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Abruptly, dream-Elizabeth stopped speaking to stare at his chains.
Once, he had prided himself on his control; indeed, his ability to manage both his own affairs and those for whom he was responsible had been a major source of satisfaction.
Now, he could not even make his dreams behave. A proper dream of a beautiful young woman ought to have placed them in a different setting—Pemberley’s gardens, mayhap, where a better version of himself might pluck a rose for his beloved whilst reciting the sonnets she inspired. It would not toss the woman he loved into the scene of his own wrecked despair, to watch him chained like a rabid animal. He despised the brain that would mock him with her vision.
He groaned in frustration; surprisingly, this dream-Elizabeth looked at him as no one ever did any longer, with compassion instead of pity or disgust. Setting down her lantern, her soft, cool hands touched the skin above his shackles. Carefully, soothingly, she rubbed at the precise spot where the metal was chafing the skin of his wrists. It felt so true to life, he had to speak, to ask.
“Bugger it. N-no. Please.”
She stopped the gentle touch, and he tried to tell her that it wasn’t what he’d meant, that she must not disappear again, that he needed her, that he yearned for her to be real.
Unfortunately, he lost any sense or rhythm, the words leaving his mouth vulgar in the extreme—having absolutely nothing to do with yearning or sonnets, a twisted parody of the vision in his brain. He looked away from her, at the wall, completely humiliated. His mouth was a mad thing, uncontrollable, useless. He was equal parts anguish and shame. The dream, real or not, was finished before it had even begun.
* * *
Lizzy was nearly overset by another wave of compassion when he turned his head away from her. This would not do. She was determined that he should hear her and understand. She took his hand up again in hers. That captured his attention, and his head snapped around to her face.
“I already know you have troubles with your speech, if you recall,” she began quietly, slower this time. “I wanted you to know. I am staying here, as a guest of Miss Darcy. We were not sure you were in the house, although we suspected, and I wished to confirm it.”
His eyes widened; his mouth worked. “Jupiter! No.” He closed his eyes and tried again. “Georg-ie.”
“Yes. As I told you before, Georgie and I have become friends, and I am known to your aunt through Mr Collins, if you remember. Lady Catherine. She had you brought here.” She paused. “Do you know where you are?”
He nodded, opening his eyes.
“She has decided that her own physician shall treat you. A Mr Donavan. Perhaps he shall be better than Mr Younge?”
He shook his head in a vigorous negative. “Son of a—No. Stubble it. No. Set me…free. No need doc.” He pulled up on the chains, rattling them. The snores from the other room abruptly stopped.
“Mr Darcy, you must be quieter,” she whispered.
He stilled, and after a moment, the snores resumed.
“Mr Donavan must quickly see that your reasoning is intact. If I had a key, I would of course…but Georgie, too, will press for your release. These chains are ridiculous, and I predict you will be freed immediately, if he has the sense God gave a goose.”
He seemed to deflate a little. “Georg-ie…” he began. “Well?”
“Yes. She is trying to learn courage. It is…difficult to challenge Lady Catherine.”
He closed his eyes briefly, as if in agreement, relief, or both. “No…see her.”
“She meant to come tonight, but I had difficulty waking her, and since I was not even sure we would be able to visit, I left her to sleep. But tomorrow night—”
“No!”
His tone was too loud. “Hush,” she urged, dropping his hand. His breathing had grown louder; plainly, he was in some distress. “Surely you wish to see your sister?”
He shook his head, urgently, in the negative. Lifting his chained arm, he stared at it then back at her.
Mr Darcy was a proud man. Plainly, he could not bear the thought of Georgiana seeing him in chains.
“I think I understand,” she said. “You have been almost as a father to her. You do not wish her to see you in weakness, for her to feel fear and dismay on your behalf.”
He nodded, agreeing.
She smiled ruefully; he was the very opposite of her own parents. “I think you are being very protective. Your wishes must be considered.” I will not promise, she thought. Georgiana’s wishes must be considered as well.
His expression grew steely. “Yeasty yapcocking codpiece,” he choked. “Mrs…Mrs…Yuh-Yuh…” But the words he wished refused to come.
