Chapter 20
“You are here,” she whispered as her arms encircled his neck.
“I am here… And I will not leave again—not without you.”
Her smile quickly turned to a worried frown. “Cassandra…”
“Yes, I know… Mr. Gardiner informed me today, and I returned as soon as it was possible.”
“But you are late… Mrs. Spencer arrived much earlier. Why are you so late? And the Colonel? Has he returned with you?”
“My cousin is here, as well. I left him speaking to Bingley. He was shocked when we learned about the accident and continually asked for details. In truth, we were both shocked and out of our minds with worry during our return journey—David, it seemed, more so than me. Mr. Gardiner could hardly speak reasonably with us…”
“But why were you so late?”
“I will explain everything when you are more rested—maybe tomorrow. You do not need more to worry you now. Mrs. Spencer told me you spent all your time nursing Cassandra and hardly rested at all these last days. There are two doctors taking care of her now, and you must think of yourself. You need to sleep; I am sorry to have been so selfish in my desire to see you that I woke you.”
“Have you spoken with Dr. Barrington? Has Cassandra improved in any way?”
“I have; he informed me there are no significant changes—so you may rest until morning.”
She attempted to protest, but he gently pulled her down against the pillows and wrapped her in the sheets; his lips pressed against her forehead as his fingers caressed her hair.
“Mr. Darcy, I am surprised and displeased to see how little consideration you give to your promises,” she said teasingly when he rose from her bed, obviously preparing to return to his room.
He looked at her, puzzled, and she continued, a smile enlightening her weary face. “You promised you would not leave again without me…yet, you are leaving just now…”
Darcy returned to sit and lifted her hand to place a soft kiss in her palm. “My love, it is quite unfair of you to tease me so. You know I am reluctant to leave you, but I cannot possibly remain in your room with a house full of people wandering the halls. If someone should see me…”
Elizabeth’s smile vanished and her face turned serious; her free hand stroked his cheek tenderly. “William, these last days have been unbearable. I spent hours pondering the reason for your sudden departure to London and praying for your safe return; I have watched Cassandra lying lifeless on the ground and prayed for her recovery. Do you seriously imagine I would care about propriety now? Do you believe I could possibly sleep after seeing you for such a brief time?”
Her voice trembled as she spoke and her eyes became watery, though she was obviously fighting the approaching tears. His heart melted from sorrow for her distress, and he became angry with himself.
“Forgive me, Elizabeth; you are right! Blast propriety!” The next moment he was lying near her in a close embrace.
She recovered quickly from the surprise of his impromptu reaction and carefully covered them both with the sheet. She nestled to his chest, chuckling. “Blast? Mr. Darcy, I am shocked at your use of such an unseemly expression.”
Equally impromptu, he rolled her on her back so that she was lying against the pillows and his body was almost covering hers; their faces were only an inch apart. “Miss Bennet, you just invited me—nay, almost forced me—to enter your bed! I could hardly say you are the proper person to criticize my language. Now, I would strongly suggest you desist teasing me and try to sleep—or you will be in great danger of having me not only speaking outrageously but acting likewise.”
“I would never be in danger from you,” she said seriously, as her fingers entwined in his hair.
His adoring gaze and warm smile made her body quiver. She saw his face lower toward her own and closed her eyes, anticipating the feel of his lips on hers—but the contact was brief. He withdrew only the distance of a searing breath when he spoke. “Elizabeth, we cannot…”
She daringly tightened her arms around his neck and imprisoned him in her grasp. She had no thought for their improper intimacy as she whispered against his lips, “I only want you to kiss me…for a brief time… I have missed your kisses exceedingly…”
Darcy had no thought of refusing her. All sense of propriety or concern about being caught in a scandalous situation vanished in a moment as her eager mouth met his. Only a desperate need for air forced them to separate. He rolled onto his back, taking her with him as she nestled against his chest, her breathing labored. Her cheek rested upon his wildly beating heart, and her legs playfully entwined with his.
“We should really sleep now,” she said, holding him tightly. “I will sleep only an hour or two. I have to check on Cassandra; she might need me.”
Darcy did not contradict her, nor try to convince her she needed to rest more than an hour; she looked exhausted, and he was certain she would not wake soon. He was proved right as her voice grew weaker and her breath more regular; a few minutes later she was soundly asleep.
He continued to stroke her hair, overwhelmed by the love he felt for her, ashamed of his selfish desire, and agitated by the temptation of her warm body next to his.
Darcy also suffered deeply for Cassandra; the moment he heard about her accident was as painful as when he had heard about his parents’ deaths. He would do anything to see Cassandra healthy again. He would give up any—all—of his possessions for her recovery. He would gladly take her pain upon himself.
Then how was it possible that in these moments—when his dear friend was lying unconscious a few rooms away in great danger of losing her life, when Elizabeth was exhausted precisely because she spent hours taking care of his friend, when his own sister was tormented by the distress and fear of losing Cassandra—the only thing Darcy could think of were Elizabeth’s soft breasts crushing his chest and burning his skin through the thin layers of his shirt and her nightgown. How could he possibly sleep? Even if the shame and guilt of the preposterous direction of his thoughts and wishes were not present, his hungry desire for Elizabeth would surely keep him awake—painfully awake. No doubt remained in Darcy’s mind: he was undeniably the most ungentlemanlike, inconsiderate, egocentric man who ever lived!
*** Elizabeth awoke cold and lonely; when she managed to remember her whereabouts, she understood that Darcy had left.
For a moment she thought she might have imagined his presence, but his scent was still vivid on the pillow and her own body was still wearing his warmth. She closed her eyes and burrowed beneath the sheets a few moments, rejoicing in the remembrance of his embrace and dreaming of a future when sleeping in his arms would no longer be a stolen, hidden pleasure.
It was already dawn; and, though she still felt tired and the softness of the bed was tempting, she rose and began to dress herself, eager to see Cassandra and praying for good news.
The house was silent; she met no one on her way to Cassandra’s chambers; but, when she entered, it became clear her hopes for a favorable result were in vain. Mrs. Spencer was resting in an armchair, half asleep, holding Cassandra’s hand.
Mrs. Spencer smiled affectionately when her gaze met Elizabeth’s and nodded to her to take a sit near her.
“Did you sleep well, my dear?”
“Yes, I did,” Elizabeth answered, blushing. “Quite well indeed,” she thought.
“Good!”
“Any improvement?” she whispered hopefully.
“Not really… I mean …” Mrs. Spencer looked at Elizabeth, obviously struggling to say something hopeful, then suddenly giving up the attempt.
“Has anything happened?”
“No, nothing. Do not distress yourself.”
“Mrs. Spencer, you must be very tired. Now that I am here, you should go and rest.”
Their chat was interrupted by Cassandra’s movement and incoherent whispers. Both of them hurried to her and called her name, but the only reaction was another long silence.
“She has her shoulder bandaged,” Elizabeth said.
“Yes… Mr. … Examined her again, more closely… He suspected she had some broken ribs. She is bandaged all over her body…and her shoulder was so badly hurt… It seemed it was broken…it looked horrible… The doctor said we should not wait any longer to fix it…that it should be pulled back in place… He…they actually pulled it…merciless… Oh, dear, my poor girl… She suffered so much…” Mrs. Spencer could not fight back her tears and hid her face in her handkerchief, crying in desperation. Elizabeth could do little but watch the lady’s torment and share her grief.
“I am sorry, my child,” Mrs. Spencer whispered, wiping the tears from her eyes.
“Oh, please do not apologize. I am sorry I was not here to help the doctor… I cannot imagine how hard it must have been for you…”
“I did not do much…in fact I only watched from afar. I could not bear to look too closely. Thank God the Colonel was here to help the doctor.”
“The Colonel was here?” Elizabeth asked, and Mrs. Spencer startled with obvious discomfort.
“Yes…he…he just happened to inquire after Cassandra… Dr. Barrington said he could use the Colonel’s help… Dr. Barrington has been their families’ doctor for a lifetime; did you know that?”
“Yes, yes, I was told that,” Elizabeth replied, unable to let the conversation slide to another subject. “The Colonel seemed very fond of Cassandra… Mr. Darcy told me they all had been very close since they were children…”
“They were indeed very close,” Mrs. Spencer answered tentatively, looking carefully at Elizabeth.
“I imagine the Colonel was very affected. Mr. Darcy told me he was shocked and deeply grieved when he was told about the accident,” Elizabeth continued, then her cheeks colored highly, mortified at the thought that Mrs. Spencer might wonder “when” Darcy told her that. Yet, the lady asked nothing, preoccupied as she was with her own distress.
“Yes, he was; he…”
“Mrs. Spencer, may I be honest with you?”
“Of course, my dear.” The lady seemed quite relived by the question.
“I know it is highly improper of me to raise such a subject, but I hope you would understand that I am only concerned for Cassandra’s well-being…Last night, when she first recovered, she spoke only one word…she only called the Colonel’s name… I was wondering if that happened again while you were with her?”
The lady nodded in agreement, and Elizabeth continued. “It is obviously a matter that distressed her greatly… I was wondering if you know something that might help relieve her distress.”
Their embarrassment was mutual and neither found the words or the proper gesture to dissipate the tension in the room. They looked at each other for a time, and Elizabeth was certain that Mrs. Spencer was trying to assess how much she should trust in her.
“Miss Bennet—your devotion and affection for my girl did not pass unnoticed or unappreciated. I am truly, deeply grateful to you and would not want to sound disrespectful when I say that I do not know anything I could share with you…”
“I understand,” Elizabeth replied uncomfortably.
“However, I will confess to you—and I trust your secrecy implicitly—that I allowed the Colonel to stay with her after the doctor left. He practically begged me, and I had no heart to refuse him. I know I should not have done that… Cassandra was certainly in no condition to have a man in her room, and I know she will be furious that someone has seen her in such a state, covered in bandages, her nightgown wet from fever… I know she would not want a man to see her like that, not even if she were to be married to that man. So I was tempted to refuse the Colonel, despite his obvious pain and torment. But then she called his name, and he heard her and hurried to the bed… He took her hand and started to talk…and she seemed to calm… Then he moistened her lips with a little tea, and she actually licked it... Then she fell asleep while he remained kneeling by her bed, holding her hand and whispering to her. What should I have done? How could I refuse him when his presence seemed so beneficial for my dear girl? I retired to a corner and left them alone. Miss Bennet, I do not know what is happening, but if something—anything—or someone—anyone—might help my girl’s recovery, as God is my witness, I will not refuse it! She might be angry with me when she recovers, but I would give my life to see her well and sound—and angry with me!”
Mrs. Spencer turned pale as she spoke, and her hand searched for support as she appeared unable to stand. Elizabeth hurried to take her arm and directed her to sit.
“Mrs. Spencer, I know it is not my part to decide, but I heartily agree with you! I do not believe the Colonel’s presence would harm Cassandra.”
“Miss Bennet, do you have any reason to suspect the Colonel is trifling with her feelings? You have been more in their company than I in the last months.”
“No, no indeed. I have the highest opinion of the Colonel,” Elizabeth said, but she was interrupted by Darcy’s unexpected entrance.
He greeted them warmly, his eyes falling tenderly on Elizabeth. Mrs. Spencer smiled to herself.
Darcy’s worry for his friend caused him to frown in grief when he found there was no improvement and her fever had little diminished. He stayed near her and held her hand briefly then touched her forehead and startled at how hot it was. He rose nervously, and then asked where the doctor was and why drastic measures had not been taken. In his agitation, he declared he must fetch other physicians from Town, as neither Dr. Barrington nor Mr. Jones had seemed to discover the proper cure for Cassandra.
“Mr. Darcy, please calm yourself, sir,” Mrs. Spencer said gently, while Elizabeth held his arm tightly. “I understand your worry, sir, but I am sure the doctors have done everything that could be done. Please let me inform you about the latest result of their examinations. Besides,” she added with a slight hesitation, “Cassandra did speak a few words, though not quite coherent. The mere fact that she is not completely unconscious should be a good sigh, should it not?”
Darcy had never been a patient man, especially when he was convinced he needed to act promptly to resolve a situation. Consequently, he barely heard what Mrs. Spencer said and only tried to control his temper in order to not distress Elizabeth further. His resolution strengthened a few moments later when a very tired Georgiana joined them, her blue eyes ringed by dark circles, her face pale, and the lack of sleep aging her appearance. Once she entered the chamber, Georgiana sat near Cassandra and held her hand; she could not fight back her tears, nor did she attempt to.
When Cassandra broke the silence and whispered a few words, they all gathered around, but none of their entreaties brought Cassandra to consciousness.
If the ladies were sad and desperate, Darcy felt generally helpless, watching Cassandra struggle with the fever—as though trapped in an iron cage—and he was unable to free her. His full rage and anger turned on himself, and he fought to conceal this fury from Elizabeth and Georgiana. He would prefer to leave the room than suffer the impotence of being unable to help, but how could he leave—desert the ladies when they might need him? On the other hand, was it proper for him to be in Cassandra’s room? Likely not! Then why did nobody tell him that? Yes, perhaps he should leave for now…
As though she were reading his thoughts, Mrs. Spencer spoke. “Mr. Darcy, if you have some business to attend to, please do so, sir. There is little you can do for us or Cassandra. We will call you if we need anything.”
He nodded silently in agreement and, slightly uncomfortable and with a last look at Elizabeth, stepped to the door. Then he turned unexpectedly to the ladies.
“Ladies, what did Cassandra whisper? I cannot be certain, but I thought I heard her calling a name…something like ‘David’.”
Mrs. Spencer and Elizabeth exchanged a quick glance and then looked at Georgiana who nodded in agreement.
“Yes, she called David, more than once—I heard her,” Georgiana explained with excitement.
“But David?” Darcy sounded really puzzled while looking from one lady to the other. “David? Who might this be? I do not know any David, except my cousin.”
Georgiana looked quizzically at his misunderstanding while Elizabeth exchanged another quick glance with Mrs. Spencer. The elder lady could not help rolling her eyes at such a lack of awareness.
“But brother, she is calling David! It is easy to understand that.” Darcy appeared offended; fortunately his voice sounded light and teasing.
“My dear sister, excuse me for not understanding something so easy to comprehend… I might not be as bright as I used to…then again, why on earth would she call David? It is true that she was very fond of him when she was younger, but why would she call only his name? Well, if her health improves, I would certainly not give much consideration to that…”
A moment later his face turned pale, and his expression grew dark and severe as his eyes narrowed in anger at the sudden revelation.
“No, that cannot be! He would not dare trifle with her! Not with Cassandra.” Before any of the ladies could stop him, he exited the chamber, slamming the door behind him.
It took Elizabeth a few moments to recover; and, while silently asking for advice from Mrs. Spencer, she hurried to follow her fiancé and intervene before he instigated an unnecessary argument.
~/~/~/~ In the back yard of Netherfield, away from curious eyes, a shocked, incredulous Darcy stared at a troubled David Fitzwilliam, who had just finished an extraordinary revelation.
When he left Cassandra’s chamber, Darcy was so full of rage that he did not even attempt to think properly; all he had in mind was that his cousin—who had always found great enjoyment in female company—behaved improperly toward Cassandra, a situation which had greatly affected her and was still troubling her even in that precarious state. He had searched for David, but he was not to be found either in his apartment or the library; not even Bingley knew his whereabouts. Finally, Darcy discovered his cousin taking a solitary stroll around the house and hurried to him, demanding explanations and reparations.
However, the instant he saw the Colonel’s grievous expression, the sorrow in his eyes and the obvious weariness written on his face, Darcy’s anger vanished.
Still, he demanded an explanation, and an explanation he got. It appeared that David had been waiting for his cousin to inquire so he could unleash his agonizing secret. And he continued to speak, a speechless Darcy in rapt attention.
As close as they had been all their lives, the Colonel had never shared such secrets with Darcy, for a gentleman would never speak of such intimate matters directly—perhaps only ‘suggest’ them to a trusted friend.
“Now you know everything, Darcy. Forgive me; I know you are angry with me. I know I should not tell you these things, especially about Cassandra. But I simply cannot bear it alone any longer—not now when she might… I desperately needed to speak to you but I did not dare approach you. I have never felt like this before. I do not know what to do…”
He looked so devastated—so pained, and Darcy wished to comfort him, but how does one gentleman comfort another?
“So, she refused to marry you, but she agreed to…you know…” Darcy finally spoke.
“No, she did not agree… I mean, it was not I who suggested it… I would have never dared to…not with Cassandra…”
“So, what do you plan to do now?”
“I am at a loss as to what I ought to do… After she told me about her husband, I was half desperate, half relieved. I understood I could not possibly compete with his memory and with her own desire to punish herself for something which was not her fault; especially not for the moment. On the other hand, the situation was not completely hopeless, as I was at least content to know her heart is not otherwise engaged. I even told her I do not intend to abandon my hopes. I only planned to depart for a time to allow her to regain some peace and tranquility.”
“She must have a tender regard for you or else she would have never…you know… She is not that sort of woman…”
“I know what sort of woman she is, Darcy! That is precisely why I was so angered by her rejection. I was certain she had affection for me… I felt she had loving affection for me,” he said passionately, and Darcy averted his eyes in embarrassment. They should not be discussing this, and certainly not about a friend who was like a sister.
“What do you plan to do now?”
“What is there to do, Darcy? The only thing that matters to me now is Cassandra’s health. I do not care about her marrying me or about my wishes. I pray only to see her recovered, and I will ask nothing more. However, I do desire to stay with her. I know…it is highly improper, but you cannot refuse me, Darcy!”
“I have no right to refuse you anything, David. God knows my concept of proper behavior and decorum has changed dramatically since last autumn. The only one who might keep you away is Mrs. Spencer… Also, Elizabeth and Georgiana might consider your presence in Cassandra’s chamber quite strange. You will have to inform them of some of the particulars of your recent history with Cassandra.”
“Mrs. Spencer was wonderfully sympathetic. She allowed me to stay with Cassandra last night. But you are correct. I must tell them something…and to Bingley, too, as he is the master of the house. The servants will likely start to gossip about my being in Cassandra’s chamber, and I will need Bingley’s support in this.”
“I agree. So what part will you tell? Surely you will not lie to them—nor can you tell the entire truth…”
“I will tell them only what is necessary. I will confess to them my feelings for her and that I proposed, but she refused me.”
“Well, that would explain your desire of taking care of her but will clearly raise some questions about why she is calling your name. However, I daresay Elizabeth, Georgiana, Mrs. Spencer nor Bingley will inquire about such details. Now let us return to the house; I am in great need of a brandy before breakfast.” The Colonel agreed with him immediately.
That day, at a very late breakfast, Elizabeth was relieved to see that, despite the fact she did not find the gentlemen in time to prevent their argument, they seemed to be on friendly terms. They had obviously talked and, during the meal, remained more silent then ever; they often exchanged glances of unknown meaning. Elizabeth was curious but content to simply wait to be informed of the details. She was certain that, if it were something to be shared, Darcy would tell her.
Miss Bingley was still in the house; for reasons of her own, she did not leave as she had declared a few days earlier. However, she did not become either friendlier or more polite; she granted the guests a superior coldness and completely ignored their presence. Only Georgiana was offered a few polite words from time to time; however, Miss Bingley’s admiration toward Miss Darcy seemed to diminish with every day of Mr. Darcy’s engagement to Eliza Bennet.
*** The next three days passed with increasing fear and turmoil for Cassandra’s friends.
Despite the doctors’ continuous efforts and the ladies’ care, Cassandra’s state did not improve. She continued feverish, her body burning and shaken by tremors; all the medicines, though seeming to give her momentarily palliation, were not enough to cure her.
The Colonel confessed part of his story to Elizabeth, Georgiana and Mrs. Spencer; furthermore, he blamed himself for insisting too vehemently in his proposal of marriage, a fact that had disturbed her greatly.
If neither Elizabeth nor Mrs. Spencer believed her refusal to be the reason for Cassandra feverishly calling the Colonel’s name, it was to their credit that they did not pursue the matter.
Georgiana, however, tentatively at first, became very animated and enthusiastic about it. She was convinced—and told David as much—that beyond any doubt Cassandra did share his affection and, when she was recovered, would declare her true feelings to him.
No matter how much the Colonel tried to temper her joyful plans, she remained steadfast in her convictions.
Elizabeth and Mrs. Spencer, though considerably less hopeful for a quick and happy outcome than Georgiana, could not entirely contradict her. It was obvious to everyone that the only person to whom Cassandra reacted was the Colonel.
During the day, David was mostly in the company of Darcy and Bingley; also, Mr. Bennet and the Gardiners were daily visitors at Netherfield, carrying with them Mrs. Bennet’s distress and wishes for her ladyship’s speedy recovery.
Mr. Bingley had become a sort of family hero, not only to Miss Jane Bennet, but to everyone in the house when Elizabeth praised his wisdom in arranging for Cassandra to be transported back to Netherfield after the accident. Furthermore, Dr. Barrington publicly congratulated him and declared that not even he himself could have done better.
Miss Jane Bennet’s pride was only matched by her deep affection for her betrothed; and Darcy, together with Mrs. Spencer and the Colonel, offered their thanks and gratitude. Bingley, though happy to be the recipient of Jane’s increasing warmth, felt embarrassed and was loath to understand what he accomplished to be worthy of such praise.
At night, the Colonel spent most of his time near Cassandra; the nights were the most difficult time, as her fever seemed to grow dangerously high after midnight and, though not conscious, she became agitated, her violent movements jeopardizing the process of healing her wounds.
In those moments, nothing helped her but the Colonel’s soothing presence.
He spent hours kneeling or sitting near her bed, whispering to her in a gentle voice and caressing her hand, until she seemed to calm and eventually sleep.
When they needed to give her medicine, David was the one to hold her; and, though nobody knew what he was whispering to her, his words allowed her to cooperate with the doctors.
The Colonel’s presence in Cassandra’s room was awkward for everyone involved. In truth, he was never alone with her; there were also Elizabeth, Mrs. Spencer, and Georgiana or at least one of them; and Janey, Cassandra’s maid, never left her mistress’s side for more than a few minutes. The doctors, Mrs. Spencer, Darcy and Bingley—as master of the house—accepted the arrangement without hesitation in consideration of Cassandra’s recovery over any demands of decorum. Georgiana seemed simply happy to see the Colonel near Cassandra and could see nothing improper in it.
As for Elizabeth—though she knew it was unacceptable for a gentleman to spend so much time in a lady’s chamber—her most persuasive thought was the comfort Darcy’s presence brought to her. How could she see anything scandalous in the Colonel’s presence near Cassandra when all Elizabeth wished and hoped for was to be with Darcy as much as possible?
Elizabeth barely slept for the next three days and nights, and she spent little private time with Darcy; their only moments of peace were spent in short strolls around the garden, arm in arm, as they silently shared the comfort of the other’s closeness.
Their wedding day was less then four weeks away, but for both of them it seemed impossibly distant. Though neither of them dared to actually speak of it, both were terrified at the idea that Cassandra might leave them forever in the next days; their own desires for happiness seemed frightfully selfish compared to that dreadful possibility, and they could not think of their own felicity when shadowed by their friend’s loss.
The doctor had confessed to them that the more time passed without any improvement, the more reason he had for concern.
At Darcy’s insistence, the doctor informed them of the permanent damage of a high fever that lasted too long, and Elizabeth hardly left Cassandra’s room from that moment on. She did everything in her power to make Cassandra react: she read to her, spoke to her about their early acquaintance, asked Mrs. Spencer and Georgiana to speak—loudly—of Cassandra’s youth; she even asked Mr. Bingley to bring the small piano from Cassandra’s dressing room for Georgiana to play.
Elizabeth’s persistence, obvious exhaustion, paleness, and visible loss of weight doubled Darcy’s concern. He tried to defeat Elizabeth’s stubbornness with little success; it appeared that the doctor, Mrs. Spencer, Mrs. Gardiner and even Georgiana supported her decision and offered their unconditional assistance.
On the fifth day after the accident, Elizabeth was resting in an armchair after dinner a short distance from Mrs. Spencer; she felt weary and powerless, and briefly considered that she had not slept an entire night since the dreadful evening of Markham’s attack. She could not believe that only a week had passed—it seemed a lifetime.
Cassandra had just been given her medicine; apparently her fever was down and she seemed to sleep peacefully. Elizabeth allowed her eyes to close for a few minutes, but she was instantly startled by the sound of her name spoken softly.
At first she thought she was dreaming, but the whisper repeated, and she turned toward the bed to see Cassandra’s hand moving and her weak voice addressing her clearly, though somewhat incoherently.
“Elizabeth…”
Elizabeth hurried to her and took her hand, tears rolling down her cheeks.
“Dearest Cassandra, I am here… Oh my dear, it is so good to hear you speaking to me…”
“I…” Her voice was interrupted by a cry of pain as she attempted to raise her head. “Oh Lord, it hurts so much… “
“Lie still—please lie still! You have been badly injured, but you will be fine! I am going to fetch the doctor and the others…”
By that time Mrs. Spencer was with them, crying from happiness, and Elizabeth moved toward the door until Cassandra’s insistent call brought her back.
“Elizabeth, how is Darcy? How did the duel end?”
“William? He is well—very well—only quite worried about you… My dear, what duel are you speaking of? There was no duel,” Elizabeth replied, puzzled, certain that her friend was delirious.
“Oh, thank the Lord! So he did not fight Markham after all? I was so frightened that he would be killed. I tried to go after them to London, but then I cannot remember what happened… Oh God, my head hurts so badly,” she said; she tried to bring her left hand to her forehead but the move made her cry again in pain.
Elizabeth looked on, pale, unable to move from shock, her lips and hands trembling, struggling to understand Cassandra’s words, and praying that she was merely feverish and confused.
“Oh, Mr. Darcy is very well indeed, and so is our dear Colonel,” Mrs. Spencer said affectionately, caressing Cassandra’s hair.
“David is here?” she asked weakly, her eyelashes closing slowly. “I knew he would come…” Her voice was barely audible, while her breath became steady; and, under Mrs. Spencer’s tender strokes, she quickly fell asleep.
“Elizabeth, dearest, please send for the doctor.” Mrs. Spencer repeated herself several times before Elizabeth, deep in thought, heard and answered the request.
Elizabeth sent Janey to fetch the doctor as she moved to the dressing room and leaned against the wall, her knees unable to support her. Her mind, tormented by fatigue and the distress of the last week, was loath to admit that what she had just heard was true, yet it was too obvious to be denied. Of course, there had been a duel!
So that was the mystery behind Darcy’s sudden departure! He went to fight Markham!
Her heart raced wildly as she struggled to breathe. But how was that possible? Cassandra said something about London—but Markham was not in London! Or was he?
She remembered—vividly—the moment she told Cassandra about Darcy’s trip and the shock on Cassandra’s face. That was—undoubtedly—the moment Cassandra discovered the truth.
How was it possible that she—Elizabeth—had been so stupid not to guess the simple fact Cassandra understood instantly? How could she have been so blind?
All of Darcy’s twisted words, his refusal to confess to her the reason for his hasty decision to leave again—he deliberately put himself in danger and concealed it from her! Thank the Lord he returned safely, but what if…? And what happened to Markham? Had he been killed? If so, what would the Earl do now? The duel was illegal; any child knew that. How could Darcy have exposed himself so only a few weeks before their wedding?
And, of course, the Colonel was part of his plan—and her father, as well! Now everything was crystal clear: her own father and uncle were part of the outrageous plot. They all conspired together to deceive her!
She felt exhausted, disappointed, and betrayed by the men she cared for most—frightened by what could have happened—and she could no longer fight the tears that rolled down her cheeks. Increasingly, however, her turmoil of emotions grew into anger.
They had showed no consideration for her opinion, her wishes, or her worries! Of course not—she was only a woman after all! Why should she expect the men to treat her as one of them and ask for her advice? What could a mere woman have to say about the importance of fighting for one’s honor?
‘Well, this woman does have something to say, and you will hear it all, gentlemen,’ she whispered to herself as she furiously wiped at her tears and stormed from the room, slamming the door behind her.
In the hall she met Dr. Barrington hurrying to examine Cassandra. He asked her—something—but Elizabeth was oblivious to him and rushed past without speaking.
She hurried down the stairs to the library where she knew the gentlemen were gathered after dinner and paused to catch her breath before entering.
“Elizabeth, what a surprise,” said Darcy warmly as she burst through the door without knocking; they were all there, with the exception of Mr. Hurst who had likely retired early.
“Miss Bennet, please come and sit down.” Bingley spoke politely but was somewhat disconcerted at her unceremonious entrance. “How is Lady Cassandra?”
“I have wonderful news. She is awake and spoke to me clearly; I have great hopes that she will recover.” Elizabeth then took a seat, avoiding Darcy’s glance.
The gentlemen became excited and asked countless questions, but she tempered them, saying the doctor had just started his examination and would certainly come with fresh news shortly. Her tone was cold and impersonal, and the gentlemen could not fail to notice it.
“Elizabeth, you seem unwell yourself. May I offer you something? A glass of wine perhaps?” asked Darcy.
“No, I thank you, sir,” she replied, still avoiding his eyes. “No wine is necessary. My only plea is that, while we are waiting for the doctor, I be allowed to join your little club.”
“Our club? I do not understand your meaning, Elizabeth. Of what club are you speaking? You puzzle me exceedingly,” Darcy continued, concern obvious in his voice.
“Really? Then allow me to enlighten you, sir. I refer to the select, exclusive club of honorable gentlemen, whose primary objective seems to be the arrangement of duels and the derision of naïve ladies like myself!”
This time her eyes did meet his, and Darcy frowned, blinking incredulously as he tried in vain to formulate an answer. Silence fell upon the library; the only sounds were the murmur of their breathing and the crackling of the fire.
“Elizabeth, let us discuss this calmly. It is a private matter, and we should not speak of it publicly.”
“A private matter, Mr. Darcy? How is it, then, that the Colonel, my father and my own uncle—perhaps even Mr. Bingley—were aware of this private matter while I alone was kept in ignorance?”
“Elizabeth, you do not understand. Your father and uncle are blameless, and Bingley knew nothing until our return. I alone am at fault… I simply had no other choice than to conceal it from you. You have already suffered so dreadfully that I could not torment you further by revealing my intentions.”
“Of course you are at fault, sir! You did not want to torment me? And may I ask, should something have happened to you, how would your secrecy spare my suffering? And what occurred with Markham? Has he been… Is he still alive?”
“He is alive,” the Colonel intervened. “He only got what he deserved, and hopefully he and his father will be more attentive to proper behavior in the future.” Smiling charmingly to Elizabeth with a tone that was gentle but clearly patronizing, he continued. “Miss Bennet, I am more than willing to share the blame with Darcy, as I knew about his intentions from the beginning and understood them.”
“Oh, really, sir? Why does this not surprise me? Am I wrong to presume that you not only understood but supported him as well?” Elizabeth’s voice was sharp and cold as ice as her eyes pierced them with darts of anger.
“I confess I did! I even offered to fight Markham on his behalf, but he, of course, refused, and I accepted his decision. It was his duty and his wish to fight for your honor.”
Elizabeth rose from her seat and stepped closer to him, her eyes crackling with unreleased fury.
“Dear Colonel, my honor is here with me—safe and sound—and was never affected by a drunken rake who barely knew what he was about. My only riposte to Lord Markham’s action would have been to utterly ignore him for the rest of his poor, pathetic life. But of course, what do I know? I am only a ridiculous woman and cannot possibly understand the rules of honor among gentlemen!”
“Elizabeth, my child, I understand your anger, but you must control your words; you should not address your fiancé and the Colonel in this impertinent manner.” Mr. Bennet’s tone was severe, as a father scolding a disobedient daughter, but the effect was not the one he anticipated.
Elizabeth turned to her beloved father; and, for the first time in his life, he failed to see the usually affectionate countenance that was meant only for him.
“Oh, I do apologize, Father! I shall certainly tell Mama of your displeasure. She will surely understand why you purposely agreed to put Mr. Darcy in danger of losing his life and will agree that I am the one acting improperly.” Mr. Bennet’s mouth gaped open as he stared, speechless, at his furious daughter.
“I will spare you the displeasure of seeing or hearing me any longer, gentlemen. If you would excuse me.” Suddenly her strength evaded her, and she desperately fought back the tears which again were imminent. She had to leave immediately; she had to be alone with her pain and her tears.
Gently but firmly grasping her arm, Darcy stopped her and forced her to face him.
“Elizabeth, please…” he whispered.
“Mr. Darcy,” she interrupted him, “please have the wisdom to distance yourself from me at the moment. I would not trust myself to behave like a lady.”
Their eyes met in silent confrontation, ignoring the others in the room.
“Elizabeth, we must talk.” His voice was more a plea than a request.
“Talk, Mr. Darcy? But we did talk, sir! Even more, you held me in your arms—you kissed me—and you lied to me, sir! What could we have to talk about?”
Elizabeth’s reply fell as thunder in the room. The other gentlemen desperately tried to appear as though they had not heard her and avoided looking at each other, staring unseeing at their empty glasses.
Darcy frowned, the reproach in her sharp words piercing his heart. He had no reply as she exited the library. Only when the door closed slowly behind her and he turned to the other gentlemen, did Darcy realize that his private encounters with his betrothed were a secret no longer.
Fortunately, Mr. Bennet was too affected by his daughter’s reaction and too sympathetic toward Darcy’s distress to inquire further.
~/~/~/~ The doctor’s report after his last examination, though very favorable, barely managed to raise Elizabeth’s spirits.
Dr. Barrington insisted he would watch his patient—deeply asleep from the medicine—the entire night for any change, so Elizabeth took the opportunity to retire to her room and try to rest. Her body felt so heavy that she could barely walk, but her soul, burdened with so many emotions, was even heavier.
She struggled in the comfort of her bed but, of course, sleep would not come to bring her release. Her eyes were stinging, her head was spinning, and she desperately desired the balm of forgetfulness for a time. She rose and opened the window, and autumn’s cold, fresh air invaded the room. She returned to bed, but sleep still eluded her.
She startled as she heard the door opening softly but calmed immediately when she recognized Darcy’s steps. He had come, but she did not want to see or speak to him. She closed her eyes and tried to breathe regularly.
He moved closer and sat on the bed; she sensed his glance caressing her face. Then his fingers brushed a lock of hair from her forehead and his lips touched her cheeks briefly. She felt the need to cry—to be comforted in his arms—but she remained still.
When he left, the room—and her heart—remained empty, longing for him. She was glad he had gone. She was too angry to see him now. She hated him for putting himself in danger, for jeopardizing their future happiness, for not trusting her… She hated him with all her heart—she hated him with all her love!
Sleep eventually took pity and enveloped her.
***
Elizabeth did not sleep long. The room became suddenly cold—mercilessly cold—and she knew somebody had entered.
She opened her eyes and saw Markham, an evil grin on his face and a gun in his hand pointed at Darcy’s chest. Elizabeth screamed and tried to stop him, but she was trapped, tied down to the bed. The next moment the deafening sound of a shot, as loud as thunder, shattered the room, and she knew Markham had shot him.
Suddenly she could move and she threw herself on the floor near Darcy’s fallen body; a warm, red spot was spreading across his shirt over his heart; she touched it and felt his blood on her fingers. She screamed again and cupped his face, crying his name, but the only reply was her name whispered by his livid lips. He died in her arms, and she never had time to tell him how much she loved him.
***
Elizabeth awoke, trembling uncontrollably. She was frozen with fear, and the pain in her chest left her breathless.
She looked around and saw herself in the bed—the room silent—with no one around. It had been only a nightmare her mind kept telling her, but she could not stop trembling; the recollection was so vivid—Darcy’s body on the floor, Markham’s smirk, the sensation of Darcy’s cold face on her fingers.
The window was open; that was the reason she was so cold. She rose and closed the window then started pacing the room. She put more wood on the fire, wrapped herself in a robe and settled on the settee near the fireplace.
It had been a nightmare, obviously. She spent the next minutes repeating that to herself, demanding her mind to see reason. Yet her heart was grieved and unable to beat regularly. Was it merely a nightmare? Was he truly safe? Oh, what a hateful, insensitive man to think of nothing but his stupid pride!
No, she could not possibly find any serenity unless she convinced herself of his safety. She pulled the robe together, tied it to cover herself and exited the room. She had to be sure.
Elizabeth went to the library first, but no one was there; then she stopped briefly in Cassandra’s room, and the doctor whispered to her that she could go and sleep with no worries, as the patient was well.
There was only one place he could be—a place she would have never dared enter. Looking around tentatively to be sure nobody would see her, Elizabeth opened the door and crept in silently. No servant was within and no noise could be heard. She stepped forward carefully and, with infinite care, entered his bedchamber.
Indeed he was there, safe and unharmed—sleeping. “Oh, he sleeps quite soundly,” she thought, half relieved to see him so peaceful, half irritated that he was sleeping when she could not!
She took two more steps and was now close to the bed. His hair was adorably tousled and his face, relaxed in sleep, seemed even more handsome. His chest was moving steadily with his breath; his neck was exposed above his nightshirt, and she blushed at the sight of it.
Yes, all had been a nightmare, she concluded. However, instead of leaving as she should, she sat on the bed and touched the spot over his heart; there was no blood there, only the heat of his body, warming her skin through the thin fabric.
It took only an instant for him to wake and his hand to capture hers. Elizabeth had no time to react; nor did she attempt to withdraw when she recovered, for he was already sitting near her, holding her hand captive as his other hand imprisoned her shoulder.
“My love, what are you doing here?” His voice sounded not only tender but obviously pleased and relieved to see her.
If he was convinced she had forgiven him—he was mistaken!
“I came to…see you… I had a nightmare and wanted to be sure that…” She blushed as she spoke—her words a poor excuse even to her own ears.
“Elizabeth, please, let me explain to you…please…”
She looked straight into his eyes.
“You lied to me, William.”
“I only kept the truth from you to protect you.”
“You did not trust me enough.”
“I did not trust that you would understand. Would you have allowed me to go?”
“No, of course not.”
“Yet, I had to do what I thought was my duty.”
“I cannot accept that, William. I cannot bear the thought that you will continue to put yourself in danger and conceal it from me.”
“It will not happen again,” he whispered, avoiding her eyes. “But can you not understand that I had to protect you?”
“Protect me? You wanted to protect me? Then you should have stayed with me, and nothing would have happened. What did you accomplish by fighting Markham?”
“I taught him a lesson. I warned him not to bother you ever again.”
She rolled her eyes, not knowing if she should slap him or laugh at him. “How badly is he injured? What if his father bestirs a scandal against you?”
“I shot him in his right arm—painful but not life-threatening. However, he will not be able to handle a weapon for some time. The Earl will keep his history private, no need to worry… I could have killed Markham but chose not to. The Earl knew that and was grateful; he promised to take Markham on a long trip to the continent; they will likely be away for a couple of years.”
“I see…”
Her voice softened, and he did not fail to notice. He placed a light kiss in her palm, and then kissed each of her fingers. She shivered.
“I can never forgive you for what you did,” she said, and he frowned.
“I will struggle all my life for your forgiveness, Elizabeth, if you will still agree to marry me. I cannot bear the thought that you might leave me… I would gladly give my life for you, Elizabeth.”
She sighed furiously, freed her hands from his, and entangled her fingers deeply in his hair until she was certain she was hurting him. Her eyes glared into his only a few inches away as she spoke.
“I do not want you to give your life for me, you stupid man! I want you to take care of your life and share it with me for many, many years.”
“Oh, God, Elizabeth,” he whispered adoringly, his arms embracing her as his lips brushed her face with countless kisses. “My dearest, loveliest Elizabeth…”
She was still angry with him and still wanted to punish him, but she could not resist his kisses. She was so cold that, when he pulled her close to him in bed, she only moaned in contentment. His caresses, even sweeter than she remembered, warmed her; when she quivered again it was not from cold.
As his lips captured hers, she felt him untying her robe, and her heart skipped a beat in anticipation; his hands eagerly stroked her body through the nightgown.
She was breathless, not only from his lips trapping hers but from his weight crushing her; she felt her gown pulled up to her thighs and his legs entwining with hers as he lay on top of her. She felt a little frightened to be trapped beneath him; however, it was not fear but a lack of air that made her stop him.
“William, please stop,” she whispered, but for a moment he seemed not to hear her. She repeated her plea and he obeyed instantly, breaking the kiss and looking at her closely.
“Elizabeth, I am so sorry, I forgot myself…” He looked devastatingly handsome as he gazed at her, begging forgiveness for his impulsive desire.
“Do not apologize, sir,” she smiled, struggling for air. “It is just that…you are too heavy to bear,” she said, blushing. She knew she would have to ‘bear’ his weight when they were married and, for a second, wondered how she would do that.
“Oh, please forgive me… I did not think that it might be uncomfortable for you… I have lost myself,” he repeated and hurried to move away from her, but she trapped him with her arms.
“It is not at all uncomfortable, sir,” she replied, forcing a smile to conceal her mortification. Indeed, it was not uncomfortable at all… “I was just wondering if you could…do something…not to be so heavy,” she concluded.
She could see his eyes sparkling with delight in the relative darkness of the room. He moved a little, and suddenly she felt easier. His warmth was still there—he was still lying upon her—but his weight had become pleasantly bearable.
“I am so sorry, my love,” he said, his eyes locked with hers.
“Oh, do not worry, you were not that heavy,” she replied teasingly.
“Not for that,” he smiled back at her, yet he was obviously affected.
“Well, that other subject will not be so easy to resolve, sir,” she said with the same teasing tone. “I still do not forgive you; I am just happy to see you unharmed and to know Cassandra is better, and I am rejoicing in all this good news after such torment. But I still want more details about the duel,” she said severely.
“I will tell you everything you want to know!”
“And I will have some very clear demands and requests if we are to be married…”
“Will I be allowed to negotiate them, madam?”
“Not much, I am afraid.”
“I see… Then I have little choice.”
“Indeed, sir. Furthermore, I still intend to punish you for your actions.” She smiled mischievously and he seemed to finally relax. His head leaned toward hers as he answered.
“Do you have any specific punishment in mind?”
“No, not yet… I am too tired to make plans or even think, but I will give it proper consideration once I am more rested.”
“I will wait patiently and accept my sentence.”
By that time, his lips were already touching hers, tantalizing them, and softly brushing them without completing the kiss.
“Elizabeth, though you might not know it, you are already punishing me…” His voice was hoarse and his breath was burning her skin.
“How is that, sir?” she inquired but the last words went unheard as his mouth finally captured hers. She enjoyed the kiss much more than any answer, so she did not complain.
Now that their bodies were not quite pressing against each other, there was room left for his insatiable hands to explore, stroke and caress with tender passion. She vividly remembered the sensation of his touch, yet when his fingers brushed over her breasts and cupped them with gentle possessiveness, she shuddered and cried against his mouth.
When the need for air made him break the kiss and his lips rested upon her temple, she managed to whisper as she impulsively pressed her lips against his ear, “How do I punish you, sir?”
Darcy lifted his head so he could look deeply into her eyes. “You are not aware of it, my love, but your generosity in allowing me to hold you, to kiss you, to caress you without joining as man and wife is a painful torture…a sweet one to be sure, but truly painful.”
“I see…” She knew she should feel ashamed of having this conversation, of being with him in such a scandalous position, of enjoying his attentions so wantonly. Instead, she replied, while she herself felt tortured by his fingers’ unrelenting caress of her breasts, “In truth, sir, I do not intend to punish you this way… And if you wish it, I would not oppose …putting an end to your torture.”
Darcy’s look was incredulous; but, if he doubted the meaning of her words, the passion sparkling in her eyes and the acceptance and invitation in her gaze were eloquent proof of her intentions.
“My Elizabeth,” he whispered with tender love, “I have desired nothing more in my life, nor have I been more tempted. And if I considered my wishes alone, I would not hesitate for a moment…but I am thinking of you.”
“Of me? But I would not mind… I want to… I trust you, and we are to be married in less than a month…”
“Oh, that is not what I am worried about,” he replied and his dark gaze made her tremble; she felt thirsty—desperately thirsty for his taste—and she licked her suddenly dry lips.
“You see, my love, our joining should be as extraordinary as you are…not rushed through fear of being heard or interrupted by a curious servant. When you become my wife, it will be a day of joy with no worries, no concerns, no people around to interfere, and no asinine mistakes on my part to distress you. Only you and me, and the perfect solitude of our chambers…”
She was still looking disconcerted, and he laughed, pleased with himself, and delighted to see her slightly disappointed. “Trust me, my love. I cannot explain in more detail, but you will better understand what I mean now after that has actually happened…”
Elizabeth tried to smile while her eyes rose to his in disbelief. “Mr. Darcy, you are presumptuous to ask me to trust you upon your word this evening. You have much to do to regain my trust in you—in every respect.”
“As I said earlier, my love, I will spend the rest of my life struggling for your forgiveness and your trust.”
“I am glad to hear it, sir. And, Mr. Darcy, when you left for London in such a hurry, I missed telling you something of great importance.”
He stared at her with concern. She smiled and her thumb brushed against his mouth as she replied.
“I missed telling you how much I love you, sir.”
His kiss crushed her lips as his weight again crushed her body, but this time she did not stop him; instead, she moved beneath him until her body adjusted to his. His hands renewed their exploration with passionate urgency and, with her last rational thought, Elizabeth pondered that he had been right but only partially so: the punishment, the sweet, painful torture were not for him alone, but for her as well.
Later that night, Darcy carried her back to her room and secured her promise that she would try to sleep until late in the morning. She agreed but did not forget to mention she was still upset with him. He smiled and asked for her forgiveness—again—then kissed her hand ceremoniously and bowed politely before leaving the room.
A few minutes later, Elizabeth was sound asleep. As for Darcy, dawn found him in his chamber, gazing out of the window, thankful for the greatest fortune of his life: Elizabeth.