Page 2 of Done for the Best (Engaged to Mr Darcy #5)

CHAPTER TWO

AFFLICTION AND AFFECTION

T he days following Elizabeth’s accident were nothing short of dreadful. The adder had indeed struck her and had inflicted her with its venom; while that was not fatal, it led to a bout of mild apoplexy and constriction of her breathing. Just when that malady seemed to be resolving, the wound became infected, and she developed a fever that had her once again knocking on death’s door.

Darcy found himself alternately numb with anguish and trapped in his own fevers, pacing, desperate to do something for her. He bargained with God, determined to right every wrong he had ever inflicted on another. He even bargained with Elizabeth herself, hoping his thoughts would somehow reach her within her unfortunate state in Collins’s house. I promise to be a man worthy of you. I will atone for the haughtiness you accused me of, my behaviour, which you thought so rude. I shall reconsider my thoughts about your family if you wish it. I shall improve for you if only you will survive this.

His musings were interrupted by voices in the hall outside his door one morning.

“Susie says it be the missus what’s taking all her time. Always needing someone to help her here or there, tea too hot, tea too cold, chair needing a blanket. Says it’s lucky the girl is still asleep, for if the missus had her way, no one would even have time—Oh!”

Darcy pulled his door open, startling the two maids, whom he surmised were speaking of Mrs Bennet. Elizabeth’s mother had arrived on the second day after her daughter was injured. It appeared that her object was not to help her daughter but rather to cause as great a tumult as she could.

The maids gasped in terror upon seeing him, alarmed to be caught gossiping. Immediately, they began to curtsey and apologise, edging down the hall with their eyes lowered.

“No! Wait! A moment, if you please!”

The taller one, a stout red-haired girl, said, “Mr Darcy, we are very sorry to have disturbed you, sir.”

He waved that away. “Did I hear you say that things at the parsonage… Is Miss Bennet getting all the attention she needs?”

The two maids mumbled half-hearted assurances and more apologies for gossiping.

“No, no,” he said impatiently. “The truth, now. I must know what is happening in the parsonage regarding Miss Bennet’s care.”

The taller girl flushed scarlet and stared at her feet but not before giving her companion a little poke. After a quick glance, the shorter maid admitted, “Forgive the impertinence, sir, but it’s my sister who’s over there, she’s the maid-of-all-work for them Collinses, and she says that Mrs Bennet is running her off her feet.”

“She has the nerves,” the red-haired girl added. “So’s they be having to take care of her as well as the young miss.”

“Right.” He considered briefly, then asked, “Who in the village is a nurse?”

An hour later, Darcy stood in the parsonage, having hired two nurses—one for day and one for night—and Mrs Collins was staring at him with profound relief in her eyes that plainly told of her exhaustion.

“Sir.” She rubbed her hand across her head. “I do not know what to say. It…it is an unlooked-for kindness.”

“It is nothing at all,” he said fervently. “I wish I could do more.”

“Do you?” She looked at him penetratingly and he, alas, did not look away quickly enough. She was perspicacious, and he winced, knowing she must see everything that he felt writ large on his countenance. Very mildly, she added, “It is much appreciated, I assure you.”

“Do you think…?” His emotion crowded his throat, and he was required to pause. “Will she be well again?”

A fraction of a moment too late, Mrs Collins said, “Of course she will. To be sure.”The troubled look in her eyes did not match her words.

“What else might we do?” he asked, frustrated. “Another physician perhaps?”

Mrs Collins shook her head. “I think she wants only for time. She is young and strong. I do not know any lady who can boast equal strength.”

“She simply must recover,” he said softly.

“I will do all I can for her,” she promised earnestly.

A few days later, the fever had dulled but not wholly abated. Darcy had scarcely slept, and what he ate he knew not. Trays were put in front of him, and sometimes he partook of them and sometimes he barely recognised that they were there.

His conduct had been examined from every angle in his mind. He had made promise after promise—if she awoke, she would find him a better man, one without improper pride, one who did not stamp about meanly, looking down his nose and displeased by everyone he saw. He would reform himself; he would behave as a man who was truly in love with a woman worthy of being pleased.

At the end of the week, Fitzwilliam came looking for him. His cousin found him staring out of the library window in the direction of the parsonage. From this vantage, Darcy could see only a small portion of the roofline, but it was enough to engage his interest.

Fitzwilliam clapped his shoulder. “There you are, Darcy. Shall you join us tonight for dinner at Darlington Abbey?”

“I think not.”

“Such a quick refusal! Perhaps you will change your mind when I tell you I suspect mysterious goings-on afoot.”

“Why is that?”

“Our cousin has been conspicuously absent from the drawing room these days. Mrs Jenkinson tells us she is unwell, but I daresay I have never seen her looking healthier.”

“Mm,” said Darcy disinterestedly.

After a short pause, Fitzwilliam said, “Perhaps it has something to do with a cousin of the Darlingtons who is in residence.”

“Doubtful.”

There was another pause before Fitzwilliam again tried to engage his interest, saying, “Only imagine if Anne were in love with someone over there!”

Darcy scoffed. “I would surely delight in any such attachment, but it seems unlikely.”

He heard the sound of Fitzwilliam’s footsteps retreating, but his cousin did not quit the room. Darcy glanced over his shoulder to see him settling into a chair across the room.

“Might I ask what the plan is, Darcy?”

Giving up on his study of the parsonage roof, Darcy went to sit in the chair adjacent to his cousin’s. “Plan?”

“We were meant to depart two weeks ago, and now I am spending my days playing cards with your valet while you stare out of the window.”

“Is that why Fields is so flush of late?”

Fitzwilliam chuckled, but it sounded more worried than amused. “It might well be. The man is not lacking in shrewdness.”

“If you would like, I can send you back to London in my carriage.”

“While you remain here?”

Darcy nodded. “My coachmen can return to Kent the day following.”

There was a lengthy pause, during which he fancied he could almost hear his cousin’s mind at work.

“The morning that we searched for Miss Bennet…”

Darcy leant back and crossed his legs, hoping he appeared nonchalant. There was a book on a table near him, and he picked it up and opened it to a random page.

“You mentioned that you had seen the lady well after Mr and Mrs Collins had left the parsonage.”

“I wondered when you might ask me about that.”

Fitzwilliam gave a half-smile. “As it stands, I already had some curiosity in that quarter. When the ladies withdrew from dinner that night, you did as well. I imagined you had gone to tend to the necessary and expected you back in some minutes. When you were not, I…I confess I thought to come and look for you.”

“You did not find it agreeable to be left to entertain Mr Collins?” With a chuckle, Darcy stared at the page of the book and prayed his cousin would say no more.

“I did not. But the peculiarities of that gentleman were nothing to my wonderment at seeing you on your way down the path towards the parsonage, a certain—shall we say purpose?—in your steps.”

Slowly, Darcy raised his eyes. His cousin’s gaze was sharp and probing upon him. Still, he remained silent, determined to admit nothing.

“Why did you go to the parsonage in the middle of dinner when all the occupants of that house were present at Rosings—save for one?”

“I needed to speak to that one.”

“As you already confessed you had seen her, then the question becomes whether you were indeed able to speak to her as you wished?”

“Why all the questions?” Darcy asked, imbuing his words with as much impatience as he could. “Am I not a grown man entitled to speak to whichever lady I choose?”

“Of course. But as a grown man, you are also well aware of the implied meaning of seeking a private audience with a lady.”

“Yes, I am,” Darcy confirmed softly. “And forgive me, but I am ill-prepared to speak more on this now, particularly not when the lady lies in the state she is in, her fate uncertain.”

Fitzwilliam ran a hand across his mouth. “You do know that with these sorts of bites, these adders…well, I had heard of a lady who was just…not quite the same. And Miss Bennet had, you know, the difficulties breathing, the fit she suffered, the fever…she may have been outside all night?—”

“I believe we have all already concluded that she began her walk at dawn. Adders, you know, are not active at night.”

“The material point is that there is a possibility she will be…materially altered. She may never walk again, or she may have a limp. She may have no idea who you are, or she might?—”

“I know ,” Darcy said, this time more emphatically. “Do you not think each of these dreaded outcomes has repeated itself, a litany of tragedy, endless in my mind for these weeks now? But I cannot abandon her; I cannot, and I shall not, no matter how long it takes for her to recover.”

“ Abandon her?” Fitzwilliam studied him for a long moment. “Darcy, are you…do you?—”

Darcy looked away, swallowing hard in the bloated pause that followed. Finally, he admitted, “Yes,” relieved to give voice to the feelings which had plagued him since last autumn.

At length, Fitzwilliam rose, leaning over to offer Darcy a light squeeze on the arm. He quit the room while Darcy again rose and went to the window, looking towards the house where she lay.

Charlotte Collins thought it a great piece of civility when Colonel Fitzwilliam called to bid her farewell. It seemed he was to return to London. “I only wish I might have accompanied Miss Lucas on her journey,” he said agreeably, referring to her sister whom she had sent back to Hertfordshire after Eliza’s accident. “I hate travelling alone!”

Charlotte waved her hand. “My husband was glad to accompany her to London, and my father got her from there. But what about Mr Darcy?”

“It was our original plan to travel together,” Colonel Fitzwilliam told her soberly. “But, given the circumstances, I cannot be surprised he elects to remain. One can hardly decamp when one’s betrothed lies in such a grievous state.”

It took Charlotte several seconds to comprehend what she had heard. “I beg your pardon, but did you say…?”

“You did not know?” Colonel Fitzwilliam settled back; it was clear he relished being the bearer of some happy news. “Evidently, while we were at dinner that evening—you must recall that Darcy was absent for a time?—he came here.”

“I see. Mrs Davies did mention something of that to me.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam smiled. “I daresay he is quite in love with your friend. I cannot say I am surprised—Mr Collins is the first parson Darcy has ever deigned to visit, and with all due respect, I soon recognised it was not interest in him that brought my cousin to your door.”

“I cannot say it wholly shocks me either.” On the colonel’s look, Charlotte added, “I have always noticed that he stares at her when he thinks she does not see him. This has been his custom since last autumn.”

“That is unusual indeed! They have been walking in the groves most mornings, you know.”

“Eliza tends to keep her own counsel on such things,” Charlotte told him. “We have been intimates since our girlhoods, but she would not have dropped a word until things were settled—until her father knew, most likely.”

“And now this,” Colonel Fitzwilliam concluded sadly. “Merciful heavens, I do pray she awakes unaltered.”

“As do I,” Charlotte confirmed.