Page 23 of Mr. Darcy’s Honor (Darcy and Elizabeth Forever: Pride and Prejudice Variations #1)

Elizabeth froze, her heart seeming to stop and then race forward at twice its normal pace. These were the words she had never thought to hear from him—words that changed everything and nothing.

“Don’t say anything. Rest.”

“No, let me finish.” Pain creased his features as he struggled for breath. “I may not have another chance. I was a fool at Hunsford. So proud, so certain of your answer. I spoke of obstacles and family inferiority when I should have spoken only of my heart.”

Elizabeth remained frozen, transfixed by the raw emotion pouring from him. In his fevered state, all his careful pride had crumbled, revealing depths she had never imagined.

“You were right to refuse me,” he continued weakly. “I deserved your rejection. Your contempt. I was not worthy of you then.”

I love you. I have loved you for so long. The words echoed in her mind, shaking foundations she had thought unbreachable. This was delirium—it had to be. Yet the desperate sincerity in his voice made her heart respond.

“Do not distress yourself,” Elizabeth said, her voice unsteady. “These matters can be discussed when you are well.”

His eyes opened again, focusing on her with surprising clarity. “But what if I am not well? What if this is my only chance to tell you?”

The desperation in his voice tore at her heart. “You will have many chances. Many years to say whatever you wish.”

“Promise me,” he insisted, his gaze boring into hers with feverish intensity. “Promise you’ll listen when I tell you properly. Without fever or delirium. Just truth.”

The weight of what he was asking settled over her.

This wasn’t about listening—it was about opening her heart to possibilities she had spent months protecting herself against. When he recovered, when his pride returned, would he still want to speak these truths? And was she brave enough to hear them?

“I promise,” she whispered, the words feeling like a covenant. “I will always listen to you. With understanding.”

His expression softened into a smile of such tenderness that Elizabeth felt tears prick at her eyes. “Good,” he murmured. “That’s good.”

A moment later, his eyes drifted closed again, his breathing evening out as he slipped into what appeared to be genuine sleep rather than feverish unconsciousness.

Elizabeth remained motionless, his hand clasped in hers, her mind reeling from his declarations. They were fever dreams, nothing more—the ramblings of a delirious mind. Yet the emotion behind them had seemed so genuine, so raw.

I love you. The words echoed in her mind, stirring feelings she couldn’t resist. This was not real. It could not be real. Whatever Darcy might feel for her in his right mind, it could not possibly be the desperate, tender love his fever had conjured.

Could it?

The door burst open, admitting a young lady with dark curls and Darcy’s piercing eyes, followed by a military gentleman.

“Brother,” Georgiana cried, rushing toward the bed before the gentleman caught her arm.

“Georgiana,” Elizabeth breathed, recognizing Darcy’s sister instantly. “And Colonel Fitzwilliam.”

“How is my cousin?” the Colonel asked.

“His fever began rising this morning,” Elizabeth replied. “It has grown steadily worse throughout the day.”

Jane ushered in the surgeon, Mr. Johnson, whose expression was grave as he approached the bed, taking in Darcy’s flushed face and labored breathing.

“I’m afraid the infection has spread beyond the wound,” he said grimly. “We must bleed the patient immediately.”

“No,” Elizabeth said sharply, surprising herself with her vehemence. “He’s already lost too much blood.”

“Miss Bennet,” the surgeon replied firmly, “I understand your concern. But infection of this nature can be fatal if not properly treated.”

“But we’ve sent for ice,” Elizabeth protested, her hand unconsciously tightening around Darcy’s limp fingers. “Surely we can wait?—”

“Madam, I must ask you to withdraw from the sickroom,” Mr. Johnson interrupted, already rolling up his sleeves. “This is no sight for gentlewomen.”

“Lizzy…” Darcy moaned. “You promised not to leave me.”

“I only arrived.” Georgiana moved swiftly to her brother’s bedside. “I can’t bear to have him bled to death.”

“It is standard medical treatment.” Mr. Johnson appealed to Colonel Fitzwilliam. “Surely, on the battlefield…”

The colonel looked uneasy. “My aunt will bring her physician. She should be arriving shortly.”

Mr. Johnson’s expression darkened. “Every hour increases the risk. I cannot in good conscience delay treatment for unproven country remedies.”

“I have seen too much death on the battlefield,” Colonel Fitzwilliam countered. “At least let the young lady speak with her brother before you bleed him.”

As the debate continued around her, Elizabeth held Darcy’s hand tighter, his fevered confession echoing in her mind.

Whatever happened next, whatever his words truly meant, she would not let him slip away.

Not when she was only beginning to understand the depth of feeling that lay beneath his proud exterior.

I love you. I have loved you for so long.

Could he truly mean it? And what would it mean to her if he had?