The Unforgettable Mr. Darcy

Elizabeth did not awaken to full consciousness, although twice Mrs. Martin was able to rouse her to drink some water. However, she did grow more active in her sleep, moving with greater animation, moaning, or muttering incoherently. Visiting to check her pulse before retiring for the night, Martin was greatly encouraged by her progress. “She will awaken soon,” he predicted.

These words provoked a fresh wave of agitation in Darcy. Naturally he longed for her recovery more than anything in the world, but he feared it as well. The Martins might be fooled, but Elizabeth knew they were not married. As they had not parted on amicable terms, she would not look kindly on his spousal claims.

Could he persuade her to continue the act? Or would she immediately denounce him as “the last man in the world whom she could ever be prevailed upon to marry?” Throughout the night, Darcy prayed she would awaken at a time when he might discuss the situation with her before she spoke to the Martins. If she denounced him immediately, it would complicate the situation considerably.

The next morning, he awoke early as beams of light crept around the edges of the curtains. He hastily checked on Elizabeth. Her color was better, and her breathing was less labored. He was not imagining it. Her complexion was closer to that of a woman enjoying a night’s rest than a patient on a sickbed. Progress prompted joy but also unease. It was still highly improper for him to be in her room.

Shortly after sunrise, the doctor arrived to examine his patient. He pronounced her greatly improved and predicted she would soon awaken—an eventuality that Darcy both yearned for and feared. How displeased would she be to hear the news that she had acquired a “husband?”

Could he forestall her revelation of the truth to the Martins? Could he prevent her from banishing him from her life once she discovered his falsehoods? Determined as she was, Elizabeth was quite capable of deciding to find her own way back to England without speaking another word to Darcy. This thought alone was enough to cause his stomach to roil unpleasantly.

The Martins prevailed upon him to join them for breakfast. Although loath to leave Elizabeth, Darcy experienced an obligation to the Martins, who took a great risk by providing shelter to someone who could easily be accused of being an English spy. The food was delicious and the conversation pleasant, but Darcy had difficulty relaxing, wondering at every moment how Elizabeth fared. Just as they were finishing, the housekeeper called down to notify the doctor that the patient was awakening.

Since Martin reached Elizabeth’s room first, Darcy lingered in the doorway, unsure how welcome he would be by her bed. Elizabeth’s eyes ranged about the room with a growing look of panic, and her hands clutched the counterpane in agitation. She recoiled when she saw Martin looming over her bed.

He gave her a friendly smile. “Do not be so…scared, madame,” he said to her in heavily accented English. “I am doctor. I am taking care for you.” He gestured to Darcy. “And here is your husband.”

Darcy held his breath, waiting for Elizabeth to reveal his falsehood, but she merely regarded him with a small frown. Knowing full well that Fitzwilliam Darcy was the last person she expected at her bedside, he attempted a reassuring smile and prayed she would not blurt out anything he could not explain away.

However, she looked away from him without any apparent recognition. Her eyes darted wildly about the room with an increasingly panicked rhythm, taking in the windows, the bed, the pictures on t

he walls, and the doctor, while her hands clutched the covers in a death grip. She made no sound.

“Elizabeth?” She returned his regard with blank incomprehension. Alarmed, Darcy crossed the floor in two long strides, daring to put his hand on her forearm. Perhaps she was simply too bewildered by the unfamiliar surroundings. “Elizabeth, you are safe. There is nothing to fear.”

She squinted at him. “Who—” Her voice emerged as a strangled gasp. She cleared her throat and started anew. “W-Who are you?”

Perhaps her eyesight is not good. Or she is still confused from the illness. “It is I, Fitzwilliam Darcy.” He kept his tone soft and unthreatening.

“Who are you?” she repeated with greater agitation.

Darcy staggered as if he were on the rolling, pitching deck of a ship in a violent storm and grabbed the bedpost for stability. “Elizabeth?”

Martin’s eyes darted from Elizabeth to Darcy, no doubt wondering anew if Darcy had lied about their relationship. Darcy bent over her so she could see his face more clearly. “It is I, William.”

Her brows knitted together. “Do I know you?” Her lost expression sent shivers down Darcy’s spine. That blank lack of recognition was so wrong. Such confusion had no place on her countenance.

He had been prepared for denial of their relationship, not denial of his identity. Nor did she seem to be pretending her confusion.

“Is this your…husband?” Martin asked in halting English, taking his self-appointed role of her guardian very seriously.

Her deep green eyes met Darcy’s searchingly. “I am married?”

Guilt stabbed him like a knife. His impulsive lie was confusing Elizabeth; perhaps the truth would be best. Darcy took her cold fingers in his, squeezing them reassuringly. “Elizabeth—”

“Is that my name?” With her free hand, she rubbed her forehead as if it pained her.

Darcy shot a wide-eyed look at Martin, who returned his expression of concern.

“Indeed. You are Elizabeth,” he murmured soothingly. “Sometimes your family calls you Lizzy.”

She shook her head, sitting up straighter in the bed as her breathing came in faster gasps. “That does not sound familiar. Are you sure?”

Although their problems had just become much larger than he had feared, Darcy could not help chuckling. “Yes, I am certain.”

“Are you having the pain?” Martin’s question drew her attention to him. She nodded and then flinched as if the movement hurt. The doctor leaned forward to examine the back of Elizabeth’s head. She winced at his gentle touch. “What are you remembering?” he asked. “Can you tell me the last memory?”

Her eyes glazed over as she considered for a moment. “Nothing. I remember nothing.”