“Is there anything I might do to help things along?”
The doctor rubbed his chin. “Now that you mention it, there is. I suggest you spend as much time as possible with each other. Emotional attachments are remembered first, then come habits, then come the specific memories of events and people. Allow Lizzy plenty of opportunity to remember, but above all, be patient.”
Elizabeth stifled a laugh. “Patient? You do not know what you ask of me.”
Darcy felt the same.
Mr. Bennet sighed. “There, you see? Not all is lost. We have merely been looking at this from the wrong perspective. You cannot remember the past. What of it? Mr. Darcy is here and still very much in love with you. And consider the depth of your concern, my dear. Youknow he is important to you, otherwise you would not trouble yourself to remember him.”
Kind words, but Darcy craved hearing the words she had said when she had accepted his proposal. Those three words on which he had gladly cast his fate.
The doctor rubbed his hands together. “A love match! How delightful! I have never been so fortunate to fall in love more than once. No woman of my acquaintance could surpass my craving for knowledge. However, you are in the unique position of falling in love twice — with the same man!”
Darcy felt as though he had been given a gift. A new purpose. From this moment on, he would no longer fret over the forgotten past. A far more important task awaited. He had a lady to woo.
CHAPTER 26
Wickham paced behind the carriage house. Would Darcy never leave? His call stretched far beyond the limits of propriety.
Figures moved on the other side of the window, and the entrance door squeaked as it swung open. Finally!
Pressing himself against the side of the outbuilding, waiting with bated breath, Wickham watched Bingley emerge with his bride, followed by the colonel. They walked to their waiting carriage, the colonel entering last and closing the door behind him.
No Darcy.
The carriage jolted forward, leaving without its fourth passenger.
Wickham smacked his fist against the brick. He would have to adjust his plans yet again. He would set the accident into motion when the household was asleep.
At dawn.
Thus decided, he waited until the stables were empty and the servants otherwise employed to grab an empty feed sack from an abandoned stall. He located the ladder, which he would return to retrieve once darkness fell.
Just an accident. Of the sort that befell people every day.
Too stimulated for sleep,Wickham set out an easy hour before dawn, the lace tablecloth he had snagged from the line draped over his shoulder and the thick leather gloves from the gardening shed covering his hands.
Excitement heightened his senses better than the finest snuff. Every sound was crisp, clear; his vision was that of a cat, discerning shapes and shadows in the darkness.
Cautiously, he crept into the shed, the hoe balanced on top of the ladder hefted over his shoulder, and returned to the edge of the orchard, where the apple trees met the grove. The hive was quiet … for now.
Leaning the ladder against the tree Mr. Bennet had so conveniently led him to yesterday, Wickham draped the tablecloth over himself in imitation of Mr. Bennet’s veiled hat and began climbing. One hand on the rung, the other holding the empty feed sack and hoe.
He would have to be quick. And precise.
Positioning the burlap under the bottom of the buzzing orb, Wickham leaned against the ladder, wielding the hoe like a sword. He could not afford to miss. Lifting his arm, his attention concentrated on his target.
Whack! Thump! The hive buzzed to life, and Wickham struggled not to lose his balance on the upper rungs of the ladder while closing the sack. Flinging the hoe to the ground, he grabbed the burlap with both hands, ignoring the angry, displaced insects hovering between the tablecloth and his exposed skin.
Heart racing, he swatted at his face before grabbing his tools and sprinting back to Longbourn.
Flinging the hoe into the garden, he blinked past his swelling eyes and burning cheeks to the side of the house.
Almost there. Almost done.
He leaned the ladder under the window and climbed. Forcing himself to calm down, he shoved his fingers under the framed glass and lifted slowly. Up up up it slid until the opening was large enough.
In one swift motion, Wickham hurled the contents of the sack inside the room and slammed the window shut. Too loud. He had to run.
