Elizabeth nodded weakly. “Go. Thank you.”
Kitty hurried away, going down the stairs at a rapid pace. Elizabeth managed to close the door before the strength left her completely.
She staggered toward the bed, her vision darkening.
The drug was taking hold swiftly now.
Her last conscious thought was a desperate prayer.
Please, God… let Darcy come.
The darkness closed over her.
And everything went black.
Chapter 29
Darcy was humming.
Well, he was not exactlyhumming— that would be insupportable in a drawing room—but it was taking all of his will-power to repress his own musical rendition of the last song he heard Elizabeth play on the pianoforte.
Tomorrow, I will be marrying her.
Darcy had spent much of the morning attending to small matters of the estate with Bingley, both men attempting—with limited success—to keep their thoughts from drifting continually toward the following day.
But several times already he had caught himself pausing in the middle of some small task, only to remember—quite suddenly—that by this time tomorrow Elizabeth Bennet would be Elizabeth Darcy.
He had never expected to feel so… light.
Bingley, observing this unusual state of cheerfulness, had already accused him of smiling no fewer than three times before luncheon. Darcy had denied the charge with dignity, though privately he suspected the accusation was not entirely unfounded.
Indeed, the entire household at Netherfield seemed caught in a current of anticipation. Servants moved briskly throughthe halls, preparations for the wedding breakfast already underway. Georgiana had attempted to practice the pianoforte earlier that morning but abandoned it after ten minutes, declaring that she could not concentrate on anything while waiting for tomorrow to arrive.
Darcy himself had attempted to read.
He had not progressed beyond the second page.
He stood now near the windows of the drawing room, looking out across the winter fields at the side of the house, doing his best to make the ticking of the clock proceed more quickly. It was therefore something of a relief when the sound of carriage wheels announced an arrival.
A moment later the footman opened the door to the drawing room.
“Colonel Fitzwilliam, sir.”
Bingley sprang to his feet at once. “Richard!”
The colonel strode in with the brisk ease of a man accustomed to travel and greeting. His face lit immediately at the sight of the company.
“Bingley! Darcy!”
Before either man could properly greet him, a small squeal of delight sounded from across the room.
“Cousin Richard!”
Georgiana had risen so quickly that her chair nearly toppled behind her. She crossed the room in a rush that would have horrified most finishing-school mistresses.
Lady Anne opened her mouth, but whatever reprimand had been forming died upon her lips as she saw her daughter throw her arms around the colonel. Instead, she allowed a fond smile to cross her face.
Richard laughed warmly and embraced his ward. “Well! If this is the reception I am to expect, I shall visit far more often.”
