Chapter 45

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

D arcy fell. Elizabeth screamed. No, no! Her heart in her throat, she crawled quickly to his side as the other men lunged again at Maltravers, who lost his balance and fell, the pistol clattering to the floor. His head struck first the rack of iron fireplace tools, toppling them, then the hard corner of the marble hearth. He lay motionless, blood beginning to pool under his head, and the room silenced.

Fitzwilliam looked at the footman. "You, get the constable." The young man bolted from the room, shoving his way through the onlookers gathering in the doorway. Mr Bridges hurried up, ordering the servants back to their posts, and dispatched another footman to fetch a physician. Within minutes, Hannah and Mrs Sanders hurried in, followed by maids carrying pitchers of water, basins, rags, and bandages.

Elizabeth knelt over her beloved, scrabbling at the buttons of his coat and waistcoat, fighting panic. After a few clumsy attempts, she managed to untie his neckcloth. You have treated bullet wounds like this dozens of times, she reminded herself. This is not a mortal wound, she told herself . Calm yourself! But this was her Darcy, and he was her life.

Darcy opened his eyes. "It is just my arm, Elizabeth," he murmured. "See to Lord Akers."

"Hannah, Mrs Sanders, and Langley are with him. Can we move you from the floor?"

"With some assistance, yes."

Fitzwilliam and his father knelt beside him. "Take care with his arm," cautioned the military veteran. "Let us get him to his chambers."

She pressed the folded neckcloth against his right arm to slow the bleeding, and the men supported Darcy to his feet. He leant heavily on them as Elizabeth and a maid hurried ahead with a basin and rags. The maid threw sheets over a large armchair just before the men sat him down and carefully eased him out of his coat and waistcoat. Darcy was clearly biting his lip so he would not cry out.

"Will you be all right, Elizabeth? We shall see to the constable and Lord Akers."

She had regained her composure. "We shall, Richard. There is a lot of blood, but I do not believe the bullet damaged any bone or sinew."

"I expect you have treated wounds like this before." The men left them, and Elizabeth, desiring to be alone with her betrothed, sent the maid for some tea and broth.

"Oh, Fitzwilliam." She shook her head. "I was so frightened. I have never been so afraid in my life."

Darcy laid his head against the back of the chair as she loosened his shirt. "Of course you were terrified! That monster had you in his grip!" He lifted his left arm and touched her face.

Elizabeth shuddered. "Yes, but I meant when I saw you fall!" She did not want him to see her cry, so she turned away, sorting through the rags until she found some scissors. "I shall cut away your shirt. Do not move your arm."

She set to work, carefully cutting up the length of the sleeve and shoulder on the injured arm, moving the fine lawn, now soaked in blood, to one side. Dipping a rag in the water, she cleaned it with as light a touch as she could. "Do you have any brandy or other strong drink in your chamber?"

"Have I driven you to drink?" His face was ashen and strained, but he was attempting a jest.

"Yes, you have, but let us save that for later. We need to pour some liquor on your wound to protect against infection." She met his eye. "It will sting badly, adding to the pain, but it will help keep the wound clean."

Darcy pointed to a small cabinet, and Elizabeth found brandy, port, and a fine Scottish whisky within. The Melisande 's surgeon had had a marked preference for using whisky, so that is what she took. Returning to his side, she poured some on the wound, then soaked a clean rag with whisky and applied it carefully to the torn flesh. The shot had torn the skin and injured the muscle but not deeply, for all the blood. He would have to refrain from writing those endless letters for a time, but it would heal. "This will need a few stitches."

Darcy sucked in a breath as the alcohol stung while she sorted through the rags. "Stitches? You can stitch a wound, Elizabeth?" he asked, clearly trying to distract himself.

Elizabeth set to work, talking to deflect his attention from the pain. "Yes, as all officers' wives are expected to learn. I also acted as surgeon's assistant on occasion. We shall not stitch it now. I do not have the proper supplies to work with. It is clean, and we shall bandage it until your physician can attend to it." She rambled on until at last she wound clean linen strips around the wound and tied it off.

"Let us dispose of this shirt. Where is your man?"

"My valet is conveniently away, visiting his sister's family. They live in town, and he does not often see them. Since we were to be confined to the house, I gave him leave to stay with his relatives."

"He will be unhappy that he was not here to care for you." Elizabeth seemed at a loss for a moment. "Dearest, I think I shall need to cut away your shirt completely. We do not want to injure your arm further by pulling it over your head. Where can I find a clean one for you?"

Darcy indicated a large clothing chest in his dressing room. She left to retrieve a shirt, and when she returned, she again took up the scissors. "Shall I offend you if I admit to wanting to see you without your shirt?" she asked.

He barked a laugh and let both arms relax at his sides, his desire almost overwhelming the pain. She would touch him. Would she let him touch her? Smiling a little shyly at him, Elizabeth cut the fabric up the middle and pushed it aside, exposing his chest. And stopped.

She froze, shaken to her core, all colour draining from her face, looking as if she had seen a ghost. In a way, she had. Unblinking, she stared at him for several long moments, then slowly extended one trembling finger to touch the pendant. "How…how have you this?" she whispered, abruptly pulling back from him.

Darcy had forgotten about the lover's eye. He panicked. "Elizabeth, my heart, do not go, let me explain!" Ignoring the pain in his right arm, he grasped both her hands in his. "Please, let me tell you how I came to have it."

She stared at him for several long moments but then nodded jerkily.

Darcy gathered his wits about him, took a deep breath, and began the story of events more than two months earlier in Devonshire.

"…and what I took for a small, broken piece of driftwood washed up right at my feet. I did not pick it up but stepped over it. At that point, it seemed to follow me, bobbing along next to me for nearly the entire length of the shore, as if insisting that I pick it up. I did so and discovered it was a small wooden box that had once been painted blue. It was terribly warped. I determined to open it, but I had to pry it slowly. Inside was this tiny miniature wrapped?—"

"In layers of oilcloth. I wrapped it myself," interjected Elizabeth. She looked away from him, blinking back tears. "Samuel was killed by a lightning strike, only miles out from Devonshire. He was buried at sea, and I sent it to the bottom with him."

"I knew…I recognised your eye immediately. I told myself it was fate or the act of some mysterious force." He swallowed. "Elizabeth, you had lived in my mind for years, since the autumn of the year eleven. We returned to London, and I put the pendant on a chain so I would have it next to my heart always. I was to return to Pemberley alone within a few days, but then, incredibly, there you were—in my house! I could not let you get away again."

He continued, earnest and beseeching. "Elizabeth, you know me. You know what a dull, unimaginative old stick I am."

At this, she laughed a little.

"But even so, I felt that some sort of magic had happened, that somehow we had been led to each other again. Please believe me," he said gently.

She raised her lovely, exhausted, bruised, tearstained face, her beautiful eyes meeting his for several long moments. "I do. I…it is perhaps just the shock of seeing it again, and on your person."

He exhaled heavily, then held out his uninjured arm, and she came willingly, nestling against him. He pulled her in tight and revelled in the feel of her against his skin. "Let us marry immediately. Or do you want a wedding?"

She shook her head against his chest. "I already had a wedding."

Darcy closed his eyes, the pleasure outweighing the pain. "As did I. Let us marry without fuss, then. I shall purchase a common licence."