Author's note: Thank you all for your kind words and insight! Let's get Elizabeth some clarity and understanding, shall we? And find out once and for all what has happened to poor Georgiana.

Chapter 14

Elizabeth slowly descended the main staircase of Pemberley, leaning heavily on Plumelle's arm. She had spent the entire day before in bed, and by the end she had begged the apothecary to allow her to have some liberty.

"You may go down tomorrow morning for breakfast if you still have not developed a fever," he told her in a kind voice. "I will also allow a visit from the modiste or a seamstress for warmer clothes. It is vital that you do not catch any more chills this winter, or the results could be quite disastrous, if not deadly," he warned with a sterner tone.

Mrs. Reynolds— whose lips were pursed in disagreement— also added her own condition that Plumelle or another maid must be with Mrs. Darcy at all times, in case she were to suffer a relapse.

Eager to be free of her bedchamber and the reminder that her husband was still drugged senseless and injured on the other side of the door, Elizabeth fervently nodded her agreement to anything that would allow her to leave the room.

Thus, instead of taking a tray in her room for the morning meal— as many fashionable married ladies did even when they weren't ill— Elizabeth chose to dine in the small breakfast room. Knowing her husband was still abed, she anticipated it only being herself, Plumelle, and any other servants.

"Oh!"

Elizabeth's cry of surprise caused the strange man in a full regimental uniform standing at the sideboard to startle slightly and spin around quickly. The result of his rapid movements was that the scrambled eggs and toast on his plate went flying across the room, scattering over the plush carpets.

"Blast!" He flushed slightly and stammered out an apology. "Forgive me, madam. It has been a long night. May I presume you are Mrs. Darcy? There is no one here to perform the introductions," he added with a winning smile.

"Yes," Elizabeth replied cautiously. "And you are…?"

"Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, at your service." He gave a sharp bow. "I am Darcy's cousin," he further explained after noticing her look of confusion. "Has he never spoken of me?"

Elizabeth eyes darted to Plumelle, who nodded slightly in confirmation. "I'm afraid I know very little about my husband's family," Elizabeth said, relaxing somewhat.

"Here, please sit, Mrs. Darcy," Plumelle interjected, taking Elizabeth by the arm and leading her to a chair. "I shall fetch your breakfast for you."

Elizabeth hesitated before taking a seat at the long table. Once the Colonel had filled his plate, he sat down across from her. "So Darcy has never spoken of me, eh? I suppose I should not be surprised, given that he never told us about you. Of course, he'd have to actually communicate with us."

"Us?" Elizabeth inquired, taking a sip of tea before spooning some jam onto a bit of toast.

"His relatives on his mother's side. She was the younger sister of my father, the current earl of Matlock."

She choked slightly on the bit of egg in her mouth. "Forgive me, sir. I had no idea."

He waved a hand nonchalantly. "My elder brother Milton— the viscount and my father's heir— is the one who is more concerned about being treated like the son of an earl. My younger brother Percy and I are the two rational sons." This last bit was accompanied by a roguish grin.

Elizabeth couldn't help but giggle slightly. "I imagine you live near to Pemberley, then? You arrived so quickly after—"

Her voice broke off, uncertain as to what to call the entire debacle from the other night. Accident made it seem as though there was no one at fault, and yet Darcy would not be lying in his bed right now if it weren't for her foolishness. The toast in her mouth suddenly tasted like ash.

The colonel ignored her prevarication and answered, "Yes, Matlock— my father's estate— lies in the southern part of Derbyshire. It takes less than an hour on horse to get here."

"Yet I have seen nothing of you or your family in the weeks I have been married to your cousin." Elizabeth posed her statement as more of a question.

Fitzwilliam sighed heavily. "Yes, well, ever since Darcy was attacked, he has lived as a recluse, driving everyone away. We have not seen him nor spoken to him in several years."

"Since… since his… accident?" The hesitancy with which she spoke the last word caused him to look up from his breakfast plate at her at her through narrowed eyes.

"What do you know about it?"

She shook her head. "Not much, really. I've heard so many different things from different sources so as to puzzle me exceedingly. I can vouch for the fact, however, that he most definitely does not transform into a creature of the night once the sun goes down."

Her witty reply caused the colonel to let out a sharp burst of laughter. "The tales have grown more fanciful, then," he chortled.

"Apparently. Other than the fact that he was clearly burned, I know absolutely nothing." Good manners forced her to keep from prying, but she couldn't help but to look at Fitzwilliam pleadingly, begging him with her eyes to help her understand her husband.

"Because Darcy is an idiot," he sighed. "His pride would rather have him cooped up at home, rather than open himself up and allow his family and friends in."

Surely his family wouldn't have interest in maintaining a relationship if he'd killed his sister, Elizabeth thought. Aloud, she said, "I imagine such a tragedy would change anyone."

"Especially when it was caused by a betrayal of someone you once loved," Fitzwilliam replied grimly, taking a bit of his eggs..

Elizabeth's eyebrows flew up her brow. "Someone… someone he loved?" she whispered.

"Oh, no… nothing like that. You see, a former friend came to visit Darcy to make a request about five years ago. When Darcy's father died, this man had received a bequest. He spent all of it— several thousand pounds— in just a few short years, and he came back to request more."

A sick feeling welled up in Elizabeth's stomach as the somewhat-familiar story was recounted to her. "Darcy denied the man, as the money had been spent in a quite… let's just say ungentlemanly way. The man became enraged and, in his anger, shoved my cousin backwards into the fire grate."

She gasped and brought her hand up to her cover mouth, her food forgotten on her plate. "The man fled," Fitzwilliam continued, "leaving my cousin for dead. His sister Georgiana, who was but eleven years of age at the time, broke free from her governess and saw the damage first-hand. She wasn't quite the same after that."

"The poor girl," Elizabeth whispered, her eyes filling with tears.

"She fainted at the sight; a footman had to take her to her room while my father and I tried to keep the apothecary from killing Darcy with his antiquated treatments. Fortunately, my batman has had experience with burn treatments during our time on the continent, and he was able to save my cousin's life."

"It was truly a miracle," she replied. "I've seen the scars, and—"

"You've seen the scars?" Fitzwilliam's cup paused halfway to his lips as he stared at her in astonishment.

Blushing furiously, she said, "It was entirely on accident. I… I came into the room in the west wing when I heard cries of pain. He was… quite upset with me, and I'm afraid that's why I left. If… if I had only stayed in my room and obeyed, he wouldn't be—" Her voice broke off as she desperately fought back tears.

Peering at her closely, Fitzwilliam said in a cool voice, "You know, most women in your situation would be grateful for his death. After all, it would make you quite the wealthy widow."

"How can you say that?" she cried. "I may not have married Mr. Darcy for love, and he may have attacked and imprisoned my father, but I would never wish the death of another person, especially not my husband! I made vows before God, sir, and I do not take them lightly."

He raised both hands. "Peace, Mrs. Darcy. My apologies for upsetting you. I think, however, you can understand my position. My cousin has been a recluse for five years. Then suddenly I receive news that not only is he injured, but he did so to save the life of his wife. Considering the fact that we did not even know he was married, I think I have just cause to be suspicious."

Elizabeth acknowledged the truth of his statement with a nod. "I would be wary as well, if it were one of my sisters in such a predicament."

"How many sisters do you have?"

"Four, no brothers."

Fitzwilliam's eyes widened as choked slightly on a bit of tea. "Oh my. Your house must have been—" he searched for a fitting word— "lively."

She chuckled. "That it was."

"I think Georgiana would have liked to have had a sister growing up. She was always eager for her brother to marry."

"I'm sure she was a lovely girl."

He gave her a strange look. "She is quite lovely. I only wish Darcy would allow me to bring her back to Pemberley."

Her jaw dropped. "Miss Darcy is… alive?"

"Of course she's alive! She's at Matlock with my parents, for heaven's sake. Darcy has refused to see her since the unfortunate incident. The dolt thinks he's protecting her, and she thinks he despises her weakness for having fainted. He forbids me to bring her here, even though it's exactly what she needs, even If just for a visit."

Taking a large bite of bacon, he chewed for several long moments while Elizabeth mulled over this information. At last he asked, "What on earth made yo u think Georgiana was dead?"

"It's just that… well, you see…" her voice faltered. "When my father came to Lambton to visit, my aunt wrote to me of some of the rumors about Darcy. One of the officers in the regiment that is stationed near our village is from this area. He— Lieutenant Wickham— claims he was here the night Miss Darcy was carried lifeless from the room."

Fitzwilliam leaped to his feet, the silverware in his hands clattering to the floor. "Wickham?" he demanded, banging his fist on the table. "That lying, silver-tongued devil!"

Elizabet watched with wide eyes, shrinking slightly down into her seat. Gone was the charming colonel; in his place was a battle-hardened soldier with a face set like steel. He noticed her fright and took several deep breaths to calm himself before resuming his place on his chair.

"My apologies, Mrs. Darcy," he said in a cold, formal tone. "Your Lieutenant Wickham is the same man who shoved Darcy into the fire five years ago."

She gasped, equal amounts of horror and outrage coursing through her. "I had no idea! And he is not my Mr. Wickham. He is barely an acquaintance I made in Hertfordshire. Had I known he was such a villain, I would have never accepted the introduction."

"Then your marriage to my cousin has nothing to do with the acquaintance?"

"No! I married Mr. Darcy to save my father's life!"

Stunned and confused, Fitzwilliam sat back in his chair. Elizabeth went on, "He was imprisoned for attempting to take rose clippings from Pemberley. Mr. Darcy caught him and had him arrested. I traded myself for my father's freedom."

"Why… why would my cousin do such a thing?"

"I believe he needs an heir," she replied stiffly, heat suffusing her face.

"Ah." Colonel Fitzwilliam cleared his throat. "It seems, Mrs. Darcy, that neither you nor possesses all of the facts in this matter. Perhaps we can each start from the beginning and share everything know?"

Her shoulders sagged with relief. "Yes, Colonel, I think that is an excellent idea. Shall we move to the front parlor to be more comfortable? This may take some time."

"And that, sir, is a faithful narrative of all my interactions with anyone related to Pemberley."

In the hour and a half it had taken Elizabeth and Colonel Fitzwilliam to each recount their stories, they had only been interrupted once by a maid to inform them that Darcy was still asleep. Plumelle had been excused, for though Elizabeth trusted the maid whole-heartedly, she sensed that Darcy would not appreciate anyone knowing what Fitzwilliam was about to share.

Fitzwilliam sat back in his chair and said, "Darcy has become a recluse, but it seems that it's not just because of his appearance. The pain and the laudanum he uses to numb it have changed him from the man he once was."

"What was he like, before?"

Colonel Fitzwilliam looked thoughtful for a moment before speaking, his eyes reflecting memories of a different time.

"Darcy, before the fire, was a remarkable man," he began, his voice filled with a mix of nostalgia and sorrow. "He was always reserved, but there was a warmth to him, a genuine kindness that those who knew him well could see. He was fiercely loyal to his friends and family, and he took his responsibilities as the master of Pemberley very seriously. His sense of duty was unwavering, but it was balanced with a generosity of spirit. He supported many in the community quietly, never seeking recognition for his good deeds."

Fitzwilliam paused, a small smile playing on his lips. "He had a sharp wit, and though he could come off as aloof to strangers, those close to him knew his playful side. He was passionate about his interests, especially in improving the estate and caring for the tenants. And with Georgiana, he was the epitome of a doting brother, always protective and attentive."

His expression grew somber. "The fire changed him in ways none of us could have anticipated. I am sorry you have only known him as the beast of Pemberley, as the locals have been heard to call him."

Elizabeth looked down at the her fingers, noticing for the first time that she wore no wedding ring. "He sounds like one of the best of men. In some ways, I think he might still be. The tenants all still speak so highly of him and wish he would visit in person. I know he spends quite a bit of time in his study, working on matters of the estate."

"I am glad to hear it."

"He is not unkind to me," she continued, almost as if she hadn't heard his words, "but we are strangers, and he is often angry. I was so afraid last night when I heard cries from the west wing. I did not understand what was happening. And now he might die because of my foolishness!" Her voice cracked, and she raised a shaking hand to her lips.

Fitzwilliam reached across the table, placing a hand over hers. "You have been through much, Mrs. Darcy. But know this: Darcy is not a monster. He is a man in pain, both physical and emotional. Perhaps, together, we can help him find some peace."

Elizabeth looked up, hope mingling with her sorrow. "I would like that very much, Colonel. For both our sakes. But how can we? Where do we begin?"

"First, we need to seek out alternatives Darcy can use for the laudanum. The difficulty lies in the fact that he does still feel some pain when the scars are stretched or the delicate tissue is damaged. Then we must actually get him to stop the medication."

"I'm afraid I don't know the first thing about it," Elizabeth admitted. "Laudanum always gave me a severe headache after I used it, so I have always tried to avoid it."

"I have seen many a soldier become addicted," he said. "I've yet to see one successfully break the dependency. Oftentimes it's used to drown the horrors of war, to forget what they saw there."

"There is a tenant on my father's estate who uses alcohol for the same reason. His wife and children suffer the consequences." She shook her head. "He was always so regretful afterwards, but it never lasted for long. I wouldn't begin to know how to help my… my husband." Her voice faltered.

"I know someone who might be able to help. He's a doctor in London. Shall I send for him?"

"Yes, please do."

Later that afternoon, Elizabeth softly knocked on the door between her chamber and that of her husband. Reimont answered, his expression betraying only the smallest hint of surprise to see her.

"How might I help you, madam?"

"I'd… I'd like to sit with him. Just for a little bit, of course. I won't disturb him."

The valet's eyes softened slightly, and he opened the door wide to admit her. "Of course."

Quietly, she entered the dimly lit room, where the heavy curtains allowed only slivers of the fading sunlight to pierce the gloom. Reimont bowed, then silently exited through the door to the changing room.

Darcy lay on his stomach, his back exposed to allow his wounds to heal, with his good cheek pressed into the pillow. His eyes were closed, and the sight of the livid marks on the damaged side of his face caused her heart to clench. His breathing was steady but shallow, a sign of the laudanum that kept him unconscious and free from pain.

She approached the bed quietly, her footsteps muffled by the thick carpet. The angry red scars crisscrossed his skin, a testament to the agony he had endured. Elizabeth's heart ached at the sight, not with fear, but with empathy.

Reaching his side, she hesitated for a moment, looking down at the man who had become both her savior and her tormentor. But now, armed with the knowledge of his suffering and the reasons behind his temper, her fear had melted away, replaced by a profound sense of compassion.

She moved a chair closer to his bedside and sat down, her eyes never leaving his still form. After a moment, she reached out and gently rested her hand on his, the contact warm and reassuring. "Mr. Darcy," she began softly, her voice trembling with emotion, "I know you cannot hear me, but I need to say this. You are not the monster I feared, a beast in his lair. You are a man who has suffered greatly, and I was blind to that."

Elizabeth smoothed back a lock of his dark hair, which had fallen across his forehead. "I was wrong to fear you. I begin to understand that your temper was not truly your own, but a cruel side effect of the laudanum. And I know that you did not kill your sister. Your cousin respects and loves you deeply, and that speaks volumes of your true character."

She paused, her thumb pressing lightly on the back of his hand as if trying to impart some of her strength and resolve to him. Fiercely, she continued, "You allowed me to save my father, and though our marriage began under such dire circumstances, I believe there is hope for us. I forgive you for everything, and I ask for your forgiveness in return. I judged you harshly, blinded by my own misconceptions."

Elizabeth leaned closer, her voice a whisper. "I promise to help you conquer your attachment to laudanum. You are married now, with a wife by your side to be a help-meet and companion. Now that I know more about the depths of your character, those vows take on a new meaning for me. You are not alone in this fight."

She placed a soft kiss on his temple, her tears mingling with the scent of the healing balms applied to his scars. "Rest now, husband, for there will be much work to do. When you wake, we will begin anew."

As she sat there, holding his hand and watching over him, a sense of peace settled over her. She knew the road ahead would be difficult, but for the first time, she felt a glimmer of hope. Together, they would face whatever came, and together, they would heal.