Page 50 of A Stronger Impulse
“Ma’am? I’m sorry to wake ye, but…”
Lizzy opened her eyes, momentarily disoriented, looking around at the strange room and strange maid, before remembering where she was…and with whom. Morning light shone through the opened window. She sat up abruptly.
“Mrs Davis asked me if you’d be wishin’ fer a tray? And fer yer husband?”
“Oh, yes…for me, that is. And let us try more of the marrow broth,” Lizzy replied, heaving herself out of bed and padding around to the other side. Mr Darcy appeared not to have moved, and she touched his heated skin to ensure he still breathed, conscious of the girl’s curious eyes. The open wounds upon his back appeared red and angry still.
“I usually do fer the ladies who stay here if they doesn’t bring their own maids,” the girl continued. “I’d be happy to do for you.” Her brow furrowed, and her voice lowered. “I’ve got me a tincture that could help with yer hair colour. Make it not so…marked.”
Lizzy closed her eyes briefly against the maid’s impertinence. “No thank you to the colouring, but yes, I will require assistance otherwise. Your name?”
“Susan, ma’am. He looks about ready for old Mr Grim, don’t he?”
A flash of anger coursed through Lizzy at the unfeeling remark. “You may bring the tray, now, Susan, with more broth, and you may help me dress later. That will be all.”
Something in her tone must have warned the girl she had crossed a line. “Yes, ma’am. Beg pardon, ma’am.”
Once the maid departed, Lizzy turned back to Mr Darcy. The girl’s observations, however unwelcome, were not incorrect—he was unmoving and pale against the white sheets. Carefully, she removed one of the dressings to peek at a gash treated with honey. It appeared slightly less red and raw. Or was she only imagining a result she yearned for?
Foolishly, she had failed to ask for more hot water and rags. Also, he must be cooled down, and a better means of giving him her fever tea determined. She would rather not hire any new servants to help if it could be avoided—for all she knew, Mr Darcy was well known in the area. Would Mr Frost be willing to help her with some of the more arduous tasks of nursing? For she must henceforth ask James to watch him at night—she had been useless to her patient once she’d fallen asleep and had no idea of the time now.
A fine wife you are, Elizabeth Bingley!
But she was all he had. And she could do only one thing, as Mr Darcy had gritted out at the beginning of their journey: Press on.