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.