“Thank you,” he replied with a twinge of guilt at his falsehood. He could hardly reveal the truth, however—that he had plucked a young lady away from her mother and groom because she had been poisoned into accepting a fool.
He knew he ought not to enter Elizabeth’s room; he was not truly her husband, after all. Yet, until he could see for himself that she was in her right mind, recovering, hewould be stretched between the unbearable agonies of doubt and dread.
Just a few words, that I might know she will be well, he thought, and opened the door.
It took his eyes a few moments to adjust to the gloom, but finally he made out the slight figure upon the bed.
“Mr Darcy!” Elizabeth said, her voice sounding both weak and alarmed. Her expressive eyes darted around the room, as if she looked for a means of escape. She was, plainly, anxious—and yet, she faced him bravely.
His heart, which alternated between pumping too hard and stopping entirely, melted. He pulled up a spindly wooden chair to sit beside the bed. In the dim shadows, he saw one slender hand lift slightly from the blankets. Unable to help himself, he took it within his own, and was relieved when she did not pull it away.
“The servant,” she said in almost a whisper, “she said that we are—we are married.”
“Well, yes,” he said, wondering how to explain. “It was necessary to tell the innkeeper, due to what happened.”
“What happened?” she repeated, her voice wary. “I cannot remember much of anything. Was there an accident?”
He was determined, this time, that the conversation might not devolve to accusations. “You were given a medication meant for your father, in order to soften your feelings towards matrimony. I believe you were given too much.”
“Givenwhat? Surely you would not?—”
“No, no,” he protested immediately. “Not by me. I-I heard of the plot, and only meant to stop your marriage to Mr Collins, your cousin, while you were not in your right mind.”
She was quiet for some moments. “I remember him…talking and talking,” she said at last. “He would not stop talking. Mama was there, too. Mama.”
He said nothing in reply; she had drawn her own conclusions, plainly.
“So…youmarried me instead?”
She sounded bewildered, her voice trembling—the voice of a woman who was holding herself together on sheer will. Darcy knew he had only one chance to get this right.
“To call you wife would be an honour and privilege for any man. I understand you do not know me well. I beg that I might be given a chance to earn your respect.” He stopped himself from saying more of his love, his admiration and devotion. She loved another, and he was the only one who knew how futile were her feelings for the despicable Wickham. His earlier jealousy, spoken aloud, had been poorly done, his worst self on display. He did notwishto be that man, and prayed she would never remember it.
Her eyes were wide in the dimness. “You are forced, then, by your conscience, into matrimony.”
“I do not consider myself forced, but am wretched that you must feel so. I am only resolved to protect your name by any means and to any extent necessary.”
“And your own?”
He thought about how to reply. “My name is such that it will weather many storms. Please, allow it to shield you now.”
“It is past the point, I suppose, where I have any choice.”
The words were bitter—and yet her hand clutched his, giving him hope that she did not find him utterly repulsive.
It was not quite so dire as her words implied, he knew—they might yet escape the situation with everyone’s choices intact. If he had thought to give an alias to the doctor and innkeeper, the odds would have been even better that they might remain unrecognised and anonymous. Nevertheless, he was not sorry that in his distress and anxiety at her collapse, he had cast his own reputation and protection over her, and he wished her to prepare herself for the necessity of marriage should it come to that. He opened his mouth to explain it all—as he should probably have done from the beginning—but was interrupted by a knock on the door.
“I has your tray,” the servant said, entering at his command.
“Yes, thank you,” he said, turning back to Elizabeth. “Please, try and eat something. The doctor recommended plain broth and toast, feeling you would recover your strength quickly if you could eat.”
Nourishment and rest, as the doctor had advised, was what was most required at the moment. Fuller explanationcould wait. Reluctantly, he let go of her hand, and forced himself to take his leave of her.
Mr Darcy did not return, although she admitted to herself that she waited for him to do so after finishing her bland meal. Her mind alternatively raced and moved sluggishly as she sifted through broken and cracked memories.
There were too many frightening ones.
As best she could remember and piece together, her mother had been behind an attempt tomarryher to Mr Collins. How very like Mama, neglecting not only to take her daughter’s feelings into consideration, but failing to consider that ingesting so much of Papa’s tonic might be dangerous!
