AN: A lot of you seem really scared that I'm going to do something insane but don't even worry I love Elizabeth and Darcy more than anything. That being said, though I don't want to spoil anything there will be mentions of past miscarriages in this story. Nothing graphic and dealt with as far more of an emotional concept but I know it's sensitive. While I've done research I'm also writing out of experiences I've had with people close to me so try not to get too angry about the depiction.

Also don't take this story for me thinking that contagious diseases aren't a real and serious thing. Elizabeth is quarantined to her room really and she's super wealthy so she wouldn't be left alone. I was writing to be kind of reflective of Beth's illness in Little Women (doesn't mean the ending is the same!) Maybe Darcy wouldn't be with her cause contagion but also we all know he's obsessed with her. I'm not a doctor though so please correct me if you see major problems. This isn't a reflection in any way on how you should be dealing with the pandemic and I'm sorry if I offended anyone! Let me know what you think and maybe I'll get an update out earlier :)

"Dr. Franklin, it has been more than a week. My wife told me that the Smith children were recovered in much less time without formal medical care."

Dr. Franklin cringes at the jab to his expertise, though knowing that the tired man in front of him was pushed to the insult not out of doubt for his skill but from the stress of his wife's illness. "Mr. Darcy, as I have told you before, children can display a resiliency that astounds. No patient is going to react to an illness in quite the same way and Mrs. Darcy is healing as fast as she can."

Darcy scowls and crosses his arms, "Is there nothing we can do?"

"Medicine has not progressed so far that it can cure any affliction, unfortunately our best tool against it is the strength of our own bodies. Mrs. Darcy was in peak health prior to sickness and she is fighting as hard as she can to overcome it."

Darcy nods again and looks in the direction of his wife's chambers. The last week has consisted of many sleepless nights, his wife getting weaker by the day. At this point, the amount of lost weight terrifies him as much as her inability to stand without assistance. It was alarmingly like the illness that had claimed his mother a decade prior and every day without improvement sends him deeper into hopelessness. He had not been allowed to see his mother for fear of contagion, but his father had allowed him to say his goodbyes after her passing. She had looked so different, so foreign, and so small. So like his Elizabeth now.

After exchanging requisite pleasantries, he dismisses the doctor and falls into the chair at his desk. Though his wife ails, the business of his estates cannot be put off forever. The first couple of days had been easier, Elizabeth had slept so often that he was able to deal with his correspondence and still provide her water or broth when needed. On the third night, things had taken a horrible turn when her fever had spiked suddenly. She spent the next four days in delirium calling out for him or Jane, even Mrs. Bennet. He had been unable to sleep, unable to focus for fear that the second he looked away would be when she slipped away forever. He had gone so far as sending for her family thinking that they might need to say their goodbyes.

Her parents, or her mother, had expressed their inability to travel due to the snow and their fear of catching the sickness at their old age. Mrs. Bennet had included a letter for Elizabeth, perhaps containing the more intimate thoughts of a mother to a child on their deathbed, that he would have read to her had her fever not broken that day. Jane and Bingley had similar concerns, Jane being too close to the delivery of their child.

Once the fever had broken, the doctor had assured him that she was out of the woods. She was at least able to talk now though her spirits were low and everything seemed to tire her. He had spent so little time with her while she was awake.

Towards supper that evening, which he had been taking in his study due to Georgiana's removal to London and his wife being obviously indisposed, there was a light knock at the door. Elizabeth's maid waited outside the threshold, always too cautious to actually come in.

"Sir, Mrs. Darcy woke earlier in the day-"

"And you did not retrieve me?"

"She requested some time in private to respond to her correspondence, it is just that one letter seems to have disturbed her deeply and I fear the dangers of such a disruption for her continued recovery."

Darcy grips his quill tighter in anger. He would never do Elizabeth the injustice of reviewing her notes without her permission, she has the freedom to write with whomever she pleases at whatever frequency. Her letters always give her great joy as he knows she continues to feel the absence of her closeness with her sisters. It is unimaginable that a relation could intentionally cause her further distress knowing her current state.

"Which piece of correspondence caused this reaction?"

"The letter from Mrs. Bennet received earlier this week."

Darcy amends the previous statement in his head, knowing that of all her relations Mrs. Bennet would be the most likely to cause offense at such a time. He shakes his head and follows Mary to his wife's chambers.

He walks in on a scene that makes his heart squeeze. Elizabeth is sitting in her bed, pillows propped behind her back and a tray to her side that must have been in her lap for writing. She is clutching a piece of paper to her chest and twisted in a way that looks uncomfortable. There are dried tear tracks down her face, but it appears that her sorrow tired her to the point of sleep.

Darcy gently unclasps her fingers from the sheet of crumpled paper and tries to arrange her body more comfortably without waking her. Once he is satisfied, he places himself in the chair that had been his constant companion for many days and begins to read.

Dearest Lizzy,

I was most distressed to hear of your illness from your husband, you know how my nerves are tried by such things and I did hope that you could have made it longer without concerning me once again. Knowing your recent propensity for wallowing in illness, no doubt motivated by your increase in wealth, I did not notify your father. He is too old to be worried by the silliness of his grown and married daughter in such a way. I did Mr. Darcy the courtesy of responding to his inquiry on his behalf.

Though I was confident that our conversation this spring had succeeded in being understood, it seems as though I must explain it once again. You have married much above your station and as such, you must produce Mr. Darcy an heir. As a mother who has suffered multiple incidents of similar proportions to what you experienced this spring, there is no excuse for your continued maligning. Women have been persevering through such ordeals since the beginning of time and if anything, your wealth should be your greatest motivator in completing your duty. I will not have your younger sisters tainted by the reputation which a weak relation can provide.

I realize the impropriety of such discussion, but you have left me no choice, please-

Before Darcy could finish reading the sentence, the letter is yanked from his grasp. He looks up in surprise, previously too engrossed to notice that his sickly wife had risen from bed and made her way to standing in front of him. She appears physically unsteady, but her eyes are fierce and angry.

"Mr. Darcy, am I no longer entitled to privacy in my correspondence? Has my illness made me an invalid?"

"Elizabeth. No, you are entitled to all the privacy in the world you know this. But Mary notified me of your distress and seeing you so upset I just wanted to be of some assistance."

Elizabeth stood over him, her hand crumpling the sheets of paper into a tight ball. "And what is your assessment of this? How do you suppose you would be of assistance?"

"Preventing Mrs. Bennet from ever stepping foot on Pemberley ground for one thing. But Elizabeth, you must know, the contents of this letter- we never discussed- you never mentioned-" He cuts off, at a loss for how to broach the subject which her mother had so cruelly aired.

Elizabeth wobbles on her feet and Darcy quickly stands up and guides her back to her bed. With the peak of her anger it was so easy to forget how sick she had been just a week earlier. He props the pillows behind her back to give her the integrity of addressing him upright.

"It is not the business of husband, especially not that of a wealthy gentleman, to know the specifics of the female condition."

He scoffs, "And where did you hear this? From your wise and proper mother? Lizzy, I wish to know you in every possible light. And if I have interpreted the contents of that page correctly, this is a subject which concerns us both."

"Please leave," she whispers, her voice barely audible.

"Elizabeth-"

"Leave!" And the force of her word feels as though it could physically knocks him off his feet. She shudders and crumples the letter tighter in her fist, "I would prefer to be alone."

"You should not suffer-"

"I asked you to remove yourself, and if you will not then I will."

Darcy looks at her shaky hands and knows that it is either an empty threat or that her stubbornness would push her to further injury. He makes his way to the door, looking back at her and catching a glimpse of her tearstained face. "When you wish to speak with me, know that I will always come."

She nods without another response and he exits the chambers, letting the door close softly behind him.