Georgiana asked Emily, “Would you like to look at the piano again—I dare say you will be a fine player one day.”
Emily squealed delightedly.
Elizabeth removed Mr. Darcy’s bandage, and with both professional curiosity and a cousin’s concern, Colonel Fitzwilliam studied the blood and exudate on the bandage, and then the wound itself. He gave it all a sniff and nodded with satisfaction. “Very red. And the white is developing under it. Does the surgeon plan to lance it?”
“Tomorrow if the abscess has not burst on its own.”
“It hurts,” Mr. Darcy said to Colonel Fitzwilliam. “Like that time you boxed my ears in when I was nine, but in the body not the soul.”
This statement brought a grin to Colonel Fitzwilliam, though Elizabeth thought his eyes were more worried as he studied the wound. After his inspection was complete, Elizabeth dripped laudanum into the wound, andthen placed the poultice, and Mr. Darcy let out a relaxed sigh as the heat and pressure reduced the pain a little. Colonel Fitzwilliam’s help was useful in sitting Darcy up for her to fix the bandage around his chest.
“Jove,” Dacy murmured. “I would advise against being shot.”
“I might’ve told youthat,” Colonel Fitzwilliam replied sourly. “What convinced you to let Wickham get the drop on you? He was never fast at shooting.”
Elizabeth made him drink water with laudanum. “You need your rest,” she said.
She noted that Colonel Fitzwilliam watched closely how much she put into the cup.
He drank the laudanum with a quick eagerness, and then the gentleman relaxed back into the fabric of the couch.
Mr. Darcy closed his eyes. “Did not want to shoot him.”
“Until he shot you?” There was affection in Colonel Fitzwilliam’s voice. “A fool. But I have good hopes that the campaign will still turn well.”
He then turned to Elizabeth, as though remembering thatsheperhaps had reason to be unhappy at the result of this ‘campaign’, “Apologies, but I shall say it. I am happy Mr. Wickham is dead.”
“I thought that polite manners required that one not speak ill of the dead. Let the good be buried with their bones and all.”
“A simple soldier. I am nothing but a simple soldier. The politeness that ladies expect is wholly beyond me. I cannot manage it.”
“You mean you refuse to manage it,” Elizabeth replied.
“Quiet,” Mr. Darcy said without opening his eyes again. “No quarrelling.”
George played with blocks that Georgiana had found for him the previous day.
The discordant piano playing of Emily came from the other end of the room.
“I do not believe that we are quarrelling,” Elizabeth said as she sat down. “Merely engaged in a dispute. I like disputes; they are so much like arguments, yet not.”
Mr. Darcy half coughed, and a smile widened across his face. “Mrs. Wickham, I have already begged you to show mercy.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam looked between them with a queer frown.
For a while neither of them said anything. Emily was entertained by Georgiana playing the tune to a lullaby as she kept the girl on her lap.
Mr. Darcy did not open his eyes, and his face became looser and more relaxed. After some minutes, Mr. Darcy’s breathing evened out and became nasal. He was asleep.
Colonel Fitzwilliam looked at Elizabeth, and then he said quietly, “I do not like it. Why areyouhere? He killed your husband. Does that mean nothing to you? It would mean a great deal to me.”
“I have no place that I wish to be,” Elizabeth replied. “Nor where I belong. This will do for a short time. I assure you that I know I cannot stay here forever.”
“I shall observe you closely, I promise.”
Elizabeth smiled back at the officer. “Your concern for your cousin does you justice.”
“He is not in his right mind. A mix of guilt, half an expectation of death—I swear, from his manner that he thinks death far more likely than either of us do—and a fey lightness. I shall not permit him to be abused.”
