Her fear intensified at night when she slept.Dreams. I have become a slave to my dreams.All eyes had been upon her too many times to count. She felt the censure and derision of her family and Miss Bennet when they looked upon her.
They know. Surely, they must know I have dreamt of Wickham. Of being his wife.Tears pooled in her eyes.But it was not as I imagined marriage to him would be.
She picked up the cat rubbing against her legs and scratched his gray ears. “He told me he loved me,” she whispered to one she knew could not judge. “That my fortune meant nothing to him.” She stroked the soft fur and nuzzled the top of its head. “He lied. Fitzwilliam told me the truth, and George lied.”
But she had always known. In her heart of hearts, she had known that her brother was the honorable man; that herdecision to “surprise” him with her marriage was not an idea of which he would ever approve.
“It had all been so romantic, so much like a novel.”Up until this week, a part of me still hoped George would prove Fitzwilliam wrong. But my dreams were so vivid, even if he arrived tonight and showed himself to be the best of men, I would never marry him.Not the way he treated me!“He slapped me! He was going to send me to Bedlam! No!”Even in my dreams, I will not be the whipping boy for any man.
She stomped her foot and turned with a huff allowing the cat to spring from her arms and walk to its bed, pawing the soft blankets. “If Fitzwilliam has taught me one thing in this life, Fleur,” she said, leaning down to give her companion one more scratch behind its ears, “it is that I am cherished. Iwill notmarry a man who believes otherwise!”
The clock’s chime arrested her attention, and she pulled the cord for her maid to dress her.Yes. I will put these dreams from my memory and will not think on George Wickham any longer, and there is nothing that can make me change my mind!
Lady Catherine’s protestations had died with her removal, and calm had finally settled upon the parsonage. Thedoctor had insisted Mr. Darcy remain for at least three days, so the colonel volunteered to maintain his vigil.
Elizabeth had blown out her candle and lay in darkness. Listening to the quiet of the house, she tried to ignore the man who was in and out of consciousness in the bedroom down the corridor.My love.“He said,‘My love.’” She allowed the words to float in the air, uncertain where they would land or how she felt about the intimacies. She traced her cheek as her skin tingled at the memory of his touch.
Lizzy Bennet, you are foolish. A man calls you ‘my love,’ and you become unreasonable? Stephen Lucas used those words when you were a bantling, and you boxed his ears for it.“May I remind you, you quite enjoyed Stephen’s company? Today, those words were spoken from a man you detest!” Her whispered voice echoed around the empty room.
Detest.But she knew the truth. Having spent several days taking care of him with the words of his letter festering in her soul, and waking every morning having been lost in dreams of him, she couldnotdetest Mr. Darcy any longer. At least the Mr. Darcy of her dreams.His concern, his consideration.His kisses!
Her cheeks flushed hot and she began to fan herself.There were mornings I did not wish to stop dreaming. Most notably the proposal at my aunt Gardiner’s.She whispered, “Oh, that the Mr. Darcy of my dreams could teach the real Mr. Darcy the proper methods of offering one’s hand in marriage.” She giggled at the thought. “Morpheus, you have used me quite ill indeed this last week. How am I to recover?”She lay back in bed and closed her eyes, hoping for another visit from the god of slumber when there was a light knock at the door.
“Lizzy? Lizzy, are you awake?”
“Come, Charlotte.” Elizabeth sat up and leaned back against the headboard as her dearest friend closed the door behind her, walked over to the window, and drew the curtains back.
“It is a beautiful night. I am surprised you are in bed and not sitting out in the garden.”
“It is past midnight.”
Charlotte smirked. “And that has stopped you before?”
Elizabeth smiled and said, “It has been a long day.”
Her friend sat on the edge of the bed. “Lady Catherine was quite beside herself when she left.”
“I have noticed during the entirety of my visit these last weeks that she is often beside herself.” A chuckle escaped Elizabeth’s lips. “I am only grateful for Colonel Fitzwilliam’s calming nature. I was afraid the footmen were going to becalled to forcibly remove me after Mr. Darcy lost consciousness.”
“Hmm…” Charlotte pinched the fabric of the counterpane, seeming to measure her words. “It was quite…singular, Mr. Darcy’s behavior when he awoke.”
Elizabeth swallowed. “It was. But many people’s minds are addled after such a fall.” She looked out the window.
“Do you have any knowledge of why he would say and act as he did?”
Elizabeth shook her head, hoping the moonlight did not betray the truth of her dealings with the man. “I am as much astonished as you.”
Charlotte’s eyes stayed upon Elizabeth. “It is not as if you even care for the man.”
“True.”
“But…if I knew you less…I might think your feelings for him…altered with the way you diligently cared for him these last few days.”
Elizabeth shrugged. “I was only in the service of my fellow man. I did less than the nurse Lady Catherine sent and only read to him and kept company with Miss Darcy or the colonel. I would have shown the same amount of care had it been any of God’s creatures.”
“Even Mr. Wickham?”
Elizabeth shot a quick glance at her friend. “I believe Mr. Wickham would have found another to help him in his time of need.” She tried to regulate the sting in her tone, but to Charlotte’s discerning ear, it was not lost.
