Mr Bennet nodded. “I will. But let us hope that by the time the letter arrives, it is unnecessary.”
She moved to embrace him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, feeling the solid comfort of his presence. He kissed her cheek, his expression softening. “Heaven has smiled on you, my dear,” he murmured. “It gave you a good man and, perhaps, a way to keep him a little while longer.”
Elizabeth clung to his words, her heart filling with a fragile hope. Anything could still happen—that much was true. But for now, Darcy was alive. And that was enough.
Darcy drifted in andout of a fog, his mind tangling with the sensation of pain that pulsed through his head in waves. Awareness came slowly, inching into his consciousness like a creeping dawn. He blinked, his vision blurry and unfocused, the dim light of the room doing little to ease the pounding in his skull. His throat felt raw and dry, each breath scraping painfully through his lungs. As the haze began to clear, he saw a figure seated nearby, a familiar form hunched over a book.
“Mr Bennet?” His voice was a rasp, barely more than a whisper. The effort of speaking sent another sharp pang through his temples, and he winced, his hand instinctively moving to his head.
Mr Bennet barely looked up from his book, his expression as placid as ever. “Ah, you are awake, Mr Darcy. Took you long enough,” he remarked dryly, though his tone held a note of relief.
“How…” He swallowed against the scratchiness of his throat. “How long?”
“Three days, unless you count the deluded episodes when you opened your eyes, staring about the room but did not speak. I daresay your poor valet is worn to a skeleton keeping watch over you, so I volunteered to take my turn.”
“El…” He swallowed again. “Elizabeth?”
“Yes, yes, Lizzy is well and impatiently waiting to speak with you as soon as you are up and about.” With that, he calmly closed his book, stood, and made hisway to the door. “I shall fetch Pembroke,” he added, not bothering to wait for a response before exiting the room.
Darcy let his head fall back against the pillow, his eyes fluttering closed as he tried to manage the pain. It was worse than ever, a relentless throbbing that seemed to echo with every beat of his heart. Yet, as he focused on the sensations running through his body, he noticed something else—the tingling in his arm and hand, the cursed twitching of his face, had vanished. A small victory, he thought, his mind struggling to stay focused amidst the pain.
A few minutes later, the door opened, and Darcy opened his eyes to see Doctor Pembroke entering the room, Mr Bennet just behind him. Pembroke approached the bedside, his gaze assessing as he took in Darcy’s condition. “Awake at last, I see,” he said with a nod. “How do you feel, Mr Darcy?”
Darcy’s lips twisted into a wry smile. “Like I have been trampled by a carriage,” he muttered, his voice hoarse. “What… did you do?”
Pembroke pulled up a chair and sat down, his expression serious. “Well, I daresay you may not recall half of what we said when last you were alert. We performed a trepanation, a procedure to relieve the pressure on your brain caused by a blood clot. It was a delicate operation, but I believe we were successful in removing the clot and reducing the pressure.”
Darcy absorbed the information slowly, his thoughts sluggish. “And… my recovery?” he asked, his words slurring slightly. “When… can I leave? When can I stand, walk… get into a carriage?”
Pembroke chuckled softly. “You must be patient, Mr Darcy. I know full well you have ample motive to recover quickly, but your body needs time to heal. The banns have not even been read yet, have they?”
Darcy looked questioningly at Mr Bennet, who stood by the window with a smug grin. “Actually, they have,” Mr Bennet said with a hint of satisfaction. “I wrote to Mr Harrison in Meryton to notify him of the engagement. The banns for both you and Elizabeth, and for Jane and Mr Bingley, were published for the first time last Sunday.”
Darcy felt a foolish grin spread across his face as he relaxed back on the pillow, calculating in his head. Two more Sundays and Elizabeth would be his. He propped himself up again, his determination flaring. “I have to be recovered by then,” he insisted, his voice firmer.
Pembroke smiled, a knowing twinkle in his eye. “I think you will be on your feet by then, though perhaps a bit weak. And I would advise you to consider a wig.”
Darcy winced, his hand hesitantly touching the left side of his head. Ah, yes, he remembered that now—Giles had shaved down a considerable thatch of hair before Doctor Pembroke began the surgery. His stomach churned at the thought of touching the wound, but he decided it was a scar he would wear proudly. He had fought for his life and won.
Pembroke nodded approvingly. “I will send in a maid with some broth to strengthen you. Meanwhile, a rather anxious and somewhat belligerent visitor arrived just moments ago, nearly banging down the door in his urgency to see you. Are you well enough for a visitor?”
Darcy raised an eyebrow. “Who is it?”
“I daresay a familiar face. He would not heedmyreassurances, so perhaps he will appreciate yours.” Pembroke moved to the door, opened it slightly, and exchanged a few words with someone outside. A moment later, the door swung open fully, and Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam strode into the room, his face a mix of concern and relief.
“Darcy!” Richard exclaimed, his voice filled with emotion. “You look like death warmed over, but it is blasted good to see you alive.”
Darcy managed a weak chuckle, overjoyed to see his cousin. “Richard,” he greeted warmly. “It is good to see you, too.” He turned to Mr Bennet, who had closed his book and risen from his seat. “May I introduce Mr Bennet, my future father-in-law?”
Mr Bennet gave a polite bow to Richard, who returned it with a respectful nod. “Ah, so you are Mr Bennet. Jolly glad you wrote to me.”
“As am I, Colonel. And now, I believe someone else will be anxious for word of our Mr Darcy’s recovery.” Mr Bennet excused himself with a brief nod, leaving the room quietly.
As the door closed behind him, Richard took the chair beside Darcy’s bed, his gaze moving from Darcy to the door and back again. “Your, eh… future father-in-law, I understand? Anything you want to tell me, Darcy?”
Darcy grinned despite the pain. “There is a great deal you should hear, and I will tell you all in due time. But I will not speak of Elizabeth. The lady will speak for herself.”
Richard laughed, a warm, genuine sound that filled the room. “That is the best commendation you could give her,” he said, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “I am eager to meet her.”
