Mr. & Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy: Two Shall Become One

by Sharon Lathan

  “Mrs. Reynolds, thank you for… Well, for everything.”

  “Of course, Mr. Darcy. I will leave you two alone for now. Samuel is drawing your bath, sir. I will send a tray up later.”

  “Thank you. Will you talk to Miss Darcy? She must be frantic. I will see her as soon as I can.”

  Darcy knew there was so much to say, so much to do, but he could not focus on anything other than his wife. Finally alone, he knelt at the side of the bed, too weary to move a chair, and took her hand. Aside from the bandage over the right side of her head, a marked pallor, and a few lingering drops of mud in her plaited hair, she was beautiful and merely appeared asleep.

  The women had lovingly cleaned her head to toe, dressed her in a warm white flannel gown, changed the bed linens, and positioned her body comfortably. Darcy tenderly ran his fingers over her cherished face, whispered her name, ultimately giving in to his crushing agony. His head fell to her bosom and he was wracked with convulsing sobs felt in every fiber of his body.

  He must have fallen asleep or into a stupor. He returned to awareness at a light touch on his shoulder and a gentle whisper. “Brother?”

  He groggily gazed up at the teary, sympathetic face of his sister. “Georgie,” he murmured and held his arms open as she fell into his embrace there by the bed. More tears were shed by both of them, but it was cleansing and nourishing to Darcy to feel his sister’s love and share his grief and anxiety with her. They talked in soft tones, prayed together, and eventually Darcy was encouraged to leave to bathe while Georgiana maintained a vigil at Elizabeth’s side.

  For three days they would take turns as companion to the unconscious Elizabeth. Darcy rarely left, primarily only when forced by his bodily needs. He ate little and slept only when his mind betrayed him by slipping into a fitful doze. Georgiana worried as much for her brother as she did for her sister. They all attempted to reason with him, but he refused to listen, the infamous Darcy stubbornness at full capacity, so they surrendered.

  The physician came three times each day. Throughout the first and second day he expressed little concern over Mrs. Darcy’s continued unconsciousness. He declared her heart stronger, her breathing regular, her pupils reactive to light, her wounds healing as they should, and her bleeding stopped. She seemed in no outward discomfort. He left a bottle of laudanum, for if she did waken, he assumed that she would be in pain and need relief. This unsettled Darcy but he did not argue. Lord Matlock had sent for his personal physician from London by express messenger; however, it would still take two to three days for him to arrive.

  Marguerite bathed her, repositioned her frequently with Darcy’s assistance, and washed her hair thoroughly. Mrs. Reynolds regularly provided warm tea and broths, which they fed by careful spoonfuls. Darcy was numb. His mind refused to function beyond his need to be with her. Mr. Keith and Mrs. Reynolds handled everything else.

  By the afternoon of the third day, the doctor was evincing some disquiet. Elizabeth’s overall status was improving. Her ankle was substantially less swollen; the head laceration was healing well and definitely not infected; the other bruises and scratches were in their proper stages of regeneration; and her vital signs were strong. However, the fact that she manifested no indications toward arousing did not bode well for her mental and neurological recovery. He confessed that his personal experience as a physician was not abundant in the realm of head trauma, so he could only speak from a textbook point of view. Whatever the case, there was nothing any of them could do but wait.

  When Lizzy opened her eyes she saw… darkness. How long she stared with unseeing eyes was impossible to guess. Eventually, however, two facts seeped into her addled mind: she could see a faint light from somewhere vaguely to her left; and she had a blinding headache. Cautiously and incrementally between stabbing pains, she turned her head to the left, recognizing after a grueling period of chaotic scrutiny that the light came from the fireplace in their bedchamber. Her eyes fuzzily drifted about the familiar room while her mind refused to function and the pain threatened to engulf her. She probably fell asleep for a time, because, next she knew, her eyes opened again to a slightly brighter light that she sluggishly realized was twinges of a sunrise peeping in through the windows.

  The pain was there as fierce as ever, but she did seem to be more in control of her thoughts and her eyes focused clearly. As cautiously as before, she turned her head to the right, alighting on the dearest sight imaginable. Her William. He was asleep beside her, clothed, and covered with a light blanket rather than under the comforter with her. She frowned, sending throbs through her skull. He looks horrendous. At least three days’ growth of beard, dark circles under his eyes, lips chapped and pale, and hair uncombed. It made no sense and hurt too much to try reasoning it out.

  “William,” she said, aware immediately that no sound had actually passed her lips. She closed her eyes, willing the headache away, licked her incredibly dry lips with a tongue equally dry, and tried again. “William.” A vague squeak was all. It took five more whispers to finally rouse him, and then he only stared at her as if paralyzed.

  “Elizabeth?” So softly. Am I dreaming? He lifted tremulous fingers to her cheek and then her lips as she continued to stare at him. “Elizabeth?” She smiled against his fingertips and kissed them lightly, snapping him out of his stasis. With a guttural cry he rose onto his elbows and brought his mouth to hers, kissing her as tears fell and he moaned, “Elizabeth! Oh God! I… I love you so much!” He ran fingers over her face, kissed her repeatedly, all the while sobbing as hushed endearments fell in a torrent.

  Why is he crying? Nothing made any sense and her head was exploding. She weakly reached her left hand up to his cheek and then into his hair, but the effort to do so was colossal. “William, my head hurts.”

  He recoiled as if stung by a wasp. “Oh, my love! Of course it does. Forgive me!” He launched out of the bed, hastily pulled the servant’s cord, and busied himself at something on the bed stand. Before she could manage turning her head fully in his direction, he was beside her on the bed, gently lifting her in his arms to a sitting position. “Here, my love, drink this. It is laudanum. It will ease the pain.”

  It tasted horrible and Lizzy had heard stories of opium users, but none of that mattered if the agony in her head and, she now discerned, from her right foot, was relieved. Peripherally she was aware of how marvelous it was to have her husband’s sturdy arms around her and to be reclining against his firm, warm chest. Her memory was hazy, she was incapable of forming a coherent deduction, and she was assailed with lethargy and drowsiness. As the blanket of sleep fell over her, she struggled to look up into his face. He was smiling at her, blue eyes sparkling with joy.

  She tried to smile, unsure if she was able to finagle it, whispering as her eyes fell shut, “William, I was frightened by a turkey. Is that not ridiculous?”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Recovery, Recollection, and Revenge

  FOR THE SUBSEQUENT FIVE days, Lizzy slept interminably. When she woke, she was seared with blinding pain that required frequent doses of laudanum to induce sleep. Therefore, it was a cycle of constant slumber with minimal conscious periods used to encourage her to eat and attend to her physical necessities. Darcy was in a barely controlled state of panic the first few times she slept, certain she had slipped into unconsciousness. His relief when she woke up was immeasurable, tears readily springing to his eyes. He undoubtedly told her he loved her more in those five days than in the past four months, and there was hardly a second he was not touching her in some manner.

  The doctor assured him the headaches were normal under the circumstances and would lessen in intensity daily. Her other wounds were healing exceeding his expectation. The ankle, although discolored with every hue imaginable, was no longer as swollen and mobility was marginally limited. The numerous other bruises over her body were also in varying shades of yellows, greens, and purples, but rapidly receding. They had not spoken about the possible miscarriage and Darcy,
frankly, could not bear to cope with it right now. He only wanted to focus on his wife’s recovery and his own bliss at having her with him.

  Her recollection of the past two weeks was spotty. When he asked her about the turkey comment, she had no idea what he was talking about. At times she remembered running through the woods and being frightened but she could not recall why or at what, and then she would forget the woods entirely. Attempting to focus on her flight and the circumstances leading to it merely augmented her headache, so Darcy desisted in questioning her. She made no mention of their argument, and he did not bring it up. Aside from her pain and sleepiness, she was her usual self: witty, jovial, and loving. Her appetite improved, although she was frequently nauseous and was ill twice. All of this the physician said was to be expected.

  Lord Matlock’s private physician was consulted and he concurred, greatly easing Darcy’s mind. Lady Matlock arrived two days after the accident and stayed, taking over Lizzy’s care from Mrs. Reynolds so the housekeeper could resume her duties. Georgiana and Marguerite were diligent companions as well, allowing Darcy the freedom to attend to his own needs, such as bathing and shaving and eating regularly. Nonetheless, he was never further than the next room. In fact, he did not move past the third-floor landing for more than a week, only traveling that far twice for brief conversations with Mr. Keith.

  He wrote to her father, explaining briefly what had transpired and ensuring him that Lizzy was recuperating rapidly. He politely asked him to apprize the Gardiners and Bingleys, pledging to write further once the immediate crisis was alleviated. Col. Fitzwilliam, notified by his father, breezed in five days after the accident, providing support and a bit of light humor and diversion, originally not well appreciated by Darcy but eventually helpful in restoring balance and easing his gloominess. The plethora of flowers and well wishes from the families of the community was truly staggering. Darcy was awed. He scattered the blooms throughout the bedchamber, adding fresh ones from the conservatory and gardens, so the room was a rainbow of color and sweet aromas.

  Once Darcy relinquished his anxiety over Lizzy’s health, he turned his consideration to the event itself. Her bad temper, resulting in their ridiculous argument, he attributed to possible pregnancy and their mutual stupidity and obstinacy. By what he ascertained from Georgiana and the staff he questioned, Lizzy had been in a cheerful, exuberant mood and perfectly healthy when she set off to pick berries. The groom who had discovered the strewn berries and discarded bucket had little to tell. Her footprints leading into the forest were clear and solitary.

  The road itself was one well traveled by both carriages and pedestrians. There were other footprints near Mrs. Darcy’s as well as marks from a carriage, the groom said, but there was no way to deduce with confidence if they were related, nor would it help much anyway. When Darcy asked if he had noted turkey tracks, the groom had answered a baffled negative. The mystery of it gnawed at Darcy, but he saw no way to solve it, so he had to abandon the quest for enlightenment for the time being.

  By the end of the eleventh day after the accident, Lizzy’s headaches were minimal and tolerable; however, her amnesia surrounding the day of the accident persisted. The stitches had been removed from the laceration to her head, her bruises were almost invisible, and her ankle only twinged slightly. She had occasional bouts of nausea, but it appeared to be lessening. She passed most of the daylight hours awake with only short naps, and was beginning to experience the restlessness of her forced confinement in their chambers.

  Darcy carried her to the sitting room and window seat with increasing frequency as her headaches diminished. The doctor said she must stay off her foot for at least a week longer but could be moved farther afield, provided she did not overtax herself. Their chambers were unquestionably Lizzy’s favorite rooms in all of Pemberley, but she longed to leave them. Darcy promised her that in the morning he would carry her to whichever room she wished to visit. This pleased her and she kissed him gratefully.

  He returned the kiss chastely and then pulled away, tucking the blankets around her snuggly before retreating. Each evening he did this, sitting near and tenderly caressing her hand as she fell asleep. After that he read or, on occasion, moved to his desk, left the door open, and attended to business, eventually joining her on their massive bed. However, he slept in a nightshirt on top of the down comforter and under his own blanket, and other than holding her hand, avoided any physical contact.

  Until the past four nights, Lizzy had been in too much discomfort and far too weary to lament her husband’s caution. She understood he fretted over her well-being, but the truth was that his lack of affection was troubling her more than anything. She yearned for his love with a desire that was partially emotional and spiritual but, frankly, was largely lustful.

  Her preoccupation and urges invaded her sleep. In the middle of the night she roused fully to the always succulent view of her stunningly alluring husband sprawled beside her deep in slumber. Wasting no time on contemplation, she carefully slipped out from under her blankets and nestled next to his warm body. He sighed and reflexively gathered her into his arms. Lizzy had a clear agenda and it did not include sleep.

  Knowing well the form of caresses and kisses arousing to him, she employed them all, the instantaneous response exactly as she anticipated. He moaned, his craving as strong as hers even in sleep. He sought her mouth, kissing her with the pent-up passion of a near fortnight without her, combined with the residual terror of possibly losing her forever. His hands acted of their own accord, pressing her tightly into the hard planes of his body before he snapped awake.

  With a gasp he pulled away, grasping her fondling hands in a firm grip, and pleading breathlessly, “Elizabeth, please! We cannot… we must not…”

  “It is alright, my love. I am feeling much better and I need you, Fitzwilliam. I want you to love me. I know you will be gentle,” she smiled at his worried face, leaning in to kiss him, “although I make no promises that I will be.” She teasingly claimed his lips and he groaned, giving in for a moment of utter delight and then shuddering as he again pulled away, rapidly sitting up on the edge of the bed with his back to her.

  He cradled his head in his hands and she could see him shaking. “Fitzwilliam, what is it? You are scaring me! I assure you I am fine, and I know you desire me.” She rose up and wrapped her arms about his waist, laying her cheek against his back. “Do not try to deny it, beloved; I know you too well.”

  He clutched her hands against his abdomen, partly to comfort her and partly to prevent her roaming any lower, and spoke shakily. “My heart, my ardor for you has attained a critical level, have no fear of that. It is just… . I have not spoken to the doctor about this…”

  “The doctor! What in the world does the doctor have to say about our lovemaking? William, you are being ridiculous, and I cannot fathom why you would contemplate discussing this with a stranger!”

  He stood up abruptly and began pacing, not meeting her eyes. “Elizabeth, there is something… we deemed it wise not to… you have been so ill, and I could not bear…” He trailed off and Lizzy identified his extreme distress.

  She was terrified but also miffed that they had kept something obviously important from her. “Fitzwilliam Darcy, I insist you sit down this second and tell me what is going on! We promised to harbor no secrets. Whatever it is, I have the right to know and we must deal with it together.”

  He looked at her with such misery on his lovely face, misery as she had witnessed during the first few days of her recovery. “William, if you do not come to me, I swear I will get up and walk over to you!” To prove her intent she started scooting to the edge of the bed, prompting him to step quickly.

  “No, Elizabeth, relax. You are correct. I must tell you.” He sat next to her and grasped her hands, gazing into her eyes. “Beloved, when I found you… on the day of your accident… you were bleeding copiously from… Your fall probably resulted in a miscarriage and I…” He swallowed, too overcome to conti
nue as he watched her, and stroked her cheek. “My love, Elizabeth, I am so sorry!”

  Lizzy was staring at him, a puzzled frown on her face. She did not reply for several minutes then, “I heard a probably in there. What precisely happened and what information did the physician impart?”

  Darcy inhaled deeply and closed his eyes, “Your blood had soaked through your skirts and onto my shirt.”

  “Sorry about that.”

  He opened his eyes in surprise at her teasing tone, further amazed to see her smiling slightly. He shook his head faintly, “My clothing was ruined already, so it is insignificant. Elizabeth, are you alright?”

  “Pray continue, William.”

  He frowned, “Very well. The physician asked me if we suspected you might be with child, to which I replied it was possible. I informed him that your monthly cycle was late and you were… edgy. He told me that can be a sign.” Lizzy nodded and flushed, hanging her head in shamed remembrance. “He said the bleeding may be indicative of a miscarriage, but he could not be certain.”

  “Why not?”

  “The hemorrhaging was not as extensive as usually seen and ceased quickly, although he ruminated that the early stage of your condition could affect that. Of course, you may not have been pregnant at all. He also expected the bleeding to continue but it did not.” He halted, sighed greatly, and ran his hand over his face. “I do not know, Elizabeth. I confess to avoiding the topic. It is too painful.”

  Lizzy cupped his face with her hands and kissed him tenderly. “My sweet love,” she whispered, meeting his eyes and smiling, “let me reveal to you what I know. Aside from this bleeding which I do not remember and by the physician’s own admission was questionable, I am now approximately six weeks late, and I am never late. There is the craziness of my attitude, for which I profoundly apologize. Madeline shared with me that she suffered the same moodiness with her pregnancies. I am sure your uncle would commiserate.”