Mr. & Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy: Two Shall Become One

Chapter Eighteen Recovery, Recollection, and Revenge

For the subsequent five days, Lizzy slept interminably. When she woke, she was seared with blinding pain that required frequent doses of laudanum to induce sleep. Therefore, it was a cycle of constant slumber with minimal conscious periods used to encourage her to eat and attend to her physical necessities. Darcy was in a barely controlled state of panic the first few times she slept, certain she had slipped into unconsciousness. His relief when she woke up was immeasurable, tears readily springing to his eyes. He undoubtedly told her he loved her more in those five days than in the past four months, and there was hardly a second he was not touching her in some manner.

The doctor assured him the headaches were normal under the circumstances and would lessen in intensity daily. Her other wounds were healing exceeding his expectation. The ankle, although discolored with every hue imaginable, was no longer as swollen and mobility was marginally limited. The numerous other bruises over her body were also in varying shades of yellows, greens, and purples, but rapidly receding. They had not spoken about the possible miscarriage and Darcy, frankly, could not bear to cope with it right now. He only wanted to focus on his wife’s recovery and his own bliss at having her with him.

Her recollection of the past two weeks was spotty. When he asked her about the turkey comment, she had no idea what he was talking about. At times she remembered running through the woods and being frightened but she could not recall why or at what, and then she would forget the woods entirely. Attempting to focus on her flight and the circumstances leading to it merely augmented her headache, so Darcy desisted in questioning her. She made no mention of their argument, and he did not bring it up. Aside from her pain and sleepiness, she was her usual self: witty, jovial, and loving. Her appetite improved, although she was frequently nauseous and was ill twice. All of this the physician said was to be expected.

Lord Matlock’s private physician was consulted and he concurred, greatly easing Darcy’s mind. Lady Matlock arrived two days after the accident and stayed, taking over Lizzy’s care from Mrs. Reynolds so the housekeeper could resume her duties. Georgiana and Marguerite were diligent companions as well, allowing Darcy the freedom to attend to his own needs, such as bathing and shaving and eating regularly. Nonetheless, he was never further than the next room. In fact, he did not move past the third-floor landing for more than a week, only traveling that far twice for brief conversations with Mr. Keith.

He wrote to her father, explaining briefly what had transpired and ensuring him that Lizzy was recuperating rapidly. He politely asked him to apprize the Gardiners and Bingleys, pledging to write further once the immediate crisis was alleviated. Col. Fitzwilliam, notified by his father, breezed in five days after the accident, providing support and a bit of light humor and diversion, originally not well appreciated by Darcy but eventually helpful in restoring balance and easing his gloominess. The plethora of flowers and well wishes from the families of the community was truly staggering. Darcy was awed. He scattered the blooms throughout the bedchamber, adding fresh ones from the conservatory and gardens, so the room was a rainbow of color and sweet aromas.

Once Darcy relinquished his anxiety over Lizzy’s health, he turned his consideration to the event itself. Her bad temper, resulting in their ridiculous argument, he attributed to possible pregnancy and their mutual stupidity and obstinacy. By what he ascertained from Georgiana and the staff he questioned, Lizzy had been in a cheerful, exuberant mood and perfectly healthy when she set off to pick berries. The groom who had discovered the strewn berries and discarded bucket had little to tell. Her footprints leading into the forest were clear and solitary.

The road itself was one well traveled by both carriages and pedestrians. There were other footprints near Mrs. Darcy’s as well as marks from a carriage, the groom said, but there was no way to deduce with confidence if they were related, nor would it help much anyway. When Darcy asked if he had noted turkey tracks, the groom had answered a baffled negative. The mystery of it gnawed at Darcy, but he saw no way to solve it, so he had to abandon the quest for enlightenment for the time being.

By the end of the eleventh day after the accident, Lizzy’s headaches were minimal and tolerable; however, her amnesia surrounding the day of the accident persisted. The stitches had been removed from the laceration to her head, her bruises were almost invisible, and her ankle only twinged slightly. She had occasional bouts of nausea, but it appeared to be lessening. She passed most of the daylight hours awake with only short naps, and was beginning to experience the restlessness of her forced confinement in their chambers.

Darcy carried her to the sitting room and window seat with increasing frequency as her headaches diminished. The doctor said she must stay off her foot for at least a week longer but could be moved farther afield, provided she did not overtax herself. Their chambers were unquestionably Lizzy’s favorite rooms in all of Pemberley, but she longed to leave them. Darcy promised her that in the morning he would carry her to whichever room she wished to visit. This pleased her and she kissed him gratefully.

He returned the kiss chastely and then pulled away, tucking the blankets around her snuggly before retreating. Each evening he did this, sitting near and tenderly caressing her hand as she fell asleep. After that he read or, on occasion, moved to his desk, left the door open, and attended to business, eventually joining her on their massive bed. However, he slept in a nightshirt on top of the down comforter and under his own blanket, and other than holding her hand, avoided any physical contact.

Until the past four nights, Lizzy had been in too much discomfort and far too weary to lament her husband’s caution. She understood he fretted over her well-being, but the truth was that his lack of affection was troubling her more than anything. She yearned for his love with a desire that was partially emotional and spiritual but, frankly, was largely lustful.

Her preoccupation and urges invaded her sleep. In the middle of the night she roused fully to the always succulent view of her stunningly alluring husband sprawled beside her deep in slumber. Wasting no time on contemplation, she carefully slipped out from under her blankets and nestled next to his warm body. He sighed and reflexively gathered her into his arms. Lizzy had a clear agenda and it did not include sleep.

Knowing well the form of caresses and kisses arousing to him, she employed them all, the instantaneous response exactly as she anticipated. He moaned, his craving as strong as hers even in sleep. He sought her mouth, kissing her with the pent-up passion of a near fortnight without her, combined with the residual terror of possibly losing her forever. His hands acted of their own accord, pressing her tightly into the hard planes of his body before he snapped awake.

With a gasp he pulled away, grasping her fondling hands in a firm grip, and pleading breathlessly, “Elizabeth, please! We cannot… we must not…”

“It is alright, my love. I am feeling much better and I need you, Fitzwilliam. I want you to love me. I know you will be gentle,” she smiled at his worried face, leaning in to kiss him, “although I make no promises that I will be.” She teasingly claimed his lips and he groaned, giving in for a moment of utter delight and then shuddering as he again pulled away, rapidly sitting up on the edge of the bed with his back to her.

He cradled his head in his hands and she could see him shaking. “Fitzwilliam, what is it? You are scaring me! I assure you I am fine, and I know you desire me.” She rose up and wrapped her arms about his waist, laying her cheek against his back. “Do not try to deny it, beloved; I know you too well.”

He clutched her hands against his abdomen, partly to comfort her and partly to prevent her roaming any lower, and spoke shakily. “My heart, my ardor for you has attained a critical level, have no fear of that. It is just… . I have not spoken to the doctor about this…”

“The doctor! What in the world does the doctor have to say about our lovemaking? William, you are being ridiculous, and I cannot fathom why you would contemplate discussing this with a stranger!”

He stood up abruptly and began pacing, not meeting her eyes. “Elizabeth, there is something… we deemed it wise not to… you have been so ill, and I could not bear…” He trailed off and Lizzy identified his extreme distress.

She was terrified but also miffed that they had kept something obviously important from her. “Fitzwilliam Darcy, I insist you sit down this second and tell me what is going on! We promised to harbor no secrets. Whatever it is, I have the right to know and we must deal with it together.”

He looked at her with such misery on his lovely face, misery as she had witnessed during the first few days of her recovery. “William, if you do not come to me, I swear I will get up and walk over to you!” To prove her intent she started scooting to the edge of the bed, prompting him to step quickly.

“No, Elizabeth, relax. You are correct. I must tell you.” He sat next to her and grasped her hands, gazing into her eyes. “Beloved, when I found you… on the day of your accident… you were bleeding copiously from… Your fall probably resulted in a miscarriage and I…” He swallowed, too overcome to continue as he watched her, and stroked her cheek. “My love, Elizabeth, I am so sorry!”

Lizzy was staring at him, a puzzled frown on her face. She did not reply for several minutes then, “I heard a probably in there. What precisely happened and what information did the physician impart?”

Darcy inhaled deeply and closed his eyes, “Your blood had soaked through your skirts and onto my shirt.”

“Sorry about that.”

He opened his eyes in surprise at her teasing tone, further amazed to see her smiling slightly. He shook his head faintly, “My clothing was ruined already, so it is insignificant. Elizabeth, are you alright?”

“Pray continue, William.”

He frowned, “Very well. The physician asked me if we suspected you might be with child, to which I replied it was possible. I informed him that your monthly cycle was late and you were… edgy. He told me that can be a sign.” Lizzy nodded and flushed, hanging her head in shamed remembrance. “He said the bleeding may be indicative of a miscarriage, but he could not be certain.”

“Why not?”

“The hemorrhaging was not as extensive as usually seen and ceased quickly, although he ruminated that the early stage of your condition could affect that. Of course, you may not have been pregnant at all. He also expected the bleeding to continue but it did not.” He halted, sighed greatly, and ran his hand over his face. “I do not know, Elizabeth. I confess to avoiding the topic. It is too painful.”

Lizzy cupped his face with her hands and kissed him tenderly. “My sweet love,” she whispered, meeting his eyes and smiling, “let me reveal to you what I know. Aside from this bleeding which I do not remember and by the physician’s own admission was questionable, I am now approximately six weeks late, and I am never late. There is the craziness of my attitude, for which I profoundly apologize. Madeline shared with me that she suffered the same moodiness with her pregnancies. I am sure your uncle would commiserate.”

She laughed softly and kissed him again, lingeringly. “Every morning I wake and am queasy. It may be residual of the head trauma, yet why do I feel ill only in the morning and before I even move? Lastly,” she grasped one of his hands and planted it squarely on her breast, “what do you feel?”

Darcy had raptly absorbed her words, his quick intellect and education on the subject nimbly locking the pieces of the puzzle together with heightened excitement. His intimacy with her precious body instantaneously recognized the answer to her query. “You are fuller!”

“Yes, and they are tender, so gently, please,” she teased, threading her arms around his neck and shifting so that she was on his lap. “Fitzwilliam, I am not positive. Perhaps the physician will be able to verify. I desperately desire for our baby to be safe inside me, and I think it is. However, none of this can be resolved at one in the morning. Therefore, I propose less discussion and pleasant,” light kiss, “arousing,” nibbling, “satisfying activities. Oh, William! I have missed you so! At the risk of sounding horribly selfish, all I want now is you. I cannot survive another night without your arms around me. I love you and I need you.”

She kissed him ardently, pouring all her yearning and passion into the task, and he responded accordingly. With an aching groan he pushed her back onto the bed, cautiously and carefully showing her how intensively he loved, required, and hungered for her. Cold rationality was sluggish in surfacing.

With a throaty cry reminiscent of true pain, he untangled himself from her, clasping her face in tremulous hands, closing his eyes for a moment, and inhaling deeply. “God in Heaven, help me! My sweet Lizzy, my love, you surely know how fervid my passion for you. It is eating me alive, I need you so! I cannot, please, I beg you… If I hurt you in any way, if I hurt our child, Elizabeth, I… I could not live with that! Please, I promise we will talk to the doctor tomorrow, obtain answers. Tell me you understand, beloved?”

“Shhh… Fitzwilliam, I understand, I do.” She wiped his tears, her own pooling in her eyes as her lips trembled. In a small pleading voice, “Please do not make me sleep over there alone. I… I… I want you to hold me! Will you please hold me, William? I promise to behave.”

He laughed softly and pulled her into his embrace, nestling her head on his shoulder as he drew the blankets over them. “I will never let you go, Lizzy, never. If ever again you move to my mother’s bedchamber, I will batter down the door!”

The physician’s appointment was for the afternoon. After breakfast Darcy carried Lizzy to her parlor where she rested and was entertained by Georgiana, Lady Matlock, and Col. Fitzwilliam. She wrote several letters to her family and friends in the neighborhood. She had experienced some thirty minutes of nausea that morning, alleviated by the tea and toast Marguerite had begun bringing her each morning. Darcy had smiled brightly at her discomfort, which normally might have annoyed her, but she understood his emotions and was so blissful herself that she merely smiled in return, if a bit wanly.

He insisted she nap after lunch, a command that no one bothered to counter even though it was abundantly clear she was not the least fatigued. Lady Matlock returned home that afternoon, leaving Georgiana and Richard to amuse themselves, a task they would end up doing until the morrow.

The physician arrived and was momentarily dumbstruck, and Darcy embarrassed, as he had barely entered the room when Lizzy bluntly demanded he examine her feminine regions and tell her husband their marital relations must resume. Darcy nearly choked and hurriedly exited the room, but the doctor recovered quickly. After a thorough investigation of all areas, feminine and otherwise, he called for Darcy. The news was all positive.

Aside from her amnesia, which may never resolve, her head was declared healed. The ankle required another week or so of cautious activity but in a few more days, she could, with assistance, begin tentatively using it. Her feminine regions showed no sign of injury, the bleeding never having resumed. As for pregnancy, it remained too early to assert definitively, although he concurred with the symptoms as those indicative of the state. His gentle palpations had revealed a possibly enlarged womb, but, again, too soon for explicitness. Nonetheless, his cautious diagnosis was that Elizabeth was likely with child.

The affectionate and blatantly amorous glances shared by Darcy and his wife at the news brought an empathetic smile to the doctor’s face, and he hastily gathered his instruments. Darcy grinned stunningly at his wife as he escorted the doctor out, mouthing I love you as the door shut. He did manage to overcome his natural reticence and mortification for several pointed questions of his own before the physician bid adieu. He then literally ascended the stairs two and three at a time in his eagerness to return to his wife.

Darcy found his wife sitting placidly on their bed after quickly summoning Marguerite to assist changing her into a filmy rose-colored nightgown and brushing her hair. Darcy entered briskly, having shed his coat and waistcoat haphazardly in the sitting room. His eyes locked with Lizzy’s the second he crossed the threshold, his pace slowing as his smile broadened, lighting his face with an incandescent jubilance. He sat next to her, merely gazing.

“What took you so long?” she asked with a teasing smile.

He laughed softly, reaching one hand to brush the hair away from her right temple. “I needed to ask the physician a few questions for my own enlightenment and the foyer is a great distance. Even my legs can only take the steps so fast.”

She cocked her head to the side and grinned while running one hand up his thigh. “Questions? In the lengthy interval you have forgotten how it is done, beloved?”

He chuckled but deigned not to answer. Instead he leaned toward her, brushing his lips tenderly along the scar at her temple and then to her ear, her jawline, and eventually her mouth as she shuddered and sighed with contentment. “Beautiful wife,” he murmured, “I love you, and I adore you, my Lizzy.”

They caressed each other dreamily, their yearning intense, yet the thrill in the simple act of touching and kissing mesmerized them for a spell. He moved away eventually only to remove boots and shirt before gathering her tightly into his arms and stretching onto their bed.

Lizzy moaned happily and squeezed him with all her strength. “Fitzwilliam, you are the best man in the world! I love you with all my soul.”

Darcy was gentle and tender as promised. Lizzy was consumed with her need for him, but he languidly touched and caressed her satiny skin, his only haste in divesting her of the lovely but obstructive gown. Despite the physician’s assurances, he privately worried and had no intention of allowing his pent-up passions to overrule his caution. The end result was a lovemaking session of stupendous proportions as their mutual desire and yearning built slowly and was controlled.

They lay on their sides face to face, each exploring the other’s body almost as if for the first time. Darcy kissed each fading bruise and healing laceration and worked his way to her slightly swollen and colorful ankle, kissing and massaging gently. His hands moved over her body delicately, rivers of fire following in their wake. His mouth traveled as well, to each beautifully formed and slightly fuller breast, down her abdomen, dipping into her navel, and in all ways driving her mad with desire.

As he worshipped her body, awakening and spiraling her passionate lust, his heart remembered the agony of almost losing her. It was still so real to him, the torture of those days. Fear continued to clutch his soul and his thankfulness to God for returning her to him was overwhelming. His need to love her, please her, touch her, and unite with her as can only be accomplished through the act of lovemaking drove him to astounding heights of arousal.

As tremendous as his urgency to be joined with her, his thirst to taste and touch and smell every inch of her flesh impelled him to proceed slowly. In consequence, Lizzy had never been so stimulated. Always she was satisfied in their lovemaking, stunned at the intensity of the glorious sensations that throbbed through her body when he masterfully coaxed her to rapture. Perhaps it was the long absence of his touch; perhaps it was the prolonged foreplay, or more likely a combination of both. Whatever the case, she was feverish in her craving for him.

“Fitzwilliam,” she sighed in a tone of elation, “I missed you so! I love you… I love you… I love you…” Almost sobbing, she captured his lips in a crushing kiss, and with a deep groan he finally merged with her.

Darcy clenched her firmly against his chest with one arm under her neck and gripping her shoulder, while the other ceaselessly rubbed over her backside. He moaned breathlessly, exalting in the heady aroma of her hair so near his face and her skin as velvet under his hands.

“My love!” he rasped huskily. “Lord, how I wanted you. I need you, my Elizabeth, my precious wife. God… please… do not ever leave me… I cannot live… Beloved!” He pulled her away from his neck and deliriously engulfed her mouth, drowning in her taste, receiving nourishment from her breath. Their respirations came in ragged gasps. Lizzy’s nails dug into his flesh with rapacious need.

They rolled and danced in intimate communication, giving as well as receiving, the unimaginable sensations quivering throughout each nerve and cell. When they slipped blissfully over the threshold of rhapsody, the spasms and flutters buffeted over them stupendously, transporting their souls to a place of intense indescribable oneness.

Their eyes met, lips touching as hot breath commingled, and they merged in profound love and belonging. “I love you,” they whispered in one accord, “I love you, I love you…” without end, kissing tenderly as their passion crested, cascaded in a prolonged wave, and ebbed slowly. Even after their tremors had ceased, Darcy continued to move within her body, holding her tightly for a long while before finally rotating onto his back with Elizabeth enveloped in his arms.

Darcy sheltered her with a strong embrace, the emotions of the past weeks threatening to overwhelm him as tears welled. Inhaling deeply and kissing the top of her head to avoid bursting into sobs, he squeezed her so tenaciously that she released a small squeak.

“William, I cannot breathe!” she laughed, lifting to look at him. “My love,” smoothing his brow, “Are you alright?”

Smiling, he replied, “Yes, beloved, simply overcome with my emotions. I adore you so, Elizabeth, and shudder yet at how close I came to losing you. It haunts me still. I trust you will understand if I cling overly in the weeks to come.” His attempt at levity brought a smile to her lips.

“I imagine I can tolerate your presence if I must,” she teased, kissing his chest, laying her head over his pounding heart, and hugging firmly.

Contentment, relief, and joy so intensely swathed him that he fell into a doze, his perfect wife stretched on top of him. Her warmth soothed his residual fears.

They had every intention, initially, of joining their family for dinner, but time slipped away in the pleasure of their renewed love. It was well past the dinner hour before either of them felt any sensation other than sheer ecstasy. A tray was called for eventually; both of them needed their strength and Darcy especially worried as, he pointed out smugly, their child needed nourishment. As far as he was concerned, it was a fact and Lizzy was far too joyous to worry over his grief if she was found not to be with child. Besides, she had been convinced for the past week.

As the full moon touched the Peaks with glints of pale light, Lizzy lay gloriously contented in her sleep with her bare backside pressed firmly against Darcy’s chest and abdomen, legs entwined, while he embraced her and tickled her neck with his exhalations.

She dreamed.

Like many dreams, hers flowed from page to page without any true coherency. In one scene she was hugely pregnant and her husband was helping her up the stairs while laughing at her waddling gait. Then she was at their wedding, gazing into his sparkling blue eyes as she recited her vows. Next it was Christmas and Darcy was playing the violin as they all listened in amazement. In another, she sat with Harriet, Chloe, Marilyn, and Amelia with at least two dozen children of all ages climbing over the furniture, running amok, giggling, and screaming as their mothers placidly sipped their tea.

Suddenly the pages began to turn in a sequence that struck a chord of disquiet. She was storming shamefully into her husband’s study. She lay on a cold lonely bed sobbing and ill. Darcy was riding Parsifal briskly down the drive as he turned and smiled at her, warming her heart. She strolled down the avenue, humming in the bright sunlight with a bucket in her hand. She was lifting her welcoming face to an approaching carriage, freezing in terror upon spying the leering face of the Marquis of Orman.

With a scream she struggled out of Darcy’s grip, applying a twisting pressure to her ankle, as she jolted up in bed. “William!” she sobbed, grabbing her pounding head, the pages of her memory flipping rapidly, as she bent over her lap moaning.

“Elizabeth, beloved, I am here! Shhh…” She was in his arms, trembling and gulping for air. “It is merely a dream, my love. Lizzy, look at me,” he grasped her chin and she peered at him with glazed eyes, “All is well, dearest, relax on my chest. Breathe slowly. Shhhh. I am here, love, I am here…” He continued to murmur soothing words interspersed with tender kisses as he rocked gently until she calmed. He reclined her onto the pillow, one arm about her as he stroked her cheek and hair.

Her eyes were distant and staring and filled with pain. He could not be certain she was fully awake, so he maintained his calming caresses and mollifying professions until her eyes unclouded and she focused on his face. She shivered still, anguish in her expression when she spoke.

“I remember, William. I recall what happened to me.”

“You do? Are you sure, beloved, that you were not dreaming?”

“No, no! I can see it and feel it… I remember running and falling and… the turkey…” she was panting and clutching his arms roughly. Darcy was seriously alarmed at her agitation and tried to console her to no avail. She was frantic. He attempted to move away, intent on mixing laudanum to ease her suffering and distress, but she grasped him tighter. “It was him!”

“Who?”

“Orman! He encountered me on the road and… grabbed me… and tried to… Oh, William! I was so frightened! I hit him and ran. It was so foolish of me and I was so cruel to you before and I have caused you such torment and I may have harmed our baby and…” She was sobbing and hysterical. Darcy was stunned, furious, and despondent.

Elizabeth first, he thought. He poured a generous glass of brandy laced with laudanum, forced her to drink it all, and held her until she drifted into a drugged sleep. Darcy remained wide awake. His burning fury had ebbed, substituted with cold calculation and determination. He may not have all the finer details as yet, but simply the knowledge that Orman was the catalyst to Elizabeth’s accident and near death brought graphic images of murder to his mind.

At the first hint of dawn, Darcy slipped out of bed. He sought out Marguerite, informing her that the Mistress had suffered a nightmare requiring a liberal dose of sedative. He instructed Lizzy’s maid to stay with her and notify him the instant she roused. He dressed quickly and marched straight to his cousin’s door. Richard was ill pleased to be woken so early but quickly overcame his irritation when he heard Darcy’s information.

Darcy paced as he spoke, a robed Richard sitting in a chair with an increasingly grim cast to his mien. “She said he grabbed her?” he repeated in shock, “and tried… what do you think?”

“I do not know! Nor does it matter, Richard! He has accosted her, twice now, and she almost died! I insist on justice!”

“Well, of course, cousin! If you did not, I would horsewhip you myself, and then happily deal with the blackguard. All I meant is that you must ascertain the full scope of the charges against him. Orman is a knave, we all know this; however, he is a gentleman and will abide by the rules of engagement once publicly confronted. Especially coming from you since he has loathed you for years.”

Darcy continued to pace but his stride slowed as he mused. “I will not allow this to become another Wickham. Orman has run wild for too long, and he must be revealed for the villain he is. If we are fortunate, then I shall succeed in killing him, sparing all of England his offenses. At the very least I will maim him and run him out of Derbyshire.”

“How are you to handle Elizabeth? She has been through enough distress and her health is precarious.”

Darcy sighed and stopped at the window, staring sightlessly at the glowing Peaks. “More than you are aware, cousin. She may be with child.” He turned to the colonel with a delighted smile.

Richard beamed and rushed to clap Darcy on the back. “Congratulations! Watching the two of you, well, let us say I am not surprised.” He teased and Darcy blushed faintly, but then turned serious.

“Thank you, however, we are not certain so I beg your discretion. Richard, I abhor secrets and it pains me to even contemplate it, but she must not know until it is over. I am a terrible liar, as you know, so will need your support.”

“You have it, naturally.”

Darcy nodded. “Once I learn all that transpired, I will tell Elizabeth I am dealing with the matter through legal channels. I will challenge Orman this afternoon, if the coward is still in the vicinity, and I can dispatch him tomorrow.”

“Awfully sure of yourself, cousin,” Richard grinned.

Darcy looked at him with contempt, “Please, do not insult me! I know never to underestimate one’s opponent, but he cannot best me.” Col. Fitzwilliam laughed and Darcy had the good grace to smile sheepishly. “With that piece of grandiose braggadocio out of the way, I shall be cautious, never fear. I have far too much to live for.”

Marguerite sent for Darcy shortly thereafter. He promptly entered their chambers to discover his wife holed up in her water closet being ill. When she emerged, pale and aquiver, Darcy was there to support her unsteady mobility. They spent most of the morning together in their sitting room.

Lizzy told him everything. His rage at what Orman had said and done was nearly uncontrollable, and once again the famous Darcy self-control and reserve were called into action. As she continued recounting her harrowing dash through the woods, her fear at being lost, and her fright at the turkey that caused her fall, Darcy lived it with her as well as reviving the succeeding week of torment. They held one another close, needing to sense the vibrant life and unwavering love oozing from every pore.

Lizzy was anxious at what Darcy planned in retribution. He tried to conceal his wrath but she knew him too intimately. In the end, he skirted the truth by confessing his overwhelming need to confront Orman and exact physical vengeance by satisfyingly smashing in his nose, but then he would wield his considerable power and influence to have the cur lawfully punished. Lizzy was no fool and perceived that he was evading, but she wisely ruled it was his right to protect his wife as he saw fit.

Of course, she had no suspicion of what he planned.

The next morning, one hour after dawn, Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley confidently stood several feet across from the Marquis of Orman on an open field at Lord Matlock’s estate, Rivallain.

After Lizzy’s violent resistance and escape into the woods, Orman had driven home rapidly. In part, this haste was due to the significant gash over his left cheekbone, which was bleeding profusely and ultimately required eight stitches to repair, yet largely due to the sober rationality restored along with the whack from Lizzy’s bucket.

Orman was a relatively brave man, tough when the situation called, but also a dandy, foolhardy and brash. Elizabeth was not the first woman to receive unwanted advances from the Marquis; however, generally he was wiser in his choices and had, therefore, managed to avoid severe unpleasantries. Electing Elizabeth as the object of his seduction was no doubt primarily prompted by his hatred of Darcy, rather than an overwhelming attraction to her. Darcy’s and Orman’s mutual discord was not based on any particular incident but was merely one of those loathing-at-first-sight relationships strengthened over time by further revelations of their widely divergent characters and morals.

Orman may have been foolhardy, but he was not a complete imbecile. Sober rationality told him that, without the slightest doubt, Darcy would exact revenge for this recent impropriety. Therefore, as soon as his wound was treated, he departed with alacrity to a friend’s manor in Nottingham. When he received the news that Mrs. Darcy had suffered an accident, he trembled in fear.

His spies kept close watch on the situation and although information was nearly impossible to ferret out of the tight-lipped, loyal staff of Pemberley, it soon became clear that, for reasons unknown, Orman’s name was not associated with the event. With a false sense of security and atrociously poor timing, the Marquis brazenly returned to his Derbyshire manor the very day that Lizzy’s memory was reinstituted.

Thus, when Darcy, along with Col. Fitzwilliam and Lord Matlock, rode up to his house and ordered the butler to summon his master, Orman was utterly unprepared. Nonetheless, when Lord Matlock coldly intoned the charges and Darcy imperiously issued the challenge, Orman bristled and the miniscule amount of honor he possessed impelled him pridefully to accept.

As the challenger, Darcy had set the rules: duel with short swords to incapacitation, at Lord Matlock’s estate one hour after dawn on the morrow, and seconds as appointed by each party. So, here they now stood. Their swords had been inspected by their seconds—Col. Fitzwilliam and Mr. Gerald Vernor in Darcy’s case, the rules and charges had been reiterated, the ground canvassed for hazards, and coats removed.

Lord Matlock announced the onset of the duel with a loud, “Allez.” The combatants studied each other, circling slowly with their swords forward on point. Darcy had well buried his burning rage. He was calm, heart beating normally, and absolutely focused with emotions tightly controlled.

“So, Darcy,” Orman taunted, “your foolish wife loses herself in the forest, nearly dies, and you must trump charges against me! Such pride. Darcy of Pemberley would never admit to choosing poorly in the country bumpkin of Hertfordshire!”

Darcy did not flinch, although Col. Fitzwilliam swore, detained by his father from personally running Orman through.

“Esteem her quite highly, do you not, old friend?” Orman sneered, “Favor her so beautiful that all men will fall at her feet? Whom else will you accuse…” He lunged abruptly, sword aimed straight for Darcy’s heart.

Darcy had expected this tactic. Not swayed one iota by Orman’s blustering, Darcy parried easily, knocking Orman’s sword to the left and then nimbly pivoting to the right and rapidly raising his sword upwards. He sunk the edge deeply into Orman’s left arm just below the shoulder and then stepped away, sword instantly again at the ready.

Orman was taken by surprise but, to his credit, recovered immediately, sword again on point as the adversaries stalked with eyes locked. Blood soaked his sleeve but he ignored it, face no longer mocking.

The cat and mouse games were finished. Darcy lunged next, deflected by Orman with ease, initiating a round of furious thrusts, parries, and rapid ripostes. They tested each other’s strengths and weaknesses, having never fenced together in the past. Darcy scored again with a glancing cut to Orman’s neck, promptly followed with another superficial graze across his chest.

Orman howled in fury; Darcy baring his teeth in a snarl, the only show of emotion thus far. Orman attacked with rage, normally not a wise tactic and one that would have proven to be his ultimate undoing, as Darcy was primed. Unfortunately, as he stepped to the left, Darcy’s foot landed hard on a sharp stone and he faltered. Orman’s sword was averted poorly and, although not reaching its intended location, sunk completely into the flesh along the edge of Darcy’s right side, neatly gliding all the way through and exiting the back.

Darcy grunted and grimaced in pain, staggering as he jerked backward with his arm pressed tightly to the bleeding wound. Amazingly, he still somehow managed to score a penetrating stab into Orman’s right shoulder. Both men staggered backward a few paces, eyeing each other with rabid hatred and panting harshly.

“Is she honestly worth it, Darcy? A woman?”

“Vermin such as you, Orman, would never comprehend.”

“True love, is it? How touching. Never would have suspected you to be the romantic type. Perhaps her gracing me with her lovely smiles was more than you could bear?”

Darcy merely smiled, a chilling smile without humor that unsettled the Marquis, who frowned. His attempts to rouse Darcy’s anger and ruffle his composure were failing miserably. Orman began to sweat. He knew Darcy’s reputation as a superb fencer and had dwelt on little else all night, in fact. Orman was stouter than Darcy, muscular and potent. However, Darcy had the advantage of height with subsequently longer legs and greater reach. Orman could likely outlast Darcy in a contest requiring endurance, but his skill level with swords did not near Darcy’s and he knew it. He must alter his stratagem.

With a plan in mind, he engaged and another round of vicious thrusts and parries ensued. Darcy received a gash across his chest, not terribly deep, but a scar would remain to match the two on his waist. Orman pressed with a steady barrage, driving Darcy back. He applied no particular finesse, trusting to sheer brute force and stamina to wear his opponent down. Darcy landed three more superficial blows, leaving Orman bleeding from several sites.

Despite the fury of his assault, Orman was unable to connect with the nimble Darcy. Both men suffered from loss of blood and pain, but Darcy was a man vastly more familiar with the rigors of hard labor and the trial of persevering with injury after years of training horses. His breathing was only mildly labored and a light sheen of perspiration covered his brow. Orman, on the other hand, was wheezing and sweating liberally.

After a wild thrust, which Darcy parried with his free hand, earning a shallow slice to his palm, he was successful in piercing Orman’s thigh scant inches below his groin and less than a fingerbreadth from his femoral vein. Orman screamed and pitched forward, the duelists grabbing each other’s sword arms at the wrist, clinched tenaciously nearly nose to nose. They grappled together in a back-and-forth dance of engagement. All of a sudden, Darcy vehemently twisted his right arm free, aggressively smashing his elbow squarely onto Orman’s nose, feeling and hearing the satisfying crunch he had promised Elizabeth, followed by a gush of blood and lusty bellow.

In a fit of raging blood lust, Darcy intended to end it there, and would have, but Orman had one last trick up his sleeve. With blood streaming down his face and tears of pain obscuring his vision, he nonetheless had the presence of mind to sweep out with his uninjured leg, knocking Darcy completely off his feet. He landed hard on his back, air escaping his lungs in a loud whoosh. He lay there for a second, stunned and gasping, but saw Orman closing in with an overhand stroke with one purpose only: to kill. Dimly he heard Richard yell a warning.

Drawing from a reserve of strength of unknown origin, he gambled and rolled toward his attacker, lashing out with the sword miraculously still clenched in his hand, and cleanly sliced though the posterior muscles above Orman’s left knee. Orman screamed in agony, sword falling from suddenly nerveless fingers as he collapsed in a heap, clutching a now useless, hamstringed leg.

With renewed vigor, Darcy was on top of Orman in a millisecond, knee pressed painfully into his abdomen and left hand choking his throat while the sword point punctured the skin over his erratically pounding heart. Orman’s shrieks were cut short by a sharp clench of Darcy’s fingers, and he met his victor’s blazing eyes with raw fear. The spectators had drawn near.

“Shall I render mercy, Orman?” Darcy inquired frigidly as if merely asking the time of day, “Or should I kill as justice demands? Tell me the truth, swine, and be swift as I judge you have precious minutes before you bleed to death. Did you lay hands on my wife?”

“Yes, but…”

“Did you assault her with the design of enforcing intimacy?” Darcy’s sword penetrated through the skin, grazing a rib. Orman writhed but Darcy strengthened the pressure to his belly, twisted the sword minutely, and repeated, “Did you?”

“Yes! I—” gasp “—never meant her harm! Forgive me! Mercy, please!”

Placing the edge of the blade against Orman’s throat, Darcy leaned down until he was virtually nose to nose. In a deadly voice he pronounced, “Marquis of Orman, you have been vanquished in a test of honor and have confessed before these witnesses. By tomorrow all of Derbyshire, and then beyond, will know your transgressions. The choice is yours. To live, maimed and a coward, and forsake this region for the rest of your natural life, or to die by my sword. Which will it be?”

“Live,” he whispered.

“So be it. Remember your choice, Orman, for I swear that I will offer no mercy in the future.”

Lizzy woke that morning some two hours after dawn to an empty bed and fear clutching her heart.

Darcy had effectively evaded her queries the previous night by touching and kissing in all the places and ways that drove her wild with passion. Their lovemaking had been as rapturous and blissful as always, leaving her satiated and sleepy. She fell into a deep slumber immediately with her head on his chest and body nestled snuggly in his arms. If for Darcy their union had been tinged with a vague trepidation and mild nostalgia elicited by the potential for a negative outcome at the duel, it was offset by the exhilaration and overwhelming love he felt for her and the certainty that righteousness was on his side.

Now she sat in their sitting room, attempting unsuccessfully to eat some toast. Nausea and anxiety warred for dominance rendering her appetite nil. Samuel had assisted Marguerite in walking Elizabeth, but all he knew was that his master had left at dawn with Col. Fitzwilliam. It was logical to assume they were simply riding, yet she felt otherwise.

By nine-thirty when Richard knocked at the door, Elizabeth was in a near panic. She stood without thinking, swaying at the sudden pressure to her ankle. He was by her side in an instant.

“Richard! Where is William?”

“Calm down, Elizabeth; he is fine. Here, sit…”

“No! Take me to him now!” She clutched his arm tighter and took a step toward the door.

“Elizabeth, are you insane? If I allow you to walk all the way to the study, your husband will skin me alive. He sent me to assure you he is well and will be up as soon as he…”

“Listen to me, Richard Fitzwilliam,” she said in a voice of steel, glaring through narrowed eyes, “I am certain you two were up to no good today. I do not know what, although I imagine it has something to do with Orman. You will take me to him this second.”

Richard laughed and shook his head. “You two are quite a pair. Never have I seen two more stubborn people.”

“Richard!”

“Alright, I concede. I fear you must submit to my carrying you, cousin. I am not brave enough to face the wrath of two Darcys in one morning.”

When Lizzy entered her husband’s study, it was to find him sitting shirtless on his desk, grimacing and smeared with blood, the physician bent over his right side. He glanced up in surprise at the sight of his wife in his cousin’s arms.

Lizzy squealed and struggled frantically, Richard almost dropping her. She tottered to Darcy and he steadied her with a bandaged left hand. “Elizabeth, you are not supposed to be walking!”

“We can discuss that, Mr. Darcy, after you explain all this!” Richard burst out laughing, and even the doctor coughed a suppressed snicker.

Darcy was pale and weary but otherwise in quite good humor, so he too smiled at his wife. “Gentlemen, may we have some privacy?” When they left, he cupped her aggravated, teary face in his hands and kissed her deeply.

She succumbed for a moment and then yanked away angrily. “Fitzwilliam, you will not evade again with kisses!”

He smiled slyly, drawing her gently toward his lips once again, intoning huskily, “Oh, I do believe I could, beloved.” He brushed her mouth lightly. “But I shall reveal all first.”

He told her everything, dramatizing only moderately, as she examined his wounds. All were superficial except for the stab to his side that luckily had cleanly pierced the flesh, missing all vital organs. He had a nasty bruise between his shoulder blades and a painful bruise on his left instep.

“Are you in pain?”

“Nothing a whiskey and some tender female soothing will not alleviate.”

She snorted. “I should spank you rather than succor you!”

He grinned roguishly, “As you deem just, my love. However, we should wait until the physician completes stitching me up.”

She laughed, “Impossible!” She hobbled to the side bar and poured him a drink. She studied him as he drank deeply, hand shaking slightly. She ran her fingers through his hair, caressed his face and then kissed his cheek. “You are my hero, Fitzwilliam. I am so proud of you! I wish I could have witnessed Orman’s defeat and your chivalry in action.” Darcy smiled shyly and mumbled deprecatingly, humbly averting his eyes.

“Nevertheless, a sword duel is rather medieval and fraught with danger. Perhaps, dearest, in the future when you feel the urge to flex your muscles, you can choose a less deadly competition, for my sake and the sake of our child?”

“I shall faithfully endeavor to comply, Mrs. Darcy.”

“Good. Later, in our bedchamber, I will administer that spanking so you will not forget.” She smiled coquettishly, patting his rosy cheek, before calling the waiting men back in.