The Trouble with Mr. Darcy

  The boy nodded, his eyes serious as he lifted one finger to his lips and made a shushing sound.

  “Indeed,” Darcy lifted his finger as well, whispering. “Very quiet. We will be leaving soon to return to Darcy House where Uncle George and Aunt Georgiana are waiting for you.”

  “Nanny and Michael too?”

  “Yes, of course. They miss you very much. Nanny will want to hear all about your exciting adventure and how brave you were.”

  Alexander brightened, smiling and nodding. “Can I give Mama kiss?”

  “Certainly! We can both kiss her, how about that? But gently.”

  Darcy leaned, Alexander firm in his grip, both placing soft kisses over Lizzy’s cheeks. She stirred and released a faint sigh.

  “Fitzwilliam?”

  “Yes! Yes, my dearest! It is I, and Alex…”

  “Fitzwilliam will kill you, Mr. Wickham. You know he will. Hunt you down like the animal you are. It is only a matter of time. Only time, time, time.” She shuddered, arching her neck as her eyelids fluttered and opened. But the deep brown that Darcy so adored was glossy, the pupils largely dilated and not focusing. “So thirsty. Please, Mr. Wickham, water please. I need…”

  She sighed, her voice dropping lower and her eyelids beginning to slide shut, before suddenly opening widely and looking directly at Darcy. “William. Where is Alexander?”

  “Here, Mama!”

  “We are here, Elizabeth. Both of us, see?” He was clutching her hand so tightly he knew it must be causing her pain, but she seemed impervious. Then, to his momentary joy, she did fix her gaze on Alexander and smiled faintly.

  “I knew you would come. Your father always takes care of us, does he not, sweetie? Always, always.” Her eyes slid to Darcy, the smile waning as the glassiness overtook her eyes once again. “I love you, Fitzwilliam.” She groaned, her eyes closing in obvious pain as she grimaced. Her body shivered and shifted in discomfort, one hand feebly rising to lie on her affected breast. “I hurt, Mr. Wickham! Please, I need my baby! Please, it hurts so. Please, please.”

  Tears were falling uncontrollably from Darcy’s eyes. Alexander was sucking his thumb, eyes large with confusion and fear as he looked from one parent to another. Lizzy’s voice trailed off into silence, once again succumbing to the fever and trauma of the past hours.

  “Papa,” Alexander spoke in a shaky voice, “Mama be all right?”

  Darcy swallowed, closing his eyes for a silent prayer as he pulled his son closer to his body for a tight squeeze. “Of course, my lamb. Your mother will be just fine. As soon as we get home, Uncle George will make her better and she can rest.” He kissed the soft forehead, maintaining a firm embrace, as his voice fell for a whispered supplication. “Please, God, let her be all right. Please.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Consequences and Conclusions

  Darcy held his febrile and delirious wife during the frightening drive through the dark, poorly maintained country roads leading to London, home, and the supreme medical expertise of Dr. George Darcy. Alexander refused to unclasp his arms from his father’s neck, not that Darcy desired separating from his son for a second, until they were well beyond the “scary house with the bad man.” Even then he loosened his grip only enough to nestle onto Darcy’s lap with his mother’s head comfortingly touching his small thigh.

  Colonel Fitzwilliam and the bulk of his men remained behind to deal with the mess. One rider voluntarily risked life and limb to carry an express message to Darcy House, the occupants informed of the rescue and Lizzy’s condition. Colonel Artois insisted on acting as armed guard to the Darcys, riding ahead of the carriage confiscated from Orman’s lodge.

  They encountered no obstacles, but the late hour with limited natural illumination and potential road hazards meant great speed was not a possibility. Therefore the ride took twice as long as it would have during the day. Heart pounding painfully and anxiety barely kept at bay, Darcy sat in the dark interior unable to see his wife’s face except for brief seconds when the crescent moon’s pale glow pierced through the trees. He was comforted by the press of Lizzy and Alexander’s bodies, but the stretches of absolute silence from Lizzy when only the steady pulse palpated in her neck assured him of her life followed by interludes of nonsensical mutterings and thrashing escalated his anguish. The lights of London and finally Grosvenor Square had never been so appreciated.

  The carriage was greeted with expectancy but subdued fuss. Mrs. Hanford plucked Alexander from Darcy’s arms, managing to control her emotions until inside the foyer whereupon she squeezed his body and wept so uncontrollably that it was Alexander who ended up soothing the distraught nanny with gentle pats and murmured assurances. Before they reached the nursery he was recounting the adventure and his bravery in matter-of-fact tones that allayed the worst of her fears. After a warm bath and hot soup, the toddler was tucked into bed with Dog nestled tight and Miss Lisa curled beside for added security. He swiftly fell asleep and the atmosphere within the chamber was no different than on any other night.

  Not so within the master’s chambers. Darcy carried Lizzy into the house blazing with lit candles and lamps, ignoring everyone in his haste to safely deposit her onto their bed, where within seconds the examination by Dr. Darcy was underway. George was in full physician-in-command mode with the staff bustling about to implement his barked instructions.

  “It is as I suspected from your scrawled descriptions, William,” he said after a rapid evaluation. “She has developed a case of puerperal mastitis. The lingering effects of the ether may be contributing to her fever and delirium, but I believe it is the inflammation. We must reduce the redness and swelling, pray there is no infection, and control her fever. Marguerite”—he turned to Lizzy’s waiting maid—“please assist Mr. Darcy in cleaning your mistress and providing comfort. I will see to those poultices I ordered.”

  He rose from the edge of the bed by Lizzy’s inert side, reaching to clasp Darcy’s hands. “Do not fear, my boy. She is healthy and astoundingly stubborn. A simple breast inflammation will not overwhelm her. However, I do pray there is not an infection brewing. I do not think it has gone to that degree but cannot be sure. I know of several herbs, most of which I have in my supplies. What I do not have I can obtain from the apothecary on the morrow. For now our greatest priority is to lower the fever and relieve her pain. For the first I have ice being chipped from the ice-cellar, and for the latter we need Michael.”

  “Michael?” Darcy glanced away from his wife’s face to look at his uncle, brow raised in question.

  “Indeed. A hungry infant will be best able to alleviate the engorgement, that causing the mastitis in the first place. Now, help Marguerite while I obtain a few supplies. But first, I am assuming Colonel Fitzwilliam is fine or you would have stated otherwise, but I am sure his wife would appreciate an update.”

  “Lady Simone is still here?”

  “She rightly figured this was the best place to wait for her husband, but also would not abandon Georgiana, who has been distressed.” He did not mention Mr. Butler, who had also refused to leave and was in the parlor still, saving that information for a more opportune moment.

  “Of course.” Darcy pinched the bridge of his nose wearily, nodding in agreement. “That is to be expected. Assure Lady Simone that Richard is fine. He is handling the aftermath. It may take a while so she may as well return home. Where is Georgie?”

  “Georgiana is assisting with the poultices and will be along momentarily. Let me talk to Lady Simone and I will return.” He patted Darcy’s shoulder, squeezing once, and turned to leave.

  Darcy sighed, closing his eyes and taking a minute to silently say a prayer, and then stepped to join Marguerite.

  Lizzy’s devoted maid was wringing cool water from a cloth, moving to apply the soothing and cleansing lave to her mistress, but Darcy gently took the swab from her hand. “I shall do this, Marguerite. Will you please remove her soiled clothing?”

  Lizzy moaned frequently and mur
mured incoherently. Her eyelids fluttered, opening to slits several times, but she did not waken. Her fiery, flushed skin responded to the tepid bath with gooseflesh and shivering. Darcy examined her bosom, encouraged to note that the inflamed patch was not worsened and there were no additional erythematic areas. The hard, turgid milk-sacs were obviously painful when touched, but her nipples were of normal appearance. Darcy was hopeful that the latter was a positive sign.

  Midway through the cleansing Georgiana marched into the room carrying a wailing Michael. Behind her came two maids, their arms burdened with towels, laden trays, and a bucket of ice.

  “He was not too fond of being woken up in the middle of his night and only a few hours after feeding, but Uncle insisted.” She spoke over the din to her brother, who approached with a frown etched between his brows. “Fortunately, your son has a tremendous appetite. Cannot imagine where he attains that character trait.”

  She attempted a warm smile but her eyes were red-rimmed and cheeks blotchy. Georgiana tiptoed to bestow a tender kiss to his cheek, speaking in a feigned casual tone. “It seems odd to me as well, letting him nurse when Lizzy is unaware. But it does make sense, Brother, when you consider the logic. Besides, Uncle knows what he is about.” She glanced to Lizzy, whose reddened left breast was exposed as Marguerite applied one of the poultices Dr. Darcy had concocted. “It looks so painful. Here, take him to his mother. You know what to do better than I.”

  “Thank you, Georgie. Are you…?”

  “I am fine now so do not fret over me. Just take care of Lizzy.”

  “Very well. Come, sweetheart, let us get you fed. Your mama needs you.”

  Normally, Michael latched onto the nipple instantly, quiet falling, never to be distracted until forced to relinquish one nipple for the other or when utterly sated. This time, however, his native volatility was compounded by being woken precipitously and then expected to nurse from an engorged breast with stale milk. Darcy patiently persisted through Michael’s fit of temper until the infant settled in for serious sucking.

  Darcy sat on the bed’s edge, softly stroking his back with one hand while holding Lizzy’s slack right hand to his lips. Georgiana knelt on the wide bed behind Lizzy placing the compress of crushed mint, ginger, and pepper paste to her forehead and rotated the tied bundles of chipped ice over her neck and shoulders. George entered the room minutes later, handing the poultice of fenugreek seed and dandelion to Marguerite.

  “Give this to Mr. Darcy to smear on Mrs. Darcy’s inflamed breast,” he directed Lizzy’s maid. “The smell is not too foul, William, so it should not disturb Michael, but for now apply it conservatively.” He sat down in a corner chair, discreetly positioning himself so he could instruct without witnessing Lizzy’s nakedness. “Once he is finished we will slather more on and wrap with a cloth. Keep moving the packs along her back, Georgie. We do not want her to become chilled. The fever should subside gradually. If there is an infection process fomenting, an elevated temperature is partially beneficial. William, rub the congested milk sacs, gingerly mind you, as Michael nurses. It will aid the release and press the herbal salve into the skin. Once Michael is finished, we will rouse her and force her to drink those teas.”

  He seemingly rambled without purpose, but his orotund tones with words falling in a lilting cadence were soothing. Darcy watched his wife’s face, noting the occasional flashes of pain that crossed her brow as he massaged her softening breast. But he also noted the regular rhythm of her breathing, the lessening blotched pallor and ruddiness of her skin, and the increasing coolness of the hand pressed against his mouth. Together the signs were encouraging.

  Michael finished his meal, his chubby body limp as Darcy nestled him against his left chest for burping. He kissed the infant’s forehead, turning to look at his uncle.

  “I doubt if I can wake him to eat more. This is his time of extended sleep with hunger well abated.”

  “No matter. He will make up for lost time tomorrow. For tonight I can instruct you how to alleviate some of the pressure in the other breast manually. First we must get Elizabeth to drink some fluids. Georgie, will you return Michael to Mrs. Hanford? Thank you, dear. Sit Elizabeth up, William.”

  Darcy was required to lend his entire body as support, Lizzy’s flaccid form melding to the contours of his torso. He sat behind her, arms securing and broad chest a firm resting place for her back, and the bend of his neck and shoulder a solid prop for her head.

  “Elizabeth,” he voice lovingly commanded into her ear. “We need you to wake up and drink. I need to hear your voice. Please, Elizabeth, look at me. Squeeze my hand, anything to let me know you hear me.”

  She moaned, weakly arching her back and turning away from his pleading. But he continued on at Dr. Darcy’s urging. He told her that she was home now, that Alexander was safe and asleep, that the threat to them was eliminated, that he loved and needed her, and so on.

  George held one wrist between his fingers, counting the decreasing beats of her pulse. His other hand skillfully brushed over her neck and upper chest, palpating the changes in skin temperature. Softly, he directed Marguerite to administer the oral drops of belladonna, and then to change the herbal compress on her head to one of cool sandalwood paste. The teapot of steeped black elder, willow bark, chamomile, and lime flowers sat waiting on the bedside table.

  Darcy kept up his train of verbal declarations of love and need, compelling her to respond. Eventually she did, with groans growing louder as she broke through the febrile haze and finally opened her glassy eyes.

  “George,” she slurred in surprise, not expecting his to be the first face she saw.

  “Yes, Niece, it is me. Delighted to see you, but, if you do not greet the big fellow behind you soon, he may burst into tears.”

  Darcy was indeed teary eyed. His strong palm was already cupping his wife’s cheek and nudging so that he could meet her gaze. “Tell me you know who I am,” he whispered.

  She frowned. “Of course I know who you are. My Fitzwilliam.”

  “Yes! Yes.” He brushed a kiss over her lips. “All is well now, my heart. Uncle has some tea for you. I am sure it is foul…”

  “I beg your pardon?” George interjected indignantly.

  “…but you must drink all of it. It will help with the pain and fever. Do you understand?”

  “As you wish. I am very thirsty.” Her voice was listless with a note of confusion, her brow quizzical. Even so, she offered no objection, drinking the pungent tea wordlessly. Darcy murmured encouragingly throughout, caressing her arms as George plied her with three cups of the medicinal brew.

  Finally she finished her required dose, the satisfied physician assessing her flushed skin and mild warmth with a smile and happy nod. “Excellent. Much improved, Elizabeth.”

  “She still feels hot to me, Uncle. Are you sure she is mending?”

  “The fever is less and she is awake, if drowsy and befuddled. All to be expected.” He smiled cheerily, patting Lizzy’s knee. “Now she needs to sleep. Questions can be asked and answered tomorrow. Does that sound like a capitol idea, Mrs. Darcy?”

  Lizzy inclined her head while fumbling to absorb his words without much success. The fringes of her memory niggled at her, some vague awareness buried behind thick clouds attempting to capture her attention and whisper facts that she should be concerned about. Yet all she felt was extreme weariness. The odd torpor weighting down her limbs was offset by the comforting sturdiness of her husband’s body. She felt his breath on her cheek, smelt the wonderful aroma of his manliness and cologne, heard the potency in every word he uttered, and felt the loving touch of his fingertips. It all combined to imbue her soul with an overwhelming peace and assurance so that none of the troubling glimmers could penetrate her blanketing sense of security.

  She muttered a few words, none of the room’s occupants understanding what she was trying to say, and returned to her slumber.

  George palpated the strong pulse in her neck and lifted one eyelid to ga
ze at her pupil, nodding with clinical satisfaction. “She is asleep, nothing else. This is good.” He looked at his clearly distraught nephew, smiling and patting his knee. “Relax, William. She will be fine, I promise.”

  “Uncle, do you know if vitriol has any effect on unborn babies?”

  George’s brows rose, his eyes instantly returning to Lizzy and scanning over her body. “Are you sure? I have seen no signs of Elizabeth being with child.”

  “It is merely a conjecture based on… possible symptoms.” He smiled wanly and laughed shortly. “Strange. This morning I was distressed at the idea of Elizabeth being pregnant so soon after her recovery, with the fear of a repeat occurrence all I could dwell upon. Now I find myself paralyzed by the prospect of our baby being lost or damaged in some way.”

  “Ether is used liberally in some places to dull pain. I have utilized it often myself for certain procedures, although I do not care for the aftereffects. I have never documented any direct sequelae from ether during gestation, William, but of course we will not know for some time. Do not fret about it at this juncture. I seriously doubt if this one exposure will cause any harm.”

  “But why…”

  “I know you have questions, William, but I think most of them can wait. You look horrible and need rest of your own. Let me examine that scalp wound and apply an antiseptic unguent, then I order you to sleep.”

  Darcy held Lizzy for several more minutes before laying her comfortably onto the bed. He followed his uncle into the small parlor, falling into the chair with a loud groan. George cleaned the wound, pleased to announce that stitches were unnecessary, his fingers gentle in their ministration. Still, Darcy winced from the pain, especially the stinging salve, and gratefully drank the pungent elixir offered to dull the pain felt in his head and from numerous bruises.

  Conversation was minimal. Darcy had so many questions that he hardly knew where to begin and the fatigue washing through his muscles prevented his tongue from properly functioning. He tried, however, but George was taciturn, finally halting the mumbled queries by placing both hands firmly onto Darcy’s shoulders and stating, “No more questions or discussion, Son. I am convinced there is no infection since the fever is subsiding. The residual effects of the ether will be gone by tomorrow and the fever will likely break by morning. The mastitis will heal once Michael is allowed to nurse unrestrained. In a few days you will be scolding your impetuous wife for leaving the bed and wanting to walk to Hyde Park. Now, go get some sleep. You know where to find me, but I intend to do the same as all this excitement is stressful on my old bones.”