“Or I will have to answer to your father about why single gentlemen are sending his daughter costly Christmas gifts,” Aunt whispered conspiratorially. “Unless you have something to tell us, Lizzy.”
I shook my head. “No. I cannot account for this, Aunt.”
“Well, apparently someone thought you would like it. So? Go enjoy it.”
I stuffed the torn paper into the fire and rose, the book tucked to my chest. “Pleasedon’t tell Mama.”
She grinned and put a finger to her lips. “Your secret is safe with me, Lizzy. But I should like to hear a good story, when you are ready to tell it.”
“If I can figure out what that story is!” I hugged the book and looked around the room. “Do you mind if I go upstairs for an hour?”
They both shook their heads with a smile, and Aunt Gardiner gestured to the children, who were still playing with their new dolls, and my uncle, who was dozing on the sofa near the window. “I daresay you shan’t be missed for a while.”
I scurried up the stairs, and I had the pages of that glorious book open before I even reached my room. Oh, I could not keep this! But I could also not very well return it on Christmas morning, so… perhaps afewhours of indulgence…
That was when the pages shifted, and the note fell into my hand.
I held my breath as I studied it—the red wax seal bearing the ornate “D” crest, the crisp lines that looked as if they were folded by someone who never did anything by half measures. I closed the door of my room and dropped to the bed—the book forgotten for a moment as I unfolded the note with trembling fingers. Each word was penned with purpose and precision. Of course, he would write like that.
Dear Miss Bennet,
I write to you in haste, seeking your understanding and forgiveness for my abrupt departure from the party this evening.
It was not long after my encounter with you at Hatchards that I began to appraise our previous encounters in a more critical light. I must acknowledge that my manner toward you has not always been amiable. I fear you may have even overheard a slight I uttered against you on the first night of our meeting—words spoken in frustration that centered on my discontent with being in public that evening, that had nothing to do with your person. I wish most heartily that I might retract them, if, indeed, that ill-judged remark colored your first impressions of me. Certainly, I did myself no justice in the neighborhood by my subsequent manner.
This is what I would have wished to say to you this evening in the hall, had we such leisure. I find no fault with your willingness to believe Mr. Wickham’s lies, for they were nothing if not in line with what I had already given you to believe about myself. I believe your character to be such that you will feel mortification upon discovering yourself to have been deceived, but pray, do not torment yourself on that count.
There is another matter, which is my chief reason for writing. I should like to make myself of some material use toward Miss Lucas’s welfare. To that end, I have sent a note to my family’s physician, and he will be standing by, should Miss Lucas find it desirable to seek his opinion. I know that not all ills of the human frame can be mended by a doctor, and if such advice has already been sought, to no avail, it might not be in her best interests to raise her hopes.
But if such a visit might prove profitable, even if all that can be achieved is to make her more comfortable, it would be my honor to make the arrangements. There need be no concern for the doctor’s fees, for I could not countenance such an impediment to her wellbeing. The matter will be handled discreetly, you have my assurances.
If Miss Lucas is in agreement, I can have the doctor at Mr. Gardiner’s residence tomorrow morning. You have but to send me word.
My very best wishes for your health and happiness.
Fitzwilliam Darcy
“IfMr.Darcythinksit might help,” Charlotte murmured, her words punctuated by faint looks and soft sighs, “then I accept, and gladly.”
I felt her forehead. Charlotte was never feverish—that was not the worry. She was cold as ice, and pale as her sheets. “But you said you had already seen Mr. Jones. Was he certain of his diagnosis?”
“He felt himself to be.” She swallowed and her eyes drifted closed. “But he is not a fine London doctor with a medical certificate. Perhaps…”
I nodded. “Yes, perhaps. Then I will send word to Mr. Darcy at once. Can I get you anything for now, Charlotte?”
A groggy smile graced her lips and she shook her head. “No. Just… give Mr. Darcy my thanks. Even if nothing comes of it, it was kind of him to offer.”
“Yes, it was,” I whispered. She fell asleep under my hand, and I lingered, watching her. How strange that it should be so! She had not been entirely herself last evening, but she had borne up tolerably well. But the cost of such evenings, always paid the next morning, was far too dear. I knew how fondly she was anticipating her first—and only—Twelfth Night Ball in London, with her lavish new gown and the joyful culmination of the Season’s festivities, but… oh, I could not permit her to do that to herself. Not if it nearly killed her every time she went out.
“Elizabeth?” Jane asked as I passed through the parlor a few minutes later. “What is it?”
“Nothing,” I replied hastily, folding the note from Mr. Darcy and tucking it away in the folds of my gown. “Merely a… a matter to attend to later.”
“Are you certain?” She came close, and her voice dropped to a whisper. “Is it about Mr. Darcy?”
“It is, but probably not what you think. He has offered to bring a special doctor to see Charlotte.”
“Oh!” Jane gasped. “So, he knows? How?”
