Page 36 of An Offer of Marriage (Engaged to Mr Darcy #7)
MATERIALLY ALTERED
T he bout of illness which ensued for Elizabeth was painful and prolonged. For two days complete, she either slept or was awake and casting up her accounts into the chamber pot. The pain of it was considerable.
On the third day, she woke very early, having had a surprisingly restful sleep.
It was too early to summon her maid and so she indulged herself in indolence.
Her stomach and head still ached, but not nearly so fiercely.
She decided not to take any of Anne’s remedy for headaches, ever again in fact.
It plainly did not agree with her, and eating bread and drinking tea had done nothing but give her stomach something to violently propel outward when the inevitable occurred.
I must make sure that the maid—was it Rachel or Martha?—receives a coin or two for her efforts with the rug. No one, even someone in service, should be made to clean up another person’s sickness like that.
She had wondered, several times, whether it was Anne’s remedy which caused her illnesses.
Perhaps it caused Anne’s illnesses as well?
It could not be denied that nearly every day that she sat with Anne and partook of her unique, strengthening teas or drank from the little phial she had been given, she became ill.
Then again, I have also become ill without her teas or remedies , Elizabeth reminded herself. But nerves? I cannot credit that.
She had more than a few doubts about Dr Andrews’s diagnosis, but the man was adamant.
Given that she was married to a man who seemed to despise her, whose ire could be raised against her at a moment’s notice, some nerves were certainly warranted.
If nothing else, she had more sympathy for her mother than ever she had before.
It was not at all easy to live day in and day out under the censuring gaze of a man who held your life in his hands.
When the hour was closer to her usual hour for awakening, she removed from the bed.
Catching sight of herself in the mirror on her dressing table, she chuckled ruefully as she sat before it.
She poked at a large knot of hair that had come unbound and observed her pallor and chapped lips.
With a sigh, she told her reflection, “As Lydia would say, I look like Satan’s left foot. ”
“Is Satan’s left foot remarkably different from his right?”
She jumped, then turned to see her husband standing in the doorway to her bedchamber. “I really cannot say,” she said, even as she passed a hand over her tangled tresses. “It is just something she has always said.”
Darcy was dressed, looking as if he had meant to ride, and she was struck by the beauty of him.
She had not permitted herself to consider it before, but she enjoyed now simply looking at him, even as she recognised he had a pensive air about him that was unsettling.
It was an improvement over his anger, but it was nevertheless discomfiting, particularly as the words ‘what to do about our marriage’ recollected themselves to her mind.
She turned her back to him, busying herself with the items on the table. “I am sorry to have missed dinner with your Matlock relations.”
“Think nothing of that. Are you in pain now?”
“A little,” she admitted. “Nothing of consequence.”
It was not entirely true. In fact, she was already feeling very tired from the mere act of rising, with a strange lethargy in her limbs. As if her body wished to further carry its point, she yawned.
“You still look very pale,” he said gently. “Perhaps you ought to return to bed?”
“Yes, true…thank you.” Elizabeth reached out and fiddled with her brush, expecting to hear his footsteps retreat. With every silent moment that passed, she grew more uncomfortable. At length she could take it no more and turned round in the chair. “Was there anything you needed of me?”
“Rather is there anything you need? For your nerves or…or anything?”
“I am not entirely convinced of the good doctor’s diagnosis, if we are being fully honest. Although nervous complaints do run in my family, I suppose.”
He looked down, no doubt displeased by this suggestion that he had inadvertently married Mrs Bennet. Yes, my mother and I have this much in common: marriage to a man who disdains us.
There were a few more idle pleasantries—did she wish for a breakfast tray, would she like him to remain at home for the day, could he help her back into bed—until at length he left her. She put herself in bed and lay with her eyes closed, tired but not sleeping.
What was her husband about? Perhaps his anger had finally abated, but for how long?
He had been kind to her, considerate and feeling.
It was bewildering, but no more confusing than the anticipation of how she might next displease him.
Or of what he meant when he said they needed to decide what to do about their marriage.
She had no notion of how to go about speaking to him about it, and very much feared the recoil, should she take a shot.
The carriage ride after their wedding had not left her memory, it being one of the most sorrowful four hours of her life, rolling relentlessly towards an undoubtedly bleak life with a husband who despised her with as much passion as he had once loved her.
She had only been grateful that Darcy remained asleep so that she could allow her tears to escape as she wished.
There was no doubt in her mind, she ought to forestall any discussion of their marriage for as long as she could, certainly until after Jane’s wedding, at least. She would not like her felicity in their day to be marred by the problems in her own life.
An answer came, very gladly albeit unexpectedly, when her maid arrived with tea and the letters she had missed while ill.
There was a letter from Jane, brought by her almost-husband who was now in town.
Though she did not say so directly, Elizabeth did not think she imagined Jane’s unwritten desire for her younger sister to help with the preparations.
Mr Bingley had written a line of his own.
Looking at it, Elizabeth smiled wistfully, thinking of the long-ago day at Netherfield when Mr Darcy had tasked him for his dreadful writing.
It really was nothing more but blots and misspellings, but the notion of it was that Bingley was in town and would take her with him back to Hertfordshire if Darcy could spare her. For his beloved Jane’s sake.
At once Elizabeth felt, if not well, energetic. She got out of bed, resolved to put any sort of nervous silliness aside. She would go to her sister, to a respite from unhappiness. Maybe the time apart would do her and Darcy well.