Darcy had been unable to banish Elizabeth Bennet from his mind. It had been weeks since receiving the troubling missive from the Netherfield housekeeper, and he was no closer to discovering her location. His investigator had confirmed that the Gardiners’ Gracechurch Street home was inhabited only by servants. Venturing to Meryton, the man made discreet inquiries about the Bennet family’s relations but had discovered nobody who might be hosting a wayward relative.
At first Darcy tried to convince himself that he could survive without the knowledge. After all, she was not a relative or his betrothed; her whereabouts were not his business. And surely Mr. and Mrs. Bennet would have sent their daughter somewhere safe. Then he thought about Mrs. Bennet shrieking and fluttering her hands, or Mr. Bennet idly reading in his study while the household fell into chaos around him. Then he was inclined to panic.
He reminded himself that she had declined his proposal and all offers of help; he was not responsible for her wellbeing. But his heart did not understand this reasoning. It simply wanted Elizabeth, whole and unharmed, preferably in Darcy House. Every moment of every day was shadowed by the knowledge that the woman he loved was somewhere in England—perhaps lost or in danger.
Darcy had finally decided he must travel to Longbourn himself. He hoped to persuade Elizabeth’s father to reveal her location, although it would not be easy. Most likely Mr. Bennet would assume Darcy’s interest was inappropriate. But if that plan failed, Darcy hoped he might convince one of Elizabeth’s careless younger sisters to let something slip. Once he made the decision, Darcy’s spirits felt lighter. It would be good to take some kind of action.
As luck would have it, that day’s post prompted a change in plans.
He was eating breakfast with Georgiana when a footman placed the morning post on the table. Perusing the pile of letters, Darcy found one from Hertfordshire in a feminine script—most definitely not Mrs. Cranston’s bold hand. Was it possible Elizabeth had returned home and was now writing to him for help? What a relief it would be!
“Excuse me, dearest,” he said to his sister, who was describing a new piece of music she was learning. “This is a matter of some urgency.”
“Of course.” Georgiana eyed the letter with concern.
He tore the letter open with trembling hands. His eyes immediately darted to the signature at the bottom: “Yours, etc. Jane Bennet.”
Jane Bennet!
Why would Miss Bennet write to him? It was the height of impropriety. Darcy’s anxiety instantly multiplied. Circumstances must be dire.
He read the letter hastily.
Dear Sir,
I pray you, forgive me for being so forward as to write you in this manner. It is only desperation that drives me to such lengths, and I rely on your discretion to conceal my impropriety. The matter is of some urgency. It concerns my sister Elizabeth. She had related to me that you had expressed some concern for her welfare and had given her a paper with your direction on it (which remains here at Longbourn). I believe she may be in need, and you may be in a position to help her.
Elizabeth left Longbourn approximately three weeks ago after an encounter with Lord Henry convinced her that he would continue to press his suit in a most distressing manner. Desiring to stem gossip, she confided her destination only to me and our father.
Her intention was to find a room to let in London and seek employment there. Although my father and I had some misgivings about her safety, she was determined to follow the plan. We received letters from her after her arrival in London. She had found lodging with a friend of the Gardiners’ housekeeper but did not give us the address. Her landlady did not want her receiving letters at the house, so we continued to send them to the Gardiners’ house on Gracechurch Street, where she collected them every few days.
Her letters stopped suddenly a few days ago. We wrote to the Gardiners’ housekeeper to ask if she had seen Elizabeth but have not received word from her either. I do not know what to think. An attack of gout has prevented my father from journeying to London to seek her. My sister has always been a faithful correspondent with me, and I fear for her wellbeing.
Perhaps I presume too much upon friendship to ask you to investigate the matter, and if so, please burn this letter and forget my inquiry. But I beg you for the sake of any affection you still bear for her, please look for my sister. I fear you may be the only person who can locate her.
Thank you and God bless you.
Yours, etc.
Jane Bennet
When he finished the letter, Darcy fell against the back of the chair with a thump. Elizabeth missing? Her whereabouts a mystery even to her own family? His mind conjured visions of all the terrible fates that could have befallen her. The missive’s only piece of good news was that Elizabeth probably remained in London, so he could begin a search immediately. He shifted restlessly in his chair, his whole body eager to start at once.
“William?” Georgiana regarded him with wide eyes. He could only imagine the dark expressions that had crossed his face as he read the letter.
He sighed. It was time to tell the story to his sister. “I have received disturbing information. It concerns the young lady I mentioned before, Elizabeth Bennet. You remember how Miss Bingley related the story of a scandal?” Georgiana nodded. Darcy then proceeded to relate the whole tale, omitting only his feelings about Elizabeth and the proposal.
When he finished, Georgiana’s hand was over her mouth, and tears welled in her eyes. “The poor girl!” she exclaimed. “I could have suffered a similar fate if you had not stopped Mr. Wickham. You must do all you can to find her, William!”
“I shall. Believe me.” Darcy stood, pushing his chair away from the table. And he knew exactly where to start: Gracechurch Street.
***
Darcy approached the modest brick house with neat curtains and broken shutters. It had been easy to determine why the Gardiners’ housekeeper had not responded to the Bennets’ inquiries: the woman was in Surrey caring for an ailing mother. Darcy had been required to interview nearly every servant in the Gardiners’ household before the cook recalled that Mrs. Greene had a friend who took boarders on Lime Street. As Darcy traversed the cracked pathway up to the front door, he prayed that he would find Elizabeth here. If not, he would not know where else to search.
His knock on the door was answered by a surly-faced frowsy woman with wisps of hair escaping from her white cap. Her expression went from irritated to mildly piqued as she took in Darcy’s obvious wealth. “What can I do for you, sir?” she asked. The odor of cooked cabbage wafted from the kitchen.
“I am looking for Elizabeth Bennet. Is she lodging with you?”
Her eyes narrowed. “The girls can’t have male visitors.”
Darcy ground his back teeth. He had not come so far to be stymied by a stupid rule. “Can you at least tell me if she resides here?”
Her lips pressed together as if she were trying to find a good reason to deny his inquiry. “Yes, she does,” the woman said finally.
Relief flooded Darcy’s veins. “Is she at home? May I speak with her?”
“Yes, she’s here, but she can’t take no male visitors.”
Oh, for the love of—! “Then will you tell her that I am here and ask her to come outside so we may converse in the street?”
The woman blinked slowly. “I could tell her that. But it wouldn’t do much good.”
Darcy bit back an angry retort. Why did this woman have to dole out information as if each word cost her money? “Why not?” he asked.
She shrugged. “She’s much too ill to come downstairs.”
Why was it suddenly so hard to breathe? Politeness be damned; he pushed his way past the woman into her small front hall. “Have you summoned a physician?”
She sneered at him. “I ain’t made of money, you know. I did have the apothecary to visit, but he couldn’t do nothing. She hasn’t even paid me for that, and she owes this week’s rent!”
Blast and damnation. This was worse than his worst imaginings. “Is she out of funds?”
“I don’t know.” The woman shook her head. “She hasn’t been awake long enough to ask.” Darcy gritted his teeth at the idea that Elizabeth’s lucid periods had been full of inquiries about the rent money. “If she dies, I’m having her body taken over to the Gardiners’ house, I am. I ain’t paying for a funeral.”
“Your Christian charity knows no bounds,” Darcy said dryly.
The woman stared at him, failing to comprehend his sarcasm.
His patience was officially at an end. “How much does she owe?” he growled at the landlady.
The woman hesitated, obviously wondering how much she could get from him.
“Here.” He thrust a guinea into her hand. “Take me to her.”
She sniffed. “But I run a respectable house. I cannot allow a man upstairs—”
“What do you possibly think I would do to sick lady, you miserable woman?” Two strides took him to the bottom of the stairs, causing the landlady to rush after him. “If you take me to her, I will remove her from this house, and she will cease to be your problem. If you do not take me to her immediately, I will proceed upstairs and open every door in this place until I find her.”
His words lit a fire under the woman. She hastened up the stairs with Darcy hard on her heels.
At the top of the stairs, she turned right and opened a narrow door. He followed her into a tiny room, dim even in the late morning light. The landlady marched to the window and drew back the curtains. Weak sunshine flooded the room, revealing that indeed Elizabeth was lying on the bed.
But she bore little resemblance to the woman he had last seen in Hertfordshire. She was quite a bit thinner, and her skin was pale, almost translucent in places. Dark purple smudges shadowed each eye. Cracked lips suggested that it had been a while since she had been given any water. A quick touch to her forehead confirmed that she was burning up with fever. She lay completely still, her only movement the labored up and down of her chest.
Darcy’s heart pounded a fast drumbeat and breathing became difficult. He fought the sense of dread welling up inside of him. I cannot panic; I am Elizabeth’s only hope.
Good God in Heaven, Darcy prayed desperately. Let me not be too late!
She needed to leave this place, and she needed a doctor. There was no time to waste. Deciding to take her to Darcy House, he wrapped the blankets around Elizabeth’s thin frame, alarmed that his actions did not rouse her in the slightest. The March day was mild, but he did not want to take the chance she might be chilled.
“Oi! Those be my blankets!” the landlady exclaimed.
Darcy glared at her. “You have been more than adequately compensated. Now pack up her things so I may take them as well.”
“I ain’t your servant!” The woman folded her arms over her chest indignantly.
“If you do not, I will send my footman to do it, and that will not do the reputation of your house any good,” he growled.
Grumbling, the woman set to work gathering Elizabeth’s clothing, which she packed rather haphazardly in the small trunk at the foot of the bed.
Darcy picked up Elizabeth, disturbed at how little effort it took, and carried her down the narrow stairs and out of the front door. The landlady followed with the trunk. He strode quickly to his carriage, wishing to minimize Elizabeth’s exposure to the wind and cold. Grimm, his driver, stared for a moment at the sight of his master carrying an unconscious woman but then hastened to open the carriage door. Darcy laid her carefully on the seat. She had not roused throughout the entire ordeal.
“Grimm,” Darcy called to the groom. “Please fetch Miss Bennet’s trunk.”
The man glanced back at the landlady standing sullenly in the doorway, nodded, and closed the carriage door. A few bumps and jostles told Darcy that Grimm had secured the trunk on the back of the carriage, and soon it lurched into motion.
Sitting beside Elizabeth, Darcy stroked her hair gently. “That is the last you will see of that wretched place, my love,” he promised her. “But I need you to hold on—for my sake. I cannot lose you now.”
***
Georgiana’s eyes nearly bulged out of her head when her brother carried an unconscious woman through the front door of Darcy House. Once he explained the circumstances, however, she sprang into action, sending a footman for the family doctor and having the maids lay a fire in the rose bedchamber. Darcy set Elizabeth gently on the bed, almost regretting that he could not continue to keep her in his arms; holding her felt completely right and natural.
Georgiana then shooed him out of the room while Mrs. Greenwood, the housekeeper, and Phillips, the upstairs maid, changed Elizabeth into a clean gown, settled her under the covers, and bathed her in cool water to bring down the fever.
Darcy had a pile of papers in the study that required his attention, but he could not bear to leave the vicinity of Elizabeth’s room. He paced the hallway outside her door, waiting for his sister to emerge. When she did, he peppered her with questions about Elizabeth’s condition.
“I do not know.” Georgiana shook her head. “I think her color may have improved, but Greenwood had no luck getting her to drink. Hopefully the doctor will arrive quickly.”
Darcy was not good at waiting under the best of circumstances, but with the fate of the woman he loved in the balance…the delay had the potential to drive him mad. Despite the impropriety, he wanted to be in her room. He knew the sight of her sunken cheeks and pallor would twist his stomach into knots, yet he needed to see her and reassure himself that she still breathed. Being separated from her made her life feel all the more fragile to him.
He had been prepared for the idea that she might never be his wife, but not for this —never for this. How could he live in a world that did not somewhere contain Elizabeth Bennet? He pressed his fist against his mouth to muffle a moan.
After what seemed an eternity, Dr. Hanson arrived. His cravat was askew and his hair was unkempt, as if the Darcy House footman had dragged him from his home before he had a chance to glance in the mirror.
Darcy approved.
Propriety be damned, Darcy followed the physician into Elizabeth’s room and observed his examination. But the doctor’s every murmur or exclamation of “hmm,” caused Darcy’s pulse to race. Soon he retreated to the hallway, where Georgiana joined his anxious vigil.
Finally, the doctor slipped out of the chamber, closing the door softly behind him. Georgiana and Darcy both regarded Hanson with worried eyes. His expression was grim. “Miss Bennet has a fever and an infection in her lungs. My guess is that it has been untreated for several days and thus has reached an advanced state.”
Darcy wanted to return to Lime Street and strangle the landlady.
“She is young and strong, but the illness has taken a powerful hold.” The doctor folded his arms over his chest. “Frankly, I would have expected her to be on the mend by this stage of the illness. I do not like that she is still so sick.” The man sighed. “We can only wait and pray for her return to health. But you must prepare yourself for the worst.”
Darcy felt as if he had fallen through the ice into freezing water, and now he was gasping for breath. Surely…surely it could not be so dire. He could not have found her again only to lose her in such a way. Fate could not be so cruel. “There must be something you can do for her. Some medicine,” he said to the doctor, but the man only shook his head.
The world tilted, and Darcy reached out blindly for the wall to steady himself. Hanson cried, “Here now!” and grabbed his other arm.
The doctor held him while Georgiana pulled a chair out of the bedchamber across the hall and glared at Darcy until he sat in it. “Do not rush to stand up,” Hanson warned. “I do not need another patient in this house.” He grinned at his little joke, but Darcy could not bring himself to return it. Instead, he leaned forward, cradling his head in his hands.
“What can we do for her?” Georgiana asked the physician.
“Bathe her in cool water as you have been doing to keep down the fever. Make sure she drinks water. Fevers can dehydrate a body.”
Darcy should stand, shake the doctor’s hand, thank him for coming, and walk the man to the entrance, but he could not move. A leaden weariness had crept into his muscles, and his limbs were suddenly too heavy to move even the smallest inch.
He watched Georgiana thank the man and escort him down the front staircase. Elizabeth might die. I can do nothing. The thoughts circled around and around obsessively, not permitting any other thoughts in.
After a minute, he realized Georgiana was standing before him. They exchanged grim looks. “I will have Mrs. Greenwood and Phillips take turns sitting with Miss Bennet during the night,” Georgiana said.
“No.” Darcy was on his feet without having decided to stand. “I will sit with her.” Fortunately, his legs stayed firmly beneath him.
Georgiana frowned at him. “You cannot. She is young, unmarried, and—”
“She is hardly in a state where I could take advantage of her, and I cannot—” His voice cracked. He swallowed and spoke again. “I cannot be apart from her. Not now.”
Georgiana tipped her head to the side as she considered. “I suppose her reputation is compromised already…”
“Through no fault of her own,” Darcy said sharply.
She sighed. “I did not intend to imply otherwise.” Pursing her lips, Georgiana lingered at the door to Elizabeth’s room. “Phillips and I can take turns sitting with you. If she awakes feverish and disoriented, she might be scared to be alone with a man.”
Darcy could envision such a scenario all too clearly. He had not been considering things from Elizabeth’s perspective. Bless Georgiana for thinking of such things! “When did you grow so wise?” he asked.
Georgiana gave him an impish grin. “We should be thankful, Brother, that Mrs. Annesley has gone to visit her son in Newcastle.” Darcy could imagine what the very proper lady’s companion would have to say. “She would not have approved of this arrangement.”
Darcy breathed out a laugh. “Indeed not.”
***
The sick room was deathly quiet aside from the grating sounds of labored breathing from Elizabeth’s bed and the occasional rustling of bed covers. The doctor had recommended a roaring fire, so it was stiflingly warm with the cloying smell that all sick rooms seemed to acquire. Darcy stripped down to his shirtsleeves and removed his cravat. He was seized by a need to pace, but he dared not move from Elizabeth’s side.
Three times she had taken a lengthy pause before another gasping breath. Each time, Darcy had frantically surged to his feet, fearing the worst, only to fall back into his chair with relief when she resumed normal breathing. He dreaded hearing another such pause, and anxiety prevented him from leaving her side for a second, although deep in his heart he knew there was nothing he could do to ensure she continued to breathe.
He did what he could to ensure her comfort. At first Phillips bathed Elizabeth’s forehead and neck in water to cool the fever, but Darcy soon insisted on taking over the task, prompting raised eyebrows from the maid. He could not articulate to her why he had to do it, only that he did not want to waste any opportunity to care for her.
The situation had eerie echoes of the long vigil by his father’s bedside during his final illness, a parallel Darcy did not find reassuring. He prayed, begging and pleading with God with a fervor he had never before experienced. He would do anything—be anything—that Elizabeth required as long as she survived. Even if she were determined never to see Darcy again… The pain of that thought made him catch his breath. But even banishment from her presence would be far better than losing her forever.
If only he could have the briefest glimpse of her sparkling blue eyes! But they remained firmly closed. The figure in the bed scarcely seemed like Elizabeth without her fine eyes, alive with wit and merriment. Her smile was absent as well. He was accustomed to seeing those slack lips animated with humor and ready with a quip. Such simple things, easily taken for granted. At the moment nothing in the world would make him happier than to see her smile and her eyes.
If God granted him another opportunity, he vowed, he would not allow her to slip away from him again.
After several hours the silence grated on him, so Darcy sent Phillips to fetch a few volumes of Shakespeare from the library. He read aloud several of his favorite sonnets to Elizabeth. Then he started on King Lear, which Elizabeth had once declared a favorite. However, the darkness of the play weighed down his spirits, and Darcy switched instead to As You Like It, a work he could easily imagine Elizabeth enjoying.
Around midnight, Elizabeth’s health took a turn, but not for the better. At first she moved restlessly, mumbling incoherent nothings into the pillows. Then her movements became more agitated. In the grips of a high fever, she thrashed about, pulling out the bed covers, breathing rapidly, and crying out wordlessly. One flailing arm actually dealt a glancing blow to Darcy’s cheek.
Alarmed, Darcy sent again for Dr. Hanson, who labeled the agitation the result of febrile phantasms and claimed there was nothing to be done. “The fever will break during the night…or it will not,” Hanson proclaimed.
After Hanson’s departure, Georgiana took Phillips’s place. Brother and sister developed a routine of applying wet cloths and attempting, with some success, to get Elizabeth to sip a bit of water. Darcy clung to Elizabeth’s hand, stroking her arm and kissing her fingertips, hoping to soothe her. Soon the thrashing stopped, and Elizabeth rested quietly, but the fever showed no signs of improvement.
At about two in the morning, Georgiana could no longer keep her eyes open, and Darcy sent her to her bedchamber over her objections.
Despite Darcy’s fatigue, restless energy coursed through his body until he could no longer bear to sit by Elizabeth’s bedside. He paced endlessly around the room, attempting to banish visions of the worst that could happen. After long minutes of prowling around the furniture, it seemed the most natural thing in the world to speak with Elizabeth—even in her unconscious state.
“You cannot die, Elizabeth,” he growled at her. “You cannot! I have only just found you again after weeks of uncertainty and days of frantic searching. I cannot lose you now. Do not leave me and force me to live in a world where you do not exist!” Darcy realized he was shouting as he loomed over Elizabeth’s bed. He fell back into a chair and dropped his head into his hands.
There was no sense in berating a sick woman. The situation was not of her choosing. Yet Darcy could not seem to calm the anger seething in his veins
The anxiety drove him to pace again; perhaps it gave the illusion that somehow he could outrun his fate.
After several minutes of pacing, Darcy stopped in the middle of the room, regarding Elizabeth with beseeching eyes. “We have never even kissed! Although I imagined it many times. How your lips would feel…how your mouth would taste…how your hair would feel in my fingers…and yet we have not kissed.” His voice cracked, and he paused for a moment. “If you leave me, you rob me of the opportunity to experience these things…if you would allow them.”
Her face was gaunt and flushed, yet it was still the most beautiful face he had ever beheld. “I have permitted myself the fantasy that you would allow my kisses…or, dare I think, welcome them.” He gave a wry chuckle. “If you think otherwise, you must wake and berate me for it.” His fingers squeezed the footboard until they turned white. “I would even welcome that. Of course, I would try to change your mind…” At this point a lump in his throat prevented further speech. Darcy let his head drop as he struggled to regain his composure.
He strode back to her bedside and took a limp hand in his, stroking it gently. “I had planned to spend days discovering your preferences. Do you like to have your hair brushed? Is your neck sensitive to kisses? How would you like it if I stroked your cheek thus?” His finger brushed softly down one cheek. “Does that give you pleasure?” His eyes burned, and he swallowed hard.
“I pray you, do not leave me! I could make you so happy if you stay.” He inched his chair closer to the bed. “There are so many things I want to share with you. You have never met Georgiana or seen Pemberley—and they are the poorer for it. They need you, too, even if they do not know it.” He kissed the palm of her hand, the soft skin on the inside of her wrist.
Tears rolled down his cheeks unchecked.
Finally, he stood, folding her hand over her breast with the other one. In this pose, she resembled the carved stone effigies that marked tombs in Westminster Abbey, a comparison he desperately wanted to forget. “Do not leave me,” he pleaded softly. “I want that first kiss…” Then he bowed his head and prayed fervently.
Elizabeth no longer thrashed, but now her head turned, and her hands moved restlessly over the covers. Darcy stroked Elizabeth’s long dark curls, running his fingers from the crown of her head to her shoulders. The movement soothed some of her agitation.
Darcy knew he should sleep, and yet he could not tear his eyes from her. He could not bear to lose one moment by her side.
Later, as he brushed his fingers down the side of her cheek, her head turned, and she nuzzled her face into his palm like a wild animal that had decided to trust him. Darcy’s breath caught, and he froze in place. She sighed—a sweet, contented sound—and fell into a deep, very still sleep.
Darcy did not dare move his hand. Resting her face against his palm seemed to bring her such pleasure that he would have gladly left it there for all eternity. Eventually, she turned her head in the other direction, allowing Darcy to extricate his hand, but Napoleon’s troops could not have dragged him from her bedside.
After several hours, Darcy’s eyes threatened to close. He crossed his arms on the edge of the bed and pillowed his head on them. Perhaps he could rest just a little.