Page 8 of Saved By Mr. Darcy
Fitzwilliam Darcy.
He sat back in his chair, letting the quill fall from his fingers. He had completed the unsavoury task, the words feeling unbearably real now he had set them to paper. He was not talented at embellishment, nor cushioning his words with false assurances of comfort. Perhaps he had been too stark, but he did not have the strength to write the letter again.
His body felt unbearably heavy, his head clouded with terrible thoughts. He ached to be beside Miss Elizabeth, to observe each feeble rise and fall of her chest. He would sit beside her forever if he could, as though his presence alone could scare death away. Alas, he was all too aware of the eyes of his household. It would not be right to maintain such a vigil of a woman who, as far as all who knew them both were concerned, was nothing more than a casual acquaintance.
“Mr Darcy.”
A voice startled him from his stupor. Mrs Reynolds stood in the doorway, clutching a candle. At once he scrambled to his feet, rushing towards her.
“What? What has happened?”
“Nothing, sir. Miss Elizabeth is yet sleeping, but she has not worsened. I have come for you. It is very late, and you have had a difficult day. I would ask that you sleep.”
“I am fine.”
“If I may say, sir, you do not look fine. How long have I known you?”
“Since I was a boy.”
“Then allow me this indulgence. There is no more you can do, young Mr Darcy, than what you have already done. You have written to the girl’s parents?”
“Yes. I have yet to seal it, but I will send for a rider as soon as dawn breaks.”
“And the surgeon shall be here not long after. Please, prepare the letter for the post then take your rest. There is nothing more to be done.”
“I cannot. I cannot sleep. What if I am needed? There are far more important things to worry about than me."
“I am afraid that is what you pay me for, sir. Come now, to bed with you. I shall send your man to wake you before the surgeon comes.”
“And you? What of your rest?”
“I have taken my rest. We are taking turns sitting by Miss Elizabeth; I have woken to relieve Penny of her duty.”
In his exhaustion, he had forgotten that all of the serving women in the house had been rotating the task of keeping a watchful eye over Miss Elizabeth, as per his instructions. Mrs Gardiner had not roused since the doctor had left, sleeping so deeply she did not wake for dinner. Her husband had had a little broth, but he too had taken to his bed with no desire to leave it. He did not blame either of them, for he was sure that their injuries were far more painful than either let on. He would rather not leave Miss Elizabeth with strangers, but he had implicit trust in all those who worked in his household.
“Will you wake me at once if anything changes?”
“Of course, sir.”
He nodded, exhausted to his very bones. There were not many men of Darcy’s standing who would tolerate being sent to bed by their housekeeper, yet the young Master of Pemberley found Mrs Reynold’s interference strangely comforting. He wondered what his mother would say in her place; he had not allowed himself to truly think of her for some years, and now he felt her absence sorely.
He bid Mrs Reynolds goodnight, trudging his way with feet of stone to his bedroom. His fears of insomnia were unfounded, for a blackness consumed him as soon as his head touched the pillow.
Light flooded the room when his eyes reopened. He scrambled to sit up, his chest heaving. If he had hoped for a dreamless, restful sleep, then he had been left sorely disappointed. His dreams were filled with twisted images of Elizabeth lying dead on his land, his arrival too late to save her. He looked around, trying to reassure himself that it had all been some terrible figment of his imagination.
“Sir,” his valet stood in the doorway. “I am sorry to startle you. Mrs Reynolds requested that you be woken before the surgeon was to arrive. We expect him within the next hour.”
“Thank you.”
He dressed quickly, taking no breakfast as he raced down to the Blue Room. He did not know what he would find there, for his valet had provided no information on Miss Elizabeth’s current state. He walked to the open doorway, his heart hammering. He was immediately glad to see Miss Elizabeth’s form in the middle of the bed, a maid by her side. The girl rose to her feet immediately, bowing her head in greeting.
“How is she?”
“Much the same, sir. Though, she mumbled something an hour ago. I did not hear what she said, but it was a sound. That must be a good sign.”
“She spoke?”
“I believe so, sir.”
