Page 27 of Mr. Darcy’s Honor (Darcy and Elizabeth Forever: Pride and Prejudice Variations #1)
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
LUCID RESOLVE
At first, Darcy couldn’t remember where he was. Pain was his only companion—sharp, insistent, throbbing, undeniable. The scent of medicinal herbs filled his nose, and something floral tugged at the edges of his memory.
He opened his eyes to find not the blue bedchamber he vaguely remembered, but Netherfield’s green guest room. The change in location disoriented him until movement at his bedside drew his attention.
“Fitzwilliam?” Georgiana’s voice was tentative yet hopeful. “Are you truly awake this time?”
He turned his head—even that small motion sending daggers through his shoulder—to find his sister watching him. Dark shadows beneath them spoke of sleepless nights.
“Where’s Elizabeth?” His voice didn’t seem to work, coming out as a raspy whisper.
Georgiana’s expression grew careful. “She’s gone home. Your fever broke three days ago, and Aunt Catherine…” She hesitated, pressing a wet cloth to his forehead. “Aunt Catherine felt it best that a professional nurse take over your care.”
Elizabeth was gone. The knowledge hit him like a second bullet, though he struggled to piece together why her absence felt like such a profound loss.
“How long?” He tried to focus on the window where sunlight filtered through half-drawn curtains. “How long have I been here?”
“Ten days since the duel,” Georgiana replied, reaching for a glass of water. “You’ve been unconscious or delirious for most of that time.”
Ten days. More than a week lost to fever and pain, to half-remembered nightmares and disjointed images that might be memory or dream.
Georgiana helped him drink, supporting his head with gentle hands. The water tasted sweeter than the finest wine, and fragments began surfacing: Elizabeth’s cool touch on his burning skin; her voice reading poetry; the devastating softness of her lips against his…
The memory jolted through him with startling clarity. He had kissed Elizabeth Bennet. In his fevered delirium, he had pulled her close and kissed her as if she were already his wife.
“Is Elizabeth well? Why is she gone?” His voice was steadier, but weighted with dread.
“Aunt Catherine hired a nurse along with Mrs. Porter.” Georgiana averted her gaze. “Miss Elizabeth is home with her family.”
“Did I…” he hesitated as disturbing recollections flooded his memory: his voice calling her his wife; speaking of Pemberley as if it were half hers; begging her not to leave as she was ushered from the room.
Mortification washed over him. What else had he said in his delirium? How much had others heard?
“Georgiana,” he began again, “during my fever, I fear I may have spoken… improperly.”
His sister’s cheeks turned red. “You were quite ill, brother. No one would hold you accountable for words spoken in delirium.”
“Nevertheless,” he persisted, “I would know what I said. Particularly regarding Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”
Georgiana fidgeted with her handkerchief. “You… spoke of her often. Called for her. When Lady Catherine arrived and dismissed her from nursing duties, you became quite agitated.”
So it was, as he feared. His fevered ravings further compromised Elizabeth, adding to the scandal she already carried because of him.
“Did she leave because of my inappropriate… behavior?”
“Aunt Catherine took charge of your care,” Georgiana hesitated, then added softly, “She did not wish to go, Fitzwilliam. Mr. Bingley says she was most distressed at being separated from you.”
“Then she wishes to see me still?” he asked. “Ask her to come now that I’m better.”
Georgiana’s eyes widened, and she swallowed, glancing at the open door where Aunt Catherine and a sturdy silver-haired woman carrying a medical bag strolled in.
“Fitzwilliam!” His aunt’s usually commanding voice held a note he had rarely heard—genuine relief. “You gave us quite a fright, Nephew. I had begun to fear we might lose you despite our best efforts.”
“I apologize for the inconvenience,” Darcy said dryly, wincing as a woman, presumably Mrs. Porter, probed the edges of his wound.
“The infection is receding nicely,” she announced. “Another week of poultices should see it healed enough to begin gentle movement.”
“A week?” Darcy frowned. “I cannot remain abed so long. There are matters requiring my immediate attention.”
“Matters that can wait until you are stronger,” Lady Catherine declared. “Your only concern now is recovery.”
Mrs. Porter gathered her supplies. “I’ll return this evening to change the dressing. In the meantime, he can have broth and weak tea only. His stomach will need time to adjust.”
After she departed, Lady Catherine leaned closer, her expression stern. “Now that you are lucid, Fitzwilliam, we must discuss this unfortunate situation.”
“Which situation would that be, Aunt?”
“This scandal with the Bennet girl. The rumors, the duel, your fevered claims of marriage.” Lady Catherine waved a dismissive hand. “All of it must be addressed before you return to society.”
Here, then, was the confrontation he had anticipated. “Indeed, it must, Aunt. We must start with the truth. I did propose marriage to Miss Elizabeth Bennet at Hunsford, and she refused me.”
A heavy silence fell. Georgiana had retreated to the window, her back rigid with tension.
“You admit to proposing to that impertinent country nobody? After all your education, your breeding, your duty to your family name?”
“I proposed to a woman of intelligence, strength, and integrity,” Darcy replied steadily, though the effort of defying his aunt while barely conscious left him breathless. “That she refused me speaks to her character, not her deficiency.”
Lady Catherine rose abruptly, pacing the room with agitated steps. “This is madness, Fitzwilliam. You were not in your right mind then, just as you were not during your fever.”
“My regard for Miss Elizabeth is both genuine and enduring. More importantly, my commitment to truth is unshakable. I will not allow falsehoods to stand, even those meant to protect me.”
Elizabeth’s words from that first fevered night echoed in his memory: “I might have accepted you had you spoken to me as if I mattered.”
“You would risk everything—your reputation, your position in society, Anne’s future—for this… this country girl?”
“I lied, and I involved Miss Elizabeth Bennet unfairly. The nursing situation further compromised her. What do you suggest I do? My reputation for honor is destroyed by my actions.”
Lady Catherine opened her mouth to respond, then closed it again. “You did not propose to Miss Elizabeth Bennet. You had no opportunity. Mrs. Collins provided proper chaperonage. If you believe differently, it’s because you are fevered.”
“No, Aunt Catherine,” Darcy said. “Too many people, including Georgiana, know the truth. All this lie has done is destroy my reputation and Miss Bennet’s. I have instructed Mr. Bingley to deliver a note to Miss Elizabeth, expressing my regret for any distress my fevered words may have caused her.”
This was not strictly true—he had not yet written such a note—but the moment the words left his mouth, Darcy knew it was exactly what he intended to do. Lady Catherine’s reaction confirmed the wisdom of this impulse.
“You have done what?” she demanded, her voice rising. “Without consulting me? Without considering the implications?”
“Miss Elizabeth cared for me through the worst of my fever, at considerable cost to her reputation. She deserved my thanks, at the very least.”
“She was compensated for her services,” Lady Catherine snapped. “There is no need for personal correspondence.”
Darcy’s eyes narrowed at this revelation. “You paid Miss Elizabeth? As one would a common nurse?”
“Five pounds. A generous sum for a few days’ attendance. She accepted it most gratefully and seemed pleased to be relieved of sickroom duties.”
“I find that difficult to believe.” He stared at his aunt, whose expression remained stern. “I wish to speak to Miss Bennet.”
Lady Catherine waved a dismissive hand. “You are still bewitched by her, despite all evidence to the contrary. The girl took the money without hesitation, I assure you.”
“I am clear-sighted where Miss Elizabeth is concerned,” Darcy countered. “Particularly now.”
“Ho, Darcy, you’re awake.” Colonel Fitzwilliam entered the sickroom. “We feared the worst when the fever wouldn’t break.”
“Richard,” Darcy acknowledged, genuinely pleased to see his cousin. “I understand I have you to thank for bringing Georgiana safely to Netherfield.”
“The least I could do,” the colonel replied. “Though I must say, you’ve created quite the stir in the neighborhood. Ice wagons from three counties, Lady Catherine descending like an avenging angel, and half of Meryton laying wagers on your survival.”
The door opened again to admit Caroline Bingley, who hovered in the threshold with an expression of careful solicitude.
“Mr. Darcy,” she greeted him with a practiced smile. “What a relief to see you recovered. We have been beside ourselves with worry.”
Lady Catherine turned her imperious gaze upon Caroline.
“Miss Bingley, I was just discussing with my nephew the importance of maintaining proper society now that this unfortunate episode is concluding. Your brother has been most accommodating, but I wonder at his continued association with certain families in the neighborhood.”
Caroline’s spine stiffened perceptibly. “I assure you, Lady Catherine, I have repeatedly advised Charles against renewing particular connections. Some acquaintances are best left in the country when one returns to town.”
“Indeed,” Lady Catherine said with obvious approval. “London society can be most particular about whom it admits. A young man with your brother’s prospects should choose his associates with greater care.”
Darcy observed this exchange with growing irritation. Lady Catherine’s influence extended beyond his sickroom to determining which families in the neighborhood were deemed acceptable society. He had no doubt which “particular connections” Caroline referred to.