The Trials of the Honorable F. Darcy (16 page)

“I see you haven’t damaged the humor lobe of your brain,” he said.

“Lucky for us we have two resident surgeons,” she said.

“Now, be careful,” he said as he lifted her up to the horse again. He immediately swung up after her, and with one arm around her waist holding her securely to him, he cantered back to the house. He apologized when she said “OW!” and asked her if she still had feeling in her toes. When she said yes, he laughed and said she would be fine then.

As they neared the house, he squeezed her tighter.

“I’m so sorry, Lizzy. It was incredibly stupid of me to leave you on the horse. I wasn’t thinking at all. I won’t forgive myself until I know you are OK,” he said.

“Neither will I,” she groused. He didn’t laugh. “I’m just kidding, it was just an accident. I probably did something to make him rear up like that,” she said, squeezing his arm.

“No, he’s a high-spirited horse. I chose him today because I knew he could easily bear the weight of both of us but he can be troublesome with anyone but me. I was careless.” He sounded quiet chagrined.

“You like a high-spirited horse, do you?” she said, smiling through her pain.

“As, I am discovering, I like my women,” he said into her ear. “You, Elizabeth
Bennet
, are very high spirited.”

“Well, it’s a good thing you brained me or I might be positively wild.” He laughed and squeezed her again.

As they approached the house, Mrs. Reynolds, Jane, and Bingley all rushed down the steps. A groom took the reins and Darcy swung down, then handed Elizabeth down. As soon as she touched the ground, he swept her up into his arms and carried her up the steps.

“Elizabeth, are you all right?” Jane said, running beside him.

“Yes, Jane, I’m fine,” she called as Darcy began up the steps to their room. To Darcy she said, “This is terribly romantic of you, you know.”

“Yes, well, my plan was to just club you over the head and drag you to my room but the horse conveniently did my deed for me.” Elizabeth laughed and winced with pain.

Darcy laid her gently on the bed while Bingley, Jane, and Mrs. Reynolds filed in the room behind him. Darcy kept the handkerchief pressed to her head, which was still bleeding, while Jane performed a quick examination by checking her pupils, her ability to name everyone in the room, her ability to count her fingers, and her reflexes.

“Will you be checking my head at some point?” Elizabeth asked crossly.

“Just making sure there’s no neurological damage. Now, let’s take a look at that cut,” Jane said, smiling reassuringly. “Lots of dirt and leaves here. Goodness, how long were you rolling around on the ground? Let’s clean that up,” she said as she turned and asked Mrs. Reynolds for a bowl of warm water and a washcloth. Elizabeth looked at Darcy with an arched eyebrow and he looked away, the corners of his mouth twitching.

Bingley took a look at the cut, parting Elizabeth’s hair and blotting the blood away.

“What do you think, seven stitches or so?” he said to Jane. She nodded and Bingley set about lopping off a lock of Elizabeth’s hair around the cut, preparing it for cleansing and stitching. Darcy looked on, somewhat green when he saw the gash on the back of her head.

“What are you doing, making a wig?!” Elizabeth exclaimed as she saw the lock of hair drop to the floor. Darcy stooped and picked it up, curling it around his finger absently.

“I hope you can wear a hat in court, this is going to look dreadful,” Bingley said, winking at Darcy as he used a razor to scrape the remaining hair from the area.

“Impossible. It’s
sanction able
. And I will,” teased Darcy.

“Not to mention the horrible hat head you’re going to have for a week or so,” Bingley put in. Elizabeth made a sound of dismay.

“Lizzy, it will be covered by the rest of your hair. If you pull your hair back, and you always do, you won’t even be able to see it,” Jane said reassuringly.

Jane handed Bingley a bottle of betadine and some cotton, then set about threading her needle.

“Oh, stop being such a baby!” Jane exclaimed in response to Elizabeth’s exaggerated intake of breath when Bingley swabbed the area with betadine.

“It stings!” Elizabeth pouted. Jane rolled her eyes and shook her head. She then deftly sutured the wound with several stitches, assisted by Bingley.

“Come over to the hospital in a week and I’ll take them out,” Jane said as she finished up. Bingley handed her a bottle of liquid bandage and Jane applied it over the wound, pressing perhaps a little harder than necessary and laughing silently at Elizabeth’s squeal.

“She looks a little pale and shaky,” Darcy said. “Should we take her to the hospital?”

Both Jane and Binglely shook their heads.

“She’s fine, although I suspect she’s in for a headache for the rest of the night and probably some sore muscles,” Bingley said. “She should probably have a little something to eat and a warm soak, then go to sleep.”

“Yes, I’d like to get a warm bath and wash the blood and dirt out of my hair.”

“Would you like me to stay?” Jane asked, stroking Elizabeth’s forehead. She looked at Jane and smiled, then looked at Darcy.

“No, I am in good hands already.” Jane looked at Darcy, whose expression toward Elizabeth was undisguised love.

“I’ll start a bath for you now,” he said.

Darcy began the tap and Jane and Bingley took their leave. Darcy asked Mrs. Reynolds to bring Elizabeth some dinner in about an hour.

He helped her undress and helped her step into the bath. For once, on seeing her naked, he was not aroused; his sole purpose was to take care of her. He lathered the washcloth and washed her legs in long, tender strokes, massaging her muscles as he did. He held her arm up and ran the washcloth along it while twining his fingers through hers. He leaned her forward and soothingly washed her back. He tilted her head back and gently rinsed the dirt and leaves from her hair, then poured shampoo into his hands and worked it through her hair. He rinsed her hair carefully. He pulled out his own terry robe and wrapped it around her as she stepped from the bath with his help. He carried her to the bed and shushed her when she laughed a protest. When Mrs. Reynolds knocked with dinner, he was carefully brushing out her wet hair.

“Here you go, sweetie,” Mrs. Reynolds said as she set the tray on the bed. “I thought you might not want anything too heavy and Jane suggested soup and a grilled cheese. I hope that’s OK?”

“That’s perfect. It’s what my mom always made for me when I was sick. Thank you.”

“Fitzwilliam, just give a shout if you need anything else. There should be enough there for both of you,” she said kindly. Darcy thanked her warmly and then she left.

Darcy sat on a footstool by the bed, head resting on his folded arms on the mattress.

“How do you feel?” he asked after she had eaten some of her grilled cheese.

“I have a headache but, otherwise, I feel fine.”

“I feel terrible, I feel responsible.”

“Sweetheart, please, it was just an accident. Don’t get all worked up,” she said gently. Both were aware it was the first time either of them had used such an endearment. He caught her hand and kissed her palm.

“It could have been much worse.”

“It wasn’t.”

“You’re very lucky.”

She stroked her thumb across his cheek. “Yes, I am.”

June 12-Wednesday

Elizabeth woke sore and stiff the next morning but again safely within the circle of Darcy’s arms. She did not wake him when she woke but listened to the sound of his breathing, deep and steady, next to her. She looked at the clock; it was nine in the morning. She rarely slept in so late nor did Darcy. She picked up his cell phone from the nightstand and examined it. She wondered whose numbers he had programmed in. She opened it; he had not personalized the screen with any screen saver. On impulse, she snuggled down next to him, held the phone out, smiled, and took a picture of them. She dared not set it as his screensaver but hoped he would look at it and laugh before he erased it.

She replaced the phone on the nightstand and picked up his watch. It was heavy, made of brushed nickel perhaps, a masculine, sophisticated watch. Its main face was currently set on California time, and a smaller face set on England time. A third dial seemed to be a stopwatch but she couldn’t figure out how to work it. She put the watch on her arm and fastened the clasp; even fastened, it still slipped off her hand easily. She turned it over and saw “Happy Birthday, From Georgie,” engraved on the back.
She has excellent taste in watches,
Elizabeth thought.

The watch was returned to the nightstand and his wallet was the next item to be examined. It was brown leather, well-worn, and European in style, meaning it folded in half rather than in thirds. She examined the outside for any initials or signs of it being a gift. She opened it and looked at his driver’s license.
Lord, even the DMV couldn’t ruin this guy’s good looks,
she thought.

“What are you doing?” he asked next to her.

“I’m stealing your money and credit cards,” she replied, continuing to look through his wallet. There was a condom neatly tucked into the pocket, ancient by the looks of it. She pulled out his business card and examined it and replaced it. He watched her, amused. She rifled through his other business cards; one from Bingley, one from some attorney, one from a dry cleaners.

“You don’t keep any photos in your wallet,” she commented.

“No, I guess I don’t.”

She closed his wallet and put it back on the nightstand.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, reluctant to move from his current, very comfortable, position.

“A bit stiff and sore but nothing that will last more than a day or so. My head feels fine except for right around the cut. That’s a little tender,” she said, touching the back of her head.

“I have to say, the fall looked really frightful. If I were you, I’d insist on staying in bed all day today,” he said. She grinned.

“That sounds like a fine idea. Do you thing
Mrs. R.
would bring breakfast up to us? I’m thinking two eggs, over medium, with some toast and bacon. Yes, lots of bacon, please,” she said to him. He smiled at her and sighed. He would have to resign his very comfortable position after all.

He put on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt and went downstairs. He came upstairs about half an hour later with a tray of food for both of them.

“Bingley and Jane both wish to check on their patient,” he said. She nodded and Darcy opened the door for them. Jane strode in and immediately sat next to Elizabeth on the bed. She looked over her, checked her pupils, and examined the stitches. Bingley watched with approval. Medical examination complete, Jane then smiled and said,

“Lizzy, hon, how do you feel?”

“Not too bad but I’d like to take it easy today and rest.”

“I think that’s a good idea,” Bingley said. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you have a splitting headache all day.”

“What the hell is wrong with your bedside manner? You’re the
pediatric
surgeon?” Elizabeth said with one eyebrow raised at Bingley.

“You criticize me when your treating doctor is
an
urologist
?” he retorted.

Elizabeth looked at Jane, who smiled sweetly at her. “Feel free to make any kind of dick joke that you want to,” Jane grinned. Elizabeth laughed.

“OK, visiting hours are over, get out,” Darcy said, opening the door.

“Feel better, sweetie,” Bingley said and kissed her cheek. “Let us know if you need anything.” Jane and Bingley shuffled out and left them alone for the rest of the day.

***

Darcy and Elizabeth spent the day in quiet conversation, each talking about their families. He learned that as a child she wanted to be a ballerina; he wanted to be a fireman. She showed him the scar on her chin from stitches after her hula accident gone bad at age four; he had broken the same arm twice in grade school, both times a result of falling out of the same tree. He asked about her mother.

“My mother is insane,” she replied. “If she knew we were involved, she’d have us registered at Macy’s before you could count to three,” she laughed. Darcy didn’t find that a particularly bad idea but he did not say so. Elizabeth continued: “She’s got a very determined idea that all her daughters should marry well and retire to have children, which should then also be married well. You should hear her go on about Bingley. ‘Oh Jane, a
surgeon
! You’ll have such a big house!’ Never mind that Jane is also a surgeon. And don’t get me started on how she tried to marry me off to my own cousin before she found out he was addicted to prostitutes. I believe you know Mr. Collins?”

She asked him about his family and he told her about his mother. “My mother was a wonderful person, very warm and funny. I think sometimes you remind me of her. I was lucky to get to spend sixteen years with her; she died when Georgiana was only five. She was a musician and she and I used to play together a lot before she got sick. It all happened very quickly, you know. She was diagnosed in June with breast cancer, and was gone by August. I became very serious for a while until I went off to college and met Bingley. I found him funny, easy to be with, and he drew me out of my shell a good deal. He’s my closest friend, he’s like a brother to me.”

He asked her about growing up with four sisters. “Five girls in two bedrooms and one bathroom between us!” she laughed. “It’s a wonder I survived. Let’s see, Lydia is the youngest, she is 24 now. She runs an escort service, believe it or not. At least she’s not a stripper. Katherine
-
Kitty
-
is the next, she is 25. She went to LA to begin an acting career and is a very successful waitress. Then there is Mary, who is 26 and working on her Master’s degree in Russian Literature with an emphasis on the romances. And you know Jane.”

“Er, exactly how old are you?” he asked. She smiled.

“Worried? I’m over eighteen,” she said. Unbeknownst to her, that comment stirred an unpleasant memory but he quickly pushed it aside.

“I’m having concerns that I am seriously corrupting you.”

“I am 28.” He grimaced a little; she was only 3 years older that Georgie!

She asked him about his racing days. “My father hated it. I didn’t realize it at the time but he was really concerned for my safety. I thought he was just being overbearing so I rebelled and raced more. Then I had a bad crash and, miraculously, came away with only a broken leg. My father met me at the hospital and was very worried about me. Then when I was home recovering, he had a long talk with me. He told me that he was not going to live forever and that I had to take care of Georgiana, that I couldn’t afford to take these stupid risks. I think he knew then that he had cancer but didn’t tell us. But it rattled me enough to quit racing and set about becoming serious again. I became a barrister and he died shortly after.”

Between conversations, they made love. It was not always a full consummation; sometimes he would just kiss her arms and stroke her breasts; sometimes he placed himself inside her just to feel her around him and no more. Other times, it seemed to go beyond physical consummation. He watched with trembling limbs as she gave him the love she suggested Jane had so often given Bingley, her head bobbing gently at his waist as he lay on the bed. He touched her head lightly and told her she didn’t have to; she looked up at him and held his gaze while she took him into her mouth. He was lost, unable to control the gasping sounds surging from his chest, shaking fingers twined in her hair, begging her not to stop. He could not remember the last time he had enjoyed the act so much, if ever. Later, he covered her back with kisses, insistent on marking her as his, leaving bite-sized bruises on her low back as he sucked her fair skin into his mouth.

As dusk began to settle in, she nestled in his arms at last, each completely physically exhausted.

“Aren’t you worried about my getting pregnant?” she asked him.

Nothing would give me greater pleasure
, he thought. She looked up at him and he gave her a dreamy smile and shrugged.

She laughed gently. “I’m on the injection, just so you know. I wouldn’t dream of tracking you down six years from now looking for child support.”

His thoughts turned black at the
thought
that she would need to track him down in six years but he said nothing.

“And I do have a clean bill of health, I have always been very careful. You make me impulsive,” she continued.

I make you impulsive?
he thought ironically. Still, he said nothing.

“And I have every confidence that as fastidious as you are, you also have a clean bill of health.”

He nodded silently.
What does it matter now if I have a raging case of syphilis?

She looked up at him again and laughed softly. “You are very quiet,” she said. “I
...”

“Shhh,” he said softly. “Just be.” He closed his eyes and tightened his arms around her. She snuggled in deeper and sighed contentedly.

June 13
-
Thursday

Darcy could see now, clearly, that he had been badly mistaken in his hope that a two-week fling with Elizabeth could quench his desire for her. He now fully realized that he was in love with her, as impossible as it seemed. How could he feel so strongly about her in such a short amount of time? Granted, he had admired her from afar for months, both physically and personally, but this was insane! How could he, after only two weeks, be ready to spend the rest of his life with her? He tried to analyze the situation, to see if he was in the throes of infatuation.

She was more than just smart, she was quick and witty. She was funny. She had an affection for her sister that was becoming. She was a little on the adventurous side but not uncomfortably so. She was open-minded to new things, new ideas,
and different
viewpoints. She had her own opinions but didn’t dismiss those of others. She was warm to nearly everybody she met; she had a tendency to flirt with just about everyone. What she didn’t know about a topic, she was eager to learn. It was her intelligence and wit that drew him to her in the first place but her openness and humor that held his attention.

And her damnably warm, sultry, laughing eyes. Yes, she had a lovely body, soft and warm when it pressed against his. Yes, she had a wild mane of uncontrolled curls that usually wound up in his mouth at some point. Yes, she was a generous and eager lover. But it was her eyes, always her eyes that held him.

He watched her as she slept beside him. It was four a.m. and he was having trouble sleeping. She was radiating heat; her butt was like a furnace, getting warmer as the night drew on. Many times over the last 2 weeks he had snuggled up to that warmth when the cold night air crept in through the window. He thought she’d be the perfect
bed warmer
on those many, many chilly nights in this drafty house. Not that it had to be cold for him to want her at his side.

God help me, I don’t want it to end
, he thought. She knew him as well as anyone in his family, as well as Bingley knew him. He felt comfortable with her, safe. He felt like he could tell her anything
...
except how he felt about her. Except that he wanted her to quit her job and stay here with him forever. He had no illusions; this was no fairy tale, this was real. This was his home, he wasn’t playing house or make-believe. But perhaps for her it was different, the holiday syndrome where outrageous behavior was excused. Perhaps she could tune him out when they stepped off the plane. The thought gave him a bitter taste in his mouth.

He rose from the bed and went to the window seat overlooking the lake. It was still dark out and the moon was not in sight. He sat on the cushioned bench and drew his knees up to his chest. He sat at the window for some time, contemplating his situation. Not only would he have to end his relationship with her but he’d have to keep its existence secret from everyone. And he’d have to see her every day at work, in the building, in the parking lot, in the cafeteria. Not to mention that Jane and Bingley were definitely on; they would undoubtedly continue to cross paths through them. This was going to be very, very difficult.

How had he got into this mess?

He heard a rustle and looked toward the bed. Elizabeth sat up and looked around, disoriented.

“I’m here,” he said softly. She turned her head toward him. After a moment, she got out of bed and went to him, drawing a blanket behind her. He smiled slightly as she draped it over his shoulders wordlessly and then settled onto the seat between his legs, pressing her warm back against his chest. He drew the ends of the blanket around them and held her close.

They sat together in silence as fingers of sunshine began to creep over the horizon. He put his face into the crook of her neck and let his breath warm her shoulder; she nestled her head against his. He kissed her neck briefly then put his lips to her ear.

“I don’t want this to end,” he whispered. He was asking her, making a tentative proposal that it didn’t have to end.

But she did not understand. She thought he was expressing the same sentiment that she was feeling: the wish that this vacation could go on forever. The thought that perhaps his feelings matched her own, that he loved her, was impossible to her. This was a two week fling that she would never regret but that she would always regret at the same time. She had passed her hand through the flame and been burned.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she replied miserably.

He chickened out. He was a persistent man, yes, but he would not ruin the remaining two days of their vacation trying to convince her to continue to see him when they got back. He would wait until they got back.

He put his chin on the top of her head and closed his eyes. He would think of something.