“Clarice?” Her voice emerged as a dry croak, though the scratch in her throat had eased. Pressing a hand to her brow, she found her skin cool to the touch. “What hour is it?”
“Past noon, madam,” Clarice replied without turning. “Your fever broke in the night, and as your slumber was so restful, we thought best not to disturb you.”
“That is a most agreeable piece of news,” Elizabeth declared, sitting up and surveying herself as one might inspect a house after a tempest—half-expecting to find a missing roof or the sheep scattered. “I feel so much improved that I believe I shall dress and join Georgiana for luncheon, or perhaps indulge ina quiet cup of tea in the parlor, if I am not too giddy with freedom.”
“Perhaps madam would prefer to remain comfortable today.” Clarice moved to the wardrobe, her expression placid. “I could bring chamomile tea and a warming pan for your stomach. And I have laid out fresh linens.”
“New linens are certainly required,” Elizabeth allowed, her smile tilting wryly as she swung her legs over the edge of the bed. “I have lain here so long I am in danger of sprouting leaves. The dark gray morning dress will suffice. But Clarice, you may set your mind at ease as I am entirely restored.”
Clarice’s expression did not change, but her eyes held a note of skepticism. “Madam’s color is indeed much improved.”
“My color is excellent, and my spirits are restored. I am a new woman, Clarice, risen from the ashes of Derbyshire’s most dramatic rainstorm.” Elizabeth declared, though a low, insistent cramping in her abdomen made her pause. “I shall take a turn in the garden, and the fresh air will complete my restoration.”
“I fear madam may wish to reconsider that notion.”
“Nonsense. I have been imprisoned in this chamber for days. The walls are beginning to close in, and I am developing an unhealthy attachment to that particular crack in the ceiling.” Elizabeth gestured toward the offending fissure, which she had spent considerable time studying during her convalescence. “It resembles Mr. Collins in profile, and I cannot endure another hour of his company.”
Clarice’s lips twitched—the closest Elizabeth had seen to a smile from that impassive face. “It is not the ceiling that concerns me, madam. Miss Duntze has called, along with Miss Entwhistle and Lady Cathcart. They are taking tea with Miss Darcy and have expressed a particular wish to see you.”
Elizabeth’s enthusiasm cooled at once. The neighborhood’s surveillance committee had assembled in full force, and here shewas, in her dressing gown, hair a tumble of curls, and her body staging its monthly insurrection.
“Ah.” She settled back against the pillows with rather less reluctance than she had felt moments before. “Perhaps the garden can wait, although I confess I am disappointed. I had hoped to check on Sidney—the snail, you understand—and to see Thomas.”
Clarice inclined her head as she held out a fresh dressing gown. “I could inquire whether Master Thomas might be brought to Madam’s chamber. Mr. Darcy has been most attentive to your comfort.”
The thought of Darcy’s concern sent warmth through her chest. He had indeed been attentive: appearing at her door to greet her between his duties, sitting with her and reading Cowper’s soothing if sleep-inducing verses, and touching her forehead when he believed she slept. Once, she had woken and seen his profile in candlelight, conferring with Clarice, and when she had closed her eyes, she felt the soft press of his lips on her forehead as he whispered,Good night, dear Elizabeth. May the Lord keep you and bless you.
“Yes, please,” she said, her voice softer. “Ask if Thomas might visit. With Captain, of course, if he can be persuaded to share his toys.”
Clarice withdrew, and Elizabeth used the interval to wash her face, brush her hair into something resembling order, and arrange herself against the pillows in a manner that suggested recovery rather than collapse. The cramping had intensified slightly with movement, and she pressed a hand to her stomach, willing it to subside. She had endured worse, and this, too, shall pass.
A soft knock preceded Darcy’s entrance, balancing a drowsy Little Tom on his hip and a carved wooden box beneath his arm. Elizabeth’s heart performed an unruly skip at the sight—man and boy, both possessed of dark, untamable curls and that singular intensity of focus she was beginning to recognize as the Darcy birthright.
“I understand you have been plotting escape,” Darcy said with the particular dryness in his voice she was learning to recognize as affection. “Clarice informs me you demanded access to the garden despite your physician’s orders.”
“I have no physician, as you well know, and I merely expressed a reasonable wish for fresh air.” Elizabeth smiled at Thomas, who was watching her with those dark, serious eyes, his thumb planted firmly in his mouth. “Good morning, Master Thomas. Have you brought Captain to see me?”
Thomas removed his thumb long enough to say, “Horse.”
“He has been asking for you since yesterday,” Darcy said, settling into the chair beside her bed. “Or rather, asking for ‘Lizba,’ which I have chosen to interpret as your name rather than a demand for biscuits.”
“I shall take it as a compliment either way.” Elizabeth patted the coverlet beside her. “Would you like to sit with me, Thomas? I have missed you dreadfully.”
“No,” Thomas declared, throwing his wooden horse onto the bed with a thud. “Want Sidney.”
“I’m afraid snails are not permitted on my bed,” Elizabeth said, picking up the horse and giving it a little bounce. “But Captain is quite eager to gallop across the fields.”
She bounced the wooden horse across the coverlet.
“Mine!” Thomas shrieked, raising his arms.
“Yes, Master Thomas, a most reasonable request indeed,” Elizabeth said, holding out the horse. Darcy, at the same moment, deposited the boy onto the bed beside her. “Captain is feeling quite tired and requires a good grooming.”
The boy snatched the horse and settled on the bed, walking the horse across Elizabeth’s legs, which were underneath the covers.
“I brought reinforcements,” Darcy said, opening the wooden box. “Thomas wished to show you his soldiers.”
Thomas’s eyes lit up at the sight of the painted tin figures, and he scrambled forward to peer into the box with the intensity of a general surveying his troops, but not before carefully handing his horse to Elizabeth.
