Page 42 of Leave Her Wild
“Yet, according to Mr. Sheffield and your elder sister, you are the one who has tended to Mr. Darcy since the incident. No matter how long or how little Mr. Darcy has been conscious overthe last three days, his mind will associate your presence with the idea of survival. Do you understand?” the man asked.
Elizabeth was somewhat taken aback by the man’s frank manner of speaking, but she swallowed her objections. At last, she nodded her agreement and placed herself on the opposite side of Mr. Darcy’s bed from where the surgeon worked.
She watched as the man examined all the stitches Captain Kinsel had placed across Mr. Darcy’s chest before motioning Mr. Sheffield to assist in turning Mr. Darcy over to the man’s stomach.
A soft hiss escaped the surgeon’s lips when he viewed the wound in Mr. Darcy’s back. “I have seen worse,” he said, but Elizabeth’s eyes noted how inflamed one particular area appeared, and she cursed herself for a lack of diligence. “We must remove the stitches presently in Mr. Darcy’s back, drain the area and add new stitches. Mr. Sheffield, you must keep Mr. Darcy in place while I make the necessary incisions. He will likely be of the nature of a bucking horse, at least at first.”
“I am prepared, sir, when you are,” Mr. Sheffield announced.
Elizabeth caught Mr. Darcy’s hand and placed herself beside his head, where she might stroke his hair and whisper close to his ear.
“Ready for the first cut,” Mr. Rheem said, and Mr. Darcy bucked just as the man had described when the blade cut into his skin.
“Shush,” she whispered as she wiped his cheek with a cool cloth. “I am here. I mean to see you well, Mr. Darcy. Mr. Sheffield is here, as is your sister, and two of mine. And all who serve you.”
The hand she held tightened ever so slightly about three of her fingers.
“Hold onto my hand, William,” she said close to his ear so the others could not hear her endearments. “I shall not leave you, and you do not have my permission to leave me.”
She looked up to where the surgeon performed his repair of the wound. When she glanced down again, Mr. Darcy’s eyes were on her face. “Elizabeth?” he rasped.
“Yes, my dear boy,” she said as tears filled her eyes. “I am here. I shan’t leave you.”
The moment was gone as fast as it had arrived, and Mr. Darcy said no more. However, she continued to murmur her reassurances as she studied Mr. Rheem’s skillful administrations.
Mr. Rheem said as he continued to place his stitches ever so exactly, “Evidently to assure his survival, Mr. Darcy’s mind has placed a barrier between the pain he suffers and your hand, miss. His fingers still encircle yours, but he does not clutch them in pain, but rather with care. He has absorbed the painful procedure without reaction beyond the occasional tick of his index finger against the back of your hand. He means to protect you, just as you do him.”
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With his brief response to her plea, Elizabeth had known hope, but his battle was not over, nor was hers. Two more days passed. She should have permitted the others to assist her, but, for the life of her, Elizabeth could not consider leaving him, even for a few minutes.
“His breathing does not sound so labored,” she told herself in hope that her observation was accurate. She sat heavily in the chair and at the same table which held her supper. It was cold, but Elizabeth took several bites out of each dish so as not to worry her sisters. Yet, she soon returned to Mr. Darcy’s side, again claiming his hand. She leaned forward to rest her foreheadon the edge of the bed. Such had been how she had slept for the last few nights.
Elizabeth did not know how long she had remained as such. Generally, she tended to doze off for a quarter hour or so, and then her body would slump downward until she was in such an awkward position that it woke her, and she would begin the process once more, but this time when she jolted awake, there was something holding her head in place. She had briefly thought to swat at it, but then she realized the “weight” was Mr. Darcy’s hand: He had lifted his hand to touch her head.
Immediately, she caught his hand and raised her head to look once more into the face she had come to adore. His eyes were upon her, and there was an awareness, not present previously.
“You have come back to us,” she declared in delight.
“Ta . . .” he began, but closed his eyes in apparent frustration.
“Permit me to give you a few spoons of water,” she said as she reached for the pitcher to pour a glass of water and scurried across the room to claim her spoon. Just as quickly she returned. Filling the spoon, she gently touched his bottom lip to force his mouth to open wider, then she permitted the water to trickle across his tongue. She repeated the gesture at least a dozen times before he lifted his hand to cease her efforts.
“Came . . . back . . . to . . . you,” he said.
Elizabeth wished such could be true, but the man was to marry Jane; yet, she did not contradict him. Instead, she placed the back of her hand against his forehead.
He reached for her arm and tugged it down beside him. “Thought . . . I . . . dreamed . . . you . . . but . . . you . . .are . . . truly . . . real.”
“I should order you some broth,” she said, thinking to pull away, but his grip was stronger than she had expected. “MissDarcy shall be so happy,” she said as she stroked the rough beard marking his cheek. “And, of course, Jane and your staff and even Mary, who has assisted me greatly.”
“Miss . . . Bennet . . . is here?” he asked.
“Naturally,” she repeated. “Where else would she be?”
“But you . . .” he began.
“Jane is not the type to tolerate blood and other body fluids well and . . . those duties have always fallen to my shoulders or to Mary’s.”
