Everything around him felt unreal, his senses dulled yet heightened in bizarre ways. He stumbled down the stairs, gripping the bannister as his vision swam. He had to see her. Hear her voice. Each thought beat in time with the throbbing in his head, the laudanum stripping away his usual reserve, leaving him raw and exposed.
He stumbled to the door, gripping the frame for support. His vision was swimming, and the floor felt uncertain beneath his feet. He made his way down the stairs, the descent feeling like an eternity, each throb of his headache a reminder of his frailty.
As he reached the ground floor, he heard Wickham’s voice from the drawing room, discussing the menu with Mrs Bennet and Mrs Nicholls. Darcy clenched his teeth, pushing forward. His head only ached more around Wickham, and Mrs Bennet was another thing altogether.
Outside, the cool air hit him like a shock, momentarily clearing some of the fog from his mind. Bingley was leading Jane Bennet, with Elizabeth following behind, along a path that would be bordered by roses in the spring. Darcy took a deep breath, steadying himself before he approached them.
Bingley noticed him first. “Darcy! We did not expect you to join us. I thought you had something like a hundred letters to write before your departure.”
Elizabeth turned at Bingley’s words, her eyes widening slightly at the sight of him. Darcy forced a smile, though it felt strained. “I… I needed some fresh air,” he said, his voice sounding hollow even to his own ears.
Miss Bennet’s hand was resting lightly on Bingley’s arm, and she bobbed softly in greeting. “It is a lovely day for a walk. We were just admiring the garden while Mr Wickham and Mama finished with Mrs Nicholls. Would you care to join us?”
Darcy nodded, though the motion made his head throb even more. “I would like that very much,” he replied, stepping forward to fall in beside Elizabeth.
She glanced at him, her eyes searching his face. “Are you certain you are well, Mr Darcy? You look… rather unsteady.”
Darcy swallowed, his throat dry. “I have been… unwell, but the fresh air is helping. Please, do not let me interrupt your tour.”
Elizabeth’s brow remained furrowed, but she nodded and continued walking. She even took his arm, though he could not recall whether he had offered it or if she had merely grabbed it to help keep him on his feet. Likely, it was the latter. Darcy sucked in a manfulgulp of air and mustered all his equilibrium so as not to fail in his task of escorting the lady properly.
“Mr Darcy, they turned to the left,” Elizabeth murmured at his side.
He blinked, forcing his eyes to focus. “Yes, of course.” He straightened his spine marginally and guided her after Bingley and Miss Bennet.
Her eyes were darting between his face and the path. “Truly, Mr Darcy, you look… rather worse than when I saw you the other day. Have you thought of seeing a doctor, sir?”
“It is just a megrim, Miss Elizabeth,” he hissed, though he had meant to make his voice sound gentle.
“Yes, and apparently, it has not yet abated. Two days? That is not normal, sir.”
“Thank you for noticing.”
“I was only trying to… Mr Darcy, the path is more to the centre of the way. We are listing off to the right again.” She stumbled slightly, for he had gone so far astray that he had somehow pushed her slippered feet into the muddy grass beside the walking path.
He cleared his throat and lifted his arm, and hers with it, as he pulled them back. Perhaps if he looked confident enough, she would think he was only admiring the naked tree branches.
“Sir, truly, you are quite unwell. Would you consider seeing Mr Jones? He is our local apothecary.”
“I am afraid there is nothing Mr Jones can do.” Darcy sighed and blinked until Bingley’s back came into focus ahead of them. “And I mean to return to London tomorrow, anyway.”
“Oh.” Her voice was quieter now. “Yes, Mr Bingley said something of that. He… he said you regretted not being able to attend the ball.”
Darcy whirled to look at her and immediately regretted the speed of the action. He swallowed as his brain sloshed to a dizzy halt inside his skull. “I fear I am… disappointing you, Miss Elizabeth?”
Her lashes shadowed her cheek for a moment, but then she lifted her face to him. “Are you, Mr Darcy?”
The knot that had been pounding behind his eye moved into his throat, and his mouth worked uselessly. “I understand I am. Forgive me, Miss Elizabeth, butit cannot be helped.”
“Oh, there is nothing to forgive on my part. No, I should think it will be a tremendous relief for you, not having to play party to a ball which you are sure to despise when there are better amusements in London.”
Drat, his voice still felt like it would squeak if he tried to use it, but he made the attempt, nonetheless… and indeed, it did squeak. “Noth…” He cleared his throat. “Nothing of the sort, I assure you. I only mean to attend to some personal matters.”
“Is one of them to see a doctor about your headaches?”
“Why do you speak in plural, as if this is a common state for me?”
She paused on the path, her bonnet tilted up to him against a few light raindrops that were just beginning to fall. “I suppose I might be in error there. Very well, shall I guess at other reasons for your departure from Meryton less than a fortnight after your arrival? It cannot be that you do not enjoy your host, surely.”
