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He blinked several times, clenching his jaw. Then, gradually, he straightened. “Beefwitted barnacle. No. Bed. Mine.”
He said the last word with such emphasis that she understood. He took an uncertain step towards the door. Grabbing up the candlestick, she kept hold of his arm, worried that he might fall. Thankfully, James responded to her nudge as they left the nursery, jumping up to assist. The stairs were perilous, Lizzy worrying he would topple forward at any moment; James was of much smaller stature than Mr Darcy, and Lizzy wondered if he could prevent an injury.
When they were mere steps from his chamber door, he sagged. It took the two of them half-dragging him to get him into his bed. When it was done, they looked at each other anxiously. Mr Darcy lay upon the bed on his belly, unmoving.
“After I wake Miss Darcy, I will go to the kitchen and brew a tea to help with his fever.” She injected her words with as much confidence as she could muster. “Please see his fire lit and watch him until I can return.”
Fortunately, James obediently went at once to the fireplace.
She returned to the nursery, waking a chagrined Georgiana, explaining what she could of his condition. “He is of course very weak and ill and naturally wishes to be away from Darcy House. Once in his own bed, he fell immediately back to sleep—which one might expect.”
The younger girl was persuaded to return to her bed, and then with liberal thefts from the doctor’s pharmacy case and the use of the Darcy kitchen, Lizzy concocted the tea she had found useful for fevers.
Even with James’s help, however, she could not get the half of it down Mr Darcy. It was as she had feared; he was more unconscious than sleeping.
The night was a long one. At first, he was insensible, cursing, his skin hot, and she worried that Mrs Taylor’s treatment of his wounds had been ineffective; after a time, however, he seemed to settle. Perhaps the tea had done its work. Alone in the dark and the quiet, with not much to do except gaze upon him, she could not resist reviewing the past.
That look upon his face when he had declared his love—if he had meant it—in the fields of Longbourn…had it been a joke? He had not been chuckling or teasing, but then, he was not a chuckling or teasing sort of man. Not a joking sort of man. If she had to describe his expression, she would have called it…bewilderment. An impulse? Even now, after having been held within his arms twice, she could hardly credit it. If the declaration had been meant, he had certainly regretted it quickly enough. He had done nothing to correct her assumption, and she had not mistaken his relief when she had treated it lightly. She must remember that when, in his infirmity, he reached for her.
* * *
He did not waken again. When morning arrived at last, Mrs Taylor was dismayed that Lizzy had not roused her sooner. She agreed to administer Lizzy’s tea for his fever and sent a maid out to search for the sandalwood Lizzy wished for. Her alarm over Mr Darcy’s condition was plain.
Both Lizzy and Georgiana picked at their breakfasts whilst Lizzy considered what might be done about Lady Catherine. Perhaps more of the same ingredients but brewed into a tea that she might be served? A more immediate trouble presented itself, however, when Mrs Taylor hurried into the breakfast parlour.
“Miss Darcy, the doctor is returned. I told him he wasn’t to come until Lady Catherine sent for him, but he insisted upon speaking with her. I told him she was sleeping, but he then demanded to see his patient.”
Lizzy dropped her fork, and together they followed the housekeeper into the parlour, where the doctor waited.
“This is ridiculous,” he announced to Mrs Taylor. “I will go upstairs now—” He broke off as he saw the girls.
Lizzy saw that Georgiana was flummoxed and knew not how to act. “You have interrupted Miss Darcy’s breakfast, and Lady Catherine has not yet risen. You must return when she sends for you. Her orders were clear,” she declared.
His eyes narrowed at her. “Orders! I received no such orders. I will see my patient now, and you may take yourselves away!”
Lizzy clenched her fists, her temper flaring; fatigue and outrage contrived to break its bounds at last. “She did not care for your ill treatment of her nephew. She said you were unfit, a fool, and if you dared come here again with your nasty, ineffective tortures, she would post broadsheets with your picture all over London, declaring you a public nuisance and a fraud!”
“Why, you little imbecile!” he roared, his face red with fury. “I have never, in all my days, heard such—”
“Mr Donavan,” came a cold, imperious voice from the doorway. “You will be silent.” Lady Catherine, her hair dishevelled, her dress only partially buttoned, nevertheless emanated an authority that only an arrogance of birthright could manage.
Mr Donavan shut his mouth with a snap.
But then she turned to Lizzy. “As for you, young lady, what are you about?”
Lizzy felt all the hopelessness of her situation. Nevertheless, she had to try. “Please, my lady, I beg you to listen. This man has done nothing but torture your nephew and will do nothing to help him. Mr Darcy is not mad at all and would not be ill now except for—”
“That will be quite enough! I am ashamed of you! Prattling about such as you cannot possibly understand, denigrating one whose reputation is so far above your own, as to make yourself ridiculous in the effort.”
Within her frustration, Lizzy could see it plainly. To defend her own ineptitude, her ladyship defended her choice of physician. The old lady would never admit to mistakes, his or her own.
“He will murder your nephew. Will you give him your permission?”
Her eyes blazed. “Enough. Take yourself to your room while I decide what is to be done with you. Now!”
But Lady Catherine did not see the mangled flesh, the evidence of torture. Perhaps she does not realise the extent of his suffering.
Nothing mattered now, neither pride nor her future, not her low opinion of this woman, nothing except preventing Lady Catherine from authorising the death of Mr Darcy. Lizzy dropped to her knees. “Please, ma’am, I beg you. He has maimed and disfigured Mr Darcy, brutalised him. I believe you must care for and love your nephew. Please, I implore you, send Donavan away, disassociate yourself from such incompetence as he possesses.”
