Page 75 of Her Affections and Wishes

“You must be improving if you can be so teasing. I am going down to coffee. I can at least spare Darcy from Mrs Tessier. She is a sweet woman, but a very determined talker.”

“Please give him my best wishes that he is restored to health and thank him for his kind regards for my own.”

Jane promised and left, and Elizabeth thought it all ridiculous. She was perfectly well enough to talk to the person who meant so much to her. If she talked with Jane, how could her sister not see that she could also talk with Darcy? She could sit up without pain and concentrate on serious topics. Whilst she could not remember much of Saturday, she had made new memories since then. There was no reason not to see him. If Darcy was reluctant to ask for an interview and if Jane would not bring him, then she would find him herself.

It was not as though she wanted to spend a day in a rattling carriage or run through a race meeting crowd. She wanted to sit with the person she loved best.

Her opportunity came after Jane retired for the evening. She did not enjoy walking through the corridors in her dressing gown in the dark, but dressing would have woken Jane and it was easier to creep along without a candle. She made it to his door with no trouble, but faltered with her hand poised to knock.

Everything about this was inappropriate, but seeing Darcy surpassed all of that. She wished she could confidently rap on the door, but managed a few quiet taps with her fingertips. It was silent, and since she could not be certain if he had gone to sleep or did not hear, she forced herself to tap a little harder.

The door opened slowly, and Darcy’s suspicious expression brightened to delighted surprise. “Elizabeth.” She smiled back before alarm flooded his features. “What is the matter? Do you need me to ride for the surgeon?”

“No,” she cried. “I wanted to see you.”

He exhaled in relief. “You must return to bed. In a few days, after the surgeon says you can be up and⁠—”

“I am not leaving until I have spoken with you.” Jane was right; he was worried for her. “I have not seen you since Friday. I am not counting Saturday since I apparently saw you, but I scarcely remember it.”

He did not appreciate her joke, and she remembered what Jane had said about when her family had heard the news. It must have been all the worse for Darcy to actually have seen her in such a state and be a witness to the violence against her. She squeezed his arm gently as she pleaded, “Do not send me away. I have missed you, and I have been concerned about you. If you cannot say the same about me, I will return to my room instantly.”

He knew what she was doing, but he stepped aside and gestured for her to enter. “I have wanted to ask to see you,” he said, closing the door, “but everyone advised against it. And I care too deeply about your health to risk a setback.”

“If I can handle talking to Jane, how can I not handle talking with you?”

Pain crossed his eyes. “Perhaps it is too soon for any reminder of what passed.”

“That is partly why I am here,” she entreated. “I cannot recollect anything from Saturday and not knowing is more troubling.”

“I understand that, but you ought to rest in bed until the surgeon allows you to get up.”

Elizabeth’s gaze flitted to the furniture behind Darcy. That was not what he meant. It would be incredibly bold of her. Six steps would take her there. It was best to just do it and not ask for permission. She could not tell what side of the bed he slept on. He was dressed for staying in his own room and likely planned to sleep soon, but he had not used the bed yet tonight.

She strode to the right side of Darcy’s bed, folded back the bedclothes, and tucked herself in. She made a show of settling herself—adjusting the sheet and shifting the pillow to sit upright—to calm her nerves before lifting her gaze to his.

The heated look she first noticed when she sat in his lap after the game flared up in his eyes, then guttered instantly. He picked up a wooden chair from the small table and carried it to her side of the bed, letting it drop heavily from his hand before slowly sitting. “I am at your disposal, madam.”

She would have preferred that he sit next to her on the bed. He did not like being manoeuvred, but at least he did not demand she leave. “You need not be cross with me. I am resting, as suggested. And it has also been suggested that I keep easy, but not knowing what happened to us is more distressing to me.” She wondered if perhaps he was the one who did not want to remember the events of Saturday. “Are you able to talk about it?”

Darcy gave a bleak laugh. “I gave a deposition to the magistrate yesterday.”

This incident was not truly over, even though they were both safe. There would be more to endure to be fully free from Lady Metcalfe. “Must I appear in court?”

He nodded. “We both will. I know he took statements from Henry Tessier, the cook, the stableboy, and several witnesses at Epsom too. When you are recovered, he will want to speak with you, but you ought to only discuss what you remember. That is the evidence you will have to present when Lady Metcalfe is tried.”

There was tension in his eyes, and guilt twisted her stomach. She had not thought about how recounting what happened would affect him. “Would it pain you to talk about it with me? It would relieve me from a state of inexpressible anxiety to know what happened, but I would not, for the world, add to your distress.”

Darcy reached for her hand. “Part of me wishes I could trade places with you and lose those memories. Recalling the absolute terror I felt whilst it was happening troubles me. Perhaps it will get easier with each telling. And if telling you will not add to your fears, if it will alleviate them, then you ought to know.”

He explained intercepting the maid Friday evening with the willow bark infusion from Lady Metcalfe that had been mixed with arsenic. He had only drunk a sip and, after suffering agonising effects, awoke the next morning and confronted Julia when he learnt Elizabeth was missing, and then realised it was Lady Metcalfe behind every single attack after all.

“Do you recall it was she who was with Mr Travers that night, not Julia?” he asked, tracing his thumb over her fingers. When Elizabeth shook her head in surprise, he explained how he had been wrong. “Lady Metcalfe fell in love with Mr Travers when they were young, but his father threatened to cut him off if he married a woman he did not approve of. He chose the money and his father’s favour. But she was already pregnant with his child and her family forced her to marry another man to keep it a secret.”

Elizabeth had struggled to think deeply these past few days, to concentrate and to remember, and Darcy waited patiently as she organised this information in her mind. “Julia is Mr Travers’s daughter?” She shook her head in disbelief even as Darcy nodded. “And Lady Metcalfe is still in love with him?”

“Lady Metcalfe thought he would finally marry her, but with Julia pregnant it would ruin her chances. I doubt Mr Travers made her any promises; Lady Metcalfe just assumed.”

He may not have attacked anyone or attempted to kill them, but Mr Travers was in his own way a despicable man.