Page 6 of Once He Made a Beginning

Five

Just outside Darcy’s door,Miss Anne de Bourgh paced the floor, wringing her hands. “What are we going to do?” she asked. “Why does Cousin Fitzwilliam think we are engaged to be married?” She gasped. “My mother! What would she make of this were she privy to such nonsense?”

“I cannot fathom what is going on,” said the colonel. “Darcy seems in possession of his faculties, but something is clearly amiss. Once the physician completes his examination, I shall speak to him about our cousin’s apparent memory loss.”

He took both of Anne’s hands in his. “As for your mother, let us not disturb her just yet—not until we have a better assessment of things. Finally, she is resting peacefully with no adverse impacts owing to her collapse. We need not impede her own recovery.”

Elizabeth stared at the cousins, feeling completely at a loss as to what was unfolding before her. She, too, wondered why Mr. Darcy would say what he did.

How could he have no memory of me, when mere hours prior, he had offered his hand in marriage and later wrote a letter to me, detailing his actions regarding his friend and my sister, as well as clarifying his history with Lieutenant George Wickham?

Indeed, earlier, while the colonel and Miss de Bourgh were otherwise distracted, Elizabeth had taken the opportunity to read Mr. Darcy’s letter. Though she had no expectation of pleasure, her curiosity had driven her. To her astonishment, she had perceived an envelope containing two sheets of letter-paper, written quite through, in a very close hand. The envelope itself was likewise full. Elizabeth could scarcely believe the words Mr. Darcy had written—about his friend Mr. Bingley and Jane, about Mr. Wickham and, most poignantly, his own sister and her harrowing ordeal with the latter. Indeed, this was the very basis for all his contempt toward Elizabeth’s former favorite.

How wretched she felt seeing Mr. Darcy—the proud man she knew him to be—lying helpless in bed, fighting for his life. Now knowing what she knew, she could not help but wonder what her part had been in his dire condition. A concern compounded by the knowledge that he had blocked her from his mind, even if unconsciously done.

How can I find fault in him? How despicably I acted! I prided myself on my discernment, on my abilities, disdaining my sister’s generous candor while gratifying my vanity with mistrust.

How just is this humiliation! Pleased by the preference of Mr. Wickham, and offended by the neglect of Mr. Darcy, from the very beginning of our acquaintance, I have courted prepossession and ignorance, and driven reason away, where either were concerned. Until this moment, I never knew myself.

Recalling herself to the crisis at hand, Elizabeth nearly gasped aloud when she saw the colonel embrace his cousin. Yes, the two were relatives. His behavior was undoubtedly well within the bounds of propriety. Still, there was an intimacy between them that Elizabeth had never detected before. She imagined the two of them must have had an understanding that they were keeping from everyone, especially Miss de Bourgh’s mother, Lady Catherine, and possibly Mr. Darcy, too.

Witnessing them sharing such a tender moment reminded her of the discussion she had had with Colonel Fitzwilliam days earlier. The two had been talking about his being the second son of an earl and how that must shape his prospects for the future.

“A younger son, you know, must be inured to self-denial and dependence,” the colonel had opined.

To which Elizabeth had replied, “In my opinion, the younger son of an earl can know very little of either. Now seriously, what have you ever known of self-denial and dependence? When have you been prevented by want of money from going wherever you chose, or procuring anything you had a fancy for?”

“These are home questions—and perhaps I cannot say that I have experienced many hardships of that nature. But in matters of greater weight, I may suffer from want of money. Younger sons cannot marry where they like.”

“Unless where they like women of fortune, which I think they very often do.”

“Our habits of expense make us too dependent, and there are not many in my rank of life who can afford to marry without some attention to money.”

Elizabeth had momentarily supposed the colonel’s speech had been intended for her, but now his words took on a whole new meaning.

“Now, now, my dearest, I am certain that all will be resolved,” the colonel said, his tender tone effectively confirming Elizabeth’s suspicions about his deeper connection with Anne.

“And what if it is not? The idea of pretending to be our cousin’s betrothed for even a minute does not sit well with me. I feel it is an insult to what you and I share.” Anne shook her head. “I do not see how I am going to do it.”

The physician came out of Mr. Darcy’s apartment and requested a private consultation with the colonel.

“Anything you might wish to say to me may be said in front of us all,” the colonel declared, and with that, the four of them proceeded to one of the sitting rooms on the same floor.

The good news was that Mr. Darcy likely would heal from his physical ailments in due time. As for his mental affliction, which the colonel apprised the physician of during the course of the conversation, the physician was more cautious.

“It is not uncommon for someone who has an injury such as the one suffered by Mr. Darcy to experience memory loss. But fear not, for the likelihood of it being a permanent condition is minimal.”

“But what of the fact that he seems not to have any recollection of Miss Bennet?” the colonel inquired, no doubt intending to stress upon the physician his overarching concern. “It is not that he suffers a complete memory loss, for he had no problem recognizing Anne and me.”

Aware that the colonel had introduced her to the physician earlier as Mr. Darcy’s particular friend, Elizabeth had been unable to clarify the true nature of the relationship. Thus, she felt uncomfortable, indeed, almost undeserving of Dr. Hamilton’s sympathetic looks. Especially with Mr. Darcy’s letter heavy on her mind and now armed with a better understanding and appreciation of his true character. Perhaps had she known the truth all along, she would not have been so harsh.

On the other hand, the manner of Mr. Darcy’s proposal had been dreadful, and his letter contained no evidence of remorse on his part for having separated her sister Jane from his friend Mr. Bingley. Elizabeth had every reason to suppose that if he had a chance, he would do it all over again. With such varying sentiments as these, was there any doubt the reason she felt like an imposter merely by being there?

“In this case,” the physician began, “the condition that your cousin is suffering is what is known as selective amnesia.”

“Selective amnesia,” the colonel repeated.

Dr. Hamilton nodded. “It is likely his mind’s way of dealing with shock or perhaps a traumatic event. While rare, it is not entirely unheard of.”