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“Actually, Thomas, I am not traveling alone.” Darcy strode out the open door with Whitmore on his heels. He gestured toward Elizabeth slumped in the carriage seat with her shawl around her shoulders. “This is—” At that moment, she slouched still farther, and began to topple sideways off the seat. Darcy rushed forward to catch her before she hit the ground. Her body landed heavily in his arms, but she still did not awaken. Holding her, Darcy could sense the warmth of her fever-wracked skin through the thin muslin of her dress.
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“Oh my goodness!” Whitmore exclaimed, perusing Darcy’s burden.
“I am afraid she is ill and can travel no further. The inns were full—”
“I am so happy you came here,” Whitmore said reassuringly. “We will do everything we can for her. I will send for a doctor immediately.”
Darcy carefully carried Elizabeth into the house’s marble-trimmed foyer, thinking how little she weighed; she had eaten almost nothing that day. Whitmore gave orders to the servants to bring in their trunks and to summon a doctor. Darcy took her up the stairs and into the guest room Whitmore indicated – a large room dominated by a grand carved wooden four poster bed. Laying her gently on the fine linen covers, Darcy noticed the pallor in her face. She had not stirred at all as he carried her, a very worrisome sign.
Some of Elizabeth’s hair had come free of her neat bun and Darcy had been smoothing it unconsciously. Whitmore observed him closely. “I did not know you were married.”
“I am not.” Darcy’s hand froze as he realized what he was doing. Suddenly it occurred to him that Whitmore would wonder how he came to be traveling with a woman who was apparently unrelated to him. “This is Elizabeth Bennet…Her father is a gentleman in Hertfordshire and I recently became acquainted with her family. I encountered her in Paris, but when news of the war broke she had no means of leaving Paris, so I offered to….”
As he spoke Darcy stood and turned toward Whitmore, but did not venture from Elizabeth’s side. The other man’s face had lost its warmth and he was regarding Darcy with disapproval. “I would never have thought that you of all people -- with a respectable woman – a—”
Darcy was exhausted and losing his patience. “She is not my mistress, blast it! We are simply traveling together. We are just friends.”
Whitmore narrowed his eyes at Darcy, who looked down and noticed he was holding Elizabeth’s hand. “I do admit to having…some affection for her,” he admitted grudgingly. As much as he disliked laying bare his sentiments for another’s scrutiny, he knew he needed to give some explanation – an honorable explanation – for his actions.
Whitmore’s glare softened. “That much is obvious. We will take good care of her. I will send a maid to help her undress. We shall put you in the room next door. I am certain you will wish to change your clothes.”
Darcy was reluctant to leave Elizabeth, but he could do little for her at that point. Furthermore, propriety dictated that he should not visit her bedroom alone. Before he left the room, he took one last glance at the pale, still figure – very small in the huge bed.
An hour later, Darcy’s disposition had improved after having washed and changed his clothing. He joined Whitmore and his wife in their sumptuously appointed dining room. “Darcy, this is my wife, Marie,” Whitmore introduced them. Marie was a pretty, petite woman of about 25 with dark hair and a heart-shaped face.
Her smile to Darcy was quite warm and gracious. “Welcome to our home, Monsieur Darcy. I am pleased to finally meet Thomas’s friend. Though I am sorry it is not under better circumstances.” Her English was excellent, with only a slight accent.
“I greatly appreciate your hospitality,” Darcy returned. “It is providential your home was so close.”
They enjoyed a pleasant conversation during the delectable, but simple country dinner. Darcy explained their situation and described their travels, but he found he could give his hosts only half of his attention. At every moment he wondered how Elizabeth fared and if there had been any change in her condition. Whitmore smiled knowingly when Darcy once again lost the thread of the conversation. “The doctor should arrive soon. Do not worry. Flouret is the best to be found in the neighborhood.”
“If it is only a fever, we can hope it will pass quickly,” Marie ventured. Darcy tried to smile at their reassurances, but it turned into more of a grimace.
The doctor arrived while they were finishing up their meal, so Darcy followed as Whitmore escorted Monsieur Flouret to Elizabeth’s room. Then he stood in the hallway, hovering around the room’s entrance while the doctor examined her. When Flouret had finished, he met Darcy in the hallway. “Monsieur, your wife is very ill.”
“She is not my wife,” Darcy corrected automatically.
The doctor cleared his throat uncomfortably. Damn now he thinks she is my mistress! Darcy reminded himself it hardly mattered what the doctor thought. Flouret continued, “She has a high fever and her pulse is weak. I gave her some medicine and will return in the morning to see how she fares.” He could see that the doctor was speaking slowly and enunciating every word to ensure Darcy’s comprehension.
“What can I – we do for her comfort?” The French came very naturally to Darcy after being in the country for so long.
The doctor’s eyes were downcast as he made notes in his notebook, but continued to give instructions. “Cool compresses for the fever. If she is awake, she should drink water or weak tea so she will not become dehydrated.”
Darcy thanked the doctor and the man left. When Whitmore came upstairs a few minutes later, Darcy was again sitting in Elizabeth’s room holding her hand. Darcy was aware of his friend’s scrutiny, but could not bring himself to take his eyes off Elizabeth’s face, which was beaded with perspiration and flushed. She did not sleep restfully, but rolled her head from side to side and shifted listlessly every few minutes.
Anxiety closed around his heart. What he would not give to see her fine eyes open and smiling at him! All he wanted was to see her alive and well, even if he could never have her for his wife.
When Darcy finally met Whitmore’s eyes, the other man’s face was full of sympathy. “Are you planning to ask Miss Bennet to marry you?”
“No, well, yes. It is complicated.” Darcy was so worn down by exhaustion and worry it actually felt good to unburden himself. “I hope she will someday accept me.”
Whitmore raised his brows at the uncertainty in Darcy’s tone. “You must love her very deeply.”
“I do. She is a remarkable woman.” Darcy fell silent, his throat felt suddenly constricted.
Concern was reflected in Whitmore’s face. “You should rest. I will send in a maid to stay with Miss Bennet during the night. She will awaken you immediately if there is a change in her condition.”
