Mr. Jones blushed and blustered.
Darcy rubbed his temples. This was ridiculous. “While I appreciate your clear explanation of this law of the mind, I have to question the theory’s soundness. If one blow causes injury, surely another would only worsen the harm. I cannot allow it.”
“Nor will I permit it,” exclaimed Elizabeth.
Tapping his papers, Mr. Jones said, “It is only senseless to those who have not studied the complexities of the human brain. These scientists have. Many have met with success after this … treatment.”
Darcy exclaimed, “My concern is with those who have not met with success, sir.”
Elizabeth nodded in agreement.
The apothecary opened his case and returned thepapers inside. No club was visible, nor did the man’s round figure permit him to hide one on his person. Darcy relaxed.
Shaking his head, Mr. Jones said, “I have known you your entire life, Miss Bennet, so I will spare you from further inquiry. There are other determinants proven to provoke amnesia, but I know them not to be an option.”
“I pray you would tell me what these determinants are, Mr. Jones. I wish to understand everything I can about my injury. Perhaps we might find the missing piece to solve this puzzle.”
He sighed. “They are not the habits of a lady.”
“I will hear them all the same.”
Another sigh. “The only other known and studied causes for amnesia besides a head injury are drunkenness, loose morals, and affectation. Please do not ask me to explain further.”
“Are you suggesting I am pretending — faking my loss of memory?” Elizabeth gasped, then, just as quickly, softened her manner. “Not you specifically, Mr. Jones, but the committee of scientists and medics who dedicate their lives to the study of the brain. This is the best they can do?”
Mr. Jones dabbed his face with a handkerchief. “It is not unheard of for a young lady to imagine herself affected before … entering a marriage. Not you, of course,” he added hurriedly, “but others have certainly used it to … justify their … change of heart.”
Darcy heard Elizabeth inhale sharply, saw her eyes sparkle with tears, her chin tremble, felt her fear. In this, he could console her. Addressing Mr. Jones, he said, “Like you, I do not believe Elizabeth capable of such disguise. Not when she accepted my second proposal as vehemently as she rejected my first.”
Being a decent sort, Mr. Jones pretended not to hear Darcy’s admission, but the brilliance in Elizabeth’s surprise made his divulgence less humiliating. A tear dripped down her cheek, not from her upset but from release. Darcy handed her his handkerchief.
She dabbed her face dry. “Really? I refused you?”
Darcy nodded.
“How can I not remember a terrible first impression and a refused proposal? Vehement, you described it. What on earth did you say to deserve that?”
Darcy groaned. He had had his fill of humiliation for one morning. “That is a conversation for another time.”
“I wait on tenterhooks.”
Mr. Jones closed his case and stood. “It is not improbable that there will be no need for Mr. Darcy to tell you your story, Miss Bennet. You have always been clever and quick-witted. Perhaps you will recover before the end of the day. And if, by chance, you do not … it is my genuine hope you will reconsider the treatment.”
He sounded like an article straight fromPhilosophical Transactions.
CHAPTER 13
Elizabeth watched Mr. Darcy by the path leading to Longbourn where he arranged for Mr. Jones to provide him with a list of the foremost experts on the mind in the country.
While the apothecary’s views disclaimed logic and reason, he merely reflected the attitude most accepted among those supposedly capable of helping her.
Not an encouraging prospect. Derangement and insanity never were.
But Mr. Darcy was relentless. He would stop at nothing until he had exhausted the knowledge of every expert and the effectiveness of every treatment in the country. Elizabeth was grateful for his concern as it proved the depth of his concern. Surely, it was the best way to proceed. The wisest course.
And how she dreaded it.
Mr. Darcy was, however, determined.
