Author's Notes

A bit of exposition: Elizabeth is restive and wild to be outside just after her accident in In the Depth of Winter. Darcy won't hear of it.

Overprotective

"If I promise to keep to the gardens?"

"Elizabeth," came sternly in reply.

"Then at the very least I might go downstairs. To the library! Dr Neil said there could be no harm in it."

"Anything you have need of can be brought to you. I shall fetch it myself."

Elizabeth exhaled—a violent, impatient sound. That was hardly the object. Crossing her arms as she sank into an armchair, she looked away from her husband, quite conscious that she must look like a petulant child, but far too vexed to let it be of any consequence.

"You cannot keep me here forever."

For above a week now, Darcy had refused to allow her to venture from their chambers, saying she needed constant rest to properly recover. He was implacable, and indeed, had it been left for him to decide, she would be confined to her bed altogether, but that indignity Elizabeth fought against to the last until he finally relented to the inadequate liberty of her being able to move about the bedroom and the adjoining parlor.

It was true, she was still weaker than she ought to have been, but she would never own to it. She shuddered to think how exponentially more unreasonable he might become if he were to learn of it. Besides, would not a little of her usual exertion help restore her constitution in full?

Darcy was certainly not of the same opinion, and to her displeasure, neither Jane nor Georgiana, not even ever-accommodating Charles, would be her champion in this matter. Both her sister and his either talked of something different when the topic arose as though to distract her, or were in outright agreement with him. On the occasions that he was present, Charles would only look to his friend and remain uncharacteristically silent. They all seemed convinced she was an invalid, and she would not have it.

There came another sigh, this time from him. "Elizabeth…do not be angry with me, please. If…if you had any idea…" he faltered.

She could not have kept herself from glancing back towards him had she wanted. His fingers were raking through his jetty mass of curls, leaving them in a bit of a disarray. The expression of anguish she would catch haunting his eyes every so often since she awoke had returned again, making him look boyish and lost.

Her heart was not of stone. Remorse pierced her for having been the cause of that hurt. She had forgotten how shaken he was over this entire affair.

Forsaking her seat and her pride, Elizabeth went to him. "I am sorry." She kissed him on the lips before burying her face against his chest. "I am a trying patient, I know. Jane told me so often enough growing up when I fell ill and she charged with nursing me back to health for me to know it to be true. After all, if she can say something the least bit uncharitable, it must be so."

"Hmm." She felt his lips curve into a small smile at her hair. "Whenever Georgiana felt unwell, she would liken me to a prison warden and more often than not escape from her rooms before I gave her leave."

Elizabeth laughed and said, "Oh do not tempt me."

His arms tightened around her a little and they held each other quietly for a time.

It was he who broke the silence. "What if we take a turn the length of the corridor? To my study, not beyond," he amended hastily.

Surprised, but by no means averse to his suggestion, Elizabeth approved of it at once. This, at last, was progress.

"But you shall still take tea with Jane and Georgiana in the adjacent parlor?" Darcy asked apprehensively, as though he feared his wife might suddenly run mad with this newfound freedom.

"Yes, Fitzwilliam," she assented, even as she tugged him towards the door by his hand.

"Stay a moment; you shall need a shawl. You cannot take cold from any drafts."

Restrained and cautious perhaps, but progress nonetheless.

End Author's Notes

Am I the only one who feels that Darcy would get along famously with Mr Woodhouse?