Mid-morning at Rosings was a somber affair. Elizabeth's sick room became a regular stop as people came in and left to check on her. Such attentions frightened Elizabeth as Fitzwilliam could not be present the whole time, and she had in fact not seen him since last night. Worry, fatigue, and her vulnerable position made her convalescence an absolute torture.
Mr. Darcy's personal physician, Doctor Matthews, did his best to inquire discretely about all of her injuries, but with Lady Matlock in the room, Elizabeth's mortification over the entire ordeal won out.
“I'm terribly sorry, Miss Bennet, but I must ask. Did your cousin violate any personal privacy?”
“No, nothing of the kind. He was angry, he was not depraved.” Elizabeth sat up further in the bed, adamant to will herself healthy again.
“Miss Bennet, please, I must advise for you to rest and lay down properly. Mr. Darcy will be very cross—”
“It's quite alright, Doctor. Mr. Darcy is well aware there is little I do properly and he has accustomed himself to my faults.” Elizabeth wished to jump from the bed in joy that her mental faculties seemed fully returned. She checked for offense to Lady Matlock, Darcy's aunt that she had to say was a considerable improvement over the other relation of her acquaintance, but saw none. Instead the Colonel's mother appeared to enjoy her small jest.
The examination stopped when Mr. Darcy himself appeared, well dressed and attended to by his man. Elizabeth smiled and reached out to him, full of glee when he quickly came around to the other side of her sickbed. Grasping his hands, she immediately noticed his injuries.
“Fitzwilliam! You are hurt!”
Slightly sheepish, Darcy held out his hands and flexed them. Visible bruising and swelling bubbled around his knuckles, but he was certain none were broken.
“A most satisfying injury, my dear. Fear not.”
“But you must be attended to, there Dr. Matthews, see to his hands please. I am perfectly fine and fit, just a slight set back.” Elizabeth made sure not to wince as she settled the blankets more properly around her person. Her effects and Anna had arrived early this morning and she was very grateful to the maid in helping her change out of her ruined gown covered in blood, mud, and grass stains.
“How is she? This is her second head injury as I told you.”
Elizabeth frowned as her Fitzwilliam spoke about her like she was not there. Doctor Matthews replied that while the short-term effects were promising, it was still too early to say she was without permanent injury.
“Oh for pity's sakes! Lady Matlock, might I have a word in private with your nephew?” Elizabeth looked to the matron for support. She hoped she measured the woman correctly and felt relieved when her ally agreed, provided she might send Anna in. Elizabeth agreed and poor Doctor Matthews found himself swept out of the room and Fitzwilliam stunned at the sheer efficiency in which women work.
Gently, Elizabeth patted her bed to motion for Darcy to sit on the edge, a scandalous proposition, but she had a feeling they were far beyond the bounds of propriety in the strictures of the relationship. Fitzwilliam complied, if for no other reason to become closer to his Elizabeth for his and her own comfort.
“Fitzwilliam, I wish to leave this place.”
“Certainly, in a week or two, when you are recovered—”
“No, sir, I wish to leave within the hour, this very moment it may be managed. I am not safe here, I have visions of Lady Catherine barging in at any moment.”
“She is heavily sedated, a recommendation of Dr. Smeads I can finally agree with.”
Elizabeth turned slightly, sucking in her breath at the pain in her rib cage. Exhaling, she looked her Fitzwilliam in the eye and did not break contact.
“We must leave. To London. I cannot explain, but I know in my heart this place is too precarious. Lady Catherine cannot be kept unconscious forever. The Colonel and Anne have his parents to support them, we must leave.”
Taking another deep breath, she begged. “Rescue me, Fitzwilliam, take me away from this awful, awful place.”
Elizabeth sobbed as she collapsed forward into Darcy's chest, crying until she felt no more tears could possibly fall. The evil memories invoked by the doctor's examination overwhelmed her and she wished with all of her might to erase the horrors of the parsonage's sitting room.
Deep in Darcy's own soul a damn broke of the emotion he had held back. He had made a mistake once in not protecting her, he would not make another.
“As you wish, madame. As you wish.”