My Dearest Mr. Darcy: An Amazing Journey Into Love Everlasting (43 page)

Thus far the days and nights had passed rapidly with well-controlled sadness. He missed Elizabeth with an ache that was unrelenting, but the constant activity kept the pain at bay. Tonight he sat in the bed that was for many years comfortable and familiar as only for him, but was now glaringly empty and cold. He tried to read, but the prickle in his throat distracted, and he constantly glanced up toward her dressing room, positive he saw a shadow. Finally he gave in, dousing the lights and lying down in hopes that sleep would claim him quickly so he could dream of her.

Surprisingly, since he was not actually tired, sleep was attained rapidly, but his dreams were troubled. Elizabeth was nowhere to be found. Instead he floated dazedly through heavy clouds that occluded his respirations, thick cottony tendrils that invaded his nostrils, the air cool and damp. Then he was swimming in a hot spring, deep with the surface sparkling visibly above him yet he could not propel his weighted body to the promise of oxygen. He woke well before dawn, his sinuses obstructed and throat afire.

"Perfect," he mumbled scratchily. "Never ill, right, Darcy."

He forced himself to rise and bathe, feeling slightly improved once dressed and outside in the brisk air. However, after an hour closeted in the roomy office with Mr. Andrew Daniels and his eldest son Benjamin, his head felt to explode and the basic exercise of breathing was torturous. He ignored the unpleasant sensations as best he could until mid afternoon when the quill began to waver in his tremulous fist and a fit of coughing gripped him with alarming potency.

Mr. Daniels took charge, boldly facing the potential anger of his client by insisting on calling for Mr. Darcy's carriage and rescheduling the appointment for when his health was restored. Darcy considered arguing, but quite simply did not have the energy to do so.

It had been some five years since Darcy last suffered from the ravages of a common cold. At that time he had been residing at Pemberley, with Georgiana and Mrs. Reynolds fussing over him. It had annoyed him greatly, but he had to admit the constant female companionship and nursing was pleasant, not to mention beneficial in speeding his recovery.

Mrs. Smyth was not the least bit maternal and, aside from providing hot tea and edibles, had no idea how to care for the infirm. Therefore, Darcy was left to his own devices with only Samuel to make sure he did not wallow in his own sweat and disgusting bodily secretions.

Samuel, proficient with the vast array of masculine essentials, was utterly inept when dealing with an ill Master. The fact that Mr. Darcy had been unwell only twice since Samuel assumed the post as his valet did not furnish him much in the way of medical expertise. Nonetheless, even he could diagnose a frightening increase in infirmity by the third morning after falling sick. Darcy was difficult to rouse, blazing to the touch, coughing in wracking fits, and intermittently shivering and sweating.

The physician was sent for, rapidly assessed the situation, and assumed command. There was no question that the suspected cold was upgraded to influenza status. The prescribed medicines were obtained from the apothecary and detailed instructions were given to Samuel and Mrs. Smyth. Darcy was liberally dosed with a tea mixture of yarrow, peppermint, ginger, willow, and elder bark for general aches and fever. Further distillations of licorice root, elecampane, mullein, and honey were forced down his throat for the cough and chest congestion. Oil of lavender was burned to cleanse the air and promote sleep.

For five days total Darcy drifted in a hazy place of vague memory. His waking moments were brief and filled with stertorous, productive coughs that left him weak, gasping, and in pain. Muscles that he did not know existed in his body ached unrelentingly. The pervading odor of lavender reminded him excruciatingly of Elizabeth, and he knew on some level that time was passing without writing to her or completing the reams of paperwork that would bring him back to her, but then the thought would fade away as uncontrollable trembling assumed command.

The energy necessary to rise enough to utilize the bedside chamber pot upon those occasions his body required that type of relief was tremendous, leaving him utterly spent as he fell backwards onto the pillows in a heap. The room would undulate and whirl, his head throbbing, and more than once the endeavor ended with his stomach in wild upheavals.

He managed to drink some liquids beyond the curative concoctions offered, the cool streams of water soothing to his parched throat. Food was impossible, nothing able to stay settled in his stomach for longer than minutes before being regurgitated violently.

His dreams were randomly dark and disturbed or fantastical. Visions of people long since dead or not seen in years commingled with recent additions to his life, such as the Bennets. There was no coherency. His rational mind struggled to understand the purpose but was continually relegated to some far corner while the whimsical madness took control.

One afternoon he woke abruptly from a vivid but chaotic dream of Elizabeth crying for him. For several moments his heart pounded with the memory, but as the dream faded he recognized the current clarity of his thoughts. He was weary as never experienced before, but lucid. The bright sun streaming through the window pierced his sore eyes and his body felt as if he had been pummeled in a boxing ring, but he was cool and the bed was stationary.

"Well, finally back to the land of the living, are we?" It was Richard, grinning happily, but pale with an undertone of worry in his voice. Darcy opened his mouth to flash a sharp retort of some kind, nothing escaping but a faint squeak. "Eloquent, Mr. Darcy, as always. Here, cousin, drink this."

Darcy cringed, fully expecting another foul-tasting tea, but it was plain water. Cool and the most delicious-tasting beverage ever to pass his lips. Darcy was certain he could have consumed an ocean of the succulent fluid, but Richard forced him to sip gradually.

"God, I am tired!"

"Lazy old man. Lying about for nearly a week and you want to sleep?" Darcy smiled faintly, eyes closing as Richard reclined him onto the pillows.

"What day is it?"

"Tuesday. You have been ill for five days, not counting the time before Samuel called me. You gave us a bit of a fright. I knew you were too blasted stubborn to succumb to a mere fever, but Samuel has been as hysterical as an old woman."

Darcy's eyes had flown open and he was attempting to rise, quite unsuccessfully. "A week? I have work to do and must get home. Oh Lord, Elizabeth must be frantic. Richard...?" He fell back into the pillows, panting and coughing.

"Calm yourself, man, or you will have a relapse! Listen to me, William. Do not be stupid and exert yourself unduly. Elizabeth does need you home but that will not occur in a timely manner if you deteriorate again. I have taken the liberty to write in your stead and inform your beloved wife that you have a minor cold and requested I write for you. I know you hate dissembling, but I judged it proper in this case."

Darcy was breathing heavily, heart racing painfully, and the room was spinning again. Whether he liked it or not, he could not deny the logic of Richard's advice. "A letter... I should send... a letter... telling her..."

"Yes, yes, all in good time. Sleep again, William. You can dictate a missive to her later. She has written to you several times, which will surely boost your spirits." He stopped, realizing that Darcy was soundly asleep and snoring.

Lizzy stood on the Pemberley portico for ten minutes, allowing George Darcy's warm hands to rest on her shoulders and resonant voice to soothe, all far too reminiscent of her husband, before she wiped the tears away. Darcy's carriage was barely out of sight before Lizzy launched into a whirlwind of activity. She had decided with full conscious intent that if she must be alone she would keep busy so she could not dwell on it overly. Her first order of business was to begin planning for Christmas. The fact that it was over two months away meant nothing, as she wanted to have everything prepared before the baby came. With this at the forefront of her mind, she met with Mrs. Reynolds within an hour of Darcy's departure.

Thus began her days. As far as Christmas celebrations went, the plans were both easier and more complicated. It was easier in that she knew the tenants quite well now so deciding what to place in their gift basket was obvious. It was also easier because the guest list would be far smaller with focus on intimate family and the baby. Obtaining gifts was a bit more problematic, as Lizzy could not tramp through the shops of Lambton in her condition, so she needed to decide on what to present to her friends and family. Georgiana and Harriet Vernor assisted in this task, handling the shopping for her.

There was also the tenant Christmas feast to plan. Last December as Darcy toured her through the manor and first spoke of the holiday tradition for the Pemberley workers, Lizzy had briefly envisioned something grand. In the same way as the Summer Festival, she had wanted to reinstate the old customs with flair. Of course, those early plans had not taken into consideration the arrival of their first child. Not knowing how the birth might proceed, what her physical condition would be afterwards, nor when it would even occur, Lizzy decided it would be best to keep the event understated. Actually it was her husband who firmly declared that the dinner be a humble affair, allowing no room for argument, so Lizzy had no real choice.

Nevertheless, minimal or majestic, she wanted all to be perfect. Plus, it gave her something else to fret about besides missing her husband. Before the week was out the menu was determined, the necessary cleaning of the ballroom and formal dining room was begun, the date was set for a week before Christmas, a group of minstrels from Matlock was reserved, and the list of invitees was written with invitations ordered. A detailed timetable was itemized for the following three months so all issues would be handled with or without the Mistress's input.

In between Christmas scheming Lizzy attended to household duties with a vengeance. Mr. Keith consulted her on everything although Lizzy knew he did not have to. She spent large quantities of time at Darcy's desk usually for no real purpose other than for the comfort afforded. The massive desk chair was imprinted with the shape of his derriere and thighs, the desktop strewn with the odd trinkets that he fiddled with while he worked, and littered with random notes written in his strong flowing calligraphy. Darcy was highly organized, each document ever signed filed in a logical manner and the ledgers meticulous, yet strangely the surface of his desk was cluttered. It was all a ready reminder of her husband, and for the days he was absent she ignored her own desk in the corner or the one in their sitting room, preferring to sit in his chairs.

Her need to be close to him in even this elemental way ended up being educational. Initially she gave it no real consideration, but as she sat in his office she began idly reading through the carefully filed papers. At first when she came across something that made no sense to her or was written in a puzzling code she passed it by. But more and more she began to see a pattern, and curiosity overcame her. Mr. Keith seemed unperturbed by her nosiness, answering her questions and offering explanations. The files covering her husband's years as Master of Pemberley were separate from those of his father and grandfather. Mr. Keith informed her that past documents and ledgers were stored in a basement chamber, dating back well over a hundred years. Lizzy immediately noted the similarities and differences in the documenting techniques used by Darcy compared to his predecessors, not to mention the larger array of ventures delved into. Some of his recording methods were amazingly simplistic while others were wildly complex. And the number of business transactions, investments, and estate matters was vaster than she had suspected. All of it lent additional insight into the mind of the man she was married to while also increasing her grasp of Pemberley affairs.

Luckily no serious quandaries arose during Darcy's absence. The day-today required purchases of food, household items, provisions for the animals, and such were routinely procured and paid for. Staff wages were disbursed at the end of each week, all earnings tabulated and allocated by Mr. Keith to each person while in Mrs. Darcy's presence. Decisions above and beyond the usual were minimal. An overly abundant and earlier than expected harvest of barley provided an opportunity for Lizzy to receive a crash course in crop management and bartering. With Mr. Keith's patient assistance and the finely detailed notations in Darcy's files, Lizzy transacted a market exchange with a hefty profit and surplus barley storage for Pemberley.

She was quite proud of herself, but primarily she knew that it was the small things such as intact ledgers that would free up an inordinate amount of Darcy's time when he returned. Extending further, Lizzy completed a number of the tasks Darcy had left unfinished due to his hasty departure. She worked very hard to keep it all in the order that Darcy preferred and thrilled in imagining how pleased he would be to discover how well his wife had taken care of matters.