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Darcy stiffened. “No?”
“Your hands are too soft, with callouses only from a horse’s reins.” The doctor’s voice was matter-of-fact, not accusatory. “A farm laborer’s hands are calloused everywhere.”
Darcy cursed himself silently for not having anticipated that detail.
“And you have an English wife.” No doubt myriad explanations occurred to the doctor: spies, expatriate nobles, smugglers.
Darcy readied himself to fight. Were he alone he could simply flee, but he could not leave Elizabeth behind—and traveling might kill her.
But Martin spread his hands, giving Darcy a gentle smile. “I am not your enemy. To me, you and your wife are simply patients in need of care, and I have taken an oath to care for all who need it.” Darcy regarded the doctor steadily. Did he dare take the other man’s word? Did he dare put his life—and Elizabeth’s—into this man’s trust?
Darcy sighed, and his shoulders slumped. In truth, he had no choice.
“I swear I will not give you up to the authorities. I have no love for them. I would not give a rabid dog into their keeping.” For a moment Martin’s expression was quite fierce.
Darcy nodded, somewhat reassured.
Martin looked at him sidelong. “But will you tell me how an Engli
sh gentleman and his wife came to be in Saint-Malo in the midst of a war?”
An English gentleman. Darcy rubbed his face with both hands. Despite his clothing, Darcy apparently might as well be wearing a sign proclaiming his name and rank. Very well. The doctor had guessed enough of the truth; Darcy might as well tell more. “Elizabeth was on a ship that exploded near the Channel Islands. It was reported that everyone on the ship was lost. I am seeking the man responsible for the explosion, but I did not expect to find...” He gestured to Elizabeth’s still form.
“Yes, I remember hearing word of that. An explosion would explain the blow to the head, but her survival is wonderful indeed. I know of no other survivors.”
The rise and fall of Elizabeth’s chest fascinated Darcy, and he allowed himself to revel in the simple fact of her breathing. Although he did not like the soft rattle in her exhales or the convulsive coughs. “It is a miracle. I had no hope.”
Martin clasped Darcy’s shoulder. “If someone killed Marguerite, I would hunt him down as well. I wish I knew this man so I could help you seek revenge.”
Darcy continued to regard the other man warily.
Martin chuckled. “Our countries may be at war, but I have no quarrel with you, sir. Your secret is safe with me.”
Did Darcy even dare to trust the man? “I cannot ask you to take such risks…”
“The risk is not so great. Bretagne only grudgingly supported the revolution or the emperor. My sentiments are very common.”
Darcy was humbled by the man’s generosity and trust. “I thank you, sir. I will be forever in your debt.”
The man took the necklace from the table and poured it into Darcy’s hand. “You must keep this safe until your wife may wear it once more.” Darcy stared dumbly at the pendant in his hand. “I am afraid the chain broke when we removed it from her neck.”
Darcy threaded the chain of his watch fob through the loop at the top of the pendant. He had chosen his plainest, cheapest watch and fob for the journey, but the doctor’s sharp look suggested it was still out of place. Hopefully the future of Britain did not rest on Darcy’s abilities to pass as a common Frenchman.
Darcy heard a knock sounding on the front door. Martin looked toward the source of the noise. “Ah, I have a patient for a return visit.” With a nod to Darcy, the doctor slipped through the door and closed it behind him with a quiet click.
Darcy was alone in the room with Elizabeth—his sleeping miracle. His eyes sought out her face once more, savoring the features he had never thought to see again in this lifetime. His heart was so full that it felt ready to burst from his chest. Yes, Elizabeth was ill, and they were trapped in a country at war with an unknown enemy threatening them. But Elizabeth was alive, and for the moment that was more than enough.
***
Darcy spent the remainder of the day and the following night in Elizabeth’s room. An armchair beside the bed allowed him to gain a few hours of sleep. He only left the room to take dinner with the Martins—and only then with the proviso that their housekeeper would watch over his beloved.
The discovery of Darcy’s “wife” caused a sensation in the Martin household. At dinner, Mrs. Martin demanded details of their courtship and marriage. Uncomfortable with the deception, Darcy kept his account brief and stayed close to the truth, describing their meeting in Hertfordshire and encounter at Rosings Park. He explained that he had proposed to Elizabeth at Hunsford, without revealing the actual conclusion of the event, and gave no account of the “wedding.” Enchanted by the story, Mrs. Martin did not appear to notice his omission.
Only late into the night did Darcy recall his promise to return to Dreyfus’s house, but he had no regrets. The search for the Black Cobra was no longer of much consequence. There was no reason to believe the Cobra knew or cared that Elizabeth was alive. While Darcy would still like to bring the man to justice, nothing took precedence over Elizabeth’s convalescence and eventual return to England.
Darcy wanted to do everything possible to hasten her recovery. He could not look away lest he miss the slightest sign she was about to awaken or—God forbid—grow worse. He felt compelled to chronicle every twitch of an eyebrow or spasm in her hand. The coughing fits continued, but each was milder than the previous one, and the gasping in her breath improved.
Under other circumstances he might have been bored, but the simple sight of Elizabeth’s chest rising and falling was mesmerizing. Only days ago, his world had ended, but now he had been given a second opportunity. This time I will not waste it, he vowed. I will do whatever I can to win her love.
