The Trouble with Mr. Darcy (47 page)

Midway through the cleansing Georgiana marched into the room carrying a wailing Michael. Behind her came two maids, their arms burdened with towels, laden trays, and a bucket of ice.

“He was not too fond of being woken up in the middle of his night and only a few hours after feeding, but Uncle insisted.” She spoke over the din to her brother, who approached with a frown etched between his brows. “Fortunately, your son has a tremendous appetite. Cannot imagine where he attains that character trait.”

She attempted a warm smile but her eyes were red-rimmed and cheeks blotchy. Georgiana tiptoed to bestow a tender kiss to his cheek, speaking in a feigned casual tone. “It seems odd to me as well, letting him nurse when Lizzy is unaware. But it does make sense, Brother, when you consider the logic. Besides, Uncle knows what he is about.” She glanced to Lizzy, whose reddened left breast was exposed as Marguerite applied one of the poultices Dr. Darcy had concocted. “It looks so painful. Here, take him to his mother. You know what to do better than I.”

“Thank you, Georgie. Are you…?”

“I am fine now so do not fret over me. Just take care of Lizzy.”

“Very well. Come, sweetheart, let us get you fed. Your mama needs you.”

Normally, Michael latched onto the nipple instantly, quiet falling, never to be distracted until forced to relinquish one nipple for the other or when utterly sated. This time, however, his native volatility was compounded by being woken precipitously and then expected to nurse from an engorged breast with stale milk. Darcy patiently persisted through Michael’s fit of temper until the infant settled in for serious sucking.

Darcy sat on the bed’s edge, softly stroking his back with one hand while holding Lizzy’s slack right hand to his lips. Georgiana knelt on the wide bed behind Lizzy placing the compress of crushed mint, ginger, and pepper paste to her forehead and rotated the tied bundles of chipped ice over her neck and shoulders. George entered the room minutes later, handing the poultice of fenugreek seed and dandelion to Marguerite.

“Give this to Mr. Darcy to smear on Mrs. Darcy’s inflamed breast,” he directed Lizzy’s maid. “The smell is not too foul, William, so it should not disturb Michael, but for now apply it conservatively.” He sat down in a corner chair, discreetly positioning himself so he could instruct without witnessing Lizzy’s nakedness. “Once he is finished we will slather more on and wrap with a cloth. Keep moving the packs along her back, Georgie. We do not want her to become chilled. The fever should subside gradually. If there is an infection process fomenting, an elevated temperature is partially beneficial. William, rub the congested milk sacs, gingerly mind you, as Michael nurses. It will aid the release and press the herbal salve into the skin. Once Michael is finished, we will rouse her and force her to drink those teas.”

He seemingly rambled without purpose, but his orotund tones with words falling in a lilting cadence were soothing. Darcy watched his wife’s face, noting the occasional flashes of pain that crossed her brow as he massaged her softening breast. But he also noted the regular rhythm of her breathing, the lessening blotched pallor and ruddiness of her skin, and the increasing coolness of the hand pressed against his mouth. Together the signs were encouraging.

Michael finished his meal, his chubby body limp as Darcy nestled him against his left chest for burping. He kissed the infant’s forehead, turning to look at his uncle.

“I doubt if I can wake him to eat more. This is his time of extended sleep with hunger well abated.”

“No matter. He will make up for lost time tomorrow. For tonight I can instruct you how to alleviate some of the pressure in the other breast manually. First we must get Elizabeth to drink some fluids. Georgie, will you return Michael to Mrs. Hanford? Thank you, dear. Sit Elizabeth up, William.”

Darcy was required to lend his entire body as support, Lizzy’s flaccid form melding to the contours of his torso. He sat behind her, arms securing and broad chest a firm resting place for her back, and the bend of his neck and shoulder a solid prop for her head.

“Elizabeth,” he voice lovingly commanded into her ear. “We need you to wake up and drink. I need to hear your voice. Please, Elizabeth, look at me. Squeeze my hand, anything to let me know you hear me.”

She moaned, weakly arching her back and turning away from his pleading. But he continued on at Dr. Darcy’s urging. He told her that she was home now, that Alexander was safe and asleep, that the threat to them was eliminated, that he loved and needed her, and so on.

George held one wrist between his fingers, counting the decreasing beats of her pulse. His other hand skillfully brushed over her neck and upper chest, palpating the changes in skin temperature. Softly, he directed Marguerite to administer the oral drops of belladonna, and then to change the herbal compress on her head to one of cool sandalwood paste. The teapot of steeped black elder, willow bark, chamomile, and lime flowers sat waiting on the bedside table.

Darcy kept up his train of verbal declarations of love and need, compelling her to respond. Eventually she did, with groans growing louder as she broke through the febrile haze and finally opened her glassy eyes.

“George,” she slurred in surprise, not expecting his to be the first face she saw.

“Yes, Niece, it is me. Delighted to see you, but, if you do not greet the big fellow behind you soon, he may burst into tears.”

Darcy was indeed teary eyed. His strong palm was already cupping his wife’s cheek and nudging so that he could meet her gaze. “Tell me you know who I am,” he whispered.

She frowned. “Of course I know who you are. My Fitzwilliam.”

“Yes! Yes.” He brushed a kiss over her lips. “All is well now, my heart. Uncle has some tea for you. I am sure it is foul…”

“I beg your pardon?” George interjected indignantly.

“…but you must drink all of it. It will help with the pain and fever. Do you understand?”

“As you wish. I am very thirsty.” Her voice was listless with a note of confusion, her brow quizzical. Even so, she offered no objection, drinking the pungent tea wordlessly. Darcy murmured encouragingly throughout, caressing her arms as George plied her with three cups of the medicinal brew.

Finally she finished her required dose, the satisfied physician assessing her flushed skin and mild warmth with a smile and happy nod. “Excellent. Much improved, Elizabeth.”

“She still feels hot to me, Uncle. Are you sure she is mending?”

“The fever is less and she is awake, if drowsy and befuddled. All to be expected.” He smiled cheerily, patting Lizzy’s knee. “Now she needs to sleep. Questions can be asked and answered tomorrow. Does that sound like a capitol idea, Mrs. Darcy?”

Lizzy inclined her head while fumbling to absorb his words without much success. The fringes of her memory niggled at her, some vague awareness buried behind thick clouds attempting to capture her attention and whisper facts that she should be concerned about. Yet all she felt was extreme weariness. The odd torpor weighting down her limbs was offset by the comforting sturdiness of her husband’s body. She felt his breath on her cheek, smelt the wonderful aroma of his manliness and cologne, heard the potency in every word he uttered, and felt the loving touch of his fingertips. It all combined to imbue her soul with an overwhelming peace and assurance so that none of the troubling glimmers could penetrate her blanketing sense of security.

She muttered a few words, none of the room’s occupants understanding what she was trying to say, and returned to her slumber.

George palpated the strong pulse in her neck and lifted one eyelid to gaze at her pupil, nodding with clinical satisfaction. “She is asleep, nothing else. This is good.” He looked at his clearly distraught nephew, smiling and patting his knee. “Relax, William. She will be fine, I promise.”

“Uncle, do you know if vitriol has any effect on unborn babies?”

George’s brows rose, his eyes instantly returning to Lizzy and scanning over her body. “Are you sure? I have seen no signs of Elizabeth being with child.”

“It is merely a conjecture based on… possible symptoms.” He smiled wanly and laughed shortly. “Strange. This morning I was distressed at the idea of Elizabeth being pregnant so soon after her recovery, with the fear of a repeat occurrence all I could dwell upon. Now I find myself paralyzed by the prospect of our baby being lost or damaged in some way.”

“Ether is used liberally in some places to dull pain. I have utilized it often myself for certain procedures, although I do not care for the aftereffects. I have never documented any direct sequelae from ether during gestation, William, but of course we will not know for some time. Do not fret about it at this juncture. I seriously doubt if this one exposure will cause any harm.”

“But why…”

“I know you have questions, William, but I think most of them can wait. You look horrible and need rest of your own. Let me examine that scalp wound and apply an antiseptic unguent, then I order you to sleep.”

Darcy held Lizzy for several more minutes before laying her comfortably onto the bed. He followed his uncle into the small parlor, falling into the chair with a loud groan. George cleaned the wound, pleased to announce that stitches were unnecessary, his fingers gentle in their ministration. Still, Darcy winced from the pain, especially the stinging salve, and gratefully drank the pungent elixir offered to dull the pain felt in his head and from numerous bruises.

Conversation was minimal. Darcy had so many questions that he hardly knew where to begin and the fatigue washing through his muscles prevented his tongue from properly functioning. He tried, however, but George was taciturn, finally halting the mumbled queries by placing both hands firmly onto Darcy’s shoulders and stating, “No more questions or discussion, Son. I am convinced there is no infection since the fever is subsiding. The residual effects of the ether will be gone by tomorrow and the fever will likely break by morning. The mastitis will heal once Michael is allowed to nurse unrestrained. In a few days you will be scolding your impetuous wife for leaving the bed and wanting to walk to Hyde Park. Now, go get some sleep. You know where to find me, but I intend to do the same as all this excitement is stressful on my old bones.”

He grinned, clapping his nephew on the shoulder, and left the chamber with a spring in his step far jauntier than the considerably younger Darcy could muster at that moment.

***

Georgiana returned to the parlor after tucking Michael into his crib and taking a few minutes to kiss the sleeping Alexander. Simone stood as she entered the room, crossing to meet her for a firm hug.

“My dearest girl, all is now well, yes?”

Georgiana nodded, her smile genuine if fatigued. “Lizzy is feverish but responding to treatment.” She included Mr. Butler in her reply, his face drawn with concern for everyone involved if slightly more so for his fiancée. “Dr. Darcy says she will be fine in no time at all, praise God.”

“What of the… abductors?” Mr. Butler asked.

“I did not ask.”

“Surely they have been subdued and apprehended,” Simone offered. “I deduce that is what my husband is dealing with. And speaking of my husband”—she reached for her cloak and gloves—“I shall leave you now, if you do not mind, so I can have a hot meal ready when Richard returns. If he comes here first, tell him to go home immediately so his wife’s anxiety will be allayed.”

Georgiana recognized her honest emotion, assuring that she would bodily toss him out the door if need be. The laughter elicited at that image lifted everyone’s heart, Simone bidding good night at that point.

Once alone, Sebastian enfolded Georgiana in a healing embrace, neither saying a word for several minutes.

He had sat beside her for hours, holding her hand and desperately wishing he could do more than merely listen in horror and wait while the clock loudly ticked into the silence. The ache to comfort her and express his love had escalated to a piercing pain. Georgiana’s emotions, once released, had burst forth as a ruptured dam with tears and shivers bordering on hysteria even after retreating to the parlor as Richard recommended. Once that passed, she had grown nervous, clearly embarrassed by her upheaval. Lady Simone had left the room, silently indicating Sebastian ignore propriety and console the distraught young woman in any way possible. That, however, had proven difficult as Georgiana remained flustered, busying herself with serving him tea all while profusely apologizing for the situation and her behavior, and then deflecting the conversation away to inquiries about his Easter, family visit, and so on. In the end he decided it was probably best to distract her with tales of his exploits, highly exaggerated to amuse, and deal with her ridiculous humiliation later.

Although he knew he could not stay much longer and risk further embarrassing her by being discovered alone or seen skulking away after midnight, the need to express his sentiments overrode all caution.

“Georgiana,” he whispered, cupping her face with his palms and engaging her eyes, “I…” And then he could resist no longer, bending for a consuming kiss that spoke louder than any words.

For a long while the ticking clock was the only sound, unless one counted heavy breathing and moist lips in action. Mental clarity and restraint were slowly restored, Sebastian withdrawing but keeping the space between their bodies minuscule.

“I am glad that I arrived when I did. Being with you during this difficult time, aiding even in a small way, eases my heart. I cannot fathom how awful to hear later that you went through this trauma without me. We may not yet be wed, Miss Darcy, but I already feel responsible for you. Do not doubt that or my love for you.”