distressed. "I cannot stop thinking about it."

"If you speak of it, it will help you control your thoughts," she assured him earnestly. "Indeed, you are giving me as much worry as Lizzy is. My husband and I believe we may consider you as almost a member of the family now, Mr. Darcy. You need to speak of it - tell me how it happened."

Darcy's bloodshot eyes met Mrs. Gardiner's. Her eyes were dark, shining with friendship and compassion. Something welled up from inside him, seizing his throat in a vice so that he could barely breathe. He felt the muscles of his face begin spasming; a tear leaked from one eye, and abruptly a raw sob tore from his chest. The tears flowed freely as Darcy hid his face in his hands and wept as though his heart would break, while Mrs. Gardiner spoke soothing words and stroked his convulsing shoulders.

Half an hour later, an exhausted Mr. Gardiner opened the door leading to Darcy's dressing room and stepped out. Mr. Darcy and Mrs. Gardiner were sitting together on the lounge, talking quietly; they both looked up anxiously as they heard the door open.

"Edward!" said Mrs. Gardiner, surging to her feet. "What news? Is she all right?" She inspected her husband's pale face apprehensively.

"The news is both good and bad," said Mr. Gardiner, taking his wife's hands and pressing them between his own. "The good news is, the shot only grazed her skull; it did not enter. The wound is a nasty one, but it should heal, as long as infection can be prevented."

Darcy let out a ragged sigh; he had been holding his breath, quite unconsciously. "But what of the other news, sir. Tell us all you can."

Mr. Gardiner looked gravely at Darcy, and said, "The bad news is that she is still not conscious. Dr. Maxwell fears that the blow she received has caused some internal damage, though it is impossible to ascertain how much. He knows of cases where such patients have awakened quite naturally in a day or two, as though they had been sleeping - and also cases where the poor things never woke again. We can only wait, and let time reveal the will of God."

Darcy looked stricken; Mrs. Gardiner hastily spoke to reassure him. "Lizzy is a strong young woman, Mr. Darcy, and very strong-minded. I have every confidence that if survival is possible, she will survive - has she not everything to live for?"

Slowly, Darcy nodded. "Yes. Yes, you are right, Mrs. Gardiner. Thank you." He gave her a heartfelt look, communicating his gratitude concerning other things as well; she acknowledged this with a graceful nod, and a warm smile.

At that moment Dr. Maxwell entered the room, carrying his black bag. He was an old family friend, having known Darcy's parents well, and was an experienced and able practitioner. He looked around at them all, a faint smile on his lips. "Well, Mr. Darcy, Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner: your young lady has had a miraculous escape."

"Indeed, sir," said Mrs. Gardiner. "My husband was just saying how close it was. We cannot thank you enough - please sit with us, and have some tea."

"I can't deny that would hit the spot - but only briefly, I'm afraid - your hand needs some attention, I believe, Mr. Darcy."

"It can wait," said Darcy, gesturing the elderly doctor to a chair. Fresh tea was called for, and the Gardiners seated themselves.

"It was a glancing wound, I understand," said Darcy to Dr. Maxwell, determined to know every detail.

"Yes; but I must tell you it is a bit more serious than a graze. The bullet struck at a shallow angle, you know, but a bit of the bone was actually damaged. There could be some fracturing. She should be kept completely still for at least a fortnight; in a way, this unconsciousness is a blessing, as sleep is one of the best healing agents I know of."

"Will there be a full recovery, then?" said Darcy.

"I believe so," smiled the kindly physician. "I cannot pretend there is no risk, for there is much we do not understand where head injuries are concerned. But Miss Bennet seems exceptionally fit and healthy, and Mr. Gardiner assures me she has a strong will and a great deal of determination. In my opinion, she has every good chance of a complete return to normal. She will sport an impressive scar, mind you; it is difficult to stitch such injuries."

The tea arrived, and the doctor accepted his cup gratefully. He took a few sips, then continued. "I have instructed the servants in how best to care for her, and I will be by every day to check up on her condition. As long as an infection can be avoided, it is a hopeful case."

"You reassure us greatly," smiled Mrs. Gardiner. "We are most appreciative of your efforts, sir."

"Think nothing of it," said Dr. Maxwell. "To be honest, this sort of excitement is usually unwelcome, in my profession. But the prospect of a happy outcome makes the challenge both worthwhile and rewarding. When I am finished here, I must go and attend to the scoundrel responsible for this dreadful mishap - I do not think I will be so gentle with him." He looked at Darcy from under his bushy eyebrows, and chuckled. "I believe you were responsible for his capture, Mr. Darcy."

"In a manner of speaking," Darcy allowed. "I confess I lost my temper with him, and was more than a little ungentle myself. But were it not for Miss Bennet's bravery, it all might have ended even more sadly."

"How so, Mr. Darcy?" said Mr. Gardiner curiously, for he had not heard the full tale. The doctor echoed his sentiments.

Darcy took a deep breath. "Wickham came upon us at a most inopportune moment - I was in the middle of a marriage proposal."

"Oho!" said Dr. Maxwell, who had known Darcy since boyhood. He offered an aside to Mrs. Gardiner: "Then I must take extra care of our patient."

Darcy glanced at him, and continued. "He seized Miss Bennet and threatened her with the pistol - I had no opportunity to intervene while her life was in such direct peril. But she pretended not to resist him, and as he made his demands of me his attention wavered. To my horror, she immediately took matters into her own hands, and...um...well, to be honest, she bit him and caused him a good deal of pain. Thus distracted, he had no defence against an attack from myself. He got off a lucky shot - I am convinced he was not aiming for her. It was purely evil fortune that she happened to be in the way." His voice had become strained, and his eyes moist as he recited the afternoon's events for a second time. But Mrs. Gardiner had been right - it was getting easier to speak of it without becoming lost in the memory of it.

"My goodness me," said Dr. Maxwell appreciatively. "I never heard of such a thing! Your niece is braver than most men I know!" He looked at the Gardiners, amazed.

"She has more courage than I, of that I am certain," said Darcy quietly, his gaze inward. "She had no thought for her own safety - only for mine."

"Come, Mr. Darcy, let me see that fist of yours," said Dr. Maxwell warmly. "I will not shake your hand yet, for fear of tempting fate; but I may say, sir, that I will do everything within my power to secure your young lady's recovery. If you have the slightest doubt, you must call for me." He opened his bag and began rummaging.

Chapter Thirty-Four - Other Guests

It was decided that Mr. Gardiner would leave for Longbourn on the morrow, as early as may be, to inform the family in person of Elizabeth’s plight. An invitation to Pemberley was of course to be extended to them all for as long as necessary; it mould make for a most interesting party, as Darcy was very shortly expecting the Hursts, Mr. Bingley and his sister, and Darcy’s own sister Georgiana to join him in Derbyshire – and he had no way of contacting them to delay their visit, as he knew not where they were. Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley were great tourists of boutiques, and would insist on stops in every major town to be sure they missed nothing. In the meantime, nothing would satisfy Darcy but to spend as much time as possible watching over Elizabeth, in case she should wake. He sat with her for several hours in the evening, until Mrs. Gardiner coaxed him away.

“I will stay with her,” she said. “My husband is resting, but I cannot sleep in any case. I will call you the instant there is a change. You need to rest, Mr. Darcy – you are injured yourself, and have had a most upsetting day.”

“You are all kindness, madam,” said he with a weary bow of respect. “If I may say so, Elizabeth is most fortunate to have such family as yourself and your husband. I am afraid I cannot boast the same. I am very glad you are here, and I hope you will stay another time, when circumstances are happier.”

“Perhaps I will be visiting the two of you,” said Mrs. Gardiner with a smile.

“I hope so,” said Darcy warmly; and he quit the room, exhausted in body and spirit.

Mrs. Gardiner looked at her niece’s still form, and frowned anxiously. Elizabeth’s head was swathed in copious bandages. Her face was white, but for dark circles beneath her eyes. Her left eye, directly under the wound, was swollen and discoloured. Her breathing was shallow, and her hands lay peacefully on her breast. Mrs. Gardiner felt the sting of tears, and adjusted the covers around her favourite young relative. Taking one of Elizabeth’s hands gently in her own, she prepared to wait out the long night.

In the morning they bid farewell to Mr. Gardiner, who promised to travel quickly and safely. Mrs. Gardiner was then sent to get some rest, and Mr. Darcy removed to the sickroom, formerly his bedchamber. There had been no change; the servants had been to clean her, and Dr. Maxwell had called by, gratified to find no evidence of infection.

“Do not despair, Mr. Darcy,” said the worthy doctor. “It may take some time yet. Her body has much to heal from. And how is your hand?”

“Very well, I thank you,” said Darcy gamely. In fact it pained him greatly to move it; but the doctor had successfully immobilised the most painful parts, and it was easily bearable.

That afternoon two carriages arrived, bearing the expected group from London. Georgiana was the first out, almost running inside to greet her brother, who met her on the stairs. She flew into his arms, then drew back in concern.

“But William, what have you done to your hand? And why do you look so sad?”

“Much has happened since last we met, dear one,” said Darcy, able to force a smile for the first time that day. “I have very grave news to relate, but I will wait for the others – all should hear it together, as I do not feel up to repeating it. You must be brave, Georgiana; some of it will give you pain.”

“I will try,” she said, shy and a little fearful in the face of this serious greeting, but determined to justify his trust. “The others are alighting now – Mr. Hurst has the most dreadful headache, for Miss Bingley would not stop talking.”

Darcy rolled his eyes slightly, where his sister could not see, and descended the stairs with her.

Darcy gave his guests a most civil welcome, and if it was anything lacking in warmth, most of them made no comment – except Bingley, who spoke quietly to his friend as they all made their way inside.

“I say, Darcy, what is the matter? You look like someone else has died!”

Darcy shot him a quick look, half surprised that Bingley should perceive so much. With a grim smile, he said, “You know not how close you come, Bingley. But make yourself at home; when we meet for tea directly, I shall tell you all.”

While his guests settled in, Darcy strode up the stairs to check on Elizabeth and inform Mrs. Gardiner of their arrival. Halfway down a corridor he stopped, thoughtful; and frowning, he made his way swiftly to Georgiana’s rooms. She had only just opened them, and was enjoying the prospect out of a window as Darcy knocked diffidently at her door, which was ajar.

She smiled broadly at him. “Oh, it is so good to be home. How I miss Pemberley each time I have to leave it.”

A returning smile twitched at Darcy’s mouth, but did not reach his eyes.

Georgiana’s expression darkened. “Will you not tell me what is bothering you, William? You are making me worried.”

He sighed. “Yes, I will tell you. Better, I will show you. It is best if you have some warning, I believe.”

Brother and sister walked hand in hand to Darcy’s chambers; he told her the bare bones of the story as they went. Georgiana was quite pale by the time they reached the sickroom. Any mention of Wickham still upset her; and such a tale as her brother now related was shocking in the extreme. She knew not how to react, as she could not quite bring herself to believe that anyone would do such a thing, even Wickham. But when Mrs. Gardiner opened the door and they stepped inside, all Georgiana’s disbelief was made meaningless. To see Miss Bennet lying so, when last she had seen her so full of life and energy, was highly distressing.

“Oh, Elizabeth!” she breathed shakily, her face pale.

“Any change, Mrs. Gardiner?” Darcy enquired in a low voice. Mrs. Gardiner only shook her head wordlessly. After a quick look at Elizabeth’s unmoving body, he touched Georgiana’s arm, and said, “Mrs. Gardiner, may I introduce my sister, Georgiana. Mrs. Gardiner is Miss Bennet’s aunt.”

Georgiana tore her gaze away from the bed, glad of the distraction, and forced herself to concentrate on her brother and their guest.

“I am very pleased to meet you, Mrs. Gardiner,” she said shyly, glancing at her out of soft dark eyes.

“The pleasure is mine, Miss Darcy,” said Mrs. Gardiner with a kindly smile. “Your brother speaks most highly of you.”

Georgiana blushed and smiled, warming instantly to this new acquaintance. “My brother delights in embarrassing me, Mrs. Gardiner.”

Darcy gave a soft snort. “My sister has learned something in her visits with…” Abruptly he stopped, and his face coloured. He dropped his gaze, and would not speak. Georgiana shot him a remorseful look, and reached for his good hand. “I am sorry, William,” she said earnestly, glancing at the bed. “I did not mean to remind you…”

“No, no,” he said quietly, squeezing her hand. “It is not your fault. Georgiana spent some time with us in Hertfordshire a month ago, Mrs. Gardiner. I introduced her to your niece there.”

“My brother is a very thoughtful man,” said Georgiana softly. “I am not easy in company, you see, and he was hoping that Miss Bennet’s influence…”

“I understand perfectly,” Mrs. Gardiner assured her. “With a bit of luck, you will soon have further opportunity to improve your liveliness under Elizabeth’s tutelage. Only take care that she does not lead you astray, into bad habits.” Mrs. Gardiner smiled at the anxious girl, trying to lighten her mood.

“Surely she would not!” said Georgiana earnestly.

“Miss Darcy will not be climbing trees or biting people, madam. I will see to it,” said Darcy, and his eyes glinted with humour. “You must excuse us now, Mrs. Gardiner; we cannot stay, for the guests I was expecting have arrived. Forgive our intrusion, I felt that my sister should have a little advance warning.”

“You may intrude into your own rooms whenever you please, Mr. Darcy, as you are well aware.” Mrs. Gardiner replied.

“If I could, I would not leave them at present,” said Darcy seriously. “I am most thankful that you stayed, Mrs. Gardiner. You ease my mind greatly. We will be having tea together in the drawing room shortly – I would be most pleased if you could join us – though I will understand if you prefer not to.”

“I would be happy to, sir. Let me call for a servant to watch Lizzy, and I will join you directly.”

Darcy bowed to her, gratitude in his eyes, and taking Georgiana’s arm, he moved to the door. As they left Mrs. Gardiner could hear Miss Darcy’s soft voice saying, “What did you mean, biting people?” and Mr. Darcy’s low laugh in reply. Mrs. Gardiner reflected, with a bittersweet happiness, that her niece was a very lucky woman to have won the affection and love of such a delightful pair.

The company gathered in the drawing room for tea and cake. Miss Bingley had nearly fainted with distress over Mr. Darcy’s hand, but on his adamant refusal to reveal all that instant, had been forced to give up and sit with her sister. She and Mrs. Hurst were much engaged gossiping together; Mr. Hurst was eating cake, and the rest were not saying much. Bingley kept glancing over at Darcy, worry plain on his honest face. Darcy was waiting for Mrs. Gardiner to arrive before he revealed anything; somehow, her presence lent him fortitude. In truth, she reminded him not a little of his late mother. Fortunately he did not have to wait long before her serene countenance could be seen coming through the doorway. What conversation there was halted, and Darcy stood.

“Now is the perfect moment to tell you all that we have two other guests staying at Pemberley. May I present my good friend, Mrs. Gardiner.” Darcy bowed in her direction, as did Bingley, who smiled warmly as well. “Mrs. Gardiner, allow me to introduce my old friend Charles Bingley; his sisters, Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst; and Mr. Hurst. My sister you have met.”

Mrs. Gardiner greeted them all with a gracious smile, especially Bingley, of whom she had heard so much. Her gaze lingered strangely on Caroline Bingley, but she said nothing beyond the usual courtesies of introduction. Oh! Darcy realised, watching Miss Bingley’s almost shamefaced behaviour. They have met before, when Jane was in London! But Mrs. Gardiner is a gem; she makes no mention, to avoid embarrassment.

“Mrs. Gardiner,” said Mrs. Hurst with every appearance of civility, while her sister collected herself. “How lovely to meet you at last. I have heard so much about you from your charming niece, Miss Bennet.”

“The pleasure is mutual, I’m sure,” Mrs. Gardiner replied. Neither sister noticed the sardonic sparkle in her eye, though Darcy did, and smirked. “I am staying here with another of my nieces, Elizabeth. I believe you know her also?”

“Oh, dear Miss Eliza!” gushed Miss Bingley. “Yes, we are quite well acquainted with her. Such a pleasant girl. But what brings you both to Pemberley, Mrs. Gardiner?”

Darcy stepped in, interrupting. “They were touring Derbyshire with Mr. Gardiner, and met me yesterday, when I arrived unexpectedly.”

“And will Miss Bennet be joining us this afternoon? Or is she out walking?” said Mrs. Hurst, with a significant glance at Miss Bingley.

“She will not be joining us,” said Darcy gravely. “Yesterday she met with a most dreadful accident, and is currently upstairs in bed. There is a chance she may not recover.”

A silence fell over the room; then Bingley, clearly upset, burst out: “What do you mean, Darcy? What has happened? Is she ill?”

“No,” said Darcy. “She is injured.”

“For God’s sake, man,” said Bingley, frustrated. “Tell us what is going on. Is that how you hurt your hand?”

Darcy nodded. “Yes; and if you will all sit down, I will give you a brief account of our misadventure, if Mrs. Gardiner will permit me.”

“Of course, Mr. Darcy,” that lady nodded.

The company seated themselves. Even Hurst looked at Darcy with interest, and had stopped eating.

Darcy cast a sombre eye over his audience, let out a sigh, and began. “Yesterday, as you are aware, I left you all early and came home to finish some urgent business. To my surprise and theirs, I arrived to find Miss Bennet and her aunt and uncle, who had just completed a tour of the house. I invited them to walk by the lake with me; you know the path, Bingley, the one through the woods. Miss Bennet was walking with me when we were accosted by an armed ruffian, intent on mayhem. He threatened Miss Bennet’s life with a pistol.”

“Good God!” said Bingley. “What did you do?” Shock registered on all their faces.

“I could do nothing, with Miss Bennet in such direct peril. But the villain underestimated her courage. She waited for his concentration to lapse, then attacked him, giving me the perfect opportunity to act while he was distracted. I knocked him down; but she was not so lucky. His gun discharged, and she was shot.”

“Shot!” cried Bingley, horrified. He sprang to his feet in agitation.

“I say!” said Mr. Hurst quietly, admiration in his tone. It seemed his respect for Miss Bennet had just elevated by several factors.

The others did not speak. Georgiana and Mrs. Gardiner knew the story already; and Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst could only gape at eachother, faces pale.

“Shot,” said Bingley again, upset. “This is perfectly dreadful, Darcy. No wonder you look so terrible. And she may not survive, you say?”

“It is a head wound, Bingley. The bullet did not penetrate the skull, but there may be a fracture. She is unconscious.”

Bingley sat down again, highly disturbed. “And her family? Do they know?”

Mrs. Gardiner answered him. “My husband left for Longbourn this morning, sir. Her father, at least, may be expected tomorrow or the next day; Mr. Bennet and Lizzy were always very close.”

Nothing more was said for some moments; then Mr. Darcy said, “If you will excuse us for a brief time, I must go upstairs and check on Miss Bennet. Georgiana and Mrs. Gardiner, will you come?” The ladies rose willingly, and Bingley did also.

“Could I…that is, would you mind terribly if I accompanied you?”

“Not at all, Bingley,” said Darcy approvingly. The four of them left the room and headed upstairs, leaving the Hursts and Miss Bingley in shocked silence.

Dinner that evening was a subdued affair. Even the normally affable Bingley was mostly silent. Both Mr. Darcy and his sister were considerably distracted and upset, and made no conversation. Mrs. Gardiner endeavoured to speak with the other ladies, but such a pall had been cast over the meal that no speech could long survive in it; all attempts withered away, and were eventually given up. After eating, Mrs. Gardiner excused herself and returned to Elizabeth’s sickroom, accompanied by Georgiana. Darcy watched them go; Bingley stood, eyeing his friend anxiously.

“Come, Darcy, what about a game of billiards?”

“I cannot,” said Darcy; and he rose, and began pacing the room.

Miss Bingley watched him closely, but said nothing.

“Well I’m for billiards, even if Darcy isn’t,” said Hurst. “What do you say, Bingley.”

Bingley, dissatisfied, began to object, but Darcy gainsaid him.

“Yes, go on, Bingley. Please do not concern yourself.”

Hurst all but dragged Bingley out the door, leaving Darcy with the two remaining ladies.

“You must excuse my abominable manners,” he addressed them. “I fear I am not good company tonight.”

“Do not distress yourself, Mr. Darcy,” said Mrs. Hurst. “It is all very understandable. How shocking it must have been; and now to have a friend so ill beneath your own roof.”

“Indeed,” chimed in Miss Bingley, “We are not insensitive, sir. We too feel absolutely appalled.”

“You go upstairs, and don’t worry about us. Caroline and I are quite well able to amuse ourselves,” Mrs. Hurst smiled, though her sister’s eyes narrowed faintly at the suggestion. “Of course you are worried, and we wouldn’t dream of detaining you.”

Darcy thanked them soberly, bowed, and left the room at a hurried pace.

“Why ever did you say such a thing, Louisa?” demanded Miss Bingley as soon as his footsteps had faded.

“Say what, my dear?” said Mrs. Hurst vaguely.

“To encourage Mr. Darcy like that!” frowned her sister. “Can’t you see, you are playing right into her hands.”

“Whose hands, Caroline?” Mrs. Hurst looked at Miss Bingley in some confusion.

“Eliza Bennet’s, of course!” hissed Miss Bingley. “She is so determined to gain Mr. Darcy’s attention that she lies about upstairs, pretending to be injured.”

“But Caroline,” said her sister, astounded, “She was shot in the head!”

“Oh yes – but it was only a graze!” Miss Bingley retorted. “Don’t imagine for a minute that her life is in any serious danger, Louisa. I am sure it is all show! Or mostly, anyway.”

Mrs. Hurst could only stare. “Are you feeling all right, dear? You look a little – strange.”

“I am in perfect health,” said Miss Bingley crisply. “And if you will excuse me, I have some business to attend to.”

Chapter Thirty-five - Still No Change

Dr. Maxwell called at eleven the next morning. Darcy welcomed him with relief; there had been no change in Elizabeth's condition, and he was becoming more and more anxious. He ushered the elderly physician upstairs immediately.

Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst, who were just completing their breakfast, watched the two men as they passed the breakfast-room door. Darcy glanced at them as he strode by, and nodded a greeting. As he reached the top of the staircase he halted, frowning, and let the doctor go on without him; something in Miss Bingley's expression was making him uneasy. Why should she be displaying such hostility? Quietly, he descended the stairs, and keeping to the carpet made his way to the breakfast-room door.

"There, you see?" Mrs. Hurst was saying. "The doctor has seen her twice already, and this is the third time. I really do not think she could be faking."

"You underestimate Miss Bennet's resources," said Caroline Bingley in a low voice. "She has them all running about the place for her. She is not stupid - though she is clearly desperate."

Outside the door, Darcy closed his eyes and leaned his head on the wall. He forced himself to breathe slowly in order to control his anger; then he straightened his shoulders and walked into the room.

"Oh! Mr. Darcy!" exclaimed Miss Bingley uncomfortably. "We did not see you there, sir."

"Of course you did not," said Darcy coldly. "I think it is time you came upstairs."

"Why, certainly," smiled Mrs. Hurst, elbowing Miss Bingley. "Come, Caroline. You can finish your coffee later."

"Of course," said Miss Bingley, trying to keep her composure. She glanced at Darcy's face, and was shocked at the anger she saw in his eyes. Abashed, she rose and followed her sister quietly.

Georgiana and Mr. Bingley were talking softly together in Darcy's sitting room, outside his bedchambers. They looked up in surprise at the approach of the three visitors, one of whom had an extremely stern expression on his face. Without a word he opened the dressing room door and ushered the two ladies inside; Georgiana and Bingley exchanged a look.

Mrs. Gardiner answered Darcy's knock, and opened the door wide.

"Mr. Darcy! And Miss Bingley - Mrs. Hurst," she stood aside graciously. "Dr. Maxwell is almost finished. I am afraid nothing has changed."

The two ladies paled as Darcy propelled them forward towards the bed. Elizabeth's head was being rebandaged, and they caught a glimpse of her injury before the doctor covered it with a clean dressing. A servant was holding her in position, as she was clearly unable to do so herself. Her face was still white apart from the deep bruising around her left eye; her breathing was shallow and very slow.

"She looks awful!" blurted Miss Bingley, aghast. She realised she had spoken aloud and her cheeks reddened as she glanced over at Mrs. Gardiner, who was watching her strangely. "Poor Eliza!" she moaned, attempting to recover from her gaffe. "This is most distressing, Mrs. Gardiner. How terrible you must be feeling."

"Yes," said Mrs. Gardiner calmly.

"She has not awakened since the accident?" said Mrs. Hurst, a modicum of real concern in her tone.

"She has not stirred," came Darcy's disapproving voice. "I hope, Miss Bingley, that matters are now clearer."

"Oh! Quite." said Miss Bingley uncomfortably.

"Perhaps you would like to go and finish your coffee now," suggested Darcy in a tone that brooked no contradiction.

"You are too kind, sir," said Mrs. Hurst. "Our sincere sympathies, Mrs. Gardiner; we hope your niece shall soon recover." She gave her sister a stern look, at which Miss Bingley mumbled a similar sentiment; then she took Miss Bingley's elbow and led her to the door.

Once back in the privacy of the breakfast-room (after having checked outside the door) the two sisters sat shakily at the window seat.

"Honestly, Caroline, you have gone too far this time!" scolded Mrs. Hurst. "What must Mr. Darcy think of us now? Or more particularly, of you!"

Miss Bingley looked ashamed, and would not meet her sister's eye or make her any reply.

"I really think you ought to give up your pursuit," said Mrs. Hurst, still angry. "Just accept that he loves her and be done. You should be attempting to gain their favour now, not estrange yourself through foolish spite."

"Oh, Louisa," Miss Bingley moaned in a despairing tone. "I have done something very foolish indeed, and I cannot undo it."

Mrs. Hurst softened a little at this evidence of remorse. "There, there," she said, touching Miss Bingley's shoulder. "Darcy will forgive you; and Elizabeth need never know! For Charles' sake if nothing else you will still be welcome at Pemberley."

"No, that is not what I mean," cried Miss Bingley, tears forming in her eyes as she related to her sister her activities of the previous evening...

Mrs. Hurst listened, eyes widening in horror, to her sister's confession.

Another cheerless evening passed at Pemberley. Miss Bingley did not attend dinner, having declared herself unwell and sequestered herself in her rooms. Some attempt was made, at Hurst's insistence, to play at cards afterward; but the game mostly seemed to consist of him complaining at everyone else's inattention. In the end, Mrs. Hurst decided to go and check on her sister; Hurst went by himself to the billiards room; and the others retired to Darcy's sitting room upstairs, so that they could be closer to Elizabeth. With the uneasier elements removed from their company, they had as pleasant a time as may be had under such circumstances. Darcy spoke not at all, but no one chided him for it, until Bingley grew exasperated with his bouts of pacing and sent him in to sit by Elizabeth's bedside. The others satisfied themselves with quiet conversation, and were surprised to find the lateness of the hour when at last they wearied of it. Darcy insisted on remaining at Elizabeth's side all night, to allow Mrs. Gardiner time to get some proper rest; he awoke in his chair the next morning with a stiff neck and an ironic smile. He had always imagined that his first night spent in the same room with Elizabeth would have been a little different...

The following morning brought no changes, either for the good or the bad. Miss Bingley was still keeping to herself, which her brother began to wonder at. At first he had thought this to be yet another ploy to gain Darcy's attention - but had that been the case, surely she would have been parading about complaining of her ills before now. Bingley frowned, wondering what she was up to. Louisa, when questioned, would say nothing of any use; though, oddly, she looked a little embarrassed.

Mid-afternoon brought a carriage rattling to the front of the house, gravel spraying from under the horses' hooves as they struggled to reduce speed. A tired-looking Darcy greeted the two visitors in the foyer with all the warmth he could muster. Mr. Bennet, his face drawn and anxious, was relieved to hear that his daughter's condition had at least not deteriorated, and asked to see her at once.

"Of course," said Darcy, gesturing toward the stairs. "And you, Miss Bennet?"

"Please," she said, her troubled gaze regaining a measure of its usual serenity and good humour, "Call me Jane."

A smile tugged at one corner of Darcy's mouth. "Bingley is upstairs. I daresay he will be pleased to see you both."

"Come now, Darcy," said Mr. Bennet, as they made their weary way upstairs. "You are too diplomatic - I have no doubt that paying his respects to his father-in-law elect will be the furthest thing from that young fellow's mind when he sees who I have brought with me!"

"Papa!" Jane scolded gently, her blue eyes betraying no irritation whatsoever, only amusement.

Bingley and Georgiana rose to meet Mr. Bennet, whom they had heard approaching the sitting room as his voice echoed down the hallway. When the door opened to reveal Jane as well as her father, Bingley beamed in joyous astonishment, and rushed forward to kiss her hands.

"There," said Mr. Bennet to his host, feigning pique. "What did I tell you?"

But a warm handshake from the gentleman in question and a most courteous and affectionate greeting from Georgiana soon put a twinkle in the old man's eye, if only for a brief period.

"But you are not here to chatter away with us," Bingley reminded Mr. Bennet, his honest features broadcasting his regret and sympathy. "She is through here."

The others stood back as Jane and her father were ushered into Darcy's bedroom. Mrs. Gardiner did not get up to welcome them; she had fallen asleep in Darcy's favourite chair. Mr. Bennet watched silently for a moment; one of Elizabeth's pale hands was loosely clasped on his sister's knee. Jane let out a soft cry, and went to them both, seating herself on the bed.

"Oh Lizzy!" she whispered, taking her sister's hand from Mrs. Gardiner's. She kissed it, and her shoulders began to shake. Mrs. Gardiner stirred at the unfamiliar sounds and opened her eyes, looking around in some confusion before she realised who was there.

"Jane!" she exclaimed, and sat forward to embrace her weeping niece. "Jane, when did you get here?"

"Just now, with me," said Mr. Bennet, approaching her from behind.

Darcy saw Mrs. Gardiner's eyes light up and fill with tears. She extended a hand, which Mr. Bennet pressed between both his own.

"Oh, Andrew, I am so glad to see you," said Mrs. Gardiner feelingly.

"Indeed!" sighed Mr. Bennet, lifting her hand to his lips, then bending to kiss her cheek. "I cannot thank you enough for staying with her, Madeline."

"Nonsense! You know I could not have done otherwise - Lizzy is as dear to me as any of my own children."

Jane had almost stopped weeping, and reached up to hold the hand that her father had laid on her shoulder.

"Come, Jane - it would be a fine show if Lizzy should awaken to see you so heartbroken."

Jane managed a laugh through her sniffles. "I am sorry, Papa. I was so determined to be brave, and not let it affect me..."

"Now, now, my love," said her father gently. "There is nothing to be ashamed of. Cry all you want - perhaps she will wake up to upbraid you for disturbing her rest."

Jane smiled through her tears. "If that would be effective, perhaps you should have brought Lydia or Kitty instead."

Mrs. Gardiner laughed, and wiped a tear off Jane's cheek. "No, I think your father knew exactly who to bring, my dear."

Darcy watched this banter silently, almost enviously, from his post near the door. Not for the first time, he realised how much such openness was worth. To have a mother such as Mrs. Bennet, and sisters such as Kitty and Lydia and Mary...A price worth paying ten times over, if only Elizabeth could be his.

That evening proved a little livelier than the one before. Mr. Bennet, faced with so many sources of inspiration, amused himself by poking gentle fun at the Hursts and Miss Bingley, who had emerged from her self-imposed exile apparently none the worse. Darcy found a certain mild pleasure in the fact that none of them seemed particularly aware of Mr. Bennet's motivations - and that as a result Mrs. Gardiner, for the first time since Elizabeth's accident, had regained something of the good-humoured sparkle that had previously graced her expression. Darcy noticed Mr. Bennet give his sister-in-law the occasional satisfied glance, and knew that such had been part of the old man's intention.

When the meal ended, Bingley suggested that Darcy and Mr. Bennet go upstairs to keep vigil, while the rest of them had some music and conversation. The two gentlemen acceded readily to the notion, and soon made themselves scarce; Bingley, Jane and Mrs. Gardiner then began a pleasant exchange. Mrs. Hurst ventured the occasional comment, as did Georgiana - but Miss Bingley remained uncharacteristically quiet.

For a good while all was quiet in the sickroom as well. Mr. Bennet did not seemed inclined to speak, being satisfied to hold Elizabeth's limp hand and watch her bruised face - while his own reflected his troubled mind. His thoughts were clearly much affecting him, so Darcy remained silent in the chair across the room, allowing Mr. Bennet time to come to terms with his feelings.

Finally Mr. Bennet seemed to gather himself; while still retaining his hold on Elizabeth's hand, he sat up a little straighter, sniffed, let out a sigh, and turned a sad eye on Darcy.

"Well, well," he began, a sardonic smile playing around his mouth. "What a time you have had of it, Mr. Darcy."

Darcy did not quite know how to reply, so he simply agreed. Silence fell for a moment, then Mr. Bennet pressed on.

"My brother Gardiner gave me reason to believe that you and Lizzy had - er - reached an understanding at last."

Darcy cleared his throat. "We have, sir. Unfortunately we were, um, interrupted before things could be formally agreed on - but when Elizabeth wakes you may be assured that such will not long remain the case."

Mr. Bennet nodded slowly, and his gaze drifted back to his daughter. "Then she, has - er..." He waved his free hand ineffectually.

Darcy looked compassionately on the older man. A little inarticulately, he tried to ease his future father's pain. "I believe you have known for some time how I feel about your daughter, sir. It was not until the day of the accident that I finally learned that she - returned my affections. But anyone who knows your family knows that you, Mr. Bennet, will forever hold a place in Lizzy's heart that no one else can fill."

Mr. Bennet sighed, and squeezed Elizabeth's hand. "Forgive an old man his follies, Mr. Darcy. One way or another, I will lose her, I know." He glanced over at the tall, dark figure he had come to know and respect. "But if I lose her to her own happiness, then I can call myself blessed."

Darcy looked away, but his eyes shone wetly in the dim candlelight as he thought on the bittersweet realities of fatherhood that would someday be his own - God willing.

That night was the fourth of Elizabeth's absence of spirit. Her father sat, unable to find rest, by her side. For a while Jane kept him and Darcy company, but finally Bingley entered the room and insisted on her taking some rest. Darcy, by this time, was fast asleep in his chair, and Bingley was of a mind to wake him and drag him away to a bed; but Mr. Bennet shook his grey head.

"Let him be, Bingley. Think how you would feel yourself, in such a situation."

Bingley's earnest gaze fell on Jane, who blushed at the intensity of his regard. The young man cleared his throat quietly, and nodded. "Yes, sir, I believe you are right. Well, we shall see you in the morning I daresay. I bid you good night."

Mr. Bennet watched the two depart, then got to his feet and walked about the room, all the while glancing anxiously at the still form on the bed. From a distance, one could not even perceive the faint rise and fall that marked her shallow breathing. The flickering candles caused ominous shadows to curl about her face, and for a moment Mr. Bennet let every morbid fantasy that had been clamouring at the windows of his imagination full reign. Tears pricked at his eyes as he watched his beloved child. How still she lies - how corpse-like.

At that moment Darcy stirred in his sleep, speaking the incomprehensible thoughts of the dreamer. The sounds of his own garbled speech disturbed him, and he woke, suddenly wide-eyed. With a start he realised where he was, and his eyes went first to the bed, and then to Mr. Bennet's chair, which was empty.

"I am still here, young fellow," came the older man's voice from the back of the room. "Just stretching my legs."

Darcy leaned back in his chair, rubbing at his neck. "I was dreaming..."

"Not a happy dream?"

"No," said Darcy, rubbing at his face. "Not pleasant."

Mr. Bennet sighed, and returned to his chair. "Then you had better have some conversation, to clear your head. It doesn't do to dwell on such things."

"Yes, you are right," said Darcy with some reluctance, "But I have not the heart to speak, I fear."

"Luckily for you, all you will need is the patience to listen to an old man's ramblings. I believe I can find a topic that will hold your interest."

So Mr. Bennet began to speak of something that had been weighing heavily on his mind - Elizabeth, and his memories of her childhood. He related scrapes and adventures, her problems with her mother and sisters, his own failures and successes as a father. He span nostalgic reminiscences, entertaining anecdotes, and the harsher visions afforded by hindsight - usually applied to his own role in matters, but all delivered with the dry Bennet wit. Darcy was captivated, occasionally laughing aloud; the story of the frog in the bonnet had him almost falling out of his chair. But there were sadder tales, too, and he longed for Elizabeth to wake so that he could share them with her and comfort her. At length Mr. Bennet felt unburdened, and more at peace, and his voice faded away. Emboldened and touched by Mr. Bennet's openness, Darcy began to speak of his own childhood, his own parents. There was not so much laughter to be had from his stories. His parents had loved him dearly, but the manner of his upbringing could not have been further from that given to the Bennet children.

"Oh dear," said Mr. Bennet wryly when he had finished. "I can see that there will be interesting discussions in your house over how to raise the children."

Darcy grunted, amused. "I believe a compromise can be found that will satisfy both parties." This earned him an approving glance from Mr. Bennet, who was beginning to look rather bleary-eyed. An easy silence fell between the two gentlemen, and it was not long before heads nodded and breathing deepened. There were not many hours left until dawn, but they were spent in peace.

Chapter Thirty-Six - Awake

Mrs. Gardiner woke them early the next morning. She had intended to force them to rest between sheets for a few hours at least, and was just about to nudge her brother-in-law’s shoulder when a difference in Elizabeth’s posture caught her eye. Her heart gave a jolt, and she looked up to see that one of her niece’s hands was now above her head – and her eyes were open. She gave Mr. Bennet’s shoulder a hard shake, and moved to sit on the side of the bed.

“Lizzy?” Her soft question elicited no response. “Lizzy, can you hear me?” She reached back to give Mr. Bennet another shake. “Andrew!” she hissed in an impatient whisper. “She’s awake!”

Elizabeth’s eyes, which had been fixed on the ceiling, slowly focussed in her aunt’s direction. She swallowed and tried to speak, but all that came out was a rasp. Mr. Bennet gave a moan, and let out a confused complaint.

“For heaven’s sake Andrew, open your eyes!” said Mrs. Gardiner urgently, while she leaned forward to take one of Elizabeth’s hands. “Can you hear me, Lizzy?”

“Yes,” came the rough response. Elizabeth coughed, and groaned in pain as her head complained at the spasm. “Where am I?”

“Oh, Lizzy!” cried Mrs. Gardiner, beaming and bursting into tears. “You had us so worried!”

“What! Is she awake? Why didn’t you tell me?” came a querulous voice from behind, and Mr. Bennet leaned forward to put his hand over both of theirs. “Lizzy, my love!”

“Papa?” Elizabeth squinted at him, now thoroughly confused. “What happened?”

“Nothing, my dear, everything is fine now,” came Aunt Gardiner’s soothing voice, and she leaned forward to kiss Elizabeth’s cheek. “I’ll get you some water.”

She stood and hurried to the other side of the bed, where Darcy was still snoring gently, while Mr. Bennet took her place at Elizabeth’s side, kissing his daughter’s hand and trying not to weep.

“Don’t you ever do that to me again, Lizzy!” he scolded her, not knowing whether to laugh or cry.

“Papa, whatever is going on?” Elizabeth demanded, as testily as possible given her utter lack of energy.

“Forgive us, my love. You gave us a bit of a fright.”

“I did?”

“Yes. You have been unconscious for four days, you know.”

“Oh,” she said weakly, eyes wandering in confusion as she tried to remember.

“Mr. Darcy!” said Mrs. Gardiner, leaning down to whisper into his ear. “Mr. Darcy. She’s awake!”

Darcy’s eyes shot open. “What?” He looked up into Mrs. Gardiner’s face, and the joy in her eyes told him all he needed to know. “She’s awake?”

Mrs. Gardiner rolled her eyes towards the bed, where Mr. Bennet was talking to a very muzzy-headed Elizabeth.

“What’s the last thing you remember, my love?” he was asking in a reassuring tone. Elizabeth’s eyes unfocussed for a moment, then regained their clarity.

“I was walking with Mr. Darcy…and Wickham came…Mr. Darcy! Is he hurt?”

“No!” Darcy assured her, tears forming in his eyes. “No, I am fine, Elizabeth.”

She gave a small smile of relief when she heard his voice. “Where are you? I can’t see you properly. Everything is blurred.”

Mrs. Gardiner came back to the near side of the bed, and tugged gently at Mr. Bennet’s sleeve. “Come, sir,” she said softly. “Let us go and give the others the good news, and leave them to themselves for a brief while.”

Mr. Bennet nodded. “A capital notion, my dear. Darcy, you sit over here – we shall go and inform the others.”

Darcy knelt by the bed and kissed Elizabeth’s hand. “Can you see me now?”

“Much better,” she smiled. “Though you are still a bit runny around the edges.”

“It will pass,” said Darcy, hoping it would. “How do you feel?” He reached out his good hand and caressed her cheek. She winced, and he drew back hurriedly.

“No, it wasn’t you,” she objected reassuringly, humour sparkling in her sleepy dark eyes. “It was me – it hurts to smile, a bit.”

He leaned over and placed the gentlest of kisses on her mouth. “Did that hurt?”

“Not at all, sir – but you are making me smile,” she reprimanded him, smiling.

“I am sorry,” he said, and could no longer restrain a sniff as he fumbled for his handkerchief.

“Fitzwilliam – what is the matter? Are you crying?”

“No,” he lied, blowing his nose. Elizabeth raised a hand to his cheek, and felt the streaks of moisture there.

“Please don’t cry,” she said softly.

“Elizabeth,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “You have no idea – I was so afraid that you would die; for days my fear has been that I would look up to see that you were not breathing anymore.”

Elizabeth needed a moment to take this in. “William, you really had better tell me what happened, for you are starting to worry me now, and I am sure that cannot be right.”

He nodded, torn between misery and joy, and told her of the accident.

“No wonder my head hurts!” she said quietly, eyes wide.

“Indeed!” Darcy agreed. “And now I insist that you tell me how you feel. The doctor will need to know, whether you are asleep or awake when he arrives.”

“Very well,” she acquiesced, a slight frown creasing her forehead as she pretended to think. “Hmmm, how do I feel… my head hurts.”

“Elizabeth,” Darcy gave her a genuine frown. “How much does it hurt?”

“Considerably, to own the truth,” she confessed. “I am sleepy, and my vision is a little unclear, though it is already improving, so I dare say that is nothing to cause any concern.”

“I am glad to see your spirits have not suffered any diminution, at any rate,” said Darcy, looking at Elizabeth’s lively expression with a great deal of relief. “Anything else, madam?”

“Why yes. I do believe I am a little hungry,” she smiled. “And before you scold me further, I feel terribly weak and quite unable to stand.”

“Good,” declared Darcy, “Because you are not to stir from that bed for at least another week.”

“What?” Elizabeth could not believe her ears.

“Miss Bennet, the doctor has given strict instructions that you are not to move for a full fortnight.”

“No!” she protested. “It is only a headache, Fitzwilliam. I will be over it in a day or two, I am sure!”

“You will stay in that bed until Dr. Maxwell gives you leave to rise from it, Elizabeth,” said Darcy in a tone that would admit no argument. Elizabeth subsided, as she really was feeling too tired to make an issue of it – but she determined within herself that she would get up as soon as she felt able, which would be soon, she knew.

Darcy saw her eyes wandering and her lids drooping, and pressed her hand with his. “We’ll speak again later,” he said gently. “Sleep now.”

“I’m not…sleepy,” said Elizabeth, her eyes closing even as she spoke. Within seconds she was deeply asleep; Darcy let out a heavy sigh, watching her chest rise and fall in the steady, slow rhythm of healthy slumber. He sat watching her closely for a few minutes. A little colour had returned to her cheeks, and that very slight animation that marks the difference between the sleeper and those near death. He recalled her voice, rough with disuse and slurry with sleep, and the look of pain that had crossed her face at times while they spoke. She had not really complained of it but she had been in noticeable discomfort. Admiration for her bravery filled his heart, and he made a mental note to ask Dr. Maxwell about some sort of medication to lessen the pain she felt.

She is going to be all right!

Darcy could not prevent a heartfelt smile from gracing his expression as he got to his feet. Bending, he kissed the tip of Elizabeth’s nose, then quietly left the room to add his report to the intelligence already being circulated by Mr. Bennet and Mrs. Gardiner.

As it was, only Bingley and Jane had come downstairs early enough to benefit from the news. Darcy, looking scruffy and unshaven, was left in no doubt as to their feelings on the matter when he entered the breakfast room; Bingley could not stop grinning and prancing about excitedly, and Jane was so happy that she gave the embarrassed Darcy a hug and a kiss before she quite knew what she did. Mr. Bennet, who was at table drinking a cup of coffee, made no such demonstrations – but he insisted on knowing every detail of Elizabeth’s condition up to the moment of Darcy’s departure. Upon hearing what little Darcy had to add to his own knowledge, he subsided once more into his coffee-cup, with a very satisfied and relieved expression on his face.

“Where is Mrs. Gardiner?” Darcy enquired, curious.

“She has gone to see if your sister has arisen yet – she thought Miss Darcy might like to know the good news as soon as may be.”

Darcy smiled. “An excellent thought, Georgiana will be overjoyed. She…admires Elizabeth greatly, you know.”

“I know, Mr. Darcy,” Mr. Bennet glanced over with a twinkle in his blue eyes. “It appears to run in the family.”

Bingley let out a guffaw, then looked a little embarrassed. “Sorry, Darcy,” he muttered, clearly not in the least repentant. Darcy, in a good mood, smiled tolerantly and returned his attention to Mr. Bennet.

“And the doctor – has word been sent?”

“Oh! Yes,” said Bingley, who had sent the message himself. “I sent one of the servants to fetch him not long ago. With a note, to make sure.”

“One of your notes, Bingley?” Darcy raised an eyebrow, not knowing whether to feel amused or concerned.

“Well, no,” said Bingley, with a wry smile. He glanced at Jane, who was seated nearby her fiancé, smirking. “Jane wrote the note. She insisted.”

“And if she did not, I would have,” observed Mr. Bennet.

“Your penmanship’s reputation has preceded you, I see,” smiled Darcy. “But thank you both for doing that. I am exceedingly obliged. And now, I believe I shall freshen up – and then eat breakfast, for my appetite seems to have returned!” He gave the three another smile, bowed, and was gone.

“What a cheery fellow he has turned out to be, after all!” remarked Mr. Bennet.

The mood at Pemberley was now as bright as it had previously been despondent. Dr. Maxwell arrived to find his patient still sleeping and the bedroom full of occupants eagerly waiting for her to stir. Apologetically, he declared his intention of turning them all out, and they quit the room on the understanding they be allowed to visit Elizabeth as soon as he had completed his examination, for she would by then, presumably, be thoroughly awake. Dr. Maxwell would not promise anything, and ushered them all out the door.

As things transpired, he could not have been happier with Elizabeth’s condition. When woken, she proved cooperative and courteously-spoken. Her eyes were clear, her expression animated and her good humour evident, despite the obvious stiffness and pain that accompanied every slight movement of her head. She was able to respond rationally, if a little slowly, to all his enquiries. She did not, however, complain – which confirmed the doctor’s impression of her general ill-health – complaining was, in his experience, one of the first signs of real recovery. Satisfied that she was, however, on her way back to the land of the living, he agreed that visitors would be allowed, but only on the understanding that every attempt be made to keep her calm and still. Quite firmly, he told Elizabeth that she was not to move from the bed for a further ten days, that she should sleep as much as possible, and that she was not to become worked up or upset over anything. At this Elizabeth rolled her eyes, causing one of the servants to barely stifle a snigger. She gave Elizabeth an approving glance as the young lady assured the good doctor that she would do her very best to comply, but that he had better speak to the others as well, as she could make no promises if circumstances beyond her control should prove overwhelming.

Dr. Maxwell raised a white eyebrow, his old eyes flashing with momentary humour. “Indeed, Miss Bennet,” he allowed, nodding. “I shall do that very thing immediately. I believe everyone with whom I would need to speak is huddled outside the door at this very moment, waiting to see you – so I shall bid you adieu for now, young lady. Make sure you get plenty of rest, and don’t let that young Darcy fellow pester you too much!” He patted Elizabeth’s hand in a fatherly manner, and stood to leave.

The two servants, a middle-aged woman and a girl not much older than Elizabeth herself, remained behind to tidy up and make their charge comfortable.

Elizabeth regarded them a little muzzily. “Excuse me, but have you been looking after me the whole time?”

The middle-aged woman (it was she who had almost laughed at Elizabeth’s eye-rolling) gave her a grin. “Sure, Miss. I hope you’ve no complaints!”

“No,” Elizabeth assured her, smiling despite herself. “I only wanted to thank you for it. If I have to be a burden, I had better be a polite one.”

“Hm!” The older woman shot the patient a wry look. “Well, you just stay the same trouble you’ve been – which is, none at all, and we’ll get along fine.”

The younger servant was giving her companion mortified looks as they worked; the elder glanced over at her and laughed.

“Don’t you be worrying about Miss Bennet, young Robbie,” the woman mock-scolded her companion. “She’s a sense a humour too, same as you or me. A young lass needs a bit of cheer if she’s to recover from such a nasty knock.”

Elizabeth could not restrain a smile, though it hurt. “I believe,” she said quietly, though not without spirit, “That you have both seen enough of me to call me Lizzy.”

The middle-aged woman leaned closer to the bedside. “This here’s young Robbie,” she confided warmly, “And I’m Mrs. Linnehan – but you can call me Kate.” With gusto, she stuffed the last soiled towel into the laundry hamper, and seizing the basket, she and the young girl made their way to the door. “Now don’t you get out of that bed, Miss Lizzy. We’ll be back to check on you later, or sooner if we’re needed.”

With a wink from Mrs. Linnehan and a shy glance from Robbie, the two were out the door; and no sooner had it closed than it opened again to admit the first eager visitor – Jane.

The next half an hour was taken up with a series of poignant reunions the like of which Mr. Darcy’s bedroom had never before seen. Although all had been firmly impressed with the need to keep the patient calm and restful, there were tears and laughter aplenty as Elizabeth’s beloved relatives (and almost-relatives) made known their relief at her escape from under the dread portal. Elizabeth herself, of course, did not feel the moment nearly as intensely as did her visitors; but she was quite exhausted by just the proximity of so much emotion in those she loved. She could not help but feel for them as they wept, or pressed her hand repeatedly, or merely gazed at her with steadfast devotion and gratitude. Drained by the experience, she could not muster any ill-feeling at all when her last callers entered the room, faces she had never before been glad to see – the Hursts, and Miss Bingley.

Mrs. Hurst was all graciousness, and indeed seemed quite genuine in her wishes for Elizabeth’s swift recovery. Mr. Hurst said not a word, preferring to hover near the door and leave the talking to his wife, giving Elizabeth only the occasional curious glance. Miss Bingley, however, seemed most odd. Her manner was restrained, her sentiments proper – yet Elizabeth received a distinct impression of apology, even humility, in her unsteady gaze. But she was far too weary to think on the matter; as soon as the small group had paid their parting respects Elizabeth was fast asleep, even before they had left the room. She did not see the thoughtful, regretful look that came over Caroline Bingley’s face as she waited for her brother-in-law to clear the doorway.

Chapter Thirty-Seven - Condescension

Elizabeth slept the rest of the morning and most of the afternoon away; she was awake for a little while in the late afternoon, then slept again for an hour or two, awakening at mid-evening to complain of hunger. The servants, who had been painstakingly dripping water down her throat on a regular basis for the past few days, were quite prepared to assist her with a meal of bread dipped in broth, but Mrs. Gardiner insisted on doing the honours herself. Elizabeth bore the indignity of having to be helped with eating with her customary good humour, just as she had borne all the other indignities incumbent on the bedridden. Indeed, her first repast in some time was accompanied by quite a lot of giggling on the part of both patient and spoonfeeder. Darcy, who was sitting quietly outside the sickroom, could hear the antics from within quite clearly, as Mrs. Gardiner had left the door ajar. He found himself struck by an intense pang of jealousy, and a deep frown crossed his features at the thought of how much had been disrupted by George Wickham’s desperate actions.

Wishing to dispel his resentment with activity, he rose from his seat and was striding for the door when he almost collided with Mrs. Gardiner, who had emerged without warning from the bedchamber.

“Oh!” she exclaimed. “Mr. Darcy – Forgive me, I had not thought anyone was in here.”

“No…I…er…” stammered Darcy, his roiling emotions rendering him even less articulate than usual.

“I am just returning this tray to the kitchen,” Mrs. Gardiner declared warmly. “Would you like to sit with Elizabeth until I return?”

Darcy wanted to protest at her taking the menial tasks of a servant upon herself, but the chance to sit alone with Elizabeth quite dissipated all his worries about propriety. Still tongue-tied, he must have managed to mutter some sort of assent, for Mrs. Gardiner smiled approvingly and left the room.

Quietly, Darcy stepped into his bedchamber, his eyes fixing immediately on the figure in his bed. Her eyes were open, and she smiled a welcome at his almost apologetic entrance.

“Why, Mr. Darcy,” she said, an impudent glint in her eye. “Is it quite proper for a gentleman to visit a lady in her bed?”

A smile tugged at Darcy’s lips, and all the dark feelings that had engulfed him fell away like mist before the sun.

“When the lady is in the gentleman’s bed, perhaps an exception may be made,” he replied, delighting in her low laughter at his response. He moved to the bedside and sat, rather heavily, in the comfortable old chair close to her.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, taking her hand and caressing it lightly with his thumb.

“Much better,” she said lightly. Her eyelids drifted down, and a small smile of contentment lifted the corners of her mouth as Darcy continued his gentle massage of her hand. “Especially if you keep doing that…” she murmured.

“You will not become overexcited or upset? The doctor was quite clear on that point.”

“Not at all, I assure you,” she said, her smile widening, though her eyes remained closed. “Quite the contrary.”

“You are falling asleep? Then I must stop,” he declared, doing so.

Elizabeth’s eyes opened, regarding him with warmth. “I am in no danger of falling asleep. I was simply relaxing, which is said to be good for my health, unlike arguing, which is what I shall shortly be doing if you do not resume rubbing my hand at once.”

Darcy chuckled appreciatively and reached for her other hand as well, which she willingly gave him.

“Never let it be said that I would do anything to impede your recovery,” he stated dryly, “Though it has come to my attention that you are a very demanding invalid.”

“I am not demanding in the least. I am only asking. You are of course free to refuse,” Elizabeth said airily.

“Of course,” said he, with a lift of his eyebrows. Seeing as no further argument seemed to be forthcoming, Elizabeth allowed her eyes to close once more. Darcy watched her carefully as her hands became completely limp in his grasp; it was not long before her breathing slowed and the soft calling of her name garnered no response. Gingerly, Darcy replaced her hands and tucked the covers around her, then leaned back in his chair and waited silently for Mrs. Gardiner to arrive.

Elizabeth did not reawaken until the next morning, but to everyone’s delight she was able to remain alert for almost three hours of lively conversation before succumbing once more to exhaustion. Confident that she would sleep for several hours, Darcy, Bingley and Hurst decided to go out into the park on a brief shooting expedition; Mr. Bennet found solace in the library, Jane, Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley decided on a walk in the gardens, and Mrs. Gardiner and Georgiana withdrew to the music room. So it was that Lady Catherine De Bourgh’s unannounced and unexpected arrival also went largely unnoticed, except by two well-meaning but unfortunate manservants, who were soon browbeaten into submission and forced to reveal the whereabouts of the “infamous Miss Bennet”.

Lady Catherine, in high dudgeon, made her way upstairs in a great state, trailed anxiously by one of the underbutlers, for whom she would not wait. Servants engaged in their tasks either peered curiously about or made themselves even less conspicuous; one of these was the young Roberta Hayward, who had the presence of mind to go and inform Mrs. Reynolds of the impending disaster.

Elizabeth was so deeply asleep that the resounding complaints foreshadowing the imminent arrival of her Ladyship made no impact; even as Lady Catherine burst into the bedchamber, trembling with righteous indignation, the sleeper did not stir.

“Miss Bennet!” cried Lady Catherine. When she received no response, she stepped forward angrily. The proximity revealed more clearly Elizabeth’s pallor, the fading bruises and swelling on her face, and of course the thick bandages swathing her forehead. Lady Catherine frowned, given pause for a moment; but recollection of the letter’s other contents soon restored her pique, and she leaned in closely.

“Miss Bennet!” she demanded loudly, almost in Elizabeth’s face. “Miss Bennet, I insist that you hear me this instant!”

At this, Elizabeth stirred, and Lady Catherine drew back in satisfaction. The young lady’s eyes, dull with weariness, fluttered open and focussed on the visitor with difficulty and some confusion.

Am I dreaming? Elizabeth thought, frowning at the improbable sight that met her eyes.

“You can be at no loss, Miss Bennet, to understand the reason of my journey hither,” declaimed the Lady, to Elizabeth’s utter incomprehension. Still unable to determine whether she was in fact awake, Elizabeth made no reply, but only lay there blinking.

“Well? Have you nothing to say?”

Dumbfounded, Elizabeth mustered her wits as best she could. “Forgive me, Madam, you are mistaken – I have not the slightest notion to account for the honour of seeing you here.”

Lady Catherine narrowed her eyes. “Miss Bennet,” she proclaimed angrily, “You ought to know I am not to be trifled with. But however insincere you may choose to be, you shall not find me so. My character has ever been celebrated for its sincerity and frankness, and in a cause of such moment as this, I shall certainly not depart from it. A report of a most alarming nature reached me two days ago. I was told that you, Miss Elizabeth Bennet, have had the unmitigated effrontery to aspire to a most inappropriate match – a match with my nephew, my own nephew, Mr. Darcy.”

Elizabeth’s cheeks coloured with anger and astonishment; but before she could make a reply, the bedchamber door opened and her father hastened in.

“Ah, you must be Lady Catherine De Bourgh, of whom I have heard so much,” said Mr. Bennet heartily. “How delightful to meet you at last - allow me to introduce myself: Mr. Andrew Bennet, forever at your service, Madam, and the father of this unfortunate young lady.”

Lady Catherine, taken aback, directed a withering stare at the intruder. To her very great astonishment, he ignored it and continued speaking.

“I must apologise, Lady Catherine; for while we are only too conscious of the very great honour afforded us by your condescension in coming so far to visit my daughter, I must insist that she be allowed her rest. The doctor was quite adamant that any visits be of brief duration, and that under no circumstances should she be exposed to, erm, conditions of excitement, such as would naturally be experienced in entertaining such a noble guest as yourself.”

“Mr. Bennet, am I to understand - ” began the simmering Lady Catherine.

“Yes, I’m afraid so,” interjected Mr. Bennet firmly, moving to stand between Lady Catherine and Elizabeth. “You are of course aware of the severity of my daughter’s injuries, and the absolute necessity of complete rest if she is to recover. Your Ladyship is a most generous and considerate soul indeed; I must agree completely, now would be the perfect time to allow Elizabeth some more, um, opportunity to heal. I believe a cup of tea is in order; shall we?”

Reminded so amiably of her manners, Lady Catherine could see no way to refuse Mr. Bennet’s suggestion without appearing completely callous; raising her nose, she acquiesced, and made her way to the door with a dignified air.

“Goodbye, Miss Bennet,” she said stiffly, on leaving. “We shall speak again at a later time.”

Elizabeth relaxed back into her pillows with a sigh as silence returned to fill the room. She stared fixedly at the ceiling, trying to make sense of what had just happened. Gratitude for her father’s intervention filled her; her heart was still pounding with indignation and shock, and the pressure in her head in response to her heightened pulse rate was highly unpleasant, to say the least. She drew a deep breath and held it, closing her eyes and counting as she attempted to calm herself.

Come now Lizzy – you never expected her to approve, she told herself reasonably. But nor did you expect to meet with her disapproval quite so quickly…or decidedly.

She was still puzzling over Lady Catherine’s appearance when, without warning, a black fog rose in her mind and swallowed her up…

Chapter Thirty-Eight - Confrontation

Darcy, returning to the manor, was feeling quite relaxed and satisfied. The fresh air had quite invigorated his spirits, his lady was returned to him and improving rapidly, and it would not be long before the unfinished business between them was settled to the satisfaction of all concerned. His posture and easy stride bespoke his happiness; Bingley, beside him, grinned with pleasure.

“I say,” said Hurst, who was leading the party. “Isn’t that your housekeeper, Darcy? And whose is that carriage?”

The sight of the normally staid Mrs. Reynolds half-running down the drive towards them gave both Darcy and Bingley a jolt of alarm. Abandoning dignity, Darcy broke into a jog, his heart filling with an unbidden fear.

“Oh! Mr. Darcy!” panted the housekeeper as he ran up to her, relief evident on her face. “You are needed in the house, immediately. Lady Catherine De Bourgh has just arrived – she demanded to see Miss Bennet, and that is where she has gone. As soon as I was told of it I saw that Mr. Bennet was informed – but I fear you are needed, sir, and very much!”

“Lady Catherine, here?” Darcy’s eyes widened at the thought.

“Yes, sir. She arrived not long ago, and forced poor Emmet to tell her of Miss Bennet’s whereabouts. By all accounts she is very angry…”

But she was speaking to the air; Darcy had taken to his heels, with Bingley in hot pursuit. Mr. Hurst was left in puzzlement on the drive, as Mrs. Reynolds instantly hurried back the way she had come.

Mr. Bennet escorted Lady Catherine to a sitting room well removed from Elizabeth’s vicinity, and they sat to wait for tea. He then amused himself by engaging the quietly fuming Lady Catherine in polite conversation about his cousin, Mr. Collins. The effort required to do so proved a welcome distraction, for his anxieties about his daughter’s current condition were plentiful – yet he felt he could not leave this particular visitor unattended in order to quiet his fears. The relief that flooded through him when Georgiana and Mrs. Gardiner entered the room was well-hidden but very real, and it was not long before Mr. Bennet made his excuses, promising to return anon.

No sooner had Mr. Bennet quit the room than he met Darcy and Bingley, who were striding down the hallway, Darcy’s expression intent, Bingley’s worried.

“Lady Catherine is inside, with Miss Darcy and Mrs. Gardiner,” said Mr. Bennet, the teasing glint missing from his mild blue eyes. “I managed to extricate her from Lizzy’s bedroom – now I must go and see if Lizzy has survived the experience.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Darcy grimly. “And I must deal with my aunt. I trust I will see you shortly.”

With a nod, Mr. Bennet hurried away.

Lady Catherine’s unforgiving gaze pinioned Darcy the instant he stepped through the door.

“Darcy! So there you are, at last.”

“Aunt Catherine,” said Darcy coolly, with a bow. “This is an unexpected pleasure.”

Lady Catherine raised her brows. “Unexpected? You do not think that your nearest relations should take an interest in your future?”

“Mr. Darcy,” interjected Mrs. Gardiner as she stood, warmth and sympathy radiating from her expression.

“Lady Catherine, I am so pleased to have made your acquaintance, but I really feel I must go and see how my niece is faring.”

Lady Catherine’s eyes swept over to Mrs. Gardiner, who did not flinch. “Yes, I understand she has been ill.”

“Very ill, ma’am. In fact she is still affording us a great deal of anxiety – so if you will excuse me…”

“Of course, Mrs. Gardiner,” said Darcy calmly. “Perhaps Georgiana would like to accompany you.”

Georgiana, who had been sitting in silence with wide eyes and a pale face, almost jumped up in her obvious eagerness to comply with her brother’s suggestion.

“Very well then, Georgiana,” condescended the Lady. “I will speak to you later, no doubt. Mrs. Gardiner, good day.”

The two ladies curtsied respectfully and left the room. Bingley, with a bow and a nervous clearing of the throat, snuck out behind them, leaving Darcy and his aunt alone.

“Sit down Darcy, I mean to speak with you,” ordered Lady Catherine.

“I prefer to stand,” Darcy replied shortly.

“As you will, though you must know I think it perfectly rude to stand while someone else is talking.” Lady Catherine gave her nephew a look of disapproval, but Darcy did not react, so she continued. “A report of the most alarming nature reached me at Rosings very recently, and I instantly resolved on setting off for this place, that I might make my sentiments known to you.”

“A report?” frowned Darcy, anger in his tone. “What kind of report?”

“A most disturbing one,” was Lady Catherine’s assured rejoinder. “Admittedly some of it turns out to have been exaggerated, and I can only hope the rest will prove likewise.”

“Well, Aunt,” said Darcy, striding to the window, “Are you going to tell me the substance of this disturbing report?”

“Most certainly! It concerns the presence in this house of Miss Elizabeth Bennet,” declared Lady Catherine.

Darcy turned to his aunt, his face expressionless. “Miss Bennet is in this house because to move her further would have threatened her life. She has been very seriously injured and common decency would permit no other option, even if I did not consider her a friend.”

“A friend!” Lady Catherine pounced, getting to her feet. “So, you are not engaged to her?”

“Is this what the mysterious report said? That we were engaged?”

“Very nearly engaged, it said. Have you forgotten Anne? Have you no thought for duty, honour and gratitude? To consider an alliance with a young woman of inferior birth, of no importance in the world, and wholly unallied to the family! Are you lost to every feeling of propriety and decency, Darcy, to be contemplating such a thing?”

Darcy held up a hand. “A moment, if you please, Aunt. You have not given me opportunity to answer your question.”

Lady Catherine stared at him a moment, then recovered. “So you are not engaged to her?”

“I am not.”

Closing her eyes in relief, Lady Catherine sank back into her chair. “You are not engaged to Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”

“I am not engaged to Miss Bennet, for one very good reason – and that is not the inferiority of her connections, her family’s lack of fortune, or your desire that I marry Anne.” Darcy was beginning to enjoy himself.

Curious, Lady Catherine demanded, “Then what is the reason?”

“Quite simply, it is because she was unfortunate enough to get shot just before I could ask her to marry me,” Darcy announced, not without satisfaction. “So perhaps I should say, I am not engaged to Miss Bennet – yet.”

Lady Catherine’s mouth hung open for a moment. “You must promise me you will not!” She burst out.

“I will make no promise of the kind,” said Darcy, with considerable determination. “I fully intend to marry Miss Bennet.”

“And what of Anne? What of your poor mother’s wishes, that the noble lines from whence you both descend be strengthened by unity?” Lady Catherine was clearly horrified.

“I have every respect for Anne, and for my mother’s memory; but I believe she would first have wished to see me happy. I mean to pursue that happiness, and for many months now I have been of the firmest belief that my happiness lies with Miss Bennet. You cannot dissuade me.” Darcy remained adamant.

While Lady Catherine was digesting this most indigestible of thoughts, a servant entered with fresh tea, cakes and fruit; directly behind her came Mr. Bennet, his face drawn and grey.

One look at the grim set of the older man’s features was enough to make Darcy’s blood run cold. “Mr. Bennet! What news, sir?”

Mr. Bennet sat as though he could no longer carry his own weight. He glanced up at Darcy, but would not hold his gaze as he spoke. “We cannot wake her up. She is completely unconscious again. I have taken the liberty of calling for Dr. Maxwell.”

Darcy swayed, his face visibly paling as he carefully lowered himself into a chair. There was silence for several moments before Darcy, his face now reddening with anger, surged to his feet and confronted his aunt.

“The doctor had issued strict instructions that she was not to be upset, yet you took it upon yourself to invade her sickroom and do just that despite the protests of the servants! What did you say to Elizabeth, Lady Catherine?”

A flicker of guilt passed over Lady Catherine’s sharp features, but it was quickly replaced by her usual hauteur. “I said nothing upsetting. I merely asked her why she was at Pemberley. And I’ll thank you not to take that tone with me, young man, I am your Aunt and your senior.”

At this, Mr. Bennet could no longer contain himself, and he too rose to his feet. “Why she was at Pemberley? Would that have been before or after your little lecture on her merits, or lack of them, as a match for your nephew? I am a mild fellow, Lady Catherine, and I do not like to speak ill of anyone, but to raise such an issue with a young lady in her condition was a completely heartless thing to do! Now my daughter’s condition has worsened again, thanks to your friendly little visit. What will the doctor tell me? That this time she will not wake up?” Utterly distressed, the poor fellow could not continue, and after contemplating the floor for a moment he turned and left the room.

Darcy heaved a sigh, and directed a look of withering disdain at his aunt. “I know not how you came to be told of the situation here at Pemberley, Lady Catherine,” he said grimly. “But I fear you have made things very much worse indeed. Perhaps it would be better if you left.”

Lady Catherine had the grace to look uncomfortable. “Yes, well, I did not intend to harm the girl – in fact I had been informed that she was making her injury out to be worse than it was in order to play on your sympathies – to draw you in. I only wanted to protect you, Fitzwilliam.”

“Lady Catherine,” Darcy said bitterly, “A fool could see, upon looking at her, that her injuries were genuine and serious. You were more determined to believe an idle report than to accept the evidence of your own eyes. You will be held responsible if she does not recover; by her father and by me. I must ask you to leave Pemberley at once.”

Lady Catherine, staring at her nephew’s face, could see that he was in earnest; every protest she made was thrown down, until finally she had no choice but to gather what dignity she could and return to her carriage.

“Jane!” Georgiana ran out into the garden, where Jane was walking, enjoying the peace while Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley sat together on a lawn bench, enjoying some gossip. “Oh, Jane, you must come inside!”

“Whatever is the matter, Georgiana?” Jane’s calm manner and soothing voice, usually an effective palliative, made no impact on Georgiana’s distress; she would not stand still, and had trouble expressing herself, but Jane waited patiently for the story to emerge.

“Lady Catherine – Lady Catherine came – she was angry and she went and spoke to Lizzy – and she got Lizzy upset – and now we cannot wake her up again.”

“Lizzy will not wake up?” Jane’s blue eyes widened.

A new voice intruded as Miss Bingley hurried towards them. “Georgiana, dear, did you say Lady Catherine De Bourgh was here?” Behind her came Mrs. Hurst, and neither lady looked pleased at the news.

“Yes,” sobbed Georgiana. “She has just left – but it is too late.”

Jane looked closely at Miss Bingley, whose face had abruptly leached of colour. Miss Bingley, in her turn, exchanged a long look with her sister, Mrs. Hurst.

“We must go in at once,” Jane announced firmly.

“Yes,” breathed Miss Bingley, and she swallowed hard.

Chapter Thirty-nine - A Painful Confession

Pemberley was as silent as a tomb. The ladies immediately headed for the master bedroom, knowing that all the others would be found there or nearby. They were not disappointed; even Mr. Hurst was in Darcy's sitting room, a frown of peeved worry replacing his usual expression of self-absorption. Bingley, who was sitting with him, rose from his seat and strode to Jane's side as she entered the room.

"Charles, is it true?" she asked quietly. Bingley only frowned, taking her into his arms and holding her tightly - answer enough.

After a moment, Bingley asked, "Would you like to go in?" Jane nodded against his coat, and he released her, keeping hold of one of her hands as they moved toward the bedroom door. Georgiana preceded them; the Hursts and Miss Bingley followed awkwardly.

Inside was a piteous scene. Mr. Bennet had his face in his hands, and was sitting slumped by his daughter's side. Mrs. Gardiner was with him, sober faced; behind her stood Darcy, his expression an implacable façade. Elizabeth herself lay still and pale, her eyes shadowed with a faint purple hue. No one spoke. Miss Bingley pursed her lips, shot one guilty look at Darcy, and quietly left the room.

Darcy did not quit the sickroom until the arrival of Dr. Maxwell, some time later. Mrs. Gardiner had insisted on taking her distraught brother-in-law for a walk, accompanied by Jane. Georgiana stayed near her silent brother; the Hursts, Bingley and Miss Bingley were downstairs in the large drawing room, Miss Bingley an uncharacteristically silent member of their party. At length Dr. Maxwell left and Darcy came to join them. Bingley, who had been on the edge of his seat, shot to his feet as Darcy entered the room.

"Well, man?" Bingley burst out, almost stuttering in his agitation.

Darcy's inscrutable gaze lightened slightly, and one corner of his mouth twitched. "The good doctor assures me that her pulse is strong and she should awaken at any time."

"Ha!" Bingley smiled, a little uncertainly. "Is that all?"

Darcy gave a brief nod. "As far as he can tell, she fainted after her altercation with my aunt. Her physical condition is much improved, however, when compared with what it was. He is hopeful that her recovery will continue apace, and that this is but a brief setback."

"Oh, thank God!" came a fervent pronouncement; the party turned, surprised, to look upon the speaker. It was, of course, Miss Bingley. A faint sheen of sweat had formed on her forehead, and she met Darcy's gaze with what seemed a dreadful effort. "Mr. Darcy," she continued, licking her lips nervously. "Could I ask...that is...I need to speak with you, on a matter of some urgency, sir."

A faint frown creased Darcy's brow. "Of course. What is the matter, Miss Bingley?"

"If you would favour me with a brief turn outside...sir...it is of no great consequence but I would prefer..."

"As you wish," Darcy nodded, and gestured towards the door. She rose, not meeting anyone's eyes, and preceded him outside.

They walked down toward the lake, an awkward silence hanging about them. At last Darcy looked at his companion and spoke. "Tell me what it is that has been bothering you, Miss Bingley, for I can see that you are upset."

Miss Bingley stopped walking. Her face was white except for two points of red on her cheekbones, and she was breathing unsteadily.

"Mr. Darcy, I...I..." she dared to look up the tall man she had been pursuing for so long. "I have done a most foolish, cruel and hurtful thing. I cannot bear to think of my actions without abhorrence." Her face crumpled and she began to cry; Darcy, surprised and alarmed, fumbled in his waistcoat for a handkerchief, which he offered her. A cold suspicion began to form in his chest, and Miss Bingley's next words gave it confirmation.

"It was I, Mr. Darcy, I," she burst out, hiding her face in her hands. "I wrote the note to Lady Catherine De Bourgh. Oh, how I wish I could take it back. I don't know what came over me; I was so jealous of her, and I only ended up hurting everybody..." She turned away and began to weep in earnest. "I am so sorry," she wailed in between sobs. "How you must despise me..."

Darcy found himself torn. The anger and disgust that surged inside him warred with a certain amount of pity; Miss Bingley could easily have said nothing and let suspicion for the act fall upon one of the servants. Darcy's acquaintance with the Bennet family had indeed decreased his tolerance for the hypocritical affectations of Miss Bingley and her ilk; but to see such a woman discard her self-seeking vanity in what could only be a most painful and humiliating manner could not but touch his heart. He watched her crying, almost dispassionately. He had never before seen Caroline Bingley show genuine remorse or compassion for another - yet it seemed that she had the capacity, after all.

"I will, of course, return to London immediately," she said, sniffing slightly, when she had regained enough control over herself to speak. "I can only say once more how truly sorry I am to have caused such pain to you and to Miss Bennet. And to her family, of course. My actions were inexcusable. I know what you must think of me - rest assured my own conscience vouchsafes the same opinions." She risked a glance at Darcy, but his expression was unfathomable. "I find I must thank you, Mr. Darcy, for your unfailing hospitality, generosity and kindness towards Charles, and of course Louisa and myself. And Mr. Hurst." Her speech had the air of a final farewell; she spoke quietly and hesitantly, yet not without dignity. "It has been an honour to know you, Mr. Darcy." After one last, unsteady glance, she bowed her head and began to walk away.

"Miss Bingley," Darcy called, halting her return to the house. "You understand that it is...difficult for me to speak about such things at this moment. You are well aware of my resentful temper." He was unable and unwilling to prevent a certain amount of anger from roughening his voice. He cleared his throat. "My wife, however - that is, my wife-to-be - has much more the forgiving nature, as I have had reason to be thankful for many times over. I am certain that, unhappy as the current state of affairs may be, an invitation for you to once again visit Pemberley will be forthcoming soon enough."

Astonished, Miss Bingley looked him full in the face. He was still frowning, but seemed perfectly serious in this offer of eventual forgiveness; her chin began to tremble again, and she gave him a weak smile. "You are too good, sir. I sincerely wish you and Miss Bennet every happiness." She turned, and began to walk quickly toward the house.

Before leaving for London as promised, Miss Bingley made a similar confession to her brother and Jane. Jane did not know what to say at first, and Bingley spluttered a bit before giving vent to his temper. His sister weathered his disapproval humbly, accepting every harsh word as her due. The servants were busily packing her trunks even as Bingley berated Caroline repeatedly. Finally, Jane put her hand on his arm; at the touch, he started and fell silent.

"Caroline has, of her own confession, done a most dreadful thing," Jane allowed, her gaze serious without being condemnatory. "But give her the credit for having confessed it. I'm sure she is telling herself all the things you have already mentioned, my dear, and good many others besides."

"Yes, well," Bingley muttered. "Elizabeth could have died."

"But she did not," Jane said gently, and Bingley bestowed upon his fiancée a gaze of such tenderness that Miss Bingley had to look away.

It was only ten minutes after Miss Bingley's interview with her brother that Elizabeth once more opened her eyes. By prior agreement, no excitements or tearful scenes ensued, though more than one individual found this an almost impossible requirement. Georgiana had to leave the room, and Mr. Bennet followed not long after, particularly as Elizabeth seemed to want to discuss Lady Catherine. Accustomed as he was to treating aggravations lightly, that particular aggravation had struck too close to home for even Mr. Bennet to dismiss easily. He had long been aware of the tender spot he held in his heart for his two eldest daughters, Elizabeth in particular, and the strings of his aging heart had been plucked a little too firmly and a little too often in the last few days for his liking. A weeping and excitable Georgiana accompanied him to the drawing room, where he fell upon the brandy decanter with a heartfelt sigh.

Mrs. Gardiner, after ascertaining that her niece was little the worse off for her latest adventure, gave Darcy's shoulder a squeeze and announced her intention of taking some air. "I shall return in a little while, and bring you some flowers from the garden, Lizzy."

Elizabeth smiled her thanks, and Darcy communicated his gratitude with a heartfelt look at his future aunt. She returned his affectionate glance with a wry smile, and made her farewells. Darcy heaved a sigh and sank back into the chair by Elizabeth's bedside. As had become his habit, he reached out and gently clasped one of her hands, running his thumb over her knuckles.

"I do believe, Miss Bennet," he announced, "That I shall station an armed guard outside this room, with orders to shoot on sight anyone resembling my aunt, Mr. Wickham, or anyone else who is likely to cause unpleasantness."

"You may add my cousin, Mr. Collins, to that list, Mr. Darcy," smiled Elizabeth. "When one has a headache already, the last thing needed is a conversation with Mr. Collins. Particularly after one has already become acquainted with the sentiments of Lady Catherine regarding the matter." Her tone was light and her eyes sparkled with humour, but Darcy regarded her seriously and leaned forward.

"I think I may safely say that if any of those people tried to gain admittance to this house, let alone this room, Elizabeth, I would not be answerable for my actions. If my heart has to suffer any more attacks of anxiety over your health, I think I would become unhinged."

"Unhinged!" Elizabeth laughed. "A likely story. If I were to credit such a possibility, I would first need to know where you are hinged, Fitzwilliam."

Darcy smiled, his eyes conveying such warmth that Elizabeth felt her heart rate begin to quicken. He leaned in close to Elizabeth's face, raised her hand to his lips, and caressed her fingers with tender kisses. "Do you not know, dearest Lizzy, where I am hinged?" She was not given an opportunity to answer, for Darcy leaned closer still, brushing his lips over hers several times, each time increasing the pressure and duration of the kiss until Elizabeth moaned a protest.

"I am meant to be calm and restful," she said teasingly, running a hand down his cheek as he twined a finger in her long wavy hair. "I believe Dr. Maxwell was right when he warned me against you, after all."

"Dr. Maxwell is a wise man," said Darcy with a small smile, and with considerable reluctance he leaned back in his chair.

Chapter Forty - Fresh Air

The next several days saw a continuance of Elizabeth's slow but steady recovery. Darcy had a small writing desk installed in the bedroom so that he could deal with his correspondence while she slept, for he found himself quite unable to relax or concentrate on business unless assured of her wellbeing, and this assurance was best obtained by the evidence of his own eyes. In the last week he had experienced such flurries and sweeps of circumstance and emotion that he could scarcely trust peace when it was offered. He felt sure that some capricious devil was sitting somewhere, watching him, wondering how best to torment him next; as though he and Elizabeth were pawns in some unfathomable amusement show. Well, he could not guard against the forces of nature - but he could certainly guard against human interference. When he was not sitting in his bedchamber, talking with her or watching over her, he made sure that someone trustworthy was; and more often than not he could be found in the sitting room directly outside the bedroom door, if he was not inside with her.

Darcy's guests, those that found Miss Bennet's company to be desirable, likewise availed themselves of the writing desk in the sickroom, so that Elizabeth often found herself waking to the scratching sound of a quill on paper. She could tell without opening her eyes whose hand it was that wrote, for if it was Bingley's, the quiet sounds of writing were regularly punctuated with such mutterings as "Damn!" and "There - Darcy himself couldn't have said it better"; Jane's writings were always disturbed by the strange sound of riffling feathers, as she had always had the habit of playing with the pen while composing her thoughts; her father would occasionally chortle to himself while reading or writing; Georgiana could be heard turning the pages of a book, for she was still too shy to write in front of others; her aunt was fastidiously silent and wrote with a regular speed that never failed to impress, hardly stopping until she was finished; and as for Darcy himself, he too was silent, much more so than Aunt Gardiner - for his writing was punctuated by regular and lengthy cessations of activity, wherein Elizabeth knew he was gazing in her direction. She found awakening to such regard both embarrassing and gratifying, and as her health improved so did her frustration. She could not be insensible to the need for the restrictions that Dr. Maxwell had, very firmly, reminded her of every other day; nor, however, could she be insensible to her own feelings, which were gaining in strength as she herself was. She was now allowed to sit partially upright, supported by pillows, in her bed. She was able to feed herself, and to participate more helpfully in the consequences of doing so. She was also able to feel more keenly what it was to have Darcy near, a condition only exacerbated by the liveliness and harmony of long conversation, the full realisation of how much common ground they shared, and the satisfaction that comes as one begins to open one's soul to another, finding the understanding and acceptance that one has always craved. Each touch, each look, each soft kiss stirred her frustrations, and his own - but with resignation and humour the good doctor's strictures were adhered to, and Elizabeth continued to improve.

It could not be long, however, before other frustrations began to make themselves heard, and Elizabeth found, contrary to her expectations, that as she reached a level of strength and comfort that reminded her of what it was to be well, she also found herself subject to a creeping unhappiness. Melancholy silences began to overtake her, and upwellings of emotion over which she had little control. She felt that to complain of such to Darcy would be to exhibit ingratitude, so she said nothing, though he could not help but notice her growing irritability. Puzzled, he mentioned it to Bingley, who immediately suggested a remedy that struck Darcy as being eminently sensible - that they turn the matter over to Jane. Jane was accordingly sent to investigate her sister's moods, and knowing her as she did, it did not take her long to reach a conclusion, which she reported to Bingley and Darcy that evening.

"It is perfectly obvious what is the matter," said Jane, causing both men to frown, for it was not obvious at all as far as they could see.

"No it isn't," Bingley retorted, never one to let the plain truth go unexpressed.

Jane gave her fiancé a smile, and said, "When I tell you what it is, you will both kick yourselves."

At this there was a pause, and finally Darcy had to plead. "Miss Bennet, I pray you not to toy with me. Is it something that is easily cured, or not?"

"As to that, some ingenuity may be required," said Jane, "But the cause is very simple. What time of year is it? What is the weather like outside?"

Both men glanced out the window, noting anew the blue sky and cheery sunshine of late summer. Understanding blossomed on Darcy's face.

"She needs to go outside!"

"Oh!" cried Bingley. "Of course! I'll wager a fine day is something that Elizabeth hates to waste indoors, and we have had a succession of them."

"Why couldn't I see that for myself?" said Darcy, pacing to the window, whereupon he turned, and smiled at Jane. "Thank you very much, Miss Bennet. Once again, I am indebted to you."

Jane blushed lightly at his earnest tone and made light of the situation, at which point Bingley joined in, always ready to praise his Jane, until Jane was quite embarrassed. Darcy, meanwhile, was frowning, deep in thought, as the banter of the pair washed over him. When silence finally fell, he remarked,

"Come, Bingley, how can we move her outside when she is not to stir from her bed?"

The next morning found Elizabeth engaged in a light argument with her Aunt Gardiner.

"I can sit up perfectly well, aunt, and it causes me no pain. Why can I not have a bath? I am sick of being washed in a prone position, as though I were a complete invalid."

"Now Lizzy," replied her aunt in a reasonable tone, not without humour. "You are an invalid."

Elizabeth sighed in exasperation. "Please, aunt. It will do me no harm, and it will do me the world of good to feel properly clean. I promise not to overdo it, it will not be for long, and the servants will be washing me anyway."

Mrs. Linnehan, who had been standing in the corner as though she were a piece of furniture, cleared her throat softly and curtsied to Mrs. Gardiner. "If you please, ma'am, and begging your pardon, might I have a word?"

Mrs. Gardiner, who was on good terms with Mrs. Linnehan and held her nursing abilities in high esteem, gave her niece one last glance and moved to speak quietly with the servant. Elizabeth could not understand what they said, and rolled her eyes impatiently. Her head was itching, and she longed for some other sensation to distract her from the ever-present temptation to rub at it.

Before long her aunt returned to her side, wearing an expression of good-natured longsuffering. "Very well, Lizzy, Mrs. Linnehan has convinced me that a short bath will not hurt you. I shall order the water heated, and warn Mr. Darcy not to come into his dressing room." At this she gave a broad smile, and Mrs. Linnehan could not restrain a burst of laughter, which she stifled with a hand before giving Elizabeth a wink. The young lady grinned her delight, and the servant curtsied and left the room to make the arrangements.

It was not long afterward that Mrs. Gardiner left to warn Darcy of the upcoming challenge. She faced the task with not a little trepidation, knowing how protective the young man was towards her niece, and doubting that he would approve of so risky an activity. To her surprise, however, when informed of the change of plan, Darcy merely frowned thoughtfully and rubbed his chin.

"And when did you say she would be having this bath?"

"In about an hour, sir. The bath itself will not take long."

"Yes, yes..." Darcy seemed distracted, and Mrs. Gardiner regarded him curiously. She had expected a discussion, if not an argument, over the issue, but it seemed one would not be forthcoming. Instead, Darcy continued, "Tell me, Mrs. Gardiner, would you say Elizabeth has been unhappy of late?"

Elizabeth was having a most satisfying morning. The servants had very carefully lifted her out of the bed and taken her to the dressing room, where a steaming hot tub of water awaited. Twenty minutes later, not only was she feeling clean, warm and relaxed, she had even convinced them to wash as much of her hair as possible. Any pain felt due to movement or the gentle pulling on her hair was easily forgotten in the bliss of hot water's embrace. And what joy it was to stand on one's own two legs again, however briefly, and however weak they felt. Special care was taken at every moment not to jolt her or make any sudden movements, and Elizabeth thanked all the servants for their concern in a manner so heartfelt that Mrs. Linnehan gave an involuntary sniff, patted Elizabeth's hand affectionately, and continued to assist her with dressing.

"Lizzy!" came her aunt's voice, and the door opened to admit Mrs. Gardiner. "Lizzy, make sure you put on a dressing gown, we have a surprise for you."

Properly covered in a dressing gown, Elizabeth was shortly carried out by her servants to see Darcy and Bingley, smiling, and two manservants preparing something on the floor. As she came through the door, they stepped back from it so as not to obscure her view. She stared - it looked like a small portable bed, with two handles on either end. Her mouth fell open; Bingley and Mrs. Gardiner beamed at the sight and Darcy's eyes shone.

"What...what is it? Is it for me?" she at last enquired, hardly daring to hope that some form of freedom may be before her. Bedclothes and pillows had been placed on it, and the covers turned back.

"It is a modified stretcher," announced Darcy, not without pride. "Place Miss Bennet on it," he said, gesturing to the servants. Carefully, they did so, arranging the bedclothes and pillows to make her comfortable. Elizabeth was quite speechless with joy and surprise, and could only smile repeatedly as the maidservants fussed around her. Then they stepped back, and Darcy spoke again.

"Holland and Brown have been working on this all morning. By all appearances they have done a fine job - so shall we test it?"

At his signal, the two manservants seized the handles and lifted. Elizabeth laughed out loud at the sensation, and the anticipation of getting a little fresh air, or at least a view.

"Oh, this is too much. How can I thank you all?" She smiled a little tearily up at Brown, who flushed in embarrassment but did not drop her, then turned her gaze to Darcy, who had clearly masterminded the whole thing and was looking on with considerable satisfaction.

"Shall we go outside?" His eyes lit as Elizabeth's heartfelt look of gratitude caressed his face.

"But how shall we negotiate the stairs?" she asked as her litter-bearers carried her through the bedroom doorway.

"Sideways," was Darcy's terse and good-humoured reply.

Elizabeth, trailed by every guest in the house, was carried out the front door and down toward the lake. Darcy walked at her side; before them went three servants bearing blankets and picnic baskets. Merry conversation was all around her, and at the touch of the sun on her face Elizabeth let out a sigh of utter contentment. A gentle breeze was blowing, playing with the ends of her damp hair, and she closed her eyes for a moment, scarcely able to believe how good it felt.

The servants laid everything out on a flat stretch of lawn by the lakeside, and with much jocularity the party settled down to drink tea and eat sandwiches, fruit and cake. Mr. Bennet sat on one side of Elizabeth's stretcher, and Darcy took the other; the one to pay Elizabeth every proper care, and the other to tease them about it.

"You have done prodigiously well, Lizzy, attracting such a clever and handsome fellow," said Mr. Bennet quietly to his daughter, as Darcy was procuring another plate of sandwiches for them all. "It could not have turned out better if you had planned it so from the beginning."

"You like Pemberley, don't you, Papa?" responded Elizabeth, not above a little teasing herself. "Perhaps it is even nicer than Longbourn."

Mr. Bennet gave a low laugh. "Well, I am sure that you and your clever husband will be able to tolerate the occasional visit from an old man."

Elizabeth took her father's hand, and smiled. "I think you may visit as often as you choose - whether I am here or not."

"If you are not here," asserted Mr. Bennet, "I shall eat my hat." And they shared a smile until Darcy's arrival distracted them.

The next hour was spent very pleasantly in amiable conversation, with even Mr. Hurst venturing to make the occasional humorous aside. Stomachs were filled, hearts were light, and the weather was all that could be hoped for. Elizabeth felt her eyes growing heavy, and before she knew it the breeze in the trees and the gentle lapping of the water had lulled her into a sound sleep. Quietly, the servants packed the remains of the picnic away, and almost everyone moved off to take a relaxing walk around the lake's shore. Darcy, of course, declined the exercise, and stretching himself out on the blanket near Elizabeth's makeshift bed, soon fell asleep himself.

He awoke with a start about two hours later. Something was moving in the grass - he opened his eyes but could see no one, and hear no one. Raising himself up on one elbow, he looked around, and when he saw the source of the sound, smiled.

"Elizabeth!" he whispered, prodding her gently in the arm. She stirred and frowned, not yet ready to awaken. "Lizzy!" he whispered again, poking her a little more firmly. "Open your eyes and have a look, we have a visitor."

Curious, she did as he requested, and her eyes followed the direction of his gaze. A small brown duck was foraging for crumbs not six feet away from her, muttering gently to itself in the constant way of a feeding duck, pushing its beak through the grass as it winnowed for pieces of bread and other scraps.

"Oh," breathed Elizabeth, delighted. "Is it a wild one?"

"Yes," smiled Darcy. "A young female. She has two little ducklings, and a nest in the reeds down there." He pointed toward one of the reedy curves on the lake's edge.

"Is she tame?"

"No, not quite. If we move too much she will become nervous - but if we stay still..."

They did so, watching the pretty little creature intently as it edged slowly closer to the stretcher. Carefully, Darcy reached behind him for the small basket of leftovers he always liked to have while picnicking by the lake, in readiness for just such a circumstance. He passed a crust to Elizabeth, who crumbled it deftly, and lightly tossed it just within the duck's reach. With what could have been a grateful mutter the duck advanced on its prize, drawing ever closer to the two observers. More rewards followed, and the little duck was coaxed to within three feet of Elizabeth's bed - but at that moment, Bingley's loud cry shattered their peace. Alarmed, the duck gave a harsh quack and waddled quickly down to the lake, where she splashed into the water and sailed away with all the purpose of a tiny gunship.

"I say, Darcy!" Bingley was calling. "Are you still asleep?"

"Yes!" Darcy called back, rolling his eyes as Elizabeth laughed.

"Then you don't mind if I take Georgiana and Jane for a ride?"

"No, Bingley, not at all," came Darcy's reply, and more quietly for Elizabeth's ears only, "Take them into Lambton, and come back tomorrow."

"All right then, we'll be back in a few hours I dare say!"

Darcy gave Bingley a wave, which Bingley returned in his jaunty manner before striding off at a brisk pace towards the stables.

"I hope Jane never gets sick," smiled Elizabeth, "For Charles would make the most dreadful nurse."

"Indeed," Darcy agreed with a chuckle. "And I?"

"You are a tolerable nurse," Elizabeth allowed, her eyes sparkling. "Your chief fault is your tendency to disturb the patient's rest."

"Am I disturbing your rest, Lizzy?" Darcy inquired, manoeuvering closer to her.

"You are," said Elizabeth affectionately, "But it does not follow that the interruption must be unwelcome."

His eyes dropped to her lips, and she shifted slightly to face him. Their eyes met and locked in a gaze of tender warmth, and Darcy slowly lowered his head towards hers.

A loud and sudden spate of quacking startled them both, and they looked around to see that the brown duck had returned, and was eyeing them from not far way. Elizabeth laughed, and threw it some of the crumbs that lay beside her stretcher.

"She's insatiable," she smiled. "Give her some more, Will, look at her. She's a hungry duck."

Darcy found some more bread and tossed it to the duck, who pounced on it with more muttering sounds. To Elizabeth's surprise a veritable rain of bread, crumbs, apple cores and other edible scraps followed, and she turned to Darcy, who displayed the empty basket with a smirk. The duck, initially startled by the sudden arrival of so much heavenly bounty, accepted the offering with hardly a backward glance.

"No more interruptions," Darcy announced, satisfied, before bending to kiss Elizabeth's lips. Time slid away from them as each tenderly caressed the other's mouth. At length, Darcy drew back, still stroking her unbound hair. The moment felt absolutely right.

"Elizabeth," he breathed, "Will you marry me?"

The duck chose that moment to once more set up a loud racket, but Elizabeth hardly heard it. Darcy's question had taken her completely by surprise, though it should not have - but somehow in the newfound ease of their relationship, she had forgotten that nothing had been formalised. Her normally quick wits abandoned her, and she could think of no appropriately witty or romantic response; so she simply answered, "Yes."

Chapter Forty-one - Blessings

Darcy was not long in obtaining Mr. Bennet’s blessing after having secured his beloved’s consent. He cornered his guest in the library, striding through the door with such deliberation that Mr. Bennet, eying his disturber over the top of his newspaper, could be at no loss as to the nature of the discussion to come.

“Mr. Darcy. You look like a man on a mission,” said the object of that mission in a distracted tone, returning to the article before him with a sense of well-concealed glee.

“I am, sir,” announced the intruder firmly. “I have come to ask permission to marry your daughter.”

Mr. Bennet looked at him over the top of his newspaper again. “I presume we are speaking of Elizabeth?”

“I know it may surprise you, sir, that I have not come to apply for the hand of one of her sisters, eligible as they all are. But yes, I speak of Elizabeth.” Darcy’s voice betrayed only the smallest hint of his impatience.

Mr. Bennet smirked behind the newspaper, then obliged his prospective son-in-law by folding it up and laying it carefully on a nearby table.

“Well then, as it appears we have serious matter to discuss, I shall forgo my survey of the ridiculous state of our politics for five minutes. She has accepted your offer, has she?”

“She has.”

Mr. Bennet eyed the stern young man before him with affection. “Then far be it from me to introduce any impediment to her happiness. Mr. Darcy, you have pursued my daughter with admirable patience, fortitude, restraint and good humour. It is a pleasure to reward such devotion as you have shown. I could not have parted with her to anyone less worthy.” He stood, the hint of a tear in his eye, and offered his hand to the younger gentleman, which was warmly accepted and shaken. “My most heartfelt congratulations to you both. But before you go, Mr. Darcy, I do have one small proviso to add.”

Darcy looked at him questioningly.

“I beg of you – and I don’t wish to imply any blame in this matter, for I know you are entirely without fault – but please, for the sake of my old heart, make sure Elizabeth never gets shot again!”

With a deep breath and a small smile, Darcy assured him that it would be so.

The next few days saw plenty of activity at Pemberley. Announcement of the engagement of Mr. Darcy to Miss Bennet saw general rejoicing throughout the community at Pemberley and the village of Lambton, then further afield as the news began to spread. Mrs. Gardiner departed for London, where she was to meet her husband and children and the remainder of the Bennet family, who would then travel into Derbyshire to see Elizabeth. Mr. and Mrs. Hurst, who took the chance to leave for their London home themselves, offered her a seat in their carriage, which she gratefully accepted - occasioning a temporary reduction in the number of Mr. Darcy’s guests, and somewhat of a calm before the storm whilst those in residence awaited the arrival of Mrs. Bennet and her three younger daughters. Fortunately the weather remained fine, allowing Elizabeth to make the most of her stretcher-bed, and those few peaceful days were the most pleasant yet for all concerned. Mr. Bennet contented himself with casting the odd acerbic, yet satisfied, eye over the activities of his daughters and their lovers. He trusted to the good sense of the one and the head injury of the other in forestalling any dramatic impropriety that may occur, if the couples were given too much privacy. As it was, Georgiana served quite well as a chaperone; all concerned were willing to further her education a little, but not too far, and the prospect of being discovered by the sensitive young lady was adequate motive enough, particularly for her brother, to ensure that discretion and restraint was the order of the day. If this discretion and restraint was relaxed somewhat whenever the dulcet tones of Georgiana practising upon the pianoforte could be heard throughout the halls, or over the lawns, then Mr. Bennet would not complain – for really, things could have been a good deal worse. Both his prospective sons-in-law, though subject to the same frailties as all young lovers, were men that had earned his good opinion, affection and regard. He could not have been happier with their treatment of his daughters. To see both Jane and Elizabeth afforded the respect and esteem he had always hoped, yet rarely truly expected them to receive from their chosen partners, was more than his jaded old heart had anticipated. He reflected often, and with gratitude, upon this blessing; and if he chose not to walk down to the lakeside, or to avoid a certain sitting room for a time, then it must be noted that his graying head also held the notion that young men and women of principle and good sense were less likely to indulge in excessively risky behaviour if the fruit was not completely forbidden – at least for a time, anyway.

The halcyon days were all too soon at an end, however, with the advent of Elizabeth’s mother, accompanied by Mary, Kitty and Lydia. Mrs. Bennet’s transport over the beauties of Mr. Darcy’s estate could only be matched by her raptures over the good fortune of her second daughter, who had outdone even Jane in securing a husband of fortune and consequence. Elizabeth, unable to escape her mother’s exclamations as she was still confined to her bed, or at least her stretcher, could only bear the palpitations and excitement with good humour. Kitty and Lydia were no less excited, and even Mary allowed her stern exterior to bend momentarily in praise of Mr. Darcy and his establishment. Mr. Darcy himself was not exempt from these accolades. Mrs. Bennet, in her relief at seeing Elizabeth in relatively good health, arrived somehow at the conclusion that Darcy had saved her life in a dramatic fashion, and was not backward in expressing to him her gratitude for the service.

“Oh! Mr. Darcy! And when I think of my poor Lizzy, at the mercy of that monster, Wickham, why, I grow quite…faint…in fact I am feeling rather faint even now, just speaking of it…!”

“Perhaps you had best sit down, madam.”

But recovering herself, inspired by her next thought: “And then Wickham’s defeat at your own hands, Mr. Darcy! What a brave and gallant gentleman you are! I can never thank you enough for saving my dear Elizabeth - I am quite convinced that she is the cleverest of all my girls, and Mr. Bennet agrees with me! But were it not for you, my dear, dear Mr. Darcy - oh! We would all be in mourning!”

“Please, Mrs. Bennet –“

“No, no, you cannot be so modest with me, sir, for I know how it was! And now you are to marry our dearest girl. God could not have blessed us more when he sent you to us Mr. Darcy, indeed he could not!”

“I thank you, madam – and now, if you will excuse me, I have a pressing matter of business.”

“Such a charming gentleman, that Mr. Darcy. How fine he looks, how tall! Kitty, Lydia, I would not be at all surprised if he happens to have other single men among his acquaintance, just like Mr. Bingley, so make sure you are very polite to him!”

The door to Mr. Darcy’s bedchamber, still in use as Elizabeth’s sick room, opened quietly and closed again. The drapes were drawn and the room was darkened, to allow Elizabeth to rest more easily during the day. A tall figure slipped unobtrusively to her bedside, silent but for a slight sigh as of relief as he lowered himself into a nearby chair, which creaked under his weight, despite his care. The sleeper stirred slightly, then lay still, her breathing slow and deep, and her visitor seemed content to leave her undisturbed. Time passed, and at length a voice, muzzy with sleep, broke the silence.

“Fitzwilliam, what are you doing?”

“Hiding from your mother. Go back to sleep.”

A low chuckle emanated from the blankets.

“I fail to see what is so amusing.”

“There is nothing at all amusing about the Master of Pemberley hiding in his fiancee’s sick room to get away from her mother. In fact, if anyone should find you here in the dark with me, I dare say you will not be amused in the least.” Her amusement was evident from her tone.

“That is why I was being quiet. Go back to sleep, and no one will have anything to accuse.”

“I cannot,” she confessed, her voice strained.

“Why? Is something wrong?” He leaned forward slightly, concerned.

Her explanation, if she had intended to give one, was rendered incomprehensible as she lost her battle to hold in her laughter. It was immediately muffled with the aid of a pillow, but continued unabated for far too long, in Darcy’s opinion.

“Elizabeth!” he whispered loudly, only a little embarrassed at having been caught with his tail between his legs – if anyone had to know of his moments of social cowardice, then he wanted it to be Elizabeth.

“I’m s-s-sorry!” came her obscured, still laughing reply. With great gasps, she tried to control herself. He could hear her shifting position, and dimly made out movement before she announced, in a solemn tone, “There. I’m very sorry about that. Don’t mention anything else about my mother, or it will start all over again.”

He squinted into the dimness of her bed. “Elizabeth, are you sitting up?”

“Yes, and don’t scold me, I wouldn’t be doing it if I did not feel up to it.”

Darcy swallowed. Her remark served to remind him of her improvement, and given the situation in which they now found themselves, it was not a welcome reminder. Abruptly he stood, knowing that he should go, and declared his intention to do so. She did not object; nor did she object when he succumbed to temptation, bending over to brush her lips with his in the darkness.

“I will see you later, Miss Bennet.”

“I shall look forward to it, Mr. Darcy,” was her arch reply. The light coming through the open door illuminated his smile as he looked back at her before leaving the room; then the door closed, and darkness and quiet returned. Slowly, Elizabeth lowered herself back onto her pillows, letting out a heavy sigh.

“Patience, Lizzy,” was her advice to herself as she closed her heavy eyelids, once more aware that recovery must come step by step, and that she would be well soon enough.

Within a few days of Mrs. Bennet’s arrival, Elizabeth found herself able to sit fully upright quite regularly without too much dizziness. Dr. Maxwell was very pleased with her progress, and although the fortnight had elapsed, he left orders that she was still to confine herself to her bed and the stretcher for a further week, and that even should she feel able, walking about was quite out of the question. A bath now and then, however, was to be encouraged; but she was to remain calm and not to overexert herself under any circumstances. Darcy took these instructions to heart, keeping a close eye on her when he could, and enlisting Mary’s assistance in making sure that family visits did not overtax Elizabeth’s stamina. Lydia and Kitty, though scornful of Mary’s admonitions, did make some attempt to rein in their exuberance when in Elizabeth’s presence, assisted by an awe of Mr. Darcy and a respect for his sister, to whom Kitty in particular had taken a shine. Lydia found herself favoured by several walks in the garden with her father, who was attempting at long last to instil in her a small portion of wisdom, or at least the desire to think of other people on occasion; she, in her turn, was teaching him the value of patience and was giving him a good deal of amusement. No one else was able to ascertain just what it was they discussed when walking, for neither would say – hardly unusual for the capricious Mr. Bennet, but highly out of character for his loquacious daughter, who would not even tell Kitty, preferring to prolong the novelty of this experience of closeness to her father by maintaining an air of mystery.

The weather held clear. After a delightful picnic lunch, the party had decided on another indolent afternoon to enjoy Nature’s good humour, while it could be had. Elizabeth was holding court by the lakeside, attended by her mother, Georgiana, and two of her sisters. Her father was walking with his youngest daughter; Darcy was walking with Bingley and Jane in the opposite direction, when the sound of running feet turned their attention from a discussion of science, and they stopped to allow the messenger to catch them up. The boy, a son of one of the kitchen staff, had in his hand an important message for Mr. Darcy, who took it and read it at once. His light mood vanished in an instant, and Bingley, watching his friend’s expression close up like the proverbial clam, demanded to know the contents of the note.

Darcy, his eyes guarded and somber, regarded his companions. “It is news from the village,” he revealed. “Wickham is no longer in custody there – he has escaped.”

Chapter Forty-two - Target Practice

It was all Darcy could do to hold himself back from a run as he made his way down to the water, where Elizabeth would be resting in her stretcher-bed, hopefully in the company of her family and not Wickham. He well knew that Wickham, while not the murderous type, possessed a goodly amount of malice and was certainly of the temperament to desire, and carry out, revenge against those who had damaged his prospects. It had happened before. For his father’s favourite to return to Pemberley would be risky, but risks were just part of the game where Wickham was concerned; Darcy was convinced that the temptations would easily outweigh them. Cresting the green hill that sloped gently down to the lakeside, he could not prevent an audible sigh of relief from escaping his lips as he saw that the ladies were alone. Mrs. Bennet was not there – she had probably gone indoors – but Mary, Kitty and Georgiana were sitting together on a rug, and Elizabeth appeared to be asleep.

Affecting nonchalance, Darcy strolled down the hill towards them. The three girls were talking quietly amongst themselves, allowing the invalid, no doubt lulled to sleep by the breeze rustling its way through the overarching branches above them, to rest undisturbed. A glance in all directions showed that the coast was clear, and he allowed himself to relax, returning Georgiana’s smile of greeting as she became aware of his approach.

“The breeze is cooling,” he noted quietly to them, once close enough. “Perhaps it is time for Miss Bennet to be taken inside. How long has she been asleep?”

“Oh, she nodded off the instant Mama left, which would have been - “ Kitty looked to Mary for the details.

“About half an hour,” Mary announced.

Darcy nodded, pleased. “Then she will sleep again once inside, and to remove her now would not be too great an imposition.”

“Yes, I believe you are right, William,” said Georgiana, taking note of the air. “It does seem to be getting a little cooler.”

“I shall be back directly, with the servants,” said Darcy, and with a final swift sweeping perusal of the skyline, he strode away.

Mr. Bennet and Lydia joined them shortly after Darcy’s departure.

“Mr. Darcy has just gone to get the manservants, Papa,” Kitty informed him. “He doesn’t want Lizzy out in this chill.”

“What chill?” said Lydia.

“Hm. Better safe than sorry, I suppose,” Mr. Bennet observed.

“Well, that means we don’t need to be particularly quiet, as Lizzy will be woken up soon anyway,” Lydia decided, perching herself cheerfully on the blanket with the other girls. No sooner had she sat down than she sprang back up, having taken a fancy to some little flowers growing by the water’s edge. “Oh, look at these, Miss Darcy. Aren’t they just delightful?”

Her father, meanwhile, had undertaken the task of easing his daughter back to wakefulness with as much gentleness as possible. Her eyelids fluttered as he called her name quietly, leaning close to her and touching her shoulder.

“Papa?”

“That charming young man of yours has decided it would be best for you to be indoors; he will be back directly with your litter-bearers.”

She could not help but smile at her father’s turn of phrase, even as her heavy eyelids insisted on her indulgence, and the slumber which had held her so warmly seemed to pull at her from inside, wanting her to return.

“Go back to sleep, my dear,” said Mr. Bennet fondly, stroking her forehead. “They will be here soon enough, you still have a few moments.”

He stood, regarding her pale face, and the thin hands that rested on the coverlet. Her light frame had lost weight over the past weeks; improvement was now evident, but it was clear she still had some way to go before she would be capable of traipsing about the countryside willy-nilly, like his Lizzy always had. A wistful smile twitched about his mouth, and he turned to watch the four girls, who were all down by the water’s edge throwing breadcrumbs at a little brown duck that happened to be swimming nearby, with accompanying calls of delight and amusement. Mary tired quickly of the sport, returning to sit on the blanket, followed before long by Miss Darcy. The more boisterous pair continued their activities, affording them all with some entertainment, until Mr. Bennet heard Miss Darcy say:

“Whatever is that sound?”

And the bushes off to their left rustled again, loudly, as a horse and its rider pushed their way through to the expanse of lawn which they occupied. At first none of them could make out who it was, but as he drew closer, Georgiana’s face paled considerably. For the rider, dishevelled, unshaven, and bearing a pistol in the waistband of his trousers, was none other than Mr. Wickham.

A small smile graced his handsome features, and he reined in his mount at a non-threatening distance.

“Good afternoon ladies, Mr. Bennet.” He gave them a polite nod.

The degree of astonishment and alarm with which the picnickers greeted this most unwelcome apparition could not be exaggerated. Taking only a moment in which to recover, Mr. Bennet swiftly stepped forward, attempting to shepherd his young charges behind him.
“Ah, Mr. Wickham,” he called, his tone deceptively cheerful. “I hope you have not come to finish the job. We were just getting used to her company again.”

To everyone’s surprise, a momentary disconcertion and abashment crossed the intruder’s face. “No indeed, sir. Quite the contrary. Actually I came to offer my apologies, worthless as they may seem. I never intended to harm Miss Bennet.”

“Well, perhaps you might consider that kidnapping her at gunpoint is not among the safest of ways to associate with a young lady.”

“Yes,” Wickham replied somewhat awkwardly, clearing his throat. “My desperation drove me to act in a stupid, cruel manner, I know. I can offer no excuse. But please accept that I meant your daughter no ill, and I am very happy to hear of her recovery. I am not a killer, sir, whatever else you may believe of me.”

“You may tell yourself whatever you please, Mr. Wickham,” came Elizabeth’s voice, husky but clear, from behind her father. “It was only a happy accident that I am here to disagree with you. When one freely allows one’s passions to dictate one’s actions with impugnity, there is little point in claiming any sort of honour or innocence. It is only a matter of time. Such regrets are hollow.”

Wickham coloured. “Perhaps,” he allowed. “But I feel them all the same.”

At this, Lydia could no longer restrain her indignation. “What a liar you are! And now you think you will just ride away and cause trouble somewhere else? I don’t think so!” And she drew her hand from where it had been concealed in her skirts, and hurled its contents, a large, smooth stone, straight at the miscreant. A look of surprise widened his eyes, which crossed slightly as the stone struck him square on the forehead with a satisfyingly loud knock. Wickham swayed slightly, then slid from the saddle and plummeted gracelessly to the ground, where he lay still.

Confusion leaped forth, as Darcy and his men chose that moment to appear, and rushed towards them; effusions over Lydia’s daring and marksmanship and general exclamations of dismay and relief mixed with demands to know what had occurred, and excited explanations. Wickham himself proved to be soundly unconscious, and was dragged away with little ceremony to the stable, where he was securely tied and removed to the village in the back of a cart, sporting an extremely nasty and swollen bruise directly above his nose (which would never fully fade, gifting its bearer with a somewhat sinister mien). As for the residents of Pemberley, there was much comforting and congratulations to be given and received, and Lydia had never found herself to be so universally approved of or admired in her life. She was to bask in the sunny consequences of her heroism for several days, and much to Mr. Darcy’s relief, her mother was so distracted by the whole affair that her efforts to render unto him her undying gratitude were somewhat neglected.

“Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord,” and “The Lord works in mysterious ways His wonders to perform,” was Mary’s judgement on the whole affair.

“That will teach him to toy with my affections and shoot my sister,” was Lydia’s.

As soon as a moment of privacy was theirs, Darcy held Elizabeth so tightly she could barely breathe, then kissed her so thoroughly, and with such diligence, that she quite forgot the doctor’s admonitions and made herself feel uncomfortably faint encouraging his efforts, and had to lie back on the pillows

“We are getting married as soon as you are well,” was his slightly uneven pronouncement, the look in his dark eyes so electric that Elizabeth found herself unable to break his gaze.

“Yes,” she said quietly, the weakness of her flesh at war with the determination of her spirit. “How well, exactly?”

Her reply, accompanied as it was by such a sparkle in her eyes, drew from Darcy a delighted chuckle; and he raised her hand to his lips, his eyes conveying the complexity of the emotion he was feeling far more truthfully than his laughter. “I would never have believed that Fitzwilliam Darcy, bastion of self-reliance and rational respectability, could be rendered so utterly…powerless by his regard for another. By his need for another.”

Moved by this confession, Elizabeth’s expression sobered, though she gave him a small smile as she squeezed the hand that held her own so gently. “I need not ask you to explain, for the same can be said of Lizzy Bennet,” she said, holding his eyes with her own.

Submerging herself willingly in this moment of synchronicity, she understood the depth of his fear, and gave voice to what he needed to hear: “I will never leave you.”

Darcy took a deep, almost painful breath, and his eyes sparked with sudden moisture and an unspoken Thank you. He held Elizabeth’s hand to his lips; then lowered his head and pressed the back of her hand to his cheek, unable to speak.