“What?” he asked loudly. He did not know for how long the conversation had gone on without him.
“Her ankles will swell,” Mrs Darcy said gently, “and Mr Lynn says rest in the horizontal position and light bandages will ease her discomfort.”
Darcy rested his elbows on his knees and held his head in his hands. He heard talk about diet left to the patient’s choice and continued cod liver oil for weight and strength. The tears did not begin until he heard mention of amounts of opiates to sedate the sufferer. By the time Mr Lynn took his leave, promising to call every day and offering empty platitudes, he was finished crying.
My sister is dying.
Mrs Darcy put her hand on his shoulder, and he flinched. Darcy ran a sleeve over his eyes and hoped she had the sense not to try to console him.
“She is most concerned with worrying us.” His wife made no attempt to conceal her own tears. “Georgiana is such a sweet girl, and she is more afraid for our feelings than her own end. No matter”—her voice cracked—“no matter whether she lives two days or two weeks or two months, we must not depress her spirits. I cannot bear the idea that should she suffer from a broken-hearted affliction in worrying for us that might worsen her final days.”
He looked at this woman he had married only for the sake of the girl dying upstairs.
“I thought you would die first.”
She blanched, and Darcy already regretted his grief-driven rudeness as she walked to the door. “So did I. But you need not feel such pessimism. I still might!”
The next dayopened as they always did, and Elizabeth was forced to contend with managing the mundane when she wanted to crawl under her bedclothes and cry. But servants needed to be directed, meals had to be ordered, medicines had to be made, and Georgiana needed her devoted care and attention. She looked at her wan reflectionas she brushed her hair.Do not distress her, and do not let her know that her brother’s marriage is a sham.
Georgiana’s feelings mattered more than how little she and Mr Darcy truly thought of one another. They had both thought she would predecease Georgiana, but to hear Mr Darcy say it aloud, with the disappointment in knowing of his sister’s death in his tone, hurt her more than she had a right to lay claim to. Rather than think of herself, Elizabeth dressed and went to see her sister. Georgiana was awake, and the maid had helped her to dress, but she was languid, and had a quick, weak pulse.
“Did I keep everyone awake last night?”
“You need not worry about that. The rain has stopped, and we ought to move you downstairs and open all of the windows. It is a lovely day, and I will pick you some flowers to brighten your room.”
“Lizzy, I cannot walk the stairs today.”
Her eyes were bright with fever, but her skin was ashen.
“Who said anything about walking? That is what older brothers are for. Mr Darcy is going to bring you downstairs after I brush your hair, and when I am finished in the garden, I will put on a concert for you.”
She found Mr Darcy in his study. He was in his shirtsleeves, poring over a stack of letters and looking abjectly miserable. While he would take whatever action he could on behalf of his sister, take on any duty for her sake, Mr Darcy would not be able to nurse and tend to Georgiana at the end. Someone had to administer laudanum, to say no to bloodletting and purgatives and other measures that might prolong her life but increase her suffering.
Mr Darcy’s attempts to preserve her reputation had left both him and his sister isolated, and now it was too late for anyone to share the burden of Georgiana’s demise with him. His friends and family thought him fifteen hundred miles away, and in order to protect her good name, there was no one who loved him to whom he could turn. Even after Georgiana was gone, it would be six weeks before he could claim to be in England and return to his friends.
Elizabeth had thought the greatest service she could do in life before her heart ailment carried her off was show kindness and compassion to Georgiana Darcy. Now, with her sad end in sight, itseemed to Elizabeth that caring for Mr Darcy after the death of his sister was to become her purpose.
“Why are you here?” he asked without looking up.
That was going to be immensely harder.
“Your sister wants to sit downstairs today. Would you carry her when you are finished?”
Mr Darcy nodded once.
“You are writing to prepare your relations for the sad news? Is there anyone I can write to for?—”
“No, they know nothing of you”—he did not look up—“yet.” This added word came out as easily as a pulled tooth.
“Colonel Fitzwilliam . . .”
“Is with his regiment and not at liberty to leave.”
When it became clear he did not intend to add anything else, she said, “We ought to keep Georgiana to the same routine as she has had, so long as she is well enough. And I see no reason to put her through more bloodletting or cupping or blistering.”
“She will do whatever the apothecary suggests will prolong her life.”
“Fitzwilliam, Georgiana is?—”
