Author's note: here's the next chapter! Shall we have a Hunsford moment of sorts? Only, not in Hunsford. And not with a proposal, at least not yet. ;)
Chapter 20
"I am very pleased to report, Mrs. Hurst, that your husband is not going to die," the apothecary said with a kindly smile.
"Oh, thank the Lord," Louisa cried out, slumping over into Elizabeth's shoulder.
After a few moments, she straightened up and began wiping the tears from her cheeks. "How is he? Is he awake? May I see him?"
She made to stand, but Mr. Jones quickly stepped forward and motioned for her to sit back down.
"I'm afraid your husband is still unconscious, so there is no need to see him immediately. His valet and another manservant are making him more comfortable. Once he is settled, you will be able to sit with him, should you wish to do so."
"Yes, yes, I would like to do that," Louisa stammered.
"You said he is still unconscious, Mr. Jones?" Elizabeth asked. "What are his injuries?"
"As far as I can tell, he seems to be in remarkable shape. There is a lump on his forehead that seems to have bled a bit, but it stopped on its own before he was discovered. He has no broken bones that I can discover, and his lungs and extremities seem to have survived the cold night rather well. All things considered, he's quite a fortunate man."
"Then why isn't he awake?" Louisa asked fretfully.
"Well, the body has its own way of protecting itself. I imagine the blow to the head caused his brain to rattle around a bit." Mr. Jones hesitated, then added, "His breath also smells like he had been drinking before he went riding, so that may also be a factor. I expect that he should regain consciousness within the next day or two, if not sooner."
"And if he doesn't?"
"Then we can send for a doctor in town," Elizabeth said firmly. "But let's not borrow trouble, hm? Your husband has been found, and considering his horse was at the bottom of a ravine with a broken leg, the fact that Mr. Hurst only has a lump on the head is quite remarkable."
This bit of encouragement had its intended effect of lifting Louisa's spirits slightly. She gave her friend a small smile and said, "You are correct, Elizabeth. It could definitely be much worse."
Satisfied that the ladies were well, Mr. Jones excused himself to give the information to the two gentlemen who were waiting outside the rooms. Once he had left, Elizabeth said, "Now, while we wait for you to be able to see your husband, shall I tell you all about the proposal of marriage I received yesterday?"
Louisa gasped. "What? But who?"
Elizabeth let out a peal of laughter at her friend's astonished gaze, and the two ladies spent the next half hour giggling as the younger woman related the events of the prior day. Although Elizabeth tried to gloss past her injuries, Louisa insisted on pushing up her friend's sleeve and seeing the bruises.
She tsked in disapproval. "I have some salve that should ease the swelling and help the marks fade more quickly."
Fetching it from her trunk, she returned to the bed and began to rub it into the marks. "It's hard to believe a man of the cloth could behave in such a fashion."
"It may seem difficult to believe," Elizabeth said, "but I do not think he intended to be vicious or cruel. I think he merely did not know his own strength. It seemed… it was as if he'd never even been that close to a woman before and wasn't aware of how delicate we can be. His mind was a bit… simple, like Jane's, and he is easily led."
"As opposed to Reggie, who is quite intelligent. I think I know which husband I'd prefer," Louisa said quietly. "A simple husband you can direct is preferable to a strong-willed one who has no respect for his wife."
Elizabeth fell silent at this, then replied, "I'm ashamed to admit I'd never thought about it in those terms before. I suppose you are correct. I still cannot see myself married to such a man, however, no matter how easily I might manage him. But neither do I think him to be the worst of men for my encounter with him yesterday; the blame for that lies solely with my mother."
"She does have valid reasons, does she not?" Louisa asked. "She is unaware of my brother's desire to wed your sister, and your home will be lost upon your father's death."
She blushed, then said, "Forgive me, that was a bit forward."
Elizabeth sighed. "No, you are correct. In that case, some of the blame lies with my father. He could do much to ease her worries, but instead he chooses to amuse himself at her expense."
The conversation was interrupted by a light rap on the door between the rooms. Mr. Hurst's valet stood in the open doorway and said, "He is ready now, ma'am, if you wish to see him."
"That is my cue, then," Elizabeth said, standing and smoothing her skirts.
Before she left the room, she gave her friend a hug. "Be strong, Louisa. You can do anything you set your mind to," she whispered.
As Louisa turned back towards the gaping door that would lead to her husband's bedside, she repeated those words to herself. Slowly, she stepped towards the darkened room until she came to the comfortable chair that had been placed for her use at his side.
"Oh, Reggie," she murmured, brushing back a lock of hair from his pale face, careful to avoid the bandages covering his forehead.
All there was left to do now was pray.
Elizabeth was too exhausted to face anyone, so she returned to her rooms. To her delight, Jane was awake and eager to visit.
"Mr. Bingley is back!" Elizabeth informed her elder sister, who beamed with delight.
"Might I see him?"
"I believe he is quite tired from his travels," Elizabeth prevaricated. "Perhaps this evening, you and I take a tray in our rooms for dinner. Tomorrow, we can go downstairs for a time together, and you can visit with him."
Jane - always eager to please and be pleased - readily agreed to this plan. The two sisters spent the next the remainder of the day in one another's company. Elizabeth, ever the attentive sister, positioned herself near Jane's bed, a small book of poetry in hand. She read aloud in soft, soothing tones, hoping to offer some distraction from Jane's ailment. Every now and then, she would pause to adjust the blankets or offer Jane a sip of water.
Jane, for her part, listened with a gentle appreciation, her eyes reflecting gratitude and a touch of weariness. The simple act of being together, sharing this quiet evening, seemed to ease some of her discomfort, even if just for a moment. The room around them, filled with the subtle scent of lavender and the soft rustling of pages, became a sanctuary from the concerns of the outside world.
As the evening wore on, their conversation turned to lighter topics, reminiscences of their childhood, and shared laughter over past follies. Even in her weakened state, Jane's simplicity and goodness shone through, her spirit undimmed by her illness. Elizabeth fought to savor every moment; Jane's pale face and blue lips were an ever-present reminder that it would be one of the last times it would be just the two of them.
The night deepened, and Elizabeth, sensing Jane's growing fatigue, set aside the book. She leaned in for a gentle embrace, whispering words of encouragement and love. Jane, in response, offered a weak but genuine smile, the kind that Elizabeth cherished most.
"I'll see Mr. Bingley tomorrow, Lizzy," she said, a happy smile gracing her lips.
"You missed him, then?"
"Oh, yes! I wish I could see him every day. Wouldn't that be wonderful?"
"Indeed it would," Elizabeth replied softly.
With a final check to ensure her sister was comfortable, Elizabeth retired to her own room. Sleep was quick to over take her, and she slipped into dreams of happily ever after with a handsome gentleman whose face she couldn't see.
The next morning, Elizabeth awoke with the sun, an restless rage to stretch her legs pushing her out of bed and into the cold room. She dressed quickly and made her way downstairs, bypassing the breakfast room in favor of quietly escaping into the fresh air with disturbing anyone.
To her great surprise, she was no five minutes into her path towards Oakham Mount - the large hill between Netherfield and Longbourn - when she came across Darcy.
"Miss Elizabeth!" he exclaimed with surprise. "I had not expected to see you awake so early, what with the strains of the last few days."
She curtsied and replied, "I could say the same for yourself."
He gave a belated bow. "I supposed all the time in town and on horseback left me somewhat in need of a brisk walk. Before breakfast seemed to be the most appropriate time, as I anticipate there will be much to do today."
At Elizabeth's quizzical look, he added, "Now that Bingley has returned with the special license, I imagine he will be making preparations for the wedding."
"Oh! I had not… that is, with Mr. Hurst being injured, I didn't think…"
"Perhaps a conversation with Mrs. Hurst is in order," Darcy suggested.
"I will do that, thank you."
He extended his arm, and she reluctantly took it, resigning herself to his company for the foreseeable future. The pair fell into silence for several moments as they walked along the path, each lost in their own thoughts.
For her part, Elizabeth was trying to understand why, exactly, Darcy had returned to Netherfield with Bingley. The man's words and actions varied so frequently, she had no more idea of his character than she had of a total stranger's. At least with a stranger, she might have the luxury of starting from the beginning. With Darcy, she had witnessed and heard so many varying reports so as to trouble her exceedingly.
Making out Darcy's character was beginning to wear on her nerves.
The thought, sounding so reminiscent of her mother, caused Elizabeth to let out a small bark of laughter. Darcy looked at her askance. "Did I miss something amusing?"
"Oh, just a stray thought," she said with a faint blush.
"Ah."
They fell back into an awkward silence before Elizabeth finally said, "Come, Mr. Darcy, we must have some conversation!"
"Do you talk a w rule, then, while you are walking?"
"Sometimes, especially when I am with another person. One must speak a little, you know. It would be odd to be silent the entire time, so perhaps we ought to arrange the conversation so we may then have the trouble of saying as little as possible."
"Are you consulting your own feelings in the present case, or do you imagine that you are gratifying mine?"
"Both," replied Elizabeth archly; "for I have always seen a great similarity in the turn of our minds. We are each of an unsocial, taciturn disposition, unwilling to speak, unless we expect to say something that will amaze the whole room."
He let out a surprised bark of laughter. ""This is no very striking resemblance of your own temperament, I am sure. How near it may be to mine, I cannot pretend to say. You think it a faithful portrait, undoubtedly."
She fidgeted uncomfortably at this last sally, which was tinged with a slight hint of bitterness. "Well, sir, I do admit that I have been trying to make out your character."
He stopped suddenly, and as her arm was still entwined with his, she came to a sudden halt as well. She looked up into his eyes, suddenly aware of how closely they were standing. His gaze bored into hers, and she felt as thought she was being swallowed up in the depths of his soul.
"And what is your success?" His voice was soft, but it seemed to
"I do not get on at all. I hear such different accounts of you as puzzle me exceedingly."
"I can easily believe that," he said. "I wish, Miss Elizabeth, that you would not sketch my character at the present moment. I fear the performance would not reflect credit on either of us."
"But if I do not take your license now, I may never have another opportunity. You are to leave soon after the wedding, are you not?" She waited breathlessly for his answer, wondering why it even mattered to her if he stayed or went.
"I would by no means suspend any pleasure," the word came out like a caress, "of yours."
A slight shiver coursed through her as his words enveloped her in a cocoon of warmth. The slight movement was enough to fracture the spell that had held them bound, and he took a small step backwards, forcing distance between them. "There is a bit more wind than before. It is perhaps best we return to to the house before you take a chill."
Before Elizabeth could protest, Darcy steered the two of them around on the path and guided them back down the path from Oakham Mount towards Netherfield.
In an effort to banish the lingering sensations, Elizabeth frantically searched her mind for something to say. Finally, she settled on something that had been niggling at the back of her mind for several days. "Were you able to see your sister while you were in London?"
Darcy looked down at her in slight surprise. "My sister?"
"Yes, I believe you mentioned her shortly before you left. Louisa seemed surprised to discover that you even had a sister. I assume, then, that she is not out, if she has yet to make her acquaintance?"
"No, No… that is… well, no, she is not yet out. She is only just sixteen."
"Ah, that is one of the most trying ages. Does she give you much trouble, then? Young ladies of her age are sometimes a little difficult to manage."
"Why would you suppose such a thing?"
The manner in which he questioned her convinced Elizabeth that she must have guessed somewhat correctly. "Only that I have three younger sisters myself, Mr. Darcy!" she laughed. "I daresay all of us girls at one time or another gave our poor parents cause for concern. But you need not be frightened; I have never heard of any specific harm of your sister."
He relaxed and said, "I confess, I do not envy your father his responsibility in caring for five young ladies. I often feel at a loss with my sister, and there is only one of her."
"My father chooses to remain in his study with his books and port, leaving us to the care of our mother," Elizabeth said, the memories of her interactions with Mr. Collins and Mrs. Bennet still fresh in her mind. "He does, however, involve himself when the situation warrants it."
She involuntarily moved her hand over to the bruised arm that rested on Darcy's and lightly touched the sore parts, wincing slightly. Underneath her pelisse, the three-quarter sleeves of her casual walking dress barely covered the handprint-shape marks that were turning brown and yellow. Fortunately, the pelisse's fur-trimmed long sleeves did the job of hiding the injuries.
"It wasn't until my father's death some five years ago that I was truly able to involve myself in my sister's life," Darcy said. "Before that, she was… in her own establishment. Upon his passing, I brought her to Pemberley."
"Pemberley?"
"My estate, in Derbyshire."
"Oh, yes, of course. I believe Miss Bingley mentioned it a time or two."
He laughed at this bit of sarcasm. "Yes, she speaks of it frequently for someone who has never been there. In any case, there was an unfortunate incident with my sister's companion, and I then chose to bring her to London for the Season, so we could be together."
"But not to Netherfield?" Elizabeth asked curiously.
"No."
His curt response, so at odds with the openness displayed only moments before, took Elizabeth aback. She huffed slightly, once again confused by his manner. Just when she would begin to think that they were developing a friendship, he would do an about-face.
As they came around the last bend to Netherfield, a young girl of about eight years of age darted in front of them, causing Elizabeth to stumble in surprise. The girl, equally startled, tripped over her own feet and went sprawling into the dirt. The basket she carried flew out of her hands, and its contents lay strewn across the path.
"Polly!" Elizabeth exclaimed, a hint of censure in her voice. "What on earth are you doing, dashing about like that?"
The girl scrambled to her feet, grabbed her basket, and began picking up the various items that had fallen. Elizabeth stooped down to help, as did Darcy. "Thorry, Mith Lithy!" the girl said with a thick lisp. "Mum athked me to get a bathket from Cook at the big houthe and hurry back right away. Didn't think no one would be awake on the path right now."
"Is everything alright?" Elizabeth's tone changed to one of concern.
"Yes, mith. Mum gave Cook a handwoven blanket latht week, and Cook promithed to make thome thoft breadth and bisthuitth for me to pay for it. I wath to collect em, but I had to go quick cauthe it's almotht time for breakfatht."
The items all gathered, everyone rose to their feet. Darcy began to say something about needing to be more careful, but the words caught in his throat as he caught his first sight of Polly's face.
Similar to Georgiana, had a large scar that ran from one of her nostrils down to her lip. There was only one, however, and it had faded to white. It was thick, however, and it pulled her lip up, preventing her mouth from closing entirely. This was evidently the cause of her lisp, and her appearance was so jarring, Darcy could do nothing but stare.
Elizabeth, noticing Darcy's shock but misunderstanding the reason, quickly said, "No harm done, Polly, Now get along home, but be careful as you go around turns in the path!"
"Yeth, Mith Lithy!"
The girl waved jauntily, a wide grin on her face, then skipped happily out of sight, singing a merry tune as she went. Darcy stared after her for several seconds before blinking and turning back to Elizabeth, only to find her looking at him with a fierce, disapproving glare.
He cleared his throat. "That girl -" he began, but she immediately cut him off.
"Polly," she emphasized, "is a lovely girl who cannot help her appearance. She was born with a harelip, which Mr. Jones did his best to correct. She is kind, intelligent, and happy, and anyone who meets her is the better for it!"
"Then she is… accepted in Meryton? She goes to church, plays with friends, enters the mercantile - that sort of thing? Is seen in public?"
Elizabeth gaped at him. "Mr. Darcy," she said icily, "I know you consider people like Jane, Jamie, and Polly to be unnatural creatures, but they are human beings! Children of God! If our Lord and Savior Himself accepted the lame and blind into His presence, even going so far as to place His hands on them, bless them, and heal them, then certainly a wealthy man from Derbyshire can as well!"
Darcy's jaw dropped open. "And this is your opinion of me?" he cried. "This is the estimation in which you hold me!"
"I have every reason in the world to think ill of you. No motive can excuse the unjust and ungenerous manner in which you have treated my beloved sister, as well as others you feel deserving of your contempt. No, from almost the very moment I met you, your manners impressed me with the fullest belief of your arrogance, your conceit, and your selfish disdain for the feelings of others. But it is not merely that on which my dislike is founded. Not long after your first entrance into Meryton society, your character was unfolded to me by Mr. Wickham."
"Mr. Wickham?" Darcy repeated in astonishment. "You take an eager interest in that gentleman's concerns, do you?"
"Who that knows what his misfortunes have been can help but feel an interest in him?"
"His misfortunes?" Darcy replied blankly.
"Yes, his misfortunes, which have been of your infliction! You have reduced him to his present state of poverty. Your petty jealousies as a youth and your lies deprived him of his childhood home, his father's livelihood, his parents' lives, and his benefactor potential occupation. You, who was born with everything, had so much pride and jealousy that you could not stand to be second place in your father's eyes."
As Elizabeth raged, Darcy's face changed from confusion to anger to apathy. By the time she finished her diatribe, his face looked as if it had been carved from marble. She stood staring up at him, chest heaving with exertion. His eyes flickered down for the briefest moment, then he gave a bow and said formally, "You have said quite enough, madam. I perfectly comprehend your feelings. Forgive me for having taken up so much of your time."
He strode towards the manor, leaving Elizabeth to stare after him, dumbfounded.