Page 6 of The Engagement at Longbourn

Mr. Bennet was already turning toward the door. “Thomas!” The Longbourn groom was dispatched with a fresh horse and instructions to change mounts at an inn if necessary. Elizabeth remained by the guest-room window while Mr. Jones cleaned the wound. She did not watch. She watched Darcy’s face instead. He had regained consciousness enough to know pain was coming.

“Miss Bennet,” Mr. Jones said, “you need not remain.”

Darcy’s hand closed around hers. “I believe I shall,” Elizabeth replied.

Mr. Jones raised one brow but said nothing.

Darcy endured the cleaning with rigid silence until the last few minutes. Then the pain became too much. A hoarse sound escaped him and his head turned blindly toward Elizabeth.

She squeezed his hand. “Insufferable man,” she whispered. “You shall not escape a proper quarrel with me by dying.” His eyes opened a fraction.

“Engaged,” he muttered.

Mr. Jones paused. Elizabeth wanted the floor to open beneath her. “You are not to speak.”

“Promised.”

“Yes, yes. I promised all manner of things to prevent you from thrashing about like a landed trout.”

Mr. Jones coughed suspiciously.

Darcy subsided. It was nearly two in the afternoon before Dr. Garrison arrived. He was a tall, silver-haired man with a scar across one thumb and the calm of someone who had seen enough broken bodies not to be impressed by catastrophe. He examined Darcy, spoke in low tones with Mr. Jones, and then asked Mr. Bennet whether the patient’s family had been informed. “We do not know precisely who expects him in London,” Mr. Bennet said.

“His servants at Netherfield have nearly all gone. I have sent a man there to see whether any remain.”

“Do so. He is fortunate to be young and strong. He is also in considerable danger.”

Mrs. Bennet, standing in the doorway, went pale. The doctor continued. “The bone must be set and the wound stitched. Infection is my chief concern. He may develop fever. If he does, we keep him cool, give fluids when he can take them, and pray his constitution is as excellent as his appearance suggests.”

“Oh!” Mrs. Bennet pressed a handkerchief to her mouth. “Poor Mr. Darcy.”

Elizabeth looked at her mother in surprise. There was no calculation in Mrs. Bennet’s face. No thought of ten thousand a year. Only distress. “Can he be moved to Netherfield after you set the leg?” Mr. Bennet asked.

“No.”

“To London?”

“Certainly not.”

Mrs. Bennet straightened as if someone had issued her a challenge. “Then he stays here.”

Mr. Bennet looked at her.

“What?” she demanded. “Would you put him in the road? Jane, tell Hill the green room must be prepared for whichever doctor stays overnight. Lizzy, you shall not sit up alone. Mary may take the first watch after dinner and Jane the second. Lydia and Kitty are not to plague him.”

“Why not?” Lydia protested. “I can be very quiet.”

The entire family looked at her. Lydia folded her arms. “I can.”

Dr. Garrison’s mouth twitched. The setting of Darcy’s leg required four men, laudanum, and nearly an hour. Elizabeth waited downstairs with Jane. Neither spoke while the muffled sounds came through the ceiling.

At last Jane reached for her hand. “He is very ill.”

“Yes.”

“You found him.”

“Yes.”