The first hour or so was passed in silence. Richard surreptitiously observed Darcy's dreamy face, noted how he fiddled and caressed the ring on his finger, and heard the unconscious faint sighs. In honest curiosity he finally broke the quiet.
“What is it like, Darcy, to love as you do?” The impromptu question pierced the calm, Darcy's brows shooting up as he glanced to his cousin, and Richard coloring as he realized his private musings were vocalized.
There followed an awkward pause, Richard flushed and Darcy amused. “Why do you ask?”
“Forgive me, my friend, I meant no offense. It was impertinent of me to ask such a thing, so let us just forget the question.”
“I am not offended and have every intention of answering your query, cousin. I am merely curious why you ask it. Do you have a particular lady in mind? Or are you seeking enlightenment for the furthering of your education in human interpersonal relationships?” Darcy was grinning broadly.
Richard grunted. “More the latter, I suppose, although you know I am not as ragingly consumptive of all matters educational as you are.”
“Well that surely is the truth! How you managed to graduate University yet remains a mystery to me.”
“Ha, ha.” Richard intoned dryly. “Most amusing today, Mr. Darcy.”
“Watching your discomfiture always increases my humor. You have yet to adequately answer. Why do you ask about love?”
Richard shrugged, gazing out the window. “Primarily idle curiosity. You have been so different since Elizabeth entered your life. I noted a change in your demeanor as far back as Rosings last, although I did not comprehend the cause. The oddity is that I thought you perfectly content before, yet now I observe the two of you together, and even how you fondle your new ring, and the happiness is transparent. Nauseatingly so.” He grinned and shrugged again. “So I was curious what it felt like.”
Darcy was gazing into his lap with a soft smile upon his mouth, selfconsciously removing fingertips from the gold band. He did not answer hastily, finally speaking lowly, “I do not know if I can sufficiently place it into words. Perhaps that is why the poets wax eloquent with platitudes and analogies as mere common phrases do not suffice. All I know for certain is that almost from the moment I saw her she has filled my senses and my heart. There is joy with Elizabeth in every way and every moment, whether present or no. I feel light and buoyant, yet also grounded and secure. Giddy and frivolous, yet strong and steady. Childish and masculine simultaneously.” He chuckled softly, closing his eyes and leaning back against the carriage wall. “Yet you know what the most miraculous part is, Richard? Greater than how she makes me feel is the miracle that she loves me.”
He opened his eyes abruptly, staring at his cousin with full Darcy intensity. “Richard, there is no replacement for that. It is a priceless treasure, and I only wish all in the world could experience it.”
“And this 'feeling' is worth the misery I note at times such as this, when you are separated?”
Darcy shook his head. “It is not misery in the way you imagine. Yes, I miss her terribly already and my loneliness will be profound, but our love sustains me and I have the constant joy of knowing she waits for me.”
They were solitary with their thoughts for a spell, Darcy resuming the heedless caressing of his ring while Richard dwelled inwardly. Slowly Darcy began to chuckle. “Tell me, cousin, does any of this questioning have to do with Admiral Ulster's daughter?”
Richard's laugh was rich, an uncharacteristic ruddiness spreading over his cheeks. He glanced away, eyes downcast. “I admit nothing, especially to you who would tease me mercilessly. All I shall say is that the concept is not as repugnant as it once was, although God help me if I am ever as gushy and nonsensical as you, or completely lose sight of all propriety. Is that sufficient for now, Mr. Romance?”
Darcy laughed loudly. “It is a start!”
Once in Town, Darcy wasted no time in beginning the arduous process of concluding his business affairs. With the Darcy House staff under strict orders to remain mum regarding his residency, he entered the offices of Mr. Daniels bright and early the day after his arrival. For two days all went according to plan, Darcy quite pleased with the progress made. It was while sitting in the library the second evening after finishing a long devotion-imbued letter to his wife, brandy in hand and papers spread before him, that he began coughing. It was only a light tickle felt in the back of his throat, but it persisted no matter how often he attempted to drink or cough the itch away. More irritated than anything, he finally gave up working and went to bed.
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
