The woman was perceptive enough to recognize her desperation. She allowed Elizabeth to look away without holding her gaze.
“Darcy’s valet and steward returned with his carriage, reporting he had gone ahead on horseback. When he failed to arrive, a search was organized. He was eventually found at the home of a country surgeon, grievously injured.”
“Is he… well?” Elizabeth’s breath hitched, and she valiantly blinked back tears. “Was he in a lot of pain?”
“I see that you are deeply concerned. May I inquire the nature of your… acquaintance?” Eleanor’s voice was gentle.
Elizabeth swallowed through her tight throat and breathed a tiny prayer for grace. If Lady Eleanor reacted the way Lady Catherine was sure to react, she and her sister, and perhaps even Bingley, would find themselves unwelcome in Darcy’s company.
“Lady Eleanor, I believe you deserve the full truth, however improbable it may sound.”
“By all means, Miss Elizabeth. I am listening.”
“Mr. Darcy is my husband. We were married by special license on the morning of December third. It was a necessity brought about by my abandonment at the Red Lion Inn. He rescued me from ruffians and…”
“I see.” Lady Eleanor’s face remained impressively composed, though her eyes betrayed her shock. “That is indeed an extraordinary claim.”
“Yes, but do you not see why I am concerned about Darcy’s health?” Elizabeth entreated this kinder aunt. “That he know that I am well? Another coach, a respectable elderly couple, conveyed me to Gracechurch Street, but I have not heard a word from my husband.”
“That is because he is not awake,” Lady Eleanor’s voice was so low Elizabeth wasn’t sure she heard her right. “He has not been able to wake at all. Not this morning, not since he was found.”
Elizabeth’s hand flew to her mouth as Lady Eleanor’s words sank in. “Not… awake?” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “All this time?”
The room tilted alarmingly, colors blurring before her eyes. She reached blindly for something to steady herself, but found only air as darkness crowded the edges of her vision. The last thing she heard was Lady Eleanor’s alarmed voice calling her name.
When consciousness returned, Elizabeth felt cool dampness on her face. She blinked, disoriented, to find Lady Eleanor leaning over her, an empty glass in one hand and a handkerchief in the other.
“There you are,” Lady Eleanor said quietly, helping Elizabeth to sit up. “Take slow breaths, my dear.”
Elizabeth realized she was lying on a small settee, her bonnet removed and collar loosened. Mortification rushed through her, hot on the heels of the crushing revelation about Darcy’s condition.
“Forgive me,” she managed, her voice unsteady. “I didn’t mean to?—”
“There is nothing to forgive,” Lady Eleanor interrupted gently. She sat beside Elizabeth, her manner calm but watchful. “I should have been more careful in my disclosure.”
Elizabeth pressed a hand to her forehead, still damp from the water Lady Eleanor had evidently splashed on her face. “He has truly been unconscious since December? All this time?”
Lady Eleanor nodded gravely. “The physicians call it a coma. The blow to his head was severe.” She studied Elizabeth with keen eyes. “You understand why I have not summoned assistance? Your… claim is of a highly sensitive nature.”
“Yes,” Elizabeth whispered, grateful for the discretion. “Thank you.”
“You truly believe yourself married to my nephew,” Lady Eleanor observed. It wasn’t quite a question.
“I know I am his wife,” Elizabeth replied, strength returning to her voice. “We spoke our vows before God and witnesses. He gave me his ring as proof of our union.”
She withdrew the signet ring she wore on a ribbon beneath her chemise.
Lady Eleanor’s eyes widened at the sight of the heavy gold band with its distinctive crest.
“Fitzwilliam’s ring,” she breathed. “He never removes it. Never.”
“He put it on my thumb,” Elizabeth said, blinking back tears at the memory. “Told me he would give me Lady Anne’s ring once we reached Darcy House.”
Lady Eleanor reached for the ring, examining it closely. “This is genuine. But Miss Bennet, surely you must understand that a ring, however significant, is not legal proof of marriage. Anyone might claim?—”
“Anyone might claim many things,” Elizabeth interrupted, her desperation finally overriding her politeness. “But would anyone carry the ring for months, suffering in silence while her husband lies unconscious floors above where she sits? Would anyone endure the humiliation of being dismissed as a fortune hunter when she wants nothing more than to sit by his bedside and will him back to health?”
Tears were flowing freely down her cheeks now, and she made no attempt to stop them.
