Mrs. Bingley pressed her lips together and discreetly looked down. Once she realized what they were up to, and Bingley gave her a splendidly edited account of the machine and how it came to be in her parlor, she had insisted on joining them.
Bingley, too, watched him from the other side of the carriage. They had taken Darcy’s horse away, forbidding him from riding the short distance. Which explained his foul mood … in part.
He scowled. “If I were not completely well, we would not be on our way to Longbourn with that … thing.”
Bingley and Richard shared a look, their shouldersshaking and their guffaws loud. Addle pated jackanapes. Darcy glared at them for good measure, taking solace in anger when his stomach tied in knots the closer the carriage drew to Longbourn. He had bigger concerns than his strong reaction to the incredible machine.
Would Richard find Elizabeth changed? Would she remember him?
Descending from the carriage, seeing the crate safely settled in front of the door, Darcy prayed for a miracle. Lively chatter and laughter burst through the door when it opened. Someone played the pianoforte, and judging from the liveliness of the tune, Darcy knew it was Elizabeth. What she lacked in technical skill, she more than made up for with charm and enthusiasm.
She rose from her piano stool as soon as they were announced, and Darcy waited with bated breath for her reaction. Did she recognize Richard?
Picking a path around the overly furnished room, she held out her hands, a warm smile reflecting in her rosy face. “Colonel Fitzwilliam! How wonderful to see you.”
Darcy’s breath exhaled in a slow hiss. How could Elizabeth remember the colonel, a man she had only met briefly at Hunsford, and not remember him?
CHAPTER 24
Elizabeth was ecstatic. Colonel Fitzwilliam wore plainclothes, and she had recognized him without the advantage of his uniform. She greeted him like the harbinger of promise he represented.
She heard Jane, Mr. Bingley, and Mama in the hall along with a great deal of scuffling, but Fitzwilliam entered the room then. It was difficult to pay attention to anyone else when Fitzwilliam occupied her every sense.
At first glance, Fitzwilliam looked much the same. Polished, pressed, and perfect. She breathed in his sandalwood shaving soap, felt the warmth of his gaze on her. She searched his face for memories. His hair was slightly rumpled, his eyes haggard. Had sleep abandoned him as it had her?
More than anything else in the world, she wished she could lie and tell him she remembered. That shewas safe from danger, and her heart was wholly his again. Elizabeth believed herself capable of loving this man fully, but the past — their past — evaded her.
“I brought something for you,” he said, gesturing out to the hall.
Jane peeked inside. “The crate is in the dining room if you wish to set up the machine.”
“Machine?” Elizabeth asked.
“A transcranial electrical stimulator, to be precise,” offered the colonel.
“Come have a look, Lizzy. Its appearance is dreadful, but I saw how it worked … the effects of it, at least … and found it quite”—Jane's vision swiveled to Fitzwilliam, and she had to bite her lips before she could continue—“remarkable.”
The colonel chuckled. “Darcy would never have brought the contraption if he thought it could harm you.”
Their defense of the thing made Elizabeth more cautious.
Jane waved her into motion. “Come see for yourself, Lizzy. Mr. Darcy will explain.”
Elizabeth listened closely as they walked down the hall to the dining room. Apparently, the machine involved straps and electricity designed to stimulate the dormant memories trapped in her brain.
Terrifying … and tempting.
Fitzwilliam must have read her doubtful expression. He added, “It came recommended by my family’spersonal physician and has been used successfully to treat other patients suffering from inflictions of the mind.” He pulled a letter out of his pocket and handed it to her. “This was written by the inventor. He enumerates his credentials, and he was kind enough to provide a list of cases in which he was able, with the use of this machine, to assist several individuals to full recovery.”
She read the pages and studied the drawings, hesitation gripping her until she came up from her consideration and saw Fitzwilliam’s anticipation plainly etched on his face. He had gone to so much trouble and expense for her. But she was nervous.
She could not yet bring herself to look inside the crate sitting atop the table, knowing her courage might falter unless she was firmly decided first. “It does not hurt?” she asked.
Mr. Bingley snorted, hiding behind his hand and receiving a rare — most likely, his first — disapproving look from Jane.
Nobody seemed eager to reply, which was strange. It was a simple question, and their hesitation was confusing as the scowl on Fitzwilliam’s face and the poorly contained merriment of Mr. Bingley and the colonel led her to conclude that he was the brunt of their joke. She did not imagine Fitzwilliam was the sort of gentleman who enjoyed being laughed at. Few were.
Jane spoke. “From the little I observed, it is quiteharmless. Merely … tickles … is that not so, Mr. Darcy?”
