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The moments passed, and still she stayed, wanting his touch for as long as she could have it, even knowing dawn approached, that the few servants still employed would soon be up and about, and her chances of being caught were growing greater with each passing second. She saw the moment he realised it as well.
“Go to the devil,” he said then closed his eyes, obviously frustrated. “Go.” He deliberately released her hand, clenching his fist as if to keep from seizing hers again.
The only way she could turn to the door was to remind herself that she must not be thrown out of Darcy House now, when only she and his young sister could be depended upon to look after his interests, however clumsily. She knew she must hurry to her own bed before the maid attending to the fires found her missing.
But she could not resist looking back at him. His head was turned towards her, his expression bleak. Words of pity would not help, and those of yearning even less.
“Good-night, Mr Darcy,” she said simply. “I will see you tomorrow night.”
His half-smile quirked, the bleakness vanishing. Pretending, for her sake, that all was well. She departed quickly, before she burst into tears.
* * *
“How does he fare?” Georgiana asked.
Lizzy yawned, having only had a few hours of slumber before Georgiana woke her to ready herself for the day—for Lady Catherine always wished an audience at her meals.
“Let us just say he shall not be joining us at breakfast. Georgiana, we must find the key to his restraints. You must ask Mrs Taylor to procure it!”
The other girl’s eyes filled with tears. “I tried to speak with her this morning about posting the letters, and she…she did not refuse to help outright, but she said it would be better to wait, to avoid trouble and maintain discretion. I can only imagine what she would say if I asked her for the keys.”
Not for the first time, Lizzy felt impatient with her timidity. The keys to everything in the place belonged, by rights, more to Georgiana than to Mrs Taylor. She should not ask. She should demand. But what could she expect from a child who had been cosseted, waited upon, and never taught to assert herself? Georgiana loved her brother, but her natural tendency was to allow herself to be pulled in whichever direction the most dominant person in her life tugged. Lady Catherine still occupied that position, whether Lizzy liked it or not. It was necessary to challenge the real foe, to find a way to pull her towards a different objective.
But doing so directly was not an option. If Lady Catherine discovered that Lizzy was actively working against her plans for her nephew, she would simply toss her out of Darcy House.
“He is your brother, dear, and you are his heir. If you will insist, she must obey. We will practise the asking together. Just pretend you are Lady Catherine, and care for no one’s opinion except your own.”
Georgiana giggled at this—a first—and they did actually practise. Although she retreated into herself when their voices grew impatient, after a few tries, she haltingly persisted until Lizzy was somewhat satisfied.
* * *
Breakfast was a lesson in endurance, as Lady Catherine marvelled at the doctor’s reports of rapid improvement.
“Might Miss Darcy visit her brother if he is so improved?” Lizzy questioned in innocent tones.
But her ladyship denounced the idea immediately. “You do not understand, Miss Bennet, the delicacy of the body’s function. I am unsurprised, for the earl is likewise uninformed. I will explain. All of Darcy’s humours are being carefully guided into a healing centre, where Mr Donavan’s next treatments will converge. Once in place, he will destroy the defective membranes, signalling to his mind the necessity of choosing the stronger Fitzwilliam blood in order to conquer his Darcy weaknesses. Any deviation or intrusion could disrupt the battle and steal the victory.”
It was all Lizzy could do not to gape. Even allowing for a romantic explanation without technical terminology, it was ridiculous, and the true facts were undisputed—all Donavan had done thus far was force Mr Darcy to vomit. There was only one conclusion to draw: Mr Donavan was a quack, allowed to experiment upon Mr Darcy, and Lady Catherine was his fool.
* * *
Lizzy napped the afternoon away, in the hopes of staying awake long into the night. She wakened to the sight of Georgiana reading a book beside the cold hearth, a candle lit against the chamber’s gloom.
“Did the light waken you? I ought to have put up a screen. I am so sorry—I did not think.”
Sitting up, Lizzy rubbed her eyes. “No, no. You mustn’t apologise. I am very well rested now. What time is it, do you know?”
“I heard the clock strike five not long ago,” she replied.
It was as well that she had wakened, for dinner was served early. There was another evening of Lady Catherine’s blatherings to endure; after the meal, she would likely demand Georgiana play, but she would jabber throughout every piece without bothering to listen to a note. If Mr Donavan joined them, Lizzy would be hard-pressed to remain silent. Leaving her bed, she went to the window and opened the drapes, allowing in the late-afternoon sunlight.
“I spoke with Mrs Taylor about the key,” Georgiana said, interrupting her thoughts.
Lizzy turned to her eagerly. “Oh! What did she say?”
“Firstly, she denied any such possibility—that my brother would be chained in his own house, that is. I could not say it was you who saw it, Lizzy, so I said that Lady Catherine admitted it herself.” Georgiana looked away for a long moment, plainly gathering her composure. “Mrs Taylor finally confessed that Lady Catherine had informed her of his madness, that he must be confined lest he harm himself, and on no account was she, or any of the servants, to enter the second-floor rooms. My aunt vowed her physician would cure him, and Mrs Taylor clings to that hope.”
“Lies!” Lizzy cried. “Your brother is no more insane than you or I am! Lady Catherine is the one who is mad!”
