Elizabeth did not wish to cause her family any more worry; she would not cry. But neither could she breathe properly. Again.
“What can I do to help?” Mrs Gardiner enquired quietly but urgently.
“Nothing. I shall be well in a moment. It is just?—”
“The blood, I know. I am sorry, Lizzy. Martin is at that age—fascinated by gore.”
“It was not the blood. I am not faint of heart. It is only that I cannot forget him lying there. I keep seeing him fall.” And she kept replaying, over and again, what had happened moments before, when, despite being desperately unwell and on the brink of collapse, Darcy had insisted on correcting her misapprehensions about Wickham. The necessity of his warning shamed her deeply; the revelations contained therein had shocked her beyond measure.
She wished she had been able to apologise to Darcy for the things of which she had accused him. She wished there had been time to explain that she had not truly meant any of it—that she had only been exhausted, cold, and so very afraid oflosing him. But there had not been time for any of that. He had fallen to the floor and bled, just like in Martin’s picture, and now she might never have the chance to tell him that she was deeply, irrevocably in love with him.
She had no power to stem the tears that began to fall. Seeing her cry made Martin begin again and his sisters join in. The door opened and Nanny arrived, but Mrs Gardiner’s instructions for her to take the children to the nursery was curtailed by the housekeeper, who apologised for interrupting, but said that a gentleman was there to see them on business that could not be delayed.
Elizabeth’s ears were ringing. The sketch in her hand was taunting her to look at it. Her aunt was saying something about sending up the gentleman if it was urgent. Martin continued to cry, one of the girls closed the pianoforte over-loudly, making all the strings resonate discordantly, Nanny berated them both loudly. Then, without warning, everyone but her aunt was gone, and Mr Bingley was there. Elizabeth had no idea why, but the likelihood that it was because he had news about Darcy made her feel faint.
“Mr Bingley,” she said breathlessly. “This is a surprise.”
He smiled. It was not an easy smile. “I beg you would forgive the unannounced visit.”
Elizabeth assured him he was welcome and introduced her aunt. She clutched her hands together as she spoke to disguise their shaking.
Mrs Gardiner gestured for them all to sit. “I am afraid, sir, if it is my eldest niece you have come to see, you are not in luck. Jane is not here.”
Mr Bingley’s disappointment was unmistakable and gave Elizabeth heart enough to set her own troubles aside for a moment. “She will be exceedingly sorry to have missed you, sir. She called on your sister while she was in town, and Iknow she was hoping Miss Bingley would return the call—perhapswithher brother? Only she was called away when I—” She stopped speaking when her voice hitched, her troubles never forgotten for long.
Mrs Gardiner reached to squeeze her hand as she explained to Mr Bingley that Jane had returned to Longbourn when Elizabeth went missing. “May I presume that you know what recently befell Lizzy and Mr Darcy?”
He nodded gravely. “You may, madam. Indeed, that is why I am here. I have come directly from Darcy House. I am delighted to be able to report that Darcy regained consciousness this morning. He is going to be well.”
The room swung wildly around Elizabeth. A noise escaped her that was not dissimilar to some of those Darcy had made in the deepest throes of suffocation. She grabbed her aunt’s arm to stop herself reeling.
“Good Lord, Miss Bennet!” Mr Bingley exclaimed.
“Lizzy, breathe, for heaven’s sake,” cried her aunt.
Shewasbreathing—or sobbing, or laughing, she was not sure which. A flood of emotion too powerful to name was rushing through her veins, and every gasping breath she took was forced immediately back out again in wild, panting relief. She heard her aunt apologise for her and explain that she had been excessively worried.
Mr Bingley—Jane’s wonderful, kind-hearted Mr Bingley—seated himself beside her and spoke in the gentlest of tones. “There is absolutely nothing for which to apologise. We haveallbeen excessively worried, and with good cause. I share your relief, but I assure you, Darcy is well. Indeed, given the nature of the message I have been asked to deliver, I must say your response is rather heartening.”
Elizabeth waited, hope flaring.
“I am here at Darcy’s most particular request. He learnt,upon waking, of the rather disgraceful way some of his relations treated you while he was out of action. You know what a curmudgeon he can be—you can imagine his displeasure.”
She gave a small, surprised laugh and nodded. Oh, how she treasured Mr Bingley for giving her a sliver of good cheer! How she wished he would return with those happy manners to Jane and make her so cheerful all the time!
“He has asked me to convey his sincerest apologies,” Mr Bingley continued. “He promises to call the very moment his strength is sufficiently returned. Indeed, he would have come today had he been able. Nevertheless, he was most anxious that you should not wait to hear his apology.”
Elizabeth nodded again, still somewhat breathless. Darcy had renounced his family’s behaviour, and he was alive. She told herself these two things would be enough to sustain her. “I thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for agreeing to be his messenger. I have been imagining the worst. Pray, is he very weak?”
“Compared to his usual vim and vigour, yes, he has taken rather a knock. But I do not need to tell you that, do I? I understand you are disagreeably acquainted with the severity of his injury.”
“I saw it, yes. Has it been stitched, do you know?”
“I suppose it must have been. I confess I did not ask.”
“Can he talk?”
“Regrettably not, though the physician hopes he might recover his voice in time.”
