The tension in Darcy’s chest loosened slightly at Giles’s words, a faint sense of relief creeping in. If Elizabeth was well enough to visit, then she must be secure… safe. He took a shaky breath, his body beginning to relax, the pain in his head easing just a little. “Where… where am I?” he managed, his voice still thick with confusion.
“You are in Cambridge, sir, at an inn,” Giles explained. “Doctor Pembroke has been sent for and is expected to arrive sometime this morning.”
“Pembroke?” Darcy muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. His mind was still clouded, his thoughts slow to form. “How… how did we get here?”
“Mr Bennet helped, sir,” Giles replied. “He was instrumental in ensuring we made it to Cambridge.”
Darcy frowned, trying to recall the events of the previous day, but his memory was a blur. “Bennet?” he repeated, incredulous. The image of Mr Bennet he remembered was that of a reclusive cynic, a man more inclined to mock than assist. “Bennet helped?”
“Yes, sir,” Giles confirmed with a small nod. “He was quite determined to get you to Cambridge, even insisted that we continue through the night rather than stopping.”
Darcy blinked again, the fog in his mind slowly beginning to lift. The pieces of the previous day’s chaos started to come together, though they still felt distant, as if seen through a thick mist. He struggled to connect his thoughts; his mind was still sluggish from whatever substance had been given to him. “Laudanum?” he guessed, his voice a little clearer now.
Giles nodded again. “A small dose, sir, to help you rest during the journey. You were in considerable pain.”
Darcy’s hand tightened into a fist against the sheets, frustration simmering beneath the surface. He hated feeling so disconnected from his own body, his own thoughts. “And Elizabeth,” he asked again, more insistent this time. “You are sure she is just down the hall?”
“Quite sure, sir,” Giles reassured him, his tone steady. “She is eager to see you once you are up and dressed.”
Darcy closed his eyes for a moment, willing the remnants of the laudanum to dissipate. He needed to clear his head, to think straight. But more than that, he needed to see Elizabeth. The thought of her waiting for him stirred a sense of urgency, a need to be near her, to reassure himself that she was truly safe.
“Help me up,” he said, his voice firm despite the lingering grogginess. “Dress me quickly, Giles. I want to see her.”
Giles moved swiftly, his hands deft as he helped Darcy to his feet. The room swayed slightly, but Darcy gritted his teeth, pushing through the dizziness. He could not afford to be weak now—not when Elizabeth needed him. And perhaps, he thought with a faint, determined smile, he needed her even more.
Elizabeth paced the lengthof her small room, her footsteps echoing softly against the floorboards. She could not still the anxious tremble in her limbs nor quiet the frantic beating of her heart. She yearned to go to him, to rush down the hall to his side, but she had no right to do so. Not yet. Not as if she were already his wife.
How much easier it would have been if she were! If only she could hold him, comfort him, reassure herself that he was still breathing, still fighting. But they would have to wait a few weeks for that... a few weeks that Darcy might not have, if his condition on the road were any indication. Her legs felt watery at the very thought, and she gripped the back of a chair to steady herself.
She cared nothing for his wealth, his estate, or his connections. None of it mattered if he was destined to die. If there was truly nothing that Doctor Pembroke could do to save him, then she wanted—no, sheneeded—the right to call him her husband before she lost him. Her chest tightened with the weight of her fear, and she cupped a hand over her mouth, realising with a start that she was weeping uncontrollably. She wiped her cheeks hastily, taking a deep breath to steady herself. She could not afford to lose control now, not when the doctor might arrive at any moment to either confirm their fears or give miraculous hope.
Desperate for something—anything—she could control, Elizabeth moved to the small writing desk near the window and sat down. She would write a letter to Charlotte. Jane would have already spoken with her, surely, advising her about Mr Wickham and Sir Anthony, as well as their engagements with Mr Bingley and Mr Darcy. But Elizabeth wanted to tell Charlotte the whole story herself, to provide her own account of everything that had transpired. She also wanted to comfort her friend, knowing how close Charlotte had come to losing her heart to Wickham. Elizabeth feared that Charlotte would be devastated all over again, that she would lapse back into her dark self-pity and the belief that no one truly valued her.
She picked up her pen, her hand trembling slightly, and began to write. She poured her heart onto the page, her words flowing in a torrent of emotion. She wrote of Darcy’s bravery, his strength in the face of adversity, and the desperate hope that still flickered in her heart. She prayed that when this nightmare with Mr Darcy’s strange condition was resolved—one way or another—she would do whatever she could to see Charlotte happy, to ensure that her friend found the love and respect she so richly deserved.
A sudden knock on the door interrupted her thoughts, and she nearly dropped her pen in surprise. She heard Darcy’s voice outside, low and familiar, and her heart soared in her chest. She pushed back from the desk, her chair scraping against the floor, and ran to open the door. She flung it wide, her eyes searching for him, her breath catching in her throat at the sight of his tall, familiar figure standing there.
Darcy had barely knockedbefore the door swung open, revealing Elizabeth on the other side, her eyes wide with a mixture of relief and something more intense. She paused for only a fraction of a second before sweeping into his arms, pulling him close with a force that made him forget everything except the warmth of her body pressed against his. He knew very well that he ought not to enter her private room, that propriety dictated he kept his distance, but as she drew him inside, his resolve melted away. The door closed behind them with a quiet click, sealing them in a world of their own making.
Elizabeth’s hands were on his face, her fingers tracing the lines of his jaw, the contours of his cheeks, as if checking to see if he was really there, if he was truly well. Her lips found his with an urgency that matched his own, and he kissed her eagerly, his hands moving to her waist, pulling her even closer. She tasted of salt and sweetness, her breath mingling with his in a way that made his heart pound with something other than the exertion of the illness that plagued him.
“How are you feeling today?” she asked between kisses, her voice a soft murmur against his lips.
He pulled back just enough to meet her gaze. “Honestly, I feel dreadful,” he said with a wry smile, “but I thought I might spare you the details and instead make a poor attempt at charming you with my wit. It seems the tables have turned, Miss Bennet. It was not long ago that every time we met, you were the one flustered and out of sorts.”
She laughed, a bright sound that made his chest ache with affection. “Oh, do not be so sure of yourself, Mr Darcy. My ankle is still black and blue from the other day, and it is terribly tender. I daresay it is ready to revolt at any moment, given a proper excuse.”
He chuckled softly, his fingers brushing a stray curl from her face. “Then I shall simply have to carry you everywhere from now on, to prevent any further mishaps.”
Elizabeth’s eyes sparkled with a playful glint as she wrapped her arms around his neck. “I think I could grow accustomed to that. You are far more reliable than my father’s miserable horse, at any rate.”
“You trust me that much, do you?”
Elizabeth pulled back just enough to cup his chin in her hand and gaze into his eyes. “Trust? I trust you to the moon and beyond. You are the one person I would believe when all the rest of the world whispered the same lie—I would trust you with my life.”
He kissed her again, more slowly this time, savouring the feel of her lips against his. “I have already done that, Elizabeth,” he whispered, his voice low and earnest, the words a promise and a plea all at once. “With the full measure of all that I am, I am a lost man without you.”
She responded with a soft sigh, her fingers threading through his hair, and for a moment, there was nothing in the world but the two of them, their bodies pressed close, their breaths mingling as one. But then, a quiet knock at the door shattered the stillness, and they broke apart, both of them breathing hard, their hearts racing.
