Page 21 of Mr. Darcy’s Honor (Darcy and Elizabeth Forever: Pride and Prejudice Variations #1)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

PETALS AND HEARTS

“Purple hyacinth for forgiveness, white tulip for worthiness.” Elizabeth didn’t need the book to interpret Darcy’s arrangement, though the fact that he’d been so eager for her to consult it suggested he lacked the knowledge to choose the blooms himself.

The bright morning sun streamed through the window of her bedchamber, where she had finally allowed herself rest after Darcy’s improved condition the previous evening.

Jane insisted that she take breakfast in her room while Bingley sat with the patient, claiming she would collapse if she didn’t properly attend to her needs.

Now, surrounded by the flowers Darcy had sent the day before, Elizabeth found herself unexpectedly thoughtful.

She set the leather-bound volume on the tea table between her and Jane. “Tell me the truth, sister. I cannot imagine Darcy would express these gentler sentiments. I suspect you and Charles had a hand in the selection.”

“You are being rather uncharitable.” Jane looked up from her embroidery. “Mr. Darcy originated the plan. Charles merely assisted with the collection, and I helped with the arrangement.”

Elizabeth knew her sister too well. She saw an opportunity for reconciliation and seized it. Still, she had to credit Darcy. He was grateful, and he wished to bring a measure of happiness to her situation.

She idly flipped to the pages marked by creased corners. “The great Fitzwilliam Darcy humbly accepts instruction. Perhaps mandatory for every young gentleman seeking a lady’s favor?”

“So, you admit Mr. Darcy favors you.” Jane smiled prettily, which heated Elizabeth’s cheeks.

“I admit no such thing,” Elizabeth retorted, closing the book with more force than necessary. “I merely observe that a man in his feverish state might resort to unusual measures to express gratitude to his nurse.”

“A simple note would have sufficed,” Jane countered softly. “Flowers with such specific meanings suggest something deeper. He studiously consulted the book before asking me to wrap each sprig into the bouquet.”

Elizabeth hesitated. Purple hyacinths for forgiveness, white tulips for worthiness, forget-me-nots and pink camellias with their quiet declarations of remembrance and longing—the gesture had touched her more than she cared to admit.

“What about the roses? Did he understand their meaning?”

“I removed the deep red ones,” Jane replied. “They were a touch too forward. Mr. Darcy was most concerned that his gesture not be misinterpreted as presumption.”

“Red roses,” Elizabeth repeated, opening the book and finding the entry. Passionate love. Deep romantic attachment.

A treacherous flutter of disappointment settled in her chest. “I see.”

“The pink roses speak of unconscious beauty,” Jane remarked. “A quality he recognizes in you. He chose to communicate with you through symbolism. That seems significant.”

Elizabeth had not considered this aspect of his gesture. Darcy had indeed chosen a method that invited her participation and respected her intelligence rather than imposing his sentiments upon her.

“It was… unexpectedly subtle,” she acknowledged. “Not a quality I have generally associated with Mr. Darcy.”

“Perhaps there are many qualities you have not had the opportunity to observe,” Jane suggested. “Have you ever wondered why Mr. Darcy would offer for you in the first place?”

Elizabeth turned to the window, vacantly gazing over the lush Netherfield gardens, the scene where Wickham’s challenges had played out.

“I’ve thought about it more than once,” she admitted.

“I have no advantage for him. No dowry, no influential connections. There is no advancement for him, not in terms of land, which is entailed to Mr. Collins, or titles like his mother had. I, myself, am not particularly accomplished by the standards of his social circle. We own no home in London, and have no property near the seaside. No brothers for him to befriend. Our connection to trade and our mother’s mentioning of men’s incomes are not particularly refined. ”

“Lizzy, stop.” Jane held up her hand. “Perhaps he simply wants you.”

Elizabeth turned from the window, not quite sure what to make of her sister’s firm declaration.

“Bingley tells me Darcy has avoided marriage with assiduous care,” Jane continued. “Sidestepping Caroline’s attentions, appearing thoroughly disinterested. Even that remark at Meryton was directed at Charles, pestering him to dance.”

Elizabeth felt heat creep up her neck at the memory. Not handsome enough to tempt me. The sting of it remained sharp even now.

“It doesn’t excuse his behavior,” Jane said, “but might you consider the meaning of this purple hyacinth and forgive him?”

Elizabeth detached a sprig from the bouquet, holding it to her nose.

The gesture seemed to calm something restless within her.

“I will return it to him. He’s already forgiven me for sharing his proposal with Wickham.

To think I believed Wickham was a friend.

Always ready with a smile and eager to please. ”

“While Darcy is known for his frowns and dark scowls,” Jane observed, as Elizabeth made a pursed lip rendition of Darcy’s signature expression.

Both sisters dissolved into giggles, perhaps for the first time since the dreadful events following Wickham’s accusations.

“Although one must be careful not to overextend Darcy’s meaning with these floral sentiments,” Elizabeth said, her caution reasserting itself.

“Once he recovers, he will return to Pemberley. He has an estate to consider, a position in society, and a family name to uphold. He made one imprudent offer; he will not make the same mistake again.”

“You’re afraid to trust him,” Jane observed.

“I would be a fool not to be cautious,” Elizabeth replied. “After the scandal, the duel, and Wickham’s lies, I am in a worse position than when he proposed at Hunsford. My sole consideration is that you and our sisters will not be tainted by my fall from grace.”

“Oh, Lizzy, I don’t believe Darcy would change his consideration for you due to recent events.”

“I have done nothing but make things worse,” Elizabeth contended. “If I had not spoken so to Wickham, like you cautioned, none of this would have happened.”

Jane studied her sister thoughtfully. “Lizzy, may I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Of all the people involved in recent events—Mr. Darcy, Lieutenant Wickham, and Charlotte Collins—who has been most consistent in their words and actions, regardless of how pleasant or unpleasant those might be?”

“What do you mean?”

“Wickham was charming with his pleasant manners and sympathetic tales. Charlotte always said what you wished to hear, yet now?”

“Their true characters were revealed.”

“Mr. Darcy, however disagreeable his manner, has been remarkably consistent,” Jane concluded. “If he regarded you enough to make you an offer before the duel, he will, no doubt, regard you even more now that you both have a better understanding of each other.”

“Sweet Jane.” Elizabeth’s hand fluttered. “You think too well of everyone and believe in happy endings.”

“And you pride yourself on your discernment, perhaps masking your fear with denial.”

Elizabeth rose from the window seat, moving to retrieve the flower book once more. She ran her fingers over the cover, thoughtful. “Darcy confounds me at every turn. Just when I believe I understand his character, he does something entirely unexpected.”

“Like attempting to speak through flowers when words have failed him.”

“Yes,” Elizabeth agreed. “Though I cannot help but note the irony of a man using a language he does not fully comprehend.”

“Is it not rather touching that he would try?” Jane asked. “That he would venture into unfamiliar territory rather than risk misunderstanding through direct speech?”

Elizabeth had not considered it from this perspective.

There was indeed something both humble and brave in Darcy’s decision to communicate through a medium he did not fully master.

The proud man she had met at the Meryton assembly would never have risked appearing anything less than perfectly competent.

“I suppose there is a certain… sincerity in the attempt,” she allowed.

“Sincerity,” Jane repeated. “A quality you have always valued highly, and one I believe you share with Mr. Darcy, despite your differences.”

Elizabeth looked up sharply. “I share a quality with Mr. Darcy?”

“Several, I should think,” Jane replied with a teasing note. “Intelligence, of course. Loyalty to those you care for. Strong principles. And yes, sincerity—a preference for direct truth over pleasant falsehood.”

“You make us sound remarkably compatible,” Elizabeth observed wryly.

“I merely point out what I observe,” Jane said, her innocence not entirely convincing. “Though I would never presume to suggest you are developing tender feelings for the gentleman.”

“I should hope not,” Elizabeth replied with forced lightness. “One romantic entanglement in this household is quite sufficient.”

Jane’s blush deepened, but she did not deny the implication. “Mr. Bingley has been most attentive. Though the circumstances are hardly conventional.”

“Love rarely respects convention,” Elizabeth observed, then immediately regretted her choice of words. “Not that I am suggesting—that is, I merely meant that your renewed acquaintance with Mr. Bingley seems to have progressed despite the unusual circumstances.”

“As has yours with Mr. Darcy.”

Elizabeth’s heart fluttered, and heat crept to her face. “That is entirely different. Mr. Darcy and I are not—we have no understanding. I am merely his nurse.”

“I think,” Jane said softly, “that you are afraid of what you might be beginning to feel.”

The accusation struck like an arrow finding its mark. Elizabeth turned away, unwilling to let her sister see her confusion.

“It would be madness,” she said. “To develop an attachment to a man whose proposal I rejected so decisively. Whose denial of that proposal caused such a scandal. Whose recovery is still far from certain.”

“The heart does not always consult reason before choosing its path,” Jane said.

“I cannot allow myself to expect anything beyond his recovery. To do so would be foolish in the extreme.”

“Perhaps,” Jane agreed. “But I have never known you to guard your heart out of fear of being thought foolish.”

“It is not fear,” Elizabeth protested. “It is simple pragmatism.”

Jane’s smile was gentle but knowing. “If you say so, dear sister.”

A sharp knock at their chamber door startled them both.

“Miss Bennet, Miss Elizabeth,” a housemaid gasped. “Mr. Bingley asks that you come at once. It’s Mr. Darcy. His fever has returned something fierce.”

The tray clattered as Elizabeth leaped up, tea sloshing onto Jane’s gown. “When did this happen?”

“This past half-hour, miss. Mr. Darcy’s valet went to check on him and found him burning up and talking out of his head. Mr. Bingley said to fetch you immediately.”

Elizabeth tucked a single hyacinth into her apron pocket before rushing out. “I should not have left him.”

Jane squeezed her arm reassuringly. “Mr. Darcy is strong, Lizzy. And he has excellent care.”

They reached the door to Darcy’s chamber, where Bingley stood in anxious conversation with the valet. His expression lightened with visible relief at their approach.

“Miss Bennet, Miss Elizabeth, thank you for coming so quickly. I fear Mr. Darcy’s condition has taken a turn for the worse.”

“Has Mr. Johnson been sent for?” Elizabeth asked.

“Yes, though it may be some time before he arrives. He was called to a case in Meryton late last evening.”

Elizabeth nodded, her mind already shifting to what needed to be done. “We’ll need cold water, fresh cloths, and willow bark tea if the kitchen has any prepared.”

“I’ll see to it,” Jane offered immediately.

With a brief squeeze of Jane’s hand in silent thanks, Elizabeth entered the sickroom.

The curtains were drawn, and the chamber was dimly lit. Mr. Darcy’s fevered gaze beckoned to her. His face was flushed, and sweat plastered his hair against his brow.

“I’m here.” She approached the bed, pressing a cool hand to his burning forehead. “I understand you now, and I should not have left your side.”

“Elizabeth… my wife.” Darcy’s eyes were glazed, fixed on her. “I’m dying now. Pemberley is half yours… Take care of Georgiana.”

“No… no…” Elizabeth dipped a cloth into cool water. “You must live. Georgiana is coming.”

“Keep her away… from… Wickham…” The words were more of an exhalation. “He tried to…”

“Darcy… I understand, more than you know.” She wiped his brow, but his eyes were closed, and the moans tearing from his throat made her heart seize with fear. “You must live, Mr. Darcy. You can’t leave. You can’t.”