Elizabeth tried to draw away or drop into a curtsey or simply fall into a yawning hole in the ground, but Darcy’s fingers tightened around her hand.
“Aunt Catherine,” he said, his voice clearer than it had been all day. “You’ve come to celebrate our marriage.”
The room went utterly still. Elizabeth felt the blood drain from her face.Our marriage.Even knowing it was delirium, the words sent a treacherous thrill through her heart. Part of her—a part she barely dared acknowledge—wondered what it would be like if his fevered claims were true.
Lady Catherine’s expression contorted from shock to fury. “What nonsense is this? Fitzwilliam, you are delirious.”
“Not nonsense,” Darcy insisted, his gaze never leaving Elizabeth’s face. “Tell her, my love. Tell her how you accepted me at last.”
My love.The endearment burrowed in her heart as she stared into his fervent, dark eyes. Even in delirium, could he truly mean these words?
And more terrifying still—did she want them to be true?
Georgiana made a tiny squeak while Caroline huffed disdainfully.
“They’ve been playing house,” she said sharply. “I told Charles that this arrangement was entirely improper, but when Mr. Bennet suggested it, my brother bowed to his influence.”
“Fitzwilliam Darcy,” Lady Catherine’s voice could have frozen summer itself, “you have not married this woman. You are ill. You have been shot defending her questionable reputation, and now your mind wanders in fever.”
“Half of Pemberley is yours now, Elizabeth,” Darcy continued as if his aunt had not spoken. “I’ve arranged it all. You’ll care for Georgiana if I don’t survive.”
“I will not have my nephew’s care left to untrained hands,” Lady Catherine declared, her eyes narrowing at the surgeon conferring with Colonel Fitzwilliam.
The colonel bowed to his aunt. “Aunt Catherine, this is Mr. Johnson, the surgeon. He extracted the bullet from Darcy’s shoulder.”
“And allowed this harridan to paw all over his wound? No wonder he’s taken a turn for the worse.” Lady Catherine stared at the connection between Elizabeth and Darcy’s hands. “I cannot allow this continued impropriety at my nephew’s bedside. You should be ashamed of yourselves. All of you. Taking advantage of my nephew’s feverish delusions.”
The colonel hesitated, clearly torn between family loyalty and the distress such an action would cause his cousin. “Aunt, perhaps we should consider?—”
“Consider what? That this fortune hunter has somehow convinced Fitzwilliam they are married?” Lady Catherine’s voice rose to a hellish pitch. “That she has manipulated a fevered man into promising her Pemberley?”
Elizabeth’s face burned. “I have done no such thing, Lady Catherine. I have cared for Mr. Darcy as duty required.”
“Duty!” Lady Catherine all but spat the word. “What duty does a country nobody have to the master of Pemberley? You have orchestrated this entire situation, from the rumor that led to the duel to this… this charade of devotion.”
Elizabeth felt the blood drain from her face at the accusation. “Lady Catherine, you misunderstand?—”
“I understand perfectly,” the older woman interrupted. “You will leave this room immediately, Miss Bennet. Your services are no longer required.”
“No!” Darcy cried, struggling to rise from the bed. “You can’t take her! She’s my wife!”
His wife!The question arose unbidden, shocking her with its intensity.Do I want to be his wife?
Lady Catherine froze, her expression hardening into something truly terrible. “What did you say, Darcy? What will your mother say to this madness?”
“Leave him alone.” Elizabeth’s temper flared. “Can’t you see he’s gravely ill? Please, I beg you, do not distress him further.”
Lady Catherine’s expression hardened. “Miss Bennet, you will leave this room immediately, or I shall have you removed by force.”
“Lizzy, no.” Darcy’s voice was weak but insistent. “Don’t let them separate us again.”
The plaintive quality in his voice nearly broke her resolve. Elizabeth looked down at his face—so familiar now after days of tending him, so dear despite all that had passed between them—and felt her heart constrict.
“Mr. Darcy,” she said gently, “you must rest and allow the physicians to do their work. I will return when you are stronger.”
“Promise me,” he insisted, his grip on her hand almost painful now. “Swear you’ll come back.”
Lady Catherine made a sound of disgust, but Elizabeth ignored her.
