“Since his valet found him nearly an hour ago,” Lady Eleanor replied. “He has stirred occasionally but seems confused when awake.”
Elizabeth nodded, already mentally cataloging the necessary treatments. “We need cool compresses for his head and neck. Willow bark tea if he can be roused enough to drink. The room should remain cool but not cold.”
Lady Eleanor watched her with a mixture of approval and curiosity. “You seem quite composed in the face of illness.”
“Hysteria serves no practical purpose,” Elizabeth replied, gently lifting Darcy’s eyelid to check his pupil’s reaction. “And I suspect Mr. Darcy would prefer competence to displays of feminine distress at his bedside.”
Despite her practical tone, Elizabeth felt a painful twist in her heart as she observed Darcy’s vulnerable state. The proud, reserved man who had maintained such careful distance now lay utterly helpless, dependent upon the care of others—including the woman he had so recently dismissed as beneath his notice.
“There is a certain symmetry to the situation,” she murmured, almost to herself.
“I beg your pardon?” Lady Eleanor inquired.
Elizabeth shook her head. “Nothing of consequence. Merely an observation on life’s curious patterns.”
Before further discussion could ensue, a commotion in the outer chamber announced the physician’s arrival. Dr. Harrison was a thin, serious man with intelligent eyes and a harried manner that suggested he had indeed been attending numerous patients affected by the storm.
“Lady Blackmore,” he acknowledged with a quick bow. “I came as soon as I could. Mr. Darcy has taken ill, I understand?”
“Yes, collapsed with fever this morning,” she confirmed, gesturing him toward the bed. “Miss Bennet has been examining him.”
The physician raised an eyebrow at Elizabeth’s presence but made no comment, immediately moving to conduct his own examination. Elizabeth stepped back, watching as he checked Darcy’s pulse, temperature, and responsiveness with efficient movements.
“The injury to his brain makes any fever concerning,” Dr. Harrison said finally. “It appears to be a severe chill contracted during yesterday’s storm, but with his particular condition, we must be vigilant for complications.”
“What complications?” Georgiana asked, her voice small with fear.
Dr. Harrison hesitated, clearly weighing how much to reveal in front of the young lady. “There is a possibility of seizures,” he said finally. “The fever may trigger the already damaged areas of the brain.”
Elizabeth felt her stomach clench with dread. She had witnessed seizures before—a tenant’s child at Longbourn had suffered from them—and knew how frightening and dangerous they could be.
“What treatment do you recommend?” Her hands trembled slightly as she gripped the bedpost.
“Cool compresses to reduce the fever. Small amounts of water or willow bark tea if he can swallow. Keep the room quiet and dim. If he convulses, hold him still and put a comb in his mouth so he doesn’tswallow his tongue.” The physician began packing his bag. “I would stay, but I have three more patients requiring immediate attention, including a young child with pneumonia.”
“When will you return?” Lady Eleanor asked.
“This evening, if possible.” Dr. Harrison looked apologetic. “The storm has left much illness in its wake.”
After voicing his concerns and reminding them not to upset his mind, the physician departed, leaving an uneasy silence. Elizabeth continued her assessment of the sickroom, mentally inventorying the supplies they would need.
“We require fresh linens, cool water, vinegar for compresses, willow bark for tea,” she listed. “And someone should remain with him at all times to monitor for changes.”
“I’ll sit with him,” Georgiana offered immediately.
Lady Eleanor placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “My dear, you are exhausted already, and your brother would not want you made ill through worry.”
“But he needs someone who—” Georgiana began.
“I will nurse him,” Elizabeth interrupted, the words emerging before she had fully considered them. “I have experience with fevers, and I…” She hesitated, then continued more softly, “I am not afraid of contagion.”
Lady Eleanor and Georgiana exchanged a glance that contained volumes of unspoken communication. Elizabeth waited, understanding their hesitation. To place Darcy in her care was to acknowledge a connection he himself did not recognize.
“You are his wife,” Lady Eleanor said finally, her voice low but firm. “Whatever his current memory may suggest, that remains the truth. There is no one with more right to tend him.”
Elizabeth felt a rush of gratitude for this acknowledgment, though she kept her expression composed. “I will need someone to look after William.”
“Mary and I shall share that duty,” Georgiana offered quickly. “And we will bring you anything you require.”
