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“Not to worry.” The doctor’s voice continued low and soothing. “Can you say the name of where you grew up? Or your parents?”
She hesitated before replying. “No.” Her voice climbed in pitch. “This is wrong. So wrong. What has happened to me?”
“Shh. Shh.” The doctor laid her head back gently on the pillows. “You had a hurt to your head. Sometimes that causes forgetfulness.” He glanced up at Darcy, speaking in French. “I have read about such cases. The condition is called amnesia.”
“But the wound was weeks ago,” Darcy protested. “Why is she not recovered?”
The doctor peered deeply into Elizabeth’s eyes. “The blow was severe; there is still some swelling. And sometimes the effects linger even after the wound is healed.”
“Her brain was damaged?” Darcy asked in a horrified whisper.
Elizabeth watched them both with sharp eyes that suggested she understood some of the conversation.
“I do not believe so,” Martin said. “She seems quite rational. Her wits are intact.”
“I am rational!” Elizabeth declared in English, proving that she spoke enough French to understand them.
Darcy could not suppress a laugh. “It appears her character is intact as well.”
One corner of Martin’s mouth curved upward. “It may be that only her memory was affected. There have been similar cases.”
“Will the memories return?” Darcy asked.
The doctor shrugged. “Sometimes they do, and sometimes they do not. Researchers do not know why.”
Elizabeth appealed to Darcy with a horrified expression. “Is he saying sometimes the memories do not return?” Darcy instinctively tightened his grip on her hand.
“It is too soon that we know for certain,” Martin reassured her in English. “But, you are safe. Your husband is here—together with you.”
She regarded Darcy in wonder. “You are my husband?”
“Yes. Fitzwilliam Darcy.” He said a silent prayer of forgiveness for the falsehood.
The corners of her eyes crinkled. “That is quite a lot of syllables. Surely I do not call you Fitzwilliam.” A little tension ebbed from Darcy. Forgetful or not, she was still his Elizabeth.
But what should she call him? He had never considered the question before. His friends simply used his last name. His parents had called him Will. The staff addressed him as Mr. Darcy. Only Georgiana called him William. Suddenly Darcy experienced a fierce yearning to hear that name on Elizabeth’s lips. “No…er…you address me as William.”
She nodded slowly, her eyelids lowering. “William,” she murmured, her mouth lingering over each syllable as he savored the sound. Then her eyes snapped open. “Wait! What is my name? My full name?”
“You are Elizabeth Anne Bennet.”
“Darcy,” Martin corrected with a grin.
Damnation! He had forgotten already. How would he ever pull off this charade? “Yes, yes. Elizabeth Darcy,” he agreed quickly. “We are recently wed.”
She gave him a long, searching look. “I am married to you?”
“Yes,” Darcy said, hating the necessity of the falsehood.
Elizabeth’s eyes blearily examined him from the top of his head to the toes of his boots. “Hmm…” she mumbled sleepily as her eyelids dropped. “I may not know my name, but I know I have excellent taste in men.”
Darcy had never blushed more furiously in his life.
Chapter Five
Elizabeth was deeply asleep, but Darcy could not bring himself to leave her bedside. Already her countenance had lost some of its grayish pallor and taken on a rosier hue. Her perfectly pink lips parted slightly as she inhaled and exhaled in a steady rhythm. Dark lashes brushed her cheeks. He often had envisioned how Elizabeth would look when asleep, and now he could look to his heart’s content. But that was not why Darcy had difficulty tearing his eyes from her. Instead his scrutiny was borne of an almost superstitious fear that some ill would befall her if he left her presence.
The silent vigil afforded him plenty of time to think. Guilt nagged at him. He should not have told Martin that she was his wife—and should not have compounded that sin by repeating the lie to Elizabeth. Yet he could not regret it. Her eyes had gone wide with fear when she realized how she had forgotten her life. However, the presence of a “husband” seemed to be reassuring; at least she could sleep.
