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

CHAPTER FIVE

UNKNOWING

W hile Darcy waited for Elizabeth to arrive, he looked around him at the room where he had been received only once before—the morning he had come upon her alone, the other ladies having gone to the village. It was the back parlour, a smaller, less formal space but very neatly furnished and comfortable. Most importantly, it was not the scene of his ill-fated addresses, and for that he was most grateful.

What would he say to her? She had no remembrance of him—but how to say, ‘By the bye, you despise me, but I love you.’ Perhaps they might begin anew?

Shortly thereafter, he heard them in the hall, Elizabeth saying, “Charlotte, I assure you, I can walk,” just before the door creaked open and the ladies entered.

She was beautiful in her renascent state. Pale, as would be expected, and thinner, but the delicacy only enhanced her loveliness to him. She had grey shadows of fatigue beneath her eyes, and her hair was very simply done—a plait wound up and pinned—but she was walking, even if she needed to lean heavily upon her friend to do it.

He moved to assist them, but Mrs Collins quickly had her situated on a small but comfortable-looking sofa, so he contented himself with bringing over a little footstool. Mrs Collins gave him a quick, grateful smile, but Elizabeth only looked a little dazed.

“I brought your blanket,” Mrs Collins said while he returned to his position by the mantel.

“I am not cold, thank you.”

“Pray, put the blanket over your legs, at least. The last thing we need at present is for you to take a chill.”

“I assure you, I am far more apt to break into a sweat than to take a chill.” While she spoke, Elizabeth’s eyes had moved away from her friend and fixed upon Darcy. He felt pinned, like a moth to a tray, as her eyes roved over his countenance. He smiled at her, but she did not smile back. She seemed frightened and uncertain, despite her firm words to her friend.

He cleared his throat lightly. “The rain we had yesterday has made it exceedingly damp today, and likely you should have the blanket to ward off any chill.”

This earned him a searching look from her, followed by a small smile. “Very well.”

Mrs Collins busily exchanged Elizabeth’s shawl—which she deemed too thin—for her own which was thicker. Throughout her friend’s fussing and fretting, Elizabeth sent quick, darting glances in Darcy’s direction, examining him it seemed.

“Charlotte, I daresay I am swaddled enough.”

Mrs Collins gave the shawl one final tweak over Elizabeth’s shoulders. “Shall I send for some tea?”

Elizabeth, in a low voice, said to her friend, “No, I do not want tea, I just wish to speak to Mr Darcy, if you please.”

“I will leave shortly; I only wish to see to your comfort.”

“I am comfortable, I promise you. Please?”

Mrs Collins sighed and said, “Very well.” She cast one last glance between them and then left, leaving the door slightly ajar.The sudden stillness of the room was alarming. Darcy felt his heart pound, wondering what he should say, but Elizabeth spoke first.

“Thank you.” Tears had welled up in her eyes. “Thank you for the…the doctor. I was so frightened when he brought out his jar and…and I simply could not bear the thought of it, of enduring such a thing. Thrice a day, he said! I did not see how I would bear it even once!”

“Shh,” he said, trying to soothe her as he joined her on the sofa. “Of course, think nothing of that. But we must get some food in you, something nourishing. Otherwise, he and his jar might come back tomorrow, and I fear I have exhausted all my persuasive charms upon him today.”

This made her laugh, a tinkling, unpractised sound, even as she wiped away one of the tears which had fallen. “My trouble is that everything sounds so…so disgusting. I try to imagine eating something, and it just feels like my throat closes.”

He thought for a moment. “Mrs Reynolds, my housekeeper, used to feed me bread soaked in tea when I was ill. It…it just sort of melts away in your mouth. Could you manage that?”

She smiled at him, genuine and warm. “I think I could, yes.”

He rose and went to the bell; Mrs Collins herself replied to the summons. He explained quickly what was needed, and she went off to see it prepared for her friend, obvious relief in her eyes. Darcy then returned to Elizabeth.

“I must tell you, sir, I have searched my mind, very diligently, and alas I must say I truly have no recollection of you.” She offered an apologetic smile to him. “The only thing I could summon up was…”

She paused, an enchanting pink blush rising on her cheeks. More quietly, she said, “I seem to recall you saying that you ‘ardently admired and loved’ me. When I heard you speaking to Dr Hughes outside of my bedchamber, the sound of your voice seemed to stir that recollection. Is it faithful…that memory?”

“Um.” He swallowed. “Yes, that memory is true. I did say those words to you… And I do…I do love you. It has been dreadful these past weeks, being fearful for your safety. I…the thought that you might not…”

He stopped, unable to go on. He turned his head away from her but turned back, startled, upon feeling her gentle touch on his shoulder.

She was smiling, beguiling and playful. “But I did. So those fears, terrifying as they might have been, were unfounded. I am hale and whole.”

He found himself smiling back. She was intoxicating, her delicate bewilderment slowly ebbing away, leaving an ease and friendliness that was everything he had ever imagined and more. “I do not think that as yet we can declare you hale, but you are as lovely as ever.”

“I suppose it will be some time before I can call myself hale, and my memory, for certain, is not whole.” Her good humour dimmed a bit. “Memory loss is a strange thing. You do not know what is lost until you have reason to look for it.”

Then, shockingly and suddenly, she began crying. She pulled up the edge of the shawl to cover her face, and her slender shoulders shook. Darcy hesitated one moment, then placed a hand on her back. He longed to pull her into his chest but restrained himself.

“I despise feeling so…so confused, so stupid!” She leant against him, and his heart leapt.

“You are not stupid,” he consoled her. “Very likely you will remember it all one day; you are still recovering.”

“I cannot even recall your proposal,” she said into his chest. Then she pulled back, looking up at him, her face damp and small tears clinging to her eyelashes. “You did propose to me—did you not?”

“I did,” Darcy said.

And then she was weeping again, apologising to him for not remembering it, apologising for being so mercurial with her emotions. He soothed her with inane mutterings—“There, there, think nothing of it”—all the while thinking what a relief it was that she did not seem to recall the bitter exchange they had had or the fact that she had despised him from the first moment of their acquaintance.

She had only just stopped weeping when the maid entered bearing a tea tray and the bread, prepared just as he had requested. Elizabeth regarded it with a faint look of revulsion but then said, “Well, ’tis this or the leeches I suppose,” and tucked in to it. He felt inordinately pleased watching her.

While she was thus occupied, he asked, with careful nonchalance, “Do you recall anything of the matter with your sister and Bingley?”

“I am afraid I do not have the faintest recollection of Mr Bingley,” she said with a smile over her teacup. “Charlotte told me that Jane wanted to come to me here, from London, but my mother insisted that she return to Longbourn. Evidently a report had gone round the neighbourhood that Mr Bingley would be coming to Netherfield.”

“Did he? I am afraid he has not replied to my recent?—”

She set down her cup. “Charlotte says Jane is violently in love with him, so I have already decided I shall like him.”

Surprise made him chuckle. “Bingley is very easy to like. Perhaps you will remember him when you see him again.”

“Perhaps I shall,” she said, tearing off a little piece of bread. She had consumed almost an entire slice, he noted with satisfaction.

“And he has two sisters as well. Miss Bingley, who is of an age with you, and Mrs Hurst who is the elder sister. She would be, um, I believe, four- or five-and-twenty.”

Elizabeth considered that while she ate another small bit of bread. “Were they friends of mine?”

Darcy winced. “Um…they are both the sort of ladies who are really only friends to themselves.” Cautiously, he asked, “There was a regiment quartered in Meryton last autumn. Do you remember them?”

She tilted her head as she pondered the question.

“Colonel Forster was the head of it and a Captain Carter. Then there were some various lieutenants who came to the parties—Denny, Chamberlain…a Mr Wickham.”

“Wickham,” she echoed faintly. “No, I am afraid I do not remember any of them.”

This gave him a great deal of satisfaction.

“Do you recall anything of the last night we were together, here? Besides when I said that I loved you?”

“Is that when you said it?” She shook her head. “No. I cannot say I recall anything but that, and I only recollected that when I heard your voice in the hall. Why?” She took a sip of the tea, giving him a mischievous look over her teacup. “Did we have a dreadful quarrel?”

He laughed, too loudly, then admitted, “In fact, yes, we did.”

“Was it something you did? Or was it me?”

You said I was the last man in the world you could ever imagine marrying. You said I had behaved in an ungentleman-like manner. “It was me, wholly and completely my fault.”

“How fortunate then that this accident erased all traces of it from my mind!” She smiled. “You are pardoned and exonerated, with me none the wiser. It seems it was the ideal moment for a vicious row.” Her giggle as she concluded her sentence showed she thought it was of no consequence.

“I daresay it was,” he acknowledged. “But I do want you to know this. I am sorry for how I hurt you, and your reproofs are tended to, even if you do not remember what they were.”

“That sounds very serious.” She said so in a deepened voice with a mocking little frown that was endearing. “From all Charlotte has told me, you are much to be admired. In any case, I surely would not have accepted an offer of marriage from someone so bereft of good character!”

The last she said lightly, but it gave him a jolt. She believed she had accepted him; she believed they were engaged. He opened his mouth, intent on correcting her, but just then Mrs Bennet bustled in, with Mrs Collins hard on her heels.

“Excellent news, Lizzy! Mr Bingley has made a purchase offer for Netherfield Park!”

Nearly an hour later, Darcy stopped on the lane between Rosings Park and Hunsford Parsonage. What had he done? Why had he not corrected her misapprehension?

‘Disguise of every sort is my abhorrence’. The memory of his own voice, rich with arrogance and self-importance, taunted him.

Turning back towards the parsonage, he took one step forwards. It had been a torturous temptation, Elizabeth, sweet and loving, allowing him to care for her, turning to him for comfort and affection—just the way he had always imagined it might be for them. An unbearable enticement for any man.

He took another step towards the parsonage.

But she had been retiring when he left, shadows having deepened beneath her eyes and a weakness afflicting her bearing. She must surely be in her bed by now, perhaps already asleep.

The words of the doctor returned to him: ‘No news to shock her system. She is in a highly delicate state’. What might the news that, no, they were not engaged, do to her?

He could not do it to her now, not with the threat of Dr Hughes and his purgatives looming. She needed to rest, to be calm and to gain her strength. He would explain it all later.

“Charlotte, you are truly too good to me.” Charlotte bustled about the room, making sure Elizabeth had everything she needed, though in truth, Elizabeth knew a long and deep nap was due shortly, so in fact, she required little.

Her friend smiled at her. “I confess, the duty has been made much easier by the nurses Mr Darcy hired.”

“You have no idea how relieved I am that he stopped the doctor from bleeding me.”

“As am I,” Charlotte admitted with a laugh. “I wished to do what was needed for you, but I am still not sure I could have applied those leeches to you. My hands were already shaking at the thought of merely touching them!”

Elizabeth shuddered. “I was doing my best to hold fast to my courage, but I could not imagine how I would get past the hour much less the days to come. But I shall not think of that; I am well aware Dr Hughes might be back tomorrow.”

“He will have to go through Mr Darcy first,” said Charlotte with a little laugh.

“He is the protective sort, is he not?”

“That is putting it mildly.”

“And handsome,” Elizabeth added. “I confess I feared he might be forty-five and bald, but he is…almost shockingly handsome. And so tall!”

“That he is. Everyone in Hertfordshire thought him a fine figure of a man.” Charlotte smiled down at her where she lay in the bed. “I am putting some barley water over there if you feel you can manage something more.”

“Thank you, but I doubt I will be awake enough to drink it. Are we…are we in love?”

“You and I?” Charlotte asked teasingly. “You know I have always been fond of you.”

Elizabeth smiled wanly even as she felt sleep tugging her away. “Mr Darcy and I…I just…I have no remembrance of him, just one faint recollection of him saying he ardently admired and loved me. He said that he told me so the night before this…this mishap of mine, but then he also said we quarrelled. How does one go from such declarations to quarrelling?”

“I am hardly his confidante, so I really cannot say,” Charlotte said. “Perhaps the declaration came after the quarrel? As you made up?”

“That would make sense.”

“I may not have known everything of your attachment to him—you do tend to keep things close, Eliza, and he even more so—but I had suspected that he had a tendre for you months back—he watched you all the time, and singled you out for dancing at his friend’s ball.”

“Is that so remarkable?”

“I do not think he danced with anyone else from the neighbourhood.”

“Not even Jane?”

Charlotte shook her head.

Elizabeth felt her eyes drifting closed amid the guilty pleasure of that. “Dear Jane. I have not even been able to look at the letters she has sent me, much less write some of my own.”

“Do not worry about that. I told her you were as yet unable to read or write, but she misses you so, she says she will just carry on writing to you. You will read them all soon, I am sure, and be able to reply.”

Elizabeth hoped that was true. Her memory being what it was, she felt as if she had not seen her sister in nearly a year, not merely the weeks she was told they had been apart. She hoped Jane was enjoying the society of Mr Bingley; it would make it wholly worthwhile.

Sleep was overcoming her, and her last thought, as she drifted off, was whether this Mr Bingley would propose and, if so, if she and Jane might have a double wedding.