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From his perch on the backward-facing seat, Farley exchanged an occasional worried glance with Mr Finn, who had seated himself beside Darcy so that he might support him if he collapsed. By the time they reached Piccadilly, the strained look on Darcy’s face made it clear that he was already in pain. As they neared Cheapside, he became paler and paler. It was a great relief to Finn when they finally made it to Gracechurch Street.

Getting out of the carriage was awkward. They decided to lower Darcy to the floor, lock the braces and slide him forward. Farley, who had jumped out, enlisted the help of a groom to pull Darcy upright. Finally, Darcy stood, balanced on two of his father’s old canes. He tottered forward as Finn rang the doorbell before stepping a respectful distance back.

Mr Gardiner had only just arrived home early following two hectic days of work after one of his ships had docked. Opening the door himself, he had a little trouble recognising the superbly dressed man in rose-tinted glasses who was flanked by two well-dressed henchmen standing strangely close to him. A glance at the street then took in the sleek black coach devoid of a crest, which Mr Gardiner recognised as the one that had been calling for his niece in the morning.

“Mr Gardiner, I received your communication regarding your niece, Miss Elizabeth Bennet, and I would like to talk to you.”

With a mind lurch, Mr Gardiner finally recognised Mr Darcy, sending his brain reeling with the fact that this man had been his niece’s employer for over a week. He could not believe his own negligence in not checking the identity of the invalid who was Colonel Fitzwilliam’s cousin earlier. The common surname he had read in the peerage after visiting Mr Darcy’s house in Mayfair finally clicked—the impropriety was enormous.

“Yes, I think we should talk,” said Mr Gardiner rather tersely.

It was only then that Mr Gardiner noticed how pale Mr Darcy was and the beads of sweat on his upper lip. He was about to step back and say, “Please come in,” when he saw the gentleman waver.

Then Mr Darcy promptly fainted into his arms.

Chapter 38: Tales from the Cheapside

When Darcy next woke it occurred to him that he might be dead. He was somewhere unfamiliar that smelled wonderful. He did not panic, feeling only a sense of calm and peace. Yes, it was just how he had imagined heaven to be, only perhaps with a little more light. Then he dissected the scents that embalmed him into lavender and musk. He remembered fainting after getting out of his carriage and possibly some people talking to him after that. What they had said he had no idea. It was within the realm of possibility that he might still be alive.

“Finn?”

No answer.

Possibly dead.

The creak of hinges and a sliver of light alerted him to the fact that someone had opened a door.

“You called, sir?”

“Ah! You are there, Finn! Where am I?”

“You are in the Gardiners’ house, sir.”

Memories of Darcy’s urgent mission resurfaced. “I must speak to Mr Gardiner.”

“Yes, sir. As soon as the doctor allows it.”

“No, Finn, now!”

“Even if you wish to speak to Mr Gardiner now, sir, he will not speak to you until Dr Gordon has given permission. You have been lying in your bed for two days now, dosed to your eyeballs with laudanum. I told you it would be too much for you.”

Immediately Darcy remembered the terrible pain. It had seemed like his ribs were collapsing on his lungs; each breath had been painful. It was just a dull throb now, but he could already sense it growing. Darcy closed his eyes to contemplate his next course of action. Imposing on Mr Gardiner’s household unannounced for several days had not been part of his plans.

Satisfied the master was not attempting to get up, Finn closed the door and resumed his seat in a Windsor chair, incongruously perched on the narrow landing of the stairs that continued to the attics. Not having brought any of his own sewing with him, he had volunteered to mend Mr Gardiner’s belongings. The light streaming down from a skylight was quite tolerable.

Of course, all hell had broken loose once Darcy had swooned. With both Finn and Farley trying to prevent him from toppling to the ground in the restricted space of the doorway, all four men had collapsed inwards into an undignified heap just inside Mr Gardiner’s front door. They had immediately disentangled themselves to lay Darcy on the floor.

Once it became clear that Darcy was neither dead nor dying, he was conveyed to the Gardiners’ parlour where he was laid upon the settee; his long, booted legs protruding over the end. Farley had immediately set off to summon Doctor Gordon.

Thwarted of his indignation with Mr Darcy on his niece’s behalf by that gentleman’s collapse, Mr Gardiner could, for the moment, only be glad that a member of the Ton had not expired on his premises. His choler soon grew however and, unable to question the interloper, Sally was sent to call Elizabeth to his study instead. This summons had the effect of apprising Mrs Gardiner of the drama in her parlour. Arriving on the scene, she immediately sent for a bowl of vinegar and water. She was soon kneeling beside Mr Darcy, bathing his forehead.

Having come into the parlour in her aunt’s wake. Elizabeth had paled on seeing Mr Darcy laid out on the sofa. He looked so handsome in his breeches and boots—what long legs he has!—and so vulnerable at the same time, so much thinner than she remembered him at Netherfield. She would have rushed to his side were it not for the presence of her uncle who was watching her keenly.

Mr Darcy came round a few minutes later. Satisfied that he could be of no further use in the parlour, Mr Gardiner ushered Lizzy to his study with a frown on his face.

“Well, Lizzy?” he said as he closed the door. “I think you have some explaining to do.”

“Oh, Uncle, forgive me for not telling you, but the colonel’s blind cousin is Mr Darcy.”