“Yes. And as long as he continues, we continue to fight. I am not suggesting we are at that point now. I am simply—” He drew a breath. “I am simply asking you to understand that if Atlas tells us he is ready to stop fighting, we must listen. Even though it will break our hearts.”
“I cannot—” Her voice broke. “I cannot lose him. Not now. Not when I have only just?—”
Mr. Darcy pulled her into his arms, his embrace solid and sure. “I do not want to lose him either. But our wants do not matter as much as his welfare.” He stroked her hair gently.
Elizabeth pressed her face against his coat and cried—for Atlas, for the unfairness of it all, for the fear that had been building for days. And Mr. Darcy held her, his strength unwavering, his presence the only thing keeping her from falling apart completely.
“Forgive me,” she said finally, pulling away and wiping her eyes. “I should be stronger. You need?—”
“I need you exactly as you are.” His hand cupped her cheek.
“Thank you,” she said.
“For what?”
“For staying calm when I cannot. For loving Atlas enough to make the hard choices if they become necessary, but not before.” She managed a weak smile. “For being exactly who you are, Fitzwilliam Darcy.”
His eyes widened slightly at her use of his Christian name.
A sound from Atlas’s box made them both turn. The horse whinnied.
Mr. Darcy was there in an instant, his hands steadying, his voice calm and reassuring. “Easy, boy. Easy. We have you.”
Atlas stabilized, but the incident left Elizabeth shaken. He was so weak. So very weak.
“He needs water,” Mr. Darcy said. “But he has been refusing it for the past few hours. Elizabeth, bring the bucket. Let us try together.”
They spent the next hour coaxing, pleading, trying every trick Mr. Darcy knew to get Atlas to drink. The horse turned his head away from the bucket, from the water mixed with honey, even from the grain mash that had always been his favorite.
Finally, as the sun began to set on the fourth day, Elizabeth pressed her face against Atlas’s neck and whispered, “Please. Please do not give up. I know you are tired. I know you hurt. But please keep fighting. Just a little longer. Please.”
Mr. Darcy stood at the box door, his face carved from stone, watching, assessing, preparing himself for the conversation he had warned her about.
She turned to face him, tears streaming down hercheeks. “One more day. Please. Just give him one more day.”
He was silent for a long moment, his eyes moving between Elizabeth and Atlas. She saw the war in his expression—his love for the horse battling with his compassion for a creature in pain, his desire to honor her request balanced against his responsibility to make the hard choices.
“One more day,” he said finally, quietly. “But Elizabeth, you must prepare yourself. If he does not improve by tomorrow morning—if he still refuses water, if the fever does not break—I will make a decision. For his sake.”
“I know.” She barely got the words out. “I know.”
Mr. Darcy moved to stand beside her. They stood together in the lamplight, drawing strength from each other as Atlas struggled. Elizabeth had never felt more helpless in her life.
“You should rest,” Mr. Darcy said after a while. “Go inside. Sleep. I will watch him tonight.”
“I cannot leave him.”
“You can and you will. You will be no good to Atlas if you collapse. Send my sister to me if she is not already asleep.” His tone was gentle but implacable. “If anything changes, you will know. I promise.”
She wanted to argue, but she was so tired. So unbelievably tired. And the steady confidence in Mr. Darcy’s voice made her believe he truly would manage through the night.
“You will wake me if?—”
“I will wake you if there is a significant change. Good or bad.” He guided her toward the stable door. “Now go.Let your sister feed you and put you to bed. I need you strong tomorrow.”
Once inside the house, Elizabeth found Miss Darcy slumbering in the guest room. Waking her, Elizabeth entered her chamber and fell across the bed, asleep before her head hit the pillow.
She woke to the hall clock chiming once. Dressing quickly, she hurried to the stables. Inside, she found Mr. Darcy slumped against the stall wall, his eyes closed, his hand still resting on Atlas’s leg as though even in exhaustion he could not break contact.
