Daisy Chains 04

Daisy Chains

Part the Fourth

The day for the hunt dawned grey and drizzling.  Bella, however, was not discouraged.  She allowed Charlotte to dress her to perfection.  She had brought her riding habit from Kenbridge, a long grey skirt and jacket and a black hat with a veil.  Charlotte did her hair up in braids, one each hanging low below an ear before curling up behind her head.  Looking at herself in the glass, Bella could agree she looked quite the young lady of society.

Breakfast was no more than a dish of tea and a slice of toast with jam.

Renee was not yet awake so she was unable to come with Bella to Netherfield—despite what she had threatened at Lucas Lodge.

The carriage arrived promptly at seven, and Bella boarded with all due elegance.  It rolled away at not five past into the rain. 

“What a dismal day for the hunt!” Bingley greeted as Darcy helped her out when she arrived at the foremost estate in the area.

“We shall not allow it to ruin our sport,” Bella told him brightly.

Only the gentlemen were out on the lawn with the dogs.

“Where are Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst?”

“Abed,” Darcy informed her.  “The weather proved too much for them.”

“Did it indeed?” Bella wondered as she accepted a cup of mead from a servant.  “More’s the pity.”  She was hoping Louisa Hurst would serve as a buffer between her and Darcy.  Without her here, there was nothing to keep him from paying her especial attention.

The horns sounded and Bella was up in her saddle and they were taking off into the woods.

Bella easily kept up with the men. 

The rainfall meant nothing under the foliage of the trees where it was quite dry.

Bella felt exhilarated by the hunt.  She ignored the other riders around her, merely keeping up with them.  At one point, she thought she saw a stag in front of her.  At one point, her horse jumped a folly, but the back of its hoof caught a branch and it faltered, throwing Bella.

She fell on her back, the wind being knocked out of her.

For a moment, all Bella knew was silence and the pounding in her own head.

If she had been aware of anything, it was that she had lost her hat—and she could not now afford another.

Her back ached and she groaned, turning over to her side.

The horn sounded again, and the sound of hooves rushed at her and all of a sudden she could hear the barking of dogs.

Soon, but far too long for her liking, someone was crouching down next to her and picking up her hand.  At the thrill of dislike that swept up her arm, she knew that it was Darcy. 

“Miss Swan,” he breathed, “are you hurt?”

“Quite,” she agreed.  “My head quite confounds me.”  Her voice came out as a gasp.

Someone else came up and she could see the veil of her hat out of the corner of her eye.  That was a relief, at least. 

Darcy took her by the shoulder and helped her sit, but the pain in her head was too much.  Bella winced and she was gentled.  When it became apparent she could not further move, Darcy took her up into his arms and cradled her in his chest.

It should have been romantic, to find herself carried in a man’s arms.  But Bella found it nothing but repulsive.  The smell of Darcy’s cologne sickened her, along with the unmistakable scent of man combined with horse.  She was quite revolted. 

She was lifted up onto a great charge and Darcy swung up behind her.

It was not an enviable position at all.  Bella tried not to twinge away at his touch as his arms came around her to claim the reins.  She knew she should be girlish.  She knew she should like nothing better than to be close to Darcy.  However, every feeling revolted.

The ride back to Netherfield was interminable and seemed to take hours.  The pounding in Bella’s head was incessant and she cradled her face in her hands, wishing for some relief. 

When they finally returned to Netherfield Park, she was passed down off the horse and aided up into the house and into a comfortable lounge.  A maid was there with a large bucket of warm water and was there to immediately start cleaning the cuts on the side of her face.

Hurst, it seemed, went ahead, and Dr. Cullen was already waiting for her.

He was just as tall, just as blond, and just as handsome as Bella remembered.

Her heart leapt in her throat and she froze in the door when she saw him.

“No need to be coy, Miss Swan,” he assured her as he beckoned her forward.  “You’ve had a nasty fall.  I understand you are quite hurt.”

Bella blushed but immediately regretted it and groaned.

Dr. Cullen immediately rushed forward and took her arm from Darcy.  “Where does it hurt, Miss Swan?”

“I am incredibly sore from falling on my back,” she told him, “but it is my head.  It aches like nothing I have ever experienced.  Just the light—and yet there is no light at all.”

“Of course,” he told her.  “Draw the curtains,” he ordered.

The maid sprung to action.

“Gentlemen,” he told Darcy and Bingley who had accompanied her into the room.  “I must have privacy with my patient.  The maid is here to maintain her modesty.”

Bella was never more relieved when Darcy left the room.

Bella was hurried over to the chaise and the cuts were seen to on the side of her face. 

Dr. Cullen immediately took her head in his hands and began to turn it this way that.  Then, when satisfied, he took a candle and asked her to follow the light when he moved it this way and that while she held her head completely still.  Bella remembered such tests from vision examinations when she was a child.

“Did you hit your head, Miss Swan?” he inquired.

“On the ground.”

“I meant on a rock or on a tree stub.”

He was now massaging her scalp with his fingers and it felt rather lovely until he touched a sore spot.  She hissed.

“As I thought.”  He took up the candle again and went around Bella so as to examine the back of the head.  “You seem to have landed on a rock and now have a migraine.  It is not too bad.  I see no debris.  You could very well have a concussion.”

“Concussion?” she whispered, trying to turn around to see him.

“Face forward, Miss Swan.”

She immediately stopped squirming.  “Oh.”

“You must not go to sleep tonight.  Your mother must sit up with you.”

“Renee will do not such thing.  She is not in the least maternal.”

“Your maid then,” Dr. Cullen suggested.

He came forward and his golden eyes caught Bella’s dark gaze.  Her breath caught in a gasp.

He paused, clearly noticing.  He regarded Bella for a long moment before going back to his bag.  “I shall write instructions for your maid.”  Dr. Cullen was now clearly not looking at Bella on purpose.  “Can your maid read?”

“Yes, Carrie can read.”

“You should not ride home.  I hope the Bingleys can spare the carriage.  I should like you to rest for some hours here before you return to Meryton. I shall recommend that to Mr. Bingley.  Perhaps it is even efficacious that you spend the night here and your maid—Carrie, did you call her?—is sent for to Netherfield for the night.  Surely Lady Swan could do without her.”

Bella paused.  He was still standing at his bag, not doing anything, with his back to her.

Was he so afraid of her?

“I—” she glanced at the maid who was attending to her.

Dr. Cullen turned toward her, a carefully schooled expression on his face.

Bella glanced at the maid.

“Thank you,” Dr. Cullen told the maid.  “Your ministrations have been noted.  You may go stand near the door.”

The maid dropped her cloth into the bowl of water, set it aside, curtseyed and then withdrew.  Dr. Cullen and Bella watched her though.  Dr. Cullen was decidedly not looking at Bella again.

When she was on the other side of the room, Dr. Cullen turned to Bella again and took a chair, bringing it up to the chaise and came to sit by her, decidedly not looking at her the entire time.  His gaze was always hovering just over her left shoulder.

“I—” she repeated carefully.  “I do not like being in Mr. Darcy’s company.”

Dr. Cullen was so stunned that his eyes caught hers and held for several long moment.  “But everyone knows he is your suitor, Miss Swan.”

“It is true,” she agreed, “and Renee will make me marry him, I am sure.  Still, I do not like him.”  She looked at him anxiously.

Dr. Cullen continued to regard her, clearly taking the measure of her.  “Is he unkind to you?”

“He is not unkind,” she disagreed.

“Is he lewd?”

“He is not lewd.”

“Does he have any bad habits?  Does he gamble or drink?”  Dr. Carlisle was now growing impatient with her.

“No,” she answered quietly.

“Then you are merely being childish,” he decided, clearly pleased with his diagnosis.  He was once again not looking at her.  “I will send to Meryton for you maid and advise that you stay the night here.”  He nodded once to himself.

Bella reached out and grabbed his cuff.

Startled, he looked at her.

“I’m right here,” she told him, desperate for him to just look at her.  “I’m as flesh and blood as you, Dr. Cullen.”

He seemed startled by her words.

His gaze was wondrous.  It seemed to contain the secrets of his profession, if not the entire world.  She stared into his golden eyes and begged him to understand.

“Surely, Dr. Cullen,” she murmured, “a man—someone who has had power over you—has made your very skin crawl.”  She shivered at the very thought.  “Someone who should have protected you, loved you.”

A sudden realization swept over his face, but there was a sudden sound at the door and Bella quickly let go of his sleeve.

Darcy strode in, noticing the maid at the door, and he strode up to Bella and Dr. Cullen.  He rested the back of his hand on Bella’s forehead and she did her best not to shirk away from his touch.

“How is the patient?” he inquired, a certain delicacy in his voice.

“She hit her head on a rock, quite badly,” Dr. Cullen informed him, standing.  “The wound was clean, a minimum of blood.  However, she has a concussion.  I advise that she stay awake all night.  She could turn to vomiting.  This is not unusual.  I recommend,” and here he paused, looking carefully between them, “as much as it displeases me to keep Miss Swan from the loving care of her mother, I recommend that she not be moved and spend the night here.  You should send for her maid, Carrie.  She will be much more comfortable with her own ladies’ maid than with a Netherfield maid.”

He was now going to a writing desk and had paper and quill in hand.

“I am writing up a prescription for a tincture she should take in the morning once the danger is past.  She should sleep all of tomorrow and be allowed to do so.  She can go home tomorrow evening if she is better.  I will call tomorrow morning to see to the patient before the sun rises.”

Bella looked at him oddly.  She knew he was the night surgeon, but surely he could wait until breakfast.

Darcy was gazing adoringly at Bella.  “We shall take excellent care of the patient.  All shall be done according to your orders.”

Bella glanced up at him carefully before returning her attention to Dr. Cullen.  “I suppose I can play cards with Carrie.”

“As you like,” Dr. Cullen told her carefully.  He now turned to her.  “I am sorry I cannot send you home.”  He looked directly into her eyes and at the yearning in his gaze, her breath caught.

Darcy shifted by her side, clearly having caught the exchange.

Bella glanced down at her hands, which were still wearing her riding gloves, breaking the connection.  “Thank you, Dr. Cullen.”

“Not at all, Miss Swan.”

She listened as he left the room, Darcy closing the door behind him before returning to her side.  When she looked up the maid was gone.  She was all alone in a room with Darcy.

“We must take excellent care of you,” Darcy was now saying.  “I shall send now for your maid and some clothes.  Perhaps you should like a bath once your maid has arrived.”

“Yes,” Bella agreed quietly.  “That should be most agreeable.”

Darcy offered a small smile.  He leaned down and let his fingers linger on the side of Bella’s scratched face before he went over to the writing desk. 

Bella sighed.  She was trapped in this room until Darcy left.  She was in no state to move.  At least he had not lit any other candles.

She was fortunately shown a room not long after that and after an hour or so, Charlotte appeared with a trunk.  Bella was bathed and twigs and leaves picked out of her hair.  Her head still pounded. 

As she wasn’t permitted to sleep, she was set in a chair and a table was set up so she could play cards with Charlotte.  It was rather a dull day, but as the sun sank behind the horizon, Bella was glad.

The night was long and interminable, with only candlelight for Bella’s company.  Charlotte had fallen asleep hours before, and Bella did not wish to wake her.

Somewhere past three o’clock, she took a candle and wandered down the halls in search of the library and a new book.  Light from the sliver of an open door led her toward a certain room, and when she opened the door further open, she found Darcy in a chair, sleeping.  It did appear to be a library, shelves of books around him.

Careful not to disturb him, Bella began to peruse the shelves, looking for a new book of poetry.  However, her eyes were unfocused and she could not read the spines all that well.

“Let me help you,” a gruff voice from the corner offered.

Bella almost startled and looked over to see that Darcy was watching her from the chair, with a small smile on his face.

“I finished my volume of Pope,” she explained, holding it forward.

He stood, his height eclipsing her and making her feel uncomfortable.  He so easily overpowered her with his sheer magnitude and she got this sense of disempowerment, of being belittled, of being overwhelmed.  She hated that feeling.

He took the candle from her and began to search the row.

“Should not your maid be doing this for you?” he questioned, his voice amiable but a threat nonetheless beneath the calmer tones.  “She is here, after all, for your comfort.”

Bella, her mind dulled by her concussion, had difficulty searching for an answer.

“She is asleep, then, is she not?” Darcy posited.  His green eyes held hers.  “She should be reprimanded.”

“I should not like Carrie to be reprimanded.”

“She is a servant,” Darcy told her firmly.  “If she does wrong, she needs the strong hand of a master.  Perhaps that has been lacking in your household since Sir Charles’s death.”

“Carrie is my servant,” Bella whispered, still a little confused.  “I pay her wages.”

“Do you?” Darcy asked, turning the candle toward her, so he could see the shadows of her face.  “Not Lady Swan?”

“No,” Bella answered a little more firmly.  “Not Renee.  I.”

Darcy held the candle in front of her face a little longer and then returned it to the bookshelves.  “Which poets do you admire?”

“Thomas Gray—” Bella began, and Darcy quickly took a volume off the shelf and offered it to her.

“An excellent choice,” he told her.  “Shall we retire to chairs in this very room and I read to you?”

Bella was lost for words.  She wanted to refuse his offer, but wasn’t exactly sure how to.

Darcy took her silence as acquiescence.

He took the book back and guided her to a chair.  He fetched a blanket for her and placed it over her legs, tucking it in, which was surely indelicate.  Then, retiring to his own chaise, he opened the volume and began with the first poem.

Darcy had an excellent reading voice.  Bella would certainly concede that.  It was so soft and soothing, that Bella felt herself drift off at his words.

At some point, the words turned into images, and Bella found herself floating in a meadow, the poetry lifting on the wind.

A hand came up and caressed her cheek. 

She sighed.

The back of fingers were now skimming over her forehead, but she turned away from the touch.  She didn’t like it for some reason. 

“Isabella—” a voice murmured close to her ear, somewhere on the air.

She twitched.  The voice was unwelcome to her.  “No—” she sighed.

The hand slid back down the other side of her face and down her neck.  She reached up for the hand and held it where it was.  It was flesh and bone beneath her touch, and she turned angrily toward the source of it.  “No, Edward, stop—” she breathed, only to encounter the vision of Darcy when she opened her eyes.

She instantly dropped his hand as if burnt.

He was leaning over her and, his verdant eyes holding her dark gaze, he stood up and fixed his sleeves.  “Who is Edward, Miss Swan?” he inquired, his voice careful but dangerous.

She let out a shaky breath.  Breaking his gaze, she looked down at her hands, which had dropped to the blanket.  “I thought I heard poetry on the wind—” she murmured to no one in particular.  “It was most strange.”

“Most strange,” Darcy agreed, returning to his seat.  He was still regarding her carefully.  “If you do not tell me who Edward is, I shall simply ask Carrie or Lady Swan.”

Bella glanced up at him with her violet eyes.  “You would invade my privacy thus, Mr. Darcy?”  She wished her voice could come out a little stronger.  It was barely more than a breathy whisper.

“If it affected our future, Miss Swan,” he told her decidedly.

Future.  Yes, they had a future and Bella was powerless to stop it.  Her mother determined that Bella would accept Darcy’s attentions as he was an eligible bachelor, respectable, with a fine estate, and she wanted Bella off of her hands.

She could not hold in the groan that escaped her lips and settled her head in her hands.

“You are unwell, Miss Swan,” Darcy worried, jumping up from his chair and coming over to hover over her.

“It is only a headache,” she promised him, pushing him away.  “Dr. Cullen said it was a concussion—whatever that means.”

“Did he not leave you a powder?” Darcy wondered.

“Carrie made it up for me,” Bella agreed.  “Perhaps it is time for another dosage.”

Darcy reached out and helped her to her feet, bringing the candle and book of Gray with them, assisting her out of the library.  Bella barely noticed that this entire time she was only wearing a nightshift and socks on her feet.  Darcy was hardly better.  He was wearing his shirtsleeves and his waistcoat, his cravat gone from his neck.

When he got her back to her room, he roused Charlotte.

“You have been derelict in your duties,” he told her harshly.  “I found Miss Swan wandering the corridors with a candle, looking for a book of poetry.  I shall be reporting you to Lady Swan.”

Bella glared at him despite her headache.  “She is my servant.  I told you, it is not your place to reprimand her.”

He turned from Charlotte, a stern look on his face, and his eyes softened.  He reached out for her and Bella had to suppress a flinch.  His hand gentled on the side of her face.  “I wish for it to be very much my place to reprimand your servant,” he told her simply.  “I thought that was obvious, Miss Swan—Isabella—”

Bella could not stand the intensity of his gaze and so looked off to the side.

Charlotte was making up the powder and came up to the couple.  “Mum,” she breathed, clearly apologetic.

“Yes,” she murmured, “thank you, Carrie.”

Darcy withdrew his hand. 

Bella took the glass and downed it quickly, grimacing at the taste.

“Come, let us get you comfortable,” Darcy insisted, setting her down on a chair and wrapping her up in a shawl and throwing a rug over her legs.  “Are you warm enough?”

“Yes, Mr. Darcy,” she assured him. 

“‘Darcy,’” he insisted.  “Surely we are past formalities.”

Bella caught a glance at Charlotte.  She certainly did not wish to be past formalities with Darcy, but now they were sneaking around a house together in the middle of the night, so she supposed it would only be reasonable.  Nodding her head, she allowed him to take her hand and kiss the back of it.

“Stay up with her.  She is not to sleep until Dr. Cullen comes and sees her in the morning,” he instructed Charlotte, his voice stern and disapproving.

He turned his attention back to Bella once more, ran his fingers down the side of her face, and then left, closing the door behind him.

Bella instantly crumpled in the chair.

“Oh, mum,” Charlotte sighed, immediately running to her.  “Why is he taking such liberties?”

Bella sobbed.  “He must be in love with me and he has always been entitled, since our very first dance together.”

Charlotte took her hand between hers, rubbing it.  “We shall read some poetry and think of other things,” Charlotte promised.  “Then the doctor will come and you can get some sleep.”

“Yes,” Bella agreed, trying to compose herself.  “Yes, that is what we shall do.”

Picking up the book, Charlotte withdrew to her chair and opened up to the first page, rereading what Darcy had already read, not that Bella had been listening the first time.

The interminable hours dragged into each other.  Bella did not drift off to sleep, but she was quite unaware of the time when there was a knock on her door and Dr. Cullen was shown in.

She instantly sat up, glad to see him.

He was smiling to himself and he looked between her and Charlotte.

“How is the patient?” he inquired.

“I still have a headache,” Bella told him.

“Not surprising,” he agreed, coming and setting his bag beside her chair.  He came and placed his fingers at the juncture of her neck and jaw, feeling.  Then he tipped her head forward and felt the wound where she had fallen and hit her head on the rock.  “Good, no bleeding,” he murmured to himself. 

He picked up a candle and had her follow his finger with her vision, keeping her head completely still.

Bella held her breath every time he touched her.

If he noticed, he said nothing.

“Well,” he decided after twenty minutes.  “You may go to bed now, Miss Swan.”

Her eyes fluttered just at the thought of it.  “That is a relief.”

“Then you may go home this evening.”  He turned and looked over his shoulder at Charlotte.  “She is not to be interrupted for meals, unless she is already awake.—and then, only a tray.  She is not to be disturbed with company.”

He turned back to Bella and their gazes caught—golden to violet.  The world seemed to still.  Bella’s breath caught and then she realized, Dr. Cullen wasn’t breathing either.  They stayed like that for several long moments.

Bella let out a long, shaky breath, never lowering her eyes, and it was only then that Dr. Cullen seemed to remember to breathe.  He glanced down at her lips, then quickly back up at her eyes, before saying to no one in particular, “Well, if I’m no longer needed,” before picking up his bag and heading to the door. 

He nodded to Charlotte and swiftly left, not looking back.

“That was most odd,” Charlotte decided.  “He did not even take his fee.”

Bella was smiling to herself.  “Not odd,” she decided.  “I wonder what his Christian name is.”

“I am sure I can learn it from the other servants,” Charlotte was now saying, “if you really wish to know.”

Bella was now looking out the window toward the rising sun.  It was going to be a fine day.  “I should really wish to know,” she decided.  She could see Dr. Cullen riding off toward the East.  For some reason there was some sort of a sparkle in the direction of the sun.

Charlotte helped her from the chair and shepherded her into bed.  The curtains were drawn and Bella settled in for a day of sleep.  She would be much more pleasantly occupied dreaming of Dr. Cullen instead of either Edward Masen or Darcy.

She fell asleep with a smile on her lips, the house awake beneath her, unaware of where her thoughts were turned.