Chapter Twenty-Four: Love, Solidified Further

Darcy could hardly focus on his morning routine. He paced the length of his study, his thoughts a chaotic whirlwind. His mind shifted between the present and the past, replaying the moment when Elizabeth had saved Georgiana. His mind displayed the memory of their previous encounter in Kent before his eyes, and he felt even more regret now more than ever. The selflessness, the courage she displayed yesterday as she completely disregarded her own safety and plunged into the water to rescue his sister, it only cemented further his deep feelings for this woman, engraving forever into his heart only love and respect for the most remarkable woman he had ever encountered.

A soft knock on the door interrupted his thoughts, and Georgiana entered the room. He looked at her intently, and he was relieved that her face and her figure revealed that she had recovered from the terrible ordeal that she went through yesterday. He also noted that she must have been stronger than what he thought. After all, she survived a near-death experience, yet, here she was, standing strongly before him.

"Fitzwilliam," she whispered, though her eyes were full of determination, "I… I want to thank Miss Elizabeth. For saving me."

He nodded, as her gratitude toward Elizabeth mirrored his own. He approached her gently, and he placed her hand on her shoulder in a reassuring gesture, his voice steady as he replied, "We will go after breakfast, Georgiana."

By the time they arrived at the inn in Lambton, Darcy felt the undercurrent of anxiety twisting his stomach. He wanted to see Elizabeth, to ensure that she was well. He wanted to thank her properly for what she had done for Georgiana. But he fidgeted nervously as they waited for the maid to come back with a response. He felt the ground trembling slightly beneath his feet, in anticipation for seeing her again, and how would she react. He wondered whether she will accept his gratitude, whether she will consider forgiving him.

Then, the maid came back. "I am sorry, sir, but Miss Bennet is unwell. She cannot receive visitors."

Darcy's heart sank. Was this her way of refusing to see him? The thought that she still held so much anger toward him, that she would decline even after what happened yesterday, sent a fresh wave of guilt crashing through him.

Georgiana, however, was not deterred. "Please," she implored the maid softly, her voice laced with concern. "What happened to her? Is she alright?"

The maid glanced nervously at them both, before replying, "It appears that Miss Bennet caught a chill yesterday. By dinner time, her relatives went into frenzy to call a physician to examine her. She was burning with fever from the cold, and it seems that she had some injuries that got infected. She has been unconscious since last night."

Darcy's blood ran cold. Fever. Injuries. Unconscious.

"What did the physician say?" Georgiana asked with more calmness that Darcy would have expected of her.

"After examining her, he said that her condition is not life-threatening, but she will need proper care and rest to recover."

For a moment, Darcy could not speak. The walls of the inn seemed to close in on him as panic surged through his entire body. He struggled to swallow, unsure of whether he had the right to help her. Then, he finally addressed the maid. "Please inform Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner that I need to speak with them."

The maid nodded and hurried off, leaving Darcy standing there, his mind racing. He could not allow Elizabeth to remain here, in a small, cramped inn, battling illness and injury with only minimal care. She deserved the best care possible, and Pemberley could provide that.

It was noy long before Mr. Gardiner appeared, his face etched with concern. Darcy approached him and offered him a low bow. "Mr. Gardiner. I believe we were not properly acquainted yesterday amid all the confusion that we went through. Please allow me to introduce myself. I am Fitzwilliam Darcy." He gestured to Georgiana, and he continued, "Allow me to also introduce my sister, Miss Georgiana Darcy."

Georgiana curtsied to the man, and he bowed, then he cleared his throat. "Mr. Darcy, it is an honor to make your acquaintance." he greeted, his voice stiff with formality. "Is there something I could help you with?"

"There is," Darcy said without hesitation. "My sister and I came here with the sole intention of properly thanking Miss Eliz... Miss Bennet, for what she did for us yesterday. Yet, we were devastated to learn that her heroic deed had taken a toll on her health. Therefore, I believe that it is our duty to ensure that Miss Bennet recovers promptly, and we would be honored to take part in that. I implore you to allow Miss Elizabeth to be moved to Pemberley. She is unwell, and I believe she will be far better cared for there. My staff will attend to her every need, and even her every whim. We will make sure that everything in our house would be centered around her recovery, and she will have access to the finest care. I will personally make sure that she does. I conspicuously extend the invitation to you and Mrs. Gardiner. We will have the best rooms in Pemberley prepared for you and your niece."

Mr. Gardiner blinked in surprise, his expression softening as he considered Darcy's words. "Mr. Darcy, I thank you for your kind offer. Yet, in her condition…"

Darcy nodded firmly. "I understand your hesitation, sir. But Pemberley is close by, and we can ensure that the journey is as smooth as possible. My carriage is equipped for such a task, and I will have my physician on standby the moment we arrive. Please, I beg of you, please allow me to help her."

Gardiner studied him for a long moment, his eyes narrowing slightly as if weighing the sincerity of Darcy's plea. Then, after what felt like an eternity, he sighed. "Very well. If the doctor believes it is safe to move her, we will consent. We only want what is best for her."

Darcy exhaled, relief flooding through him. "Thank you," he said quietly. "I will see to the arrangements immediately."

The following hours were nothing short of torment for Darcy. Elizabeth was transported to Pemberley, and his staff took every measure to ensure her comfort. The doctor visited her twice since then, reassuring Darcy and the Gardiners that Elizabeth's condition was stable, that she would recover by tomorrow morning. But Darcy could not shake the overwhelming anxiety that gripped him.

Each time he passed her room, his chest tightened, a heavy weight settling over him as he imagined her lying there, pale and weak, her fever raging, her breath shallow, as she lay unconscious and unaware of the world around her. He longed to sit by her bedside, to watch over her, to offer her the care she had so selflessly given his sister. But he hesitated, unsure of how Elizabeth would feel upon waking to find herself in his home, under his care, when she had made it clear that she did not want him.

Yet she had saved Georgiana. She had risked her life, her safety, without a second thought. Darcy marveled at her bravery, her kindness, her selflessness. How could he ever repay her for what she had done? And how could he ever hope to earn her forgiveness?

As the darkness of the night engulfed the world outside, Darcy reflected on everything that had happened. He realized with sudden clarity that his love for Elizabeth had only deepened. He owed her everything, and he would not rest until he earned her forgiveness, no matter how long it took.

With that thought in mind, Darcy resolved to be by her side the moment she awoke, ready to do whatever it took to make things right. Immersed in his thoughts, he did not know how he had found himself standing outside her room. His hands hovering above the doorknob, trembling slightly.

He should not be here, his mind tried to chastise him. As a gentleman, he should turn around to his room immediately. When morning comes, he would ask her aunt's permission to visit her and to make sure that 'she did not need anything.' Yet, his heart ached to see her face, to see whether she showed any sign of recovery, to see her open her eyes again, and to look at him. He longed to see her eyes on him again, her fine dark eyes that had captured his heart ever since that morning in Netherfield when she tried to escape after losing her memory. He prayed desperately that she opens those lovely eyes again, and to look at him, even with resentment. He was prepared to face all that resentment, and to make all the necessary amends. Just let her open her eyes again.

He was not aware, that while he grappled with these thoughts, his hands already opened the door, and his feet already crossed the room, to stop only when he neared the bed in which she lied unconscious. Her fragile peaceful face sent shivers down his spine, and his knees betrayed him shamefully, as he collapsed on the ground near her bedside, uncapable to bear the sight of the bravest woman he ever met, laying there so weakly, so vulnerably.

He reached for her hand which lay limply above the covers. With trembling hands, he took that hand and he raised to his lips, to press a fervent lingering kiss on her skin, in a silent prayer for her to recover, as well as in a profound reassurance that he was there, that he would never give up on her, that he would to whatever it takes to make things right.

As he reluctantly returned her hand her side, and prepared to rise and leave, he heard a faint stirring, and his heart almost stopped. Was she waking up? How could he ever explain his presence in her room? Should he leave before she realizes that he was there?

Yet, it was too late, his beloved opened her eyes, and looked at him, as he was kneeling beside her bed. Moments passed while they only look at each other in silence, Darcy not daring to say anything, barely daring to breathe. As much as his anxiety tore his stomach apart for what she would say to seeing him in her room when he had no right to enter it, his heart danced jovially that she was finally awake, and looking at him again, his silent prayer answered.

Understanding flickered on her features. Then with a faint voice, she finally said, "Mr. Darcy? Where … where am I?"

He swallowed, his throat tightening, his stomach churning imagining her anger at him for daring to take her to his house without her explicit consent. "You are at … Pemberley. That is … my estate. When I learned that you were unwell, I asked you uncle to allow me to bring you here, so that my staff can tend to your condition."

"I see," was all that she said, as her eyes darted to scrutinize the room that she was in.

Darcy hoped that she would like what she saw, that she would find no fault in her surrounding, that nothing would bring her the tiniest displeasure. Wait, this was not the time for that, he reminded himself. He felt himself releasing a breath that he did not know he was holding, when he finally processed that she was not angry at being at his house, nor was she angry that he was in her room.

"How is your sister Mr. Darcy?"

He was shocked at her question. Not that the question in itself was absurd, but because this remarkable woman still found it within herself to care for others when she herself spent hours bedridden with fever and injuries. "I … I …" He stuttered, unable to form a coherent sentence. "She is well," he finally managed to regain his composure, "all thanks to you Miss Elizabeth."

She nodded silently, and he mustered up the courage to continue. "Miss Elizabeth, I owe you more than I can ever repay. You saved my sister's life, and you showed her kindness beyond what I thought was ever possible. For that, I will be eternally in your debt."

Elizabeth smiled. Smiled. Smiled, he repeated, trying to engrave the sight into his memory. Then, she replied, her voice soft. "There is no need for that, Mr. Darcy. I am happy that she is safe and well now."

Darcy's heart ached. He cleared his throat as he locked his gaze onto hers. "Miss Elizabeth, there is something else that I wish to say, if you will allow me." He interpreted her silence as an encouragement to continue. Remembering his quiet resolve earlier that night, he continued, "I must also beg for your forgiveness, Miss Elizabeth. For everything. For how I hurt you in Hertfordshire, for my behavior in Kent as I proposed to you in a way unworthy of you, for sending you a letter in which I do not ask your forgiveness. For the things I said … For the way I made you feel. Believe me, I spent the last weeks haunted by my shameful actions. I would do anything to earn your forgiveness. Anything. If it takes the rest of my life, I …"

He was silenced when Elizabeth held her hand. "Mr. Darcy, you do not need to ask for my forgiveness. My anger has long subsided since then. Besides the anger … was not entirely my own."

"Not entirely your own?" He asked, utterly confused by what she said.

Elizabeth glanced nervously at the ceiling. Then, she rose slightly, straightening herself, adjusting her back upwards. Darcy was immediately on his feet, positioning the cushions behind her back, stopping shortly of touching her arm, unsure of how she would react.

When he remained standing, Elizabeth gestured to the seat nearby her bed, and he sat there, his elbows on his knees as he leaned towards her. She struggled for a while, her hands fidgeting around each other, probably thinking of what to say next. Then, after few moments, she sighed. "Mr. Darcy, I … I had been quite harsh in my treatment of you. You did not deserve all that wrath."

Darcy opened his mouth to protest, to say that he did indeed deserve all of it, but her eyes silenced him, and he allowed her to continue, uninterrupted. "Look. I was hurt. I am still hurt by things that you did." His heart sank to his stomach, but he remained silent, and she continued. "But I have been terribly unjust as well. You have been unfairly the recipient of an anger that went beyond what you did. You say that you allowed your dealings with Wickham to taint your interactions with other people. If so, I too, allowed … things that I am struggling with to color my interaction with you. For that, I am sorry. To tell you the truth, I do not know whether I can be honest with you regarding …my own scruples. You certainly deserve more honesty from me. But I do not know if I can give you that. If I can give you one thing however, then that would be my forgiveness, if that brings you any relief. Rest assured Mr. Darcy, I bear no resentment towards you."

Darcy's heart danced. His eyes were finally lit again, after being hollow for months. He reached for her hand, taking it in his, and he whispered. "That is more that what I ever hoped for, Miss Elizabeth. I will not push you for anything more than what you are will to give. Once again, you bestow on me kindness and grace that I never believed were possible for me. I will never do anything that can make you regret your decision. Your forgiveness is already a lifeline thrust unto me amid the darkness I was in. I can only aspire that I continue to show you that I am deserving of your trust."

He hesitated slightly, unsure if he can continue, and as he cleared his throat, he continued, "You mentioned that there are things that you are struggling with right now, and I understand. I do not expect you to confide in me. But allow me to assure you that whatever it is, I can handle it, once you see me worthy of your trust. Whatever it is. I will be here for you; in whatever capacity you need me to be. You do not have to go through anything alone, and it would be my honor to help you in whatever way I can."

He noticed her eyes widening in reaction to his statement, her breath hitching slightly as she came to realize that his love for her did not waver in the slightest, and he finally saw a glitter of hope, a faint light that shone in the end of the tunnel. He leaned further, lifting her hand to kiss it, to seal his promise. But just as he was about to kiss her knuckles, she withdrew her hand.

His stomach twisted terribly, thinking that he had somehow displeased her. But as he looked at her, he saw her blushing profusely, her cheeks betraying a shade of crimson, and he understood that she was not ready yet. She might have forgiven him. Her resentment towards him might have ebbed away. But she still was not ready yet for something more, and he understood.

Attempting to conceal any disappointment he might have felt, he offered her a warm smile, and she gave him a small hesitant smile in return, and said nothing. This was enough for him. This could keep him going on as he intended to fight for her.

He stood; his heart still heavy but resolved. "Goodnight, Miss Elizabeth," he said softly, bowing slightly before turning to leave.

As he reached the door, he glanced back at her one last time. She was watching him, her expression unreadable. He nodded once, a silent promise in his eyes, before adding softly, "Thank you for giving me a second chance to prove myself to you."

With that, he stepped out of the room and closed the door behind him.

His heart still ached, but he knew one thing with certainty: he would do whatever it took to earn her trust. And if she would allow it, her love. But for now, he would wait. He would give her the time she needed, and he would prove to her, day by day, that he was worthy of her.

His heart still rejoicing for the small achievements he accomplished today, clouded all of his other thoughts.