The Trouble with Mr. Darcy (46 page)

Darcy spared scant thought to Orman’s condition. He assigned immediate and total attention to his wife. Richard had positioned her body comfortably on the sofa, head resting on the pillow, and a blanket obtained from somewhere covering her lower body modestly. He had removed the rope bonds from around her wrists and ankles. She looked peaceful and beautiful, except for the snarls in her disheveled hair and the angry red marks on her cheeks that filled Darcy with fresh anger. Upon closer inspection he noted four circular pressure bruises the size of a man’s fingertip on one cheek, and raw burns on her dainty nostrils. He dropped to his knees, clasping her hands and brushing kisses over her face, not aware that tears were falling from his eyes.

“Elizabeth, sweet, precious Elizabeth. Wake up! Look at me, dearest. You are safe. Alexander is safe. I am here and no further harm will come to you. Please! Elizabeth, open your eyes!” His alarm grew when she showed no sign of responding. Not a moan or sigh. He touched his fingertips to her forehead, recognizing what his frantic lips had not sensed. “Richard! She is feverish! Why?” He turned questioning, anxious eyes to his hovering cousin. “Does vitriol do this?”

Richard shook his head slowly. His face was naked with concern as he too touched gentle fingertips to Lizzy’s forehead. “I do not know, Darcy. I have no experience with the drug.”

Darcy withdrew, blinking the moisture from his eyes to commence a detailed examination of his wife. First off he noted the rope burns to her wrists, fingering them lovingly, and sending a silent thankful prayer heavenward that her delicate skin was only mildly abraded and not bleeding. He kissed each wrist before moving his tender touch to the ivory, unmarked flesh of her neck. If he had seen evidence of Wickham applying filthy hands to his wife’s throat, he may have returned to the body lying twisted at the bottom of the stairs for a few well-deserved kicks!

He rested his palm over her heart, relieved to feel the steady beat. But, it was then that he became aware of the areas of patchy wetness and dried milk staining over the front of her apron covered gown. Additionally, and far more alarming, was the hard lumpiness of her breasts. He gasped, reaching to discreetly peel the fabric away from her chest. Richard, he noted in his periphery, turned away, leaving Darcy in relative privacy to examine his wife. He did not completely expose her, would not have in any case, but it was not necessary. The erythema spread in a fist-sized blemish over the top of her left breast. Carefully palpating, with tears stinging his eyes and fury freshly rising, Darcy felt the warmth and swelling of the starkly demarcated patch, the engorged milk pockets like little rocks.

“Richard, Elizabeth needs a physician.”

“Very well. I shall send Helt to Oxshott…”

“No. Search for a carriage. Surely there must be one since Orman could not possibly sit a horse. We must return to London immediately.”

“But…”

“No argument. No one will touch my wife but my uncle.” He looked up at the anxious face of his cousin. “Hurry, please. The nicest carriage, if we have a choice, with the fastest horses. Cushions and blankets. She cannot be jostled more than necessary. Quickly!”

Richard moved to administer orders that were carried out hastily. Darcy turned back to Elizabeth, covering her completely before leaning to kiss her feverish lips.

“Do not fear, my love. All will be well. I love you and will not leave you.”

“Mr. Darcy?”

“Papa!”

Darcy jerked at the overlapping voices, his eyes alighting on Alexander, who practically catapulted out of Artois’s arms into the open embrace of his father. Alexander buried his tiny face into his father’s neck, tears falling in waves, and arms and hands gripping adamantly as his little body shook. Darcy savored the sensations, his own body shaking with contained sobs as he clutched the vibrant life to his chest.

Cascades of murmured endearments and promises of safety fell from his lips as he planted dozens of kisses. He stroked over the soft back of his son. His firm hands and sturdy body were ready reminders to Alexander of his father’s strength and devotion. Gradually the weeping and tremors lessened, Alexander finally withdrawing to gaze into his father’s beloved face.

“I knew you come! I miss you and Mama, but I brave boy. I bite bad man, Papa! He got mad, but I not care. Kick him too. Bad, bad man! Bad man Mama not like. I told him you come and get me and he be sorry. Made me smell sweet water that made me sleepy and sick. Sorry, Papa, I try to be brave but I got sick. Nice girl washed my face. I sleepy a lot and my stomach hurt and nose hurt and…”

He spoke in a rush, gasping residual sobs interrupting the rambling dialogue. Darcy smiled through the commentary and brushed his hands and fingers over his son’s body. But the toddler seemed fair enough, all things considered. He kept babbling, the innocence of youth to an extent already beginning to see the whole incident as a great adventure, especially now that his father was holding him safe and secure. He finally glanced away from Darcy’s face and noticed Lizzy lying on the couch.

“Mama! Mama come with you, Papa? She asleep?”

“Yes, Son. She is asleep. We must be quiet and let her sleep for now, understand?”

The boy nodded, his eyes serious as he lifted one finger to his lips and made a shushing sound.

“Indeed,” Darcy lifted his finger as well, whispering. “Very quiet. We will be leaving soon to return to Darcy House where Uncle George and Aunt Georgiana are waiting for you.”

“Nanny and Michael too?”

“Yes, of course. They miss you very much. Nanny will want to hear all about your exciting adventure and how brave you were.”

Alexander brightened, smiling and nodding. “Can I give Mama kiss?”

“Certainly! We can both kiss her, how about that? But gently.”

Darcy leaned, Alexander firm in his grip, both placing soft kisses over Lizzy’s cheeks. She stirred and released a faint sigh.

“Fitzwilliam?”

“Yes! Yes, my dearest! It is I, and Alex…”

“Fitzwilliam will kill you, Mr. Wickham. You know he will. Hunt you down like the animal you are. It is only a matter of time. Only time, time, time.” She shuddered, arching her neck as her eyelids fluttered and opened. But the deep brown that Darcy so adored was glossy, the pupils largely dilated and not focusing. “So thirsty. Please, Mr. Wickham, water please. I need…”

She sighed, her voice dropping lower and her eyelids beginning to slide shut, before suddenly opening widely and looking directly at Darcy. “William. Where is Alexander?”

“Here, Mama!”

“We are here, Elizabeth. Both of us, see?” He was clutching her hand so tightly he knew it must be causing her pain, but she seemed impervious. Then, to his momentary joy, she did fix her gaze on Alexander and smiled faintly.

“I knew you would come. Your father always takes care of us, does he not, sweetie? Always, always.” Her eyes slid to Darcy, the smile waning as the glassiness overtook her eyes once again. “I love you, Fitzwilliam.” She groaned, her eyes closing in obvious pain as she grimaced. Her body shivered and shifted in discomfort, one hand feebly rising to lie on her affected breast. “I hurt, Mr. Wickham! Please, I need my baby! Please, it hurts so. Please, please.”

Tears were falling uncontrollably from Darcy’s eyes. Alexander was sucking his thumb, eyes large with confusion and fear as he looked from one parent to another. Lizzy’s voice trailed off into silence, once again succumbing to the fever and trauma of the past hours.

“Papa,” Alexander spoke in a shaky voice, “Mama be all right?”

Darcy swallowed, closing his eyes for a silent prayer as he pulled his son closer to his body for a tight squeeze. “Of course, my lamb. Your mother will be just fine. As soon as we get home, Uncle George will make her better and she can rest.” He kissed the soft forehead, maintaining a firm embrace, as his voice fell for a whispered supplication. “Please, God, let her be all right. Please.”

C
HAPTER
N
INETEEN

Consequences and Conclusions

Darcy held his febrile and delirious wife during the frightening drive through the dark, poorly maintained country roads leading to London, home, and the supreme medical expertise of Dr. George Darcy. Alexander refused to unclasp his arms from his father’s neck, not that Darcy desired separating from his son for a second, until they were well beyond the “scary house with the bad man.” Even then he loosened his grip only enough to nestle onto Darcy’s lap with his mother’s head comfortingly touching his small thigh.

Colonel Fitzwilliam and the bulk of his men remained behind to deal with the mess. One rider voluntarily risked life and limb to carry an express message to Darcy House, the occupants informed of the rescue and Lizzy’s condition. Colonel Artois insisted on acting as armed guard to the Darcys, riding ahead of the carriage confiscated from Orman’s lodge.

They encountered no obstacles, but the late hour with limited natural illumination and potential road hazards meant great speed was not a possibility. Therefore the ride took twice as long as it would have during the day. Heart pounding painfully and anxiety barely kept at bay, Darcy sat in the dark interior unable to see his wife’s face except for brief seconds when the crescent moon’s pale glow pierced through the trees. He was comforted by the press of Lizzy and Alexander’s bodies, but the stretches of absolute silence from Lizzy when only the steady pulse palpated in her neck assured him of her life followed by interludes of nonsensical mutterings and thrashing escalated his anguish. The lights of London and finally Grosvenor Square had never been so appreciated.

The carriage was greeted with expectancy but subdued fuss. Mrs. Hanford plucked Alexander from Darcy’s arms, managing to control her emotions until inside the foyer whereupon she squeezed his body and wept so uncontrollably that it was Alexander who ended up soothing the distraught nanny with gentle pats and murmured assurances. Before they reached the nursery he was recounting the adventure and his bravery in matter-of-fact tones that allayed the worst of her fears. After a warm bath and hot soup, the toddler was tucked into bed with Dog nestled tight and Miss Lisa curled beside for added security. He swiftly fell asleep and the atmosphere within the chamber was no different than on any other night.

Not so within the master’s chambers. Darcy carried Lizzy into the house blazing with lit candles and lamps, ignoring everyone in his haste to safely deposit her onto their bed, where within seconds the examination by Dr. Darcy was underway. George was in full physician-in-command mode with the staff bustling about to implement his barked instructions.

“It is as I suspected from your scrawled descriptions, William,” he said after a rapid evaluation. “She has developed a case of puerperal mastitis. The lingering effects of the ether may be contributing to her fever and delirium, but I believe it is the inflammation. We must reduce the redness and swelling, pray there is no infection, and control her fever. Marguerite”—he turned to Lizzy’s waiting maid—“please assist Mr. Darcy in cleaning your mistress and providing comfort. I will see to those poultices I ordered.”

He rose from the edge of the bed by Lizzy’s inert side, reaching to clasp Darcy’s hands. “Do not fear, my boy. She is healthy and astoundingly stubborn. A simple breast inflammation will not overwhelm her. However, I do pray there is not an infection brewing. I do not think it has gone to that degree but cannot be sure. I know of several herbs, most of which I have in my supplies. What I do not have I can obtain from the apothecary on the morrow. For now our greatest priority is to lower the fever and relieve her pain. For the first I have ice being chipped from the ice-cellar, and for the latter we need Michael.”

“Michael?” Darcy glanced away from his wife’s face to look at his uncle, brow raised in question.

“Indeed. A hungry infant will be best able to alleviate the engorgement, that causing the mastitis in the first place. Now, help Marguerite while I obtain a few supplies. But first, I am assuming Colonel Fitzwilliam is fine or you would have stated otherwise, but I am sure his wife would appreciate an update.”

“Lady Simone is still here?”

“She rightly figured this was the best place to wait for her husband, but also would not abandon Georgiana, who has been distressed.” He did not mention Mr. Butler, who had also refused to leave and was in the parlor still, saving that information for a more opportune moment.

“Of course.” Darcy pinched the bridge of his nose wearily, nodding in agreement. “That is to be expected. Assure Lady Simone that Richard is fine. He is handling the aftermath. It may take a while so she may as well return home. Where is Georgie?”

“Georgiana is assisting with the poultices and will be along momentarily. Let me talk to Lady Simone and I will return.” He patted Darcy’s shoulder, squeezing once, and turned to leave.

Darcy sighed, closing his eyes and taking a minute to silently say a prayer, and then stepped to join Marguerite.

Lizzy’s devoted maid was wringing cool water from a cloth, moving to apply the soothing and cleansing lave to her mistress, but Darcy gently took the swab from her hand. “I shall do this, Marguerite. Will you please remove her soiled clothing?”

Lizzy moaned frequently and murmured incoherently. Her eyelids fluttered, opening to slits several times, but she did not waken. Her fiery, flushed skin responded to the tepid bath with gooseflesh and shivering. Darcy examined her bosom, encouraged to note that the inflamed patch was not worsened and there were no additional erythematic areas. The hard, turgid milk-sacs were obviously painful when touched, but her nipples were of normal appearance. Darcy was hopeful that the latter was a positive sign.