Page 9 of Saved By Mr. Darcy
“Good. Good. The surgeon will be here soon; send for me if she speaks again.”
“Very good, sir.”
He longed to take the maid’s place and sit beside Miss Elizabeth. Every moment he was away from her was a torment. He was certain that she would not wish for him to hold such vigil for her condition. Why had he asked to be told if she spoke? What would she have to say if she opened her eyes to find the man she so openly loathed beside her? He was fooling himself that he could have her; a fool, indeed, that his affection had not lessened after such a sound rejection on her part.
There was no task that could occupy him; instead, he paced relentlessly up and down the corridor. The staff bustled past him, their eyes cast downwards as they nodded in greeting.
“Mr Darcy, sir” Mrs Reynolds said. “You look better this morning. Would you take some breakfast?”
“No. Thank you.”
“Very well. I have come to tell you that the Gardiners are awake and dressing for the day. Little of their luggage could be salvaged. We have found them some clothes for now but ifI might be so bold, I believe an order at the modiste and the haberdasher may be wise.”
“Whatever they need, see it done. As quickly as possible. Order clothes for Miss Elizabeth for when she rises – dresses, bonnets – whatever she will need.”
There was a flicker of doubt that passed over Mrs Reynolds’ face, a slight downturn of her lips. She must have seen the determination in his face, for she did not protest. She nodded.
“Of course. I will see that she has all she needs.”
There was a knock at the door, another serving girl. She curtsied in greeting to Mr Darcy, before speaking to Mrs Reynolds.
“The surgeon is here, Ma’am.”
“Wonderful. Escort him to the Blue Room,” Mrs Reynolds said.
Darcy remained in the corridor until the man arrived. The surgeon, an elderly man wearing moon-shaped spectacles, greeted him, before entering the room with his assistant. The door was closed firmly behind him, and Darcy could hear only hushed murmurs. He had no right to try and listen, but he could not tear himself away. He was desperate for any scrap of news, any tiny shred of hope that Miss Elizabeth would stir from this terrible sleep.
The two men were shut away with their patient for nearly an hour. Darcy listened by the door for any sign that they were causing her pain, but he did not hear a sound from the lady. When they emerged, the surgeon wiped sweat from his brow. There was blood smeared on his shirt sleeve. Darcy felt sick at the sight of it. The man offered him a confident smile, but Darcyhad no confidence in what he was about to say. How could blood bring anything good?
“Well, she is a lucky young lady to have survived all that with so few injuries. Not that she is unharmed, of course. My colleague was right, sir. Her leg and ankle are certainly broken. I have set the bones, but she will need a long convalescence to recover fully. When she wakes, I have left laudanum for the pain. It is a miracle that she has only sustained severe injury to one leg. Perhaps some ribs, too, but I could not tell. She’ll be mighty bruised all over.”
“You believe she will wake?”
“I hope so, Mr Darcy, though she did not stir even as we manipulated her leg. The body has a way of dealing with pain, but there is no telling of the injury to the brain. That shall be known only when she wakes. I shall return next week to check the positioning of the bones. Doctor Smith tells me he will visit daily. Your friend is in good hands.”
“Miss Elizabeth is not my friend. She…had an accident on the North path. My deer were responsible for this, and so I will see her well.”
“Then she is lucky to have been injured on the property of such a generous man. Good day to you, sir.”
Darcy nodded his head as the surgeon and his assistant left. The man’s words contained a slight he did not understand. There was some hidden insult, or an insinuation, that was just beyond the master’s exhausted grasp. Though he did not care too much for the opinion of others, he wondered how he must appear. No other man of his standing would be so generous to apparent strangers who happened to have the misfortune of anaccident that was no fault of anyone except God himself. Yet here he was, engaging the finest surgeons he could find within riding distance, and housing the injured in rooms that had been frequented by nobility for some hundred years before.
Miss Elizabeth deserved that. She deserved every comfort, and care, and he did not care how strange he may appear.
When the surgeon and his man had departed and the room was empty save for their patient, he did not call for anyone. Instead, he sat in the chair beside her bed. He had not been this close to Miss Elizabeth since their arrival at Pemberley. He watched the rise and fall of her chest closely, the soft sound of her breathing comforting to him. Each breath told him she was alive, and with each breath she would grow stronger.
He rose to his feet again, unable to sit still. He could not look at her for too long without a terrible ache in his chest. Instead, he walked to the window. He stared out, unseeing and uncaring for what lay ahead of him.
“Mr Darcy?”
Her voice was hoarse, weak from lack of use. He flinched in surprise, the noise as sudden and unexpected as though she had screamed his name. He turned, finding her staring up at him. Her face was drawn, pale and pallid, but those eyes – they were as bright and lively as ever.
“What cruel dream is this?”
“Miss Elizabeth! I…you are awake.”
“Where am I?” she mumbled, trying to rise. At the sudden jolt to her leg, she moaned in pain. “What has happened? Please, what…where…”
“Hush. Hush, my...Miss Elizabeth. You are at Pemberley. You have had a bad accident, but you will recover. How glad I am to see you awake. You must rest. You are safe here. I will keep you safe.”
