forever interrupting her to check how she was or bring a snack, and pouring on the charm as he whisked her off for walks about the grounds. His presence in the manor was simultaneously comforting and disconcerting. Lizzy had grown accustomed to the uncanny similarities George shared with her husband, no longer consciously noting them. Until now. The timbre of his laugh, resonance of voice, piercing blue of tender eyes, and general height and posture, even in his extreme boniness, was nearly indistinguishable from his nephew. It unnerved her and intermittently escalated her desperation and soothed it.
Georgiana was nearly as persistent, ensuring that Lizzy was never bored. Her sweetly steady friendship and deep love for her new sister was genuine. They spent numerous evenings together in the Darcys' sitting room, giggling and sharing girlish stories while reclining in robes and nibbling cakes and sipping tea. It greatly facilitated the transition from busy day to solitary night.
Darcy's hasty exodus had allotted no time for her to prepare little notes or intimate reminders to tuck into his valise, so she wrote lengthy lovelorn letters each night to be posted every two days. Pouring her heart did ease the ache somewhat, as did his reply. Sheer exhaustion and the pressing demands of the baby allowed her to sleep deeply with delightful dreams of him, at least for the first week. His first letter arrived on their fourth day apart. Like her, he had composed it in the evenings over two days and it was far more sentimental and erotic then hers. Lizzy experienced slight trepidation over placing boldly intimate ramblings in indelible ink to then be carried across England by strangers. Darcy suffered no such inhibition, surprisingly, as the need to express his desires for her transcended the unlikely possibility of the letter falling into unknown hands.
By the end of the week she was beginning to sense some disquiet at a lack of additional correspondence, having written twice more to him, but assumed it was because he was busy. Then the scribbled note penned by Richard arrived saying only that Darcy was ill with a minor cold, offering a patently lame excuse of sneezing too much to hold a quill as to why he was dictating to Richard. Lizzy did not believe a word of it and was instantly catapulted into panic.
“George!” she yelled, her uncle appearing within seconds and nearly colliding with Lizzy as he bounded over the threshold.
“What is it?”
“Read this and tell me what you think.”
He did, frowning. “Hmmm. Something does not seem right…”
“Not at all. William is ill, Uncle, I can feel it. I need to go to London. Can you help me with the arrangements?” She was already pulling the servants bell.
“Elizabeth, think. I absolutely will not allow you to travel to London so you can erase that thought from your head right now.”
“But…”
“No, and that is final. William may be sicker than Col. Fitzwilliam claims, but that does not necessarily mean he needs you there…”
“But I am his wife!”
“Precisely… Thank you, Watson, but we no longer require your services.” The footman bowed and retreated, George crossing to where Elizabeth stood fighting tears. He placed his hands on her shoulders, speaking in soft tones so akin to Darcy that the tears spilled instantly. “Listen, dear. William is very strong and hideously stubborn. I am quite sure he can fight off any malady. We know he is being well cared for between Richard and Samuel. If it were life threatening, Richard would be forthcoming, I am certain. William will heal faster knowing you are safe from harm. The journey is too risky and you cannot permit yourself to fall ill.”
She was crying in earnest now, and George gathered her into his arms, patting with a whispered
Finally on the third day after Richard's note, a longer letter arrived, also penned in Richard's feathery script, but clearly the words of her husband. Lizzy began sobbing before the salutation was read.
Underneath were supplementary lines in a shaky script that was nonetheless clearly Darcy's:
The letter was dictated, shakily written, sealed, and posted the morning following Darcy's fever breaking. By the time Lizzy received it Darcy had proven his powers of regeneration and colossal strength of will by resuming nearly the same hectic agenda as prior to his illness. Richard returned to his regiment with a warning to moderate that he knew Darcy would ignore. In truth he was still weak, the cough abiding, and the need for afternoon rest periods undeniable. At least it gave him a legitimate excuse to decline the few invitations that arrived despite his attempt to maintain secrecy.
Chapter Fifteen
Lizzy returned to her self-appointed duties with a relieved smile on her face. She would not feel completely secure until she could feel his solidity under her hands and gaze upon his healthy face, but her anxiety was alleviated. While apprehension waned with subsequent letters written in an ever increasingly firm hand, desolation and melancholy flourished unabated. The pain in her heart rose with each passing day, allayed somewhat in rejuvenating sleep and sweet dreams.
As the third week without her husband advanced, Lizzy and Georgiana walked to the orphanage in the Village. They each carried a basket filled with baked treats for the children, dressed warmly against the chill air.
