The Secrets of Darcy and Elizabeth

“Understandably.”

“I am afraid I will be deprived of my deathbed scene after all. I had so hoped to give a grand speech and then perish like a heroine in a novel!” She smiled and he chuckled.

“I am just as happy to be denied my role in such a scene.” His hand held hers in a death grip; he never wanted let it go again.

Her eyes sought his. “Thank you…for caring for me…for everything.” Her eyes were so clear and free of fever, he wanted to cry for joy.

“You are welcome, but I did little. You had the true fight.”

She laid her head back and closed her eyes for a long moment. Darcy believed she had fallen asleep, but soon she opened her eyes again and regarded him steadily. “I find it very comforting when you hold my hand, but I do not expect you to do so over the course of hours.”

“I do not mind—” He began, but she shushed him.

“I know. However, you are exhausted.” He started to protest, but she shook her head. “You should return to your room and sleep. I can summon a maid if I need anything.”

He shook his head vigorously. “I cannot leave you alone.”

“I am feeling far better.”

He gazed down at their clasped hands and then up into her eyes. “I can see that you are better, but you are not completely recovered. I cannot be sanguine until I see further improvement – and I expect I would be unable to sleep in my room.”

She sighed. “I thought you might say something like that.” Then she gestured to the vast expanse of bed next to her. “I have all this space, please lie down.”

“No…I cannot…it would not be proper—” Yes! His baser nature urged, but he knew he must fight the temptation.

Elizabeth gestured impatiently. “Forget propriety. No one will be the wiser – and you require rest.” He shook his head again. “Please? For me? It will be comforting you have you lying beside me.” She had unerringly hit on the one argument he could not deny.

In a moment temptation had conquered all his objections. “Very well.” He silently climbed in next to her, but did not get under the sheets. With his clothing on, he would be warm enough to sleep without covers. She rolled on her side, near the edge of the bed. He dared not put his arm around her waist as he had when she was asleep, but he did cover her hand with his where it rested on her hip – a contented sigh escaped her.

Darcy held himself rigidly, afraid he would accidentally initiate more contact; however, he soon heard the steady rhythm of her breathing, still quite raspy. She was sleeping, but it was a much quieter, more restful sleep than before. Smiling with relief, he realized he did not want to surrender possession of her hand for all the world.

The sounds of floorboards creaking in the hallway awoke Darcy in the early morning. His arm was flung over Elizabeth in a most compromising position. Flushing, he saw gratefully that she seemed deeply asleep. He slid off of the bed and anxiously viewed the patient, who seemed to be sleeping peacefully. Darcy exhaled a sigh of relief; for a horrible moment he had imagined he had only dreamed that she had improved. She had developed a worrisome wet, hacking cough, but she was so exhausted that no amount of coughing could awaken her.

The doctor arrived shortly thereafter. While he examined Elizabeth, Darcy went to room to wash up and change his clothing. He spoke to Flouret in the hall. “Quite a remarkable change. I believe Miss Bennet will recover completely – although it will take some time. I think she still has a fever, but it is slight. Her breathing has improved remarkably. The coughing is something we must watch. It could develop into pneumonia. Be sure she does not exert herself too much. She needs rest to recover her strength.” Darcy agreed wholeheartedly to adhere to every admonishment and the doctor departed.

When Darcy returned to the room, he found Elizabeth awake and sitting up, displaying a heart-melting smile when he entered. At that moment, he knew he would do anything for her.

Over the next few days, Elizabeth slowly regained her strength. Of all her symptoms, only a nagging cough persisted. She spent most of her time in bed, but two days into her recovery, the doctor allowed her to stand and walk about for a few minutes. The first day, this minimal activity exhausted her to such an extent that she was compelled to agree with the doctor that she was not yet ready to resume a normal schedule.

Originally she ate nothing but broth and gruel – and exhibited little appetite. But then the doctor allowed a greater variety of foods, much to Elizabeth’s delight. By the fourth day she was eating normal foods, although her appetite was still greatly diminished. Alarmed at how much weight she had lost, Darcy encouraged her to eat at every opportunity, even badgering Whitmore’s cook to supply her favorite foods.

Darcy delighted in every sign of progress, no matter how small – even greeting with enthusiasm her demands for bread instead of gruel and complaints about her lack of a bath. A rosy color returned to her cheeks and energy returned to her conversation. He was particularly pleased when she began again to tease him; he had missed her arch comments and pert asides, but he still shuddered when he recalled how close he had come to losing her altogether.

Elizabeth enjoyed the company of Whitmore’s wife Marie, who was a quiet and thoughtful woman. She would bring Elizabeth flowers from their garden – something the invalid cherished. They talked of their lives and Marie told them of the news from the outside word. The two women soon became fast friends. Whitmore was an infrequent visitor – being in a lady’s bedchamber was simply too uncomfortable for him, but he did visit long enough to make Elizabeth’s acquaintance.

With so little activity, Elizabeth soon became bored. She read and worked on some of the embroidery she had brought to France, but she was by nature an active woman and the enforced inactivity chafed at her. Most mornings Darcy read to her – usually poetry of Byron or Wordsworth, although he alternated with plays of Shakespeare – and discovered again how similar their tastes in reading were. Elizabeth was even interested in books of history and eagerly devoured the latest reports on the war against Bonaparte, a kind of active curiosity he had not seen in most women. But then she was not most women. Elizabeth even cajoled him into reading a contemporary novel – which he had previously disdained, but he found he rather liked it.

Now that the anxiety of Elizabeth’s illness was past, Darcy found himself enjoying their relative freedom and seclusion. He had no estate business to address and no social obligations to fulfill. He simply spent time with Elizabeth – what more could he ask?

On the other hand, he felt uncertainty about how matters stood between himself and Elizabeth—she had never referred to their conversation on that horrible night when he feared she was about to die. That night she had told him she loved him, and he treasured that memory. But the terrible thought had occurred to him that she did not even recall the conversation. Or did she remember it merely as a fevered dream? Worse still was the thought that she had only said those things because she thought she was dying. Had her attachment for him changed upon more sober reflection?

He tried to reassure himself that she was undoubtedly happy in his presence and seemed to desire his company. Despite the impropriety of his continued presence in her bed chamber, she never objected. He had visited her when she was sick and he saw no reason to discontinue the practice now, but he lived in fear that she would tactfully admit one day that his presence was uncomfortable to her. She had reverted to calling him Mr. Darcy once more – and he no longer called her by her given name, which had fallen so easily from his lips when she was sick. Now that she was improving, such intimacies felt inappropriate.

Nevertheless, Darcy longed to discover the truth of her sentiments, but feared distressing her and interrupting the smooth progress of her recovery. This did not prevent him from experiencing an agon

y of uncertainty. That terrible night he thought he had won her regard, but now he was not so sure. Every day he feared learning that her feelings about him had changed once more and that she desired nothing from him but friendship. He wanted to discuss it with her, but was unsure how to broach the topic. By the way, one night in a feverish delirium you said you love me. Did you mean it? It was awkward, to say the least.

After five days of recovery, one evening Elizabeth was well enough to go down for a very pleasant dinner with Whitmore and Marie. Elizabeth admired everything from the luxuriously appointed dining room to the delicious roast, while Whitmore related the latest news regarding the war. “No battles have been joined, but there has been much posturing on both sides. Unfortunately, the English navy captured two French ships. Napoleon has retaliated by ordering the arrest of all English men between 18 and 60 years of age who still remain in France.”