Fitzwilliam lunged forward to lend his support, demanding, “What are you doing?” as he propped him up by the elbow.
“I mean to call on Elizabeth.”
“Say that again?”
“There is no need to shout. I am mute, not deaf.”
“Stop babbling, man, I cannot understand you!”
Darcy elbowed him off and leant over the nightstand to write a note.
I must apologise to Miss Bennet.
He left it where it was for his cousin to read and took a few unsteady steps to pull the bell for Morby.
“Do not be ridiculous,” Fitzwilliam said behind him. “You are in no state to go anywhere. Get back into bed.”
Darcy ignored him and walked to the dresser to splash water on his face.
“I comprehend that you feel responsible, but another day will make little difference. Go tomorrow, or the next day—whenever you have regained strength enough to walk across a room without stumbling into things.”
“He is right, Brother,” Georgiana added. “You really are not well enough to go.”
Theywereright, of course, but Darcy did not mean to choose this moment to disappoint Elizabeth by failing to get his way, and when Morby arrived into the room, he pointed at himself and mouthed, “Dress me.”
To his consternation, and for the first time in the man’s employ, Morby looked first to someone else for corroboration of his instructions, his alarm evident.
“See, Darcy?” Fitzwilliam said. “You are convincing no one with this behaviour that you are in your right mind. Stand down, Morby. The stubborn ox is going nowhere.”
Darcy reviled the weakness in his knees that prevented him walking to the closet himself to pull out some clothes. He drew several deep breaths and was rallying himself to give a convincing show of strength when there came another knock at the door, and the answer to a good number of his problems bounded into the room.
“Upon my life, Darcy, you look awful! What the devil are you doing out of bed?”
“Bingley, thank God! I need your help.”
“Are you sure you are well enough to be sitting up? I am certain you could still manage to write me notes if you were propped up in bed.”
I have been lying down for the better part of a fortnight. Humour me.
Darcy had got rid of his sister and cousin only on the promise of returning to his bed to rest, but he had several pressing matters to attend to before he did that. Despite them having appraised Bingley of all the details of his ordeal and rescue before they left, he had a fair amount yet to relay to his friend. Sitting up would make the task far easier, thus he had settled himself at his small breakfast table.
“Very well.” Bingley gave up hovering over him and slid into the opposite seat.
Darcy indicated with the pen for him to move the chair nearer. “So you can read what I write.”
“What?”
Darcy refrained from allowing his lips to move with the oath he said to himself.These things had all been elementary to Elizabeth. Why could nobody else fathom them without detailed instruction?
It will save me turning the paper towards you each time I want you to read what I have written. Should save a good hour of our lives.
With pantomime exaggeration, he turned the paper and pushed it across the table for Bingley to read.
“Ah, right you are.” His friend obligingly shuffled his chair around the table. That much closer, he was distracted with peering at Darcy’s bandages. “You cannot have been kicked with full force, can you? It would have killed you.”
“It nearly did.”He did not even wait to see whether Bingley had comprehended and switched immediately to writing instead.
But yes, it can only have been a glancing blow. Fortunately for me.
