Anger sprang to his bearing, but he squashed his urge to deliver a retort.“You ask of what I wish from you.” Darcy tried to control the evenness in his voice, not wanting to betray his need for a positive response from her.“I told you of my wishes previously if you care to address any of them.”
“Your wishes change so often, Fitzwilliam; I am not sure which ones you mean.” Her hurt could not be hidden.“Would you care to enlighten me?”
“No,” he shook his head in disbelief, “I will ask nothing more of you than what you are willing to give.” With that, Darcy walked away.
Elizabeth wanted desperately to call him back—to throw her arms around Darcy’s neck and to kiss him until he thought of nothing but loving her. Could she continue on like this? She did not want to be just Darcy’s wife in name only. She loved Darcy against her will.
Darcy, too, felt the sting of their exchange. Clearly what was happening to them was his fault, and he experienced guilt at causing Elizabeth such distress. She offered him overtures of love, and he irresponsibly threw them away with a show of familial pride. He tried to be the perfect gentleman, the man his father expected him to show the world, but Elizabeth created a sense of abandon in him, a sense which she now withdrew with a dose of sarcasm; frustration ruled his day. It troubled him deeply that this frustration had no impact on his perfidious desire to find Elizabeth, take her in his arms, and kiss her until she thought of nothing but loving him. Could he continue on like this? Darcy did not want her to be his wife in name only. He loved her against his reason and against his character.
At dinner, he returned to his favorite topics of late: the accomplished Miss McFarland and the incomparable Henry Dorchester. Both Elizabeth and Georgiana sat with lowered eyes and with unresponsive thoughts. Mr. Ashford, who was asked to dine with the Darcys, noted the effect Darcy’s speech had on Mrs. Darcy and Georgiana, and he tried unsuccessfully to redirect Darcy’s interest. He even resorted to discussing military history, a subject Ashford abhorred, but Darcy loved.
“Miss McFarland knows all the right people, Georgiana. She will be an asset to your presentation.”
“Yes, Fitzwilliam,” Georgiana barely whispered.
“The lady is quite lovely; this is her second season. If I understand it correctly, Miss McFarland turned down several offers last season. The Dorchesters took possession of Lord Suterland’s place for the spring. Lady Suterland is quite ill, and his Lordship let the house to the Dorchesters.”
Georgiana’s voice held her dismay. “They will be close to Kensington Place then?”
“Very close—I expect we will see Miss McFarland and the Dorchesters often.” Darcy sat back in his chair, pleased he made such a connection for his sister’s first season; a smile of satisfaction played across his face.
His revelry was short in duration, as Elizabeth violently shoved her chair back from the table as she stood to leave.“Beware, Fitzwilliam,” she snapped,“illusions are dangerous as they have no flaws.” She took a step away from the table, her hand still on the back of the chair. With the anger pent up in her since before Darcy left for London, Elizabeth forcefully slammed the chair again, sending it tumbling over with a banging sound and sending an ornate spindle from the leg sliding across the room. She gathered her skirts and ran from the room.
Kitty excused herself to attend to Elizabeth, and Georgiana followed closely behind the two. Darcy sat suspended with the impropriety of the scene. “I apologize for my wife’s manners, Mr. Ashford. She has been very emotional since the conception of our child.” Darcy forced himself to steady his countenance as he addressed the clergyman.
Ashford cleared his throat before he spoke.“Mr. Darcy, may I speak as a ministerial adviser?” Darcy nodded briefly.“I know very little of the female constitution, but you may want to temper your praise of Miss McFarland in your wife’s presence.”
Darcy reasoned out loud. “I meant nothing by it, Mr. Ashford. I simply spoke of the connection for my sister’s sake.”
“You may be speaking of your sister’s connection, but Mrs. Darcy, obviously, heard something different. Women, I suspect, would not like to compare themselves to a woman of high connections, accomplishments, and beauty. Mrs. Darcy could be hearing your praise of another woman from a different perspective.” Ashford tried not to say any more. Criticizing his benefactor could be a mistake.
“I take note of your advice,” Darcy said casually. “I will guard my words next time.”
Ashford said nothing else. Not only was Fitzwilliam Darcy Ashford’s benefactor, he would be Ashford’s brother through marriage. Sometimes the wealthy wrapped themselves in their petty concerns and missed the everyday happiness within their grasps. Ashford hoped to be wiser in his dealings with Kitty Bennet.
Elizabeth did not return downstairs that evening. Darcy sat in their sitting room until late, hoping she would “accidentally” find him there. Hannah told him her mistress cried herself to sleep. He did not like being the cause of Elizabeth’s pain once again. It seemed he caused her constant grief with his presence in her life. He wondered how they could continue in this manner. The simplest answer was to go on—pretending to be polite and obliging—and hoping for a chance at a revival of Elizabeth’s old feelings. He supposed he should avoid her as much as possible considering his company made her life more difficult.
Before he retired for the night, Darcy opened the door to her bedchamber to peer in on her. Elizabeth lay on her side, her back to him. She did not move, and Darcy assumed she slept. “I am truly sorry, Elizabeth,” he whispered to the reclining figure. If he could have seen her face, he would have seen a tear sliding down her cheek and Elizabeth biting her lower lip to keep from calling out his name.
In the morning after breakfast, Elizabeth set off along the pathways behind the house. Taking her time, she made the climb toward the hunting lodge she and Darcy shared before he left for Hull—before her life changed—before she lost Darcy’s love.
Having finally achieved her destination, she entered the lodge and sat in front of the cold fireplace. She wrapped her arms around herself to fight off the chill of the room and the depth of her despair. Elizabeth did not know why she came here today; the place held memories of the joy of being with Darcy when he loved her unconditionally. She wondered what he meant about being sorry.Was he sorry he hurt her or sorry he married her? As much as she did want not to do so, she could not stop loving her husband.
After a nearly sleepless night, Darcy joined Mr. Howard and several other Pemberley workers as they took some of the excess game on the estate.The plan to thin the deer herd and the rabbits and use the meat turned out to be a good one so far. This was their third hunt. Today, the hunters would drive the deer to an enclosed glade on the back part of the estate and then kill a portion of the animals before allowing the rest to escape. Darcy did not plan to hunt; instead, he would observe the effectiveness of the idea while sitting atop Cerberus on an overlooking hill.
The men moved the deer toward the prescribed glade as he rode hard to the crest of the hill. To the left sat his father’s favorite hunting lodge on the estate. Pulling up on Cerberus’s reins, he circled the animal at the summit of an outcropping. He stared down at the lodge, thinking about his father taking him there—teaching him to hunt—the smell of his father’s favorite tobacco flooding his senses. Darcy closed his eyes to relish the image, but instead, visions of Elizabeth awashed him, passionately entangled upon a bearskin rug, feeding each other from a picnic basket, smelling her lavender rushing over him. The image was so vivid, Darcy actually moaned from desire. “Elizabeth,” he whispered her name.
Slowly, he opened his eyes to bring life back into focus, but the image of the woman for whom he felt desire remained before him. She stepped from the door of the lodge and walked casually across the lawn, looking out as if waiting for him to come to her.“Elizabeth,” he said the name a bit louder, captured by the dream.
Then his mind registered what really happened. The her
d ran right toward where she stood; the hunters would not see his wife clearly. The cross fire rang out, and almost in slow motion he saw her look of horror and heard Elizabeth’s cry before she fell. Several deer jumped her body, rocking her back and forth as the hoofs struck her.
“Elizabeth!” he screamed as he forced Cerberus down the incline toward where she lay in a clump.When he finally got to her, blood gushed from a wound in her leg. Darcy rolled her over on her back and pulled his cravat from around his neck, wrapping the cloth tightly around the gushing wound in her leg and then tearing the ribbon from her dress hem to secure it.
He neither spoke anything to her when he dismounted nor when he bandaged her leg. Now, Darcy began to caress Elizabeth’s face and to try to get a response from her as the hunters approached. “Mr. Howard, keep the men back,” he demanded, not willing to have Elizabeth exposed to the eyes of strangers. Howard halted his horse and forced the others away from the scene.
“Mr. Howard, come here,” Darcy’s voice commanded. “Help me support Mrs. Darcy onto my horse.Then I want you to ride for Mr. Spencer.”
“Of course.” Howard swallowed hard when he saw all the blood.
Darcy scooped Elizabeth into his arms, and with Howard’s help settled her in his lap on Cerberus’s back. She lay limp against him. The blood soaked the bandage he placed on her leg. Darcy turned toward the house. Within minutes he galloped into the carriageway. Footmen scrambled to help with the horse and with Elizabeth’s body. Darcy raced toward the house’s main doorway, carrying Elizabeth close to his chest.
“My God, not again,” Georgiana gasped as he burst through the doorway with the limp body of Elizabeth Darcy slumped against him.
“Mrs. Reynolds!” he yelled.“Hannah!”
Darcy raced toward Elizabeth’s room, Georgiana barely a step ahead of him. Reaching her bed, he laid Elizabeth back on the pillows; then lifting the skirt of her dress, he pulled another strip of material to use as part of her dressing. Jerking off his jacket, he threw it on the back of a chair. “Where is Mrs. Reynolds?” he shouted, pressing his hand against the wound to slow the bleeding.
“Here, Mr. Darcy.” Mrs. Reynolds appeared beside the bed and began to remove the blood-soaked cravat to clean the wound. She applied a folded bandage. “Hold this, Mr. Darcy.” He did as the housekeeper said. “What happened?” Mrs. Reynolds asked.
“She stepped out of the hunting lodge just as the men drove the deer toward her for the hunt. I could not get to her to stop it.”With concern, he looked up at his wife.“How bad is it?” he pleaded.
“We must wait for Mr. Spencer to know for sure,” Mrs. Reynolds hissed, as both Georgiana and Kitty stood huddled by the door in a tearful embrace.
Darcy took the hint. “Georgiana—Kitty, we need more bandages, and one of you must meet Mr. Spencer as soon as he gets here.” Darcy’s voice did not hold his usual reticence, but enough of his bearing remained for both girls to hustle out of the room to do his bidding.
Mrs. Reynolds took to cleaning the wound once again, and Darcy set about checking for other injuries. “Elizabeth seems to have some bruises and cuts, but I see no other open wounds or anything which is broken.” He addressed his housekeeper as Hannah rushed in with additional bandages.
“What about the baby?” Hannah asked the question both Mrs. Reynolds and Darcy avoided.“It will kill Mrs. Darcy if she loses the child now. Each day, the mistress sits in the nursery and rocks while she sings softly to the baby. She rubs her stomach and talks to the child. I heard Mrs. Darcy tell the child about what she sees out the nursery’s window.” By now, Hannah’s tears flowed freely.
Darcy swallowed back the hurt he felt; he did not know Elizabeth cared so about their child. He dropped to his knees beside the bed and began to pray, an earnest prayer for Elizabeth’s safety and the life of their child.
“The blood flow slows,” Mrs. Reynolds said as she removed the latest bandage.“Hannah, I think I hear the men in the front foyer. Go see if it be Mr. Spencer at last.”
Hannah hurried from the room as Mr. Spencer entered. Seeing the bloody rags on the floor, the doctor expected a major wound, but closer inspection told him otherwise.“I will need to remove the bullet. Mr. Darcy, I need for you to hold down your wife’s arms and keep her from moving. Mrs. Reynolds and Hannah, I need the same from you for Mrs. Darcy’s legs.”
“The Mistress has not moved since the Master carried her in here,” Mrs. Reynolds shared her observation.
“Mrs. Darcy will move when I begin to cut the wound to remove the bullet,” Spencer assured them. “The mind cannot block out such pain completely.”
Spencer cleaned his tools and placed them where he could reach them. He positioned Darcy and the two ladies where he needed them. Spencer was correct; the moment he began to cut close to the wound, Elizabeth began to fight them. Darcy laid his body across her to keep her from moving. “Help me, Fitzwilliam, please,” she cried, trying to push him away.
“I am helping, Elizabeth. Mr. Spencer must remove the bullet.” Darcy fought for a breath as she struggled against him.
“The baby!” she shrieked.
“A few more minutes,” Mr. Spencer encouraged them to hold Elizabeth still.
Darcy whispered close to her ear.“Please, Elizabeth.”
“Let me die, Fitzwilliam, let me die,” she moaned.
“No, Elizabeth,” he gasped.
“Let me die,” she yelled before collapsing back against the pillows.
“I have it,” the doctor said at last, and her “wardens” released their grips on her. “Hannah, clean the wound and dress it. Mr. Darcy, if you will step outside, I will check your wife for other wounds and for the baby.”
“I will be in the sitting room, Mr. Spencer.” Darcy looked about, feeling rather useless at the moment.
“Mrs. Reynolds, let us get Mrs. Darcy clean clothes as we check her wounds.” He set the older woman in action.
Darcy stepped into the hallway and closed the door behind him. Georgiana rushed to his arms and even Kitty snuggled into his shoulder.“Elizabeth will be all right,” he assured them.
“The baby?” Kitty sobbed.
“I am not sure. The herd trampled her once Elizabeth was shot.”The images flashing in front of his eyes told Darcy Elizabeth could be in danger. He closed his eyes and stroked each girl’s head to offer her comfort. “I saw her—but at first I thought it a dream,” Darcy stammered. “I saw her—saw Elizabeth and me in our father’s lodge,” he told Georgiana.
“You took Elizabeth there right before you went to Hull; you said you wanted a private evening with your wife after all the company we had at Pemberley during the Festive Season,” Georgiana retold the tale.
“What did you mean by not again?”
“You and Elizabeth fought about the tenant celebration.” Georgiana dropped her eyes and lowered her voice. “She ran out; later Hero returned to the house without her.You found Elizabeth on the backside of Briton Gorge.You took care of her yourself; you would let no one else in. Elizabeth protected the child when she fell. Your carrying her through the door reminded me of before.”
“I see,” Darcy said, and he did see as images of Elizabeth’s fragile body lying across his bed mixed with the vision of holding her for the doctor a few minutes earlier.“Why do you two not wait in your sitting room, Georgiana? I will come to you when I have information from the doctor.”
“Yes, Mr. Darcy,” Kitty said as she led Georgiana away.
Nearly a half hour later, Mr. Spencer joined Darcy in the sitting room. “Mrs. Darcy is lucky once again, Sir. I am ordering her to bed for a week, but I see no problems for her or for your child. Again, she protected the baby from harm; you married a phenomenal woman, Sir.”
“Thank you, Mr. Spencer.” Darcy knew not how to respond to the doctor’s accolades.
“I gave Mrs. Darcy a weak dose of laudanum. It will ease her pain; she may not take too much, however, because of the child.”
Darcy lo
oked concerned.“I understand, Sir.”
“May I ask why Mrs. Darcy begged to die?” The doctor took Darcy by surprise with his directness.
“We have been at odds of late,” Darcy confessed. “Other than that, I know not Mrs. Darcy’s reason.”
“I ask because your wife’s mental state is as important as her physical recovery,” Spencer tried to explain his reasoning to Darcy.
“I will see to it, Mr. Spencer,” Darcy assured the man.“I will let nothing happen to Mrs. Darcy.”
“That is all I ask, Mr. Darcy. I will come to check on your wife tomorrow.”
Like Mr. Spencer, Darcy wondered why Elizabeth cried out to die. Did she hate him so much she no longer wanted to live—to live with him—to share his life—to bear his children? Did Elizabeth purposely put herself in harm’s way? Mr. Spencer said she protected the child so that did not appear a possibility. Yet, why did she go to the lodge? Did she plan to meet someone there? Was she really looking for someone to come to her?
Could there be another man in Elizabeth’s life? Would she find solace in someone else’s arms? Mr. Howard? A tradesman? Mr. Harrison? Could that be the reason Elizabeth changed her mind about the man? They were closer in age than he and Elizabeth. She spoke of how much he meant to her when Darcy was missing; Elizabeth even portrayed Harrison to Darcy’s tenants as a man in charge of Pemberley. Could she do so in the guise of presenting him with Georgiana? Darcy’s thoughts ran rampant. Just as he allowed himself to care for Elizabeth, could he lose her to another man? Her request to die haunted him.
Elizabeth lay in the bed recovering from her wound and other injuries.The laudanum helped her to sleep, something she had not done fully since Darcy left for Hull, but it did not keep her from dreaming of him. He carried her lovingly to the safety of her bed; Darcy whispered endearments to her; he prayed for her recovery. Elizabeth enjoyed dreams of his coming to her—of her happiness.
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