Dr. Penaflor, in contrast, was reticent. When he spoke it was meaningful and succinct. Nonetheless, he sat in gentle repose with an amused lilt to his mouth, obviously highly entertained by his friend's banter and family felicity. When Darcy eventually submitted to an examination by his uncle, Lizzy hovering in nervous interest, Dr. Penaflor trailed along with clear professional curiosity.

Darcy related the event while Lizzy assisted the removal of his jackets and shirt. All traces of humor disappeared as Dr. Darcy and Dr. Penaflor bent over Darcy's left side. No words were spoken as George carefully palpated the chest and rib cage. He asked a few brief questions as he prodded, glancing frequently into Darcy's face.

“The bones are intact, although there is internal bruising of the cartilage over the print itself. I am surprised your breathing has not been affected. The bruising is as expected. Did you bring any leeches with you, Raul?”

“Leeches!” Lizzy exclaimed in horror.

Dr. Penaflor answered them both, “Unfortunately, no, George. Leeches reduce the bleeding and swelling, Mrs. Darcy, and inject substances that coagulate the blood and aid absorption. We do not know why, yet it works.”

George had moved on to the left hand, testing each finger and Darcy's grip strength before feeling the pulses and then probing along each ligament and muscle as he traveled upward. Darcy displayed no ill effect until the upper arm and shoulder were touched. He winced and recoiled instinctively. George pursed his lips, gingerly proceeding with his inspection in miniscule increments, not overlooking an inch. He gently but purposefully rotated and lifted the arm in all directions, gauging the injury's intensity by the expressions of discomfort crossing Darcy's face as sweat beaded. Lizzy sat at his side and clutched his right hand, dabbing at teary eyes with his handkerchief still in her possession, bravely enduring his crushing grip.

Finally, Dr. Darcy ceased his examination. Lizzy wiped Darcy's perspiring, pale forehead while he offered the diagnosis. “As you figured, William, the muscles were torn a bit. Also, you have developed a nasty inflammation to the bursae. That, Mrs. Darcy, is not as horrid as it sounds.”

Dr. Penaflor was already rummaging through his trunk of medical supplies, extracting several glass jars while George continued. “The bursae are the fluid pouches found in the joints and ends of muscles. With a serious tearing as you have suffered, William, those areas are damaged and become inflamed. Anyway, enough medical gibberish. Your treatment is twofold. We have several ointments which will decrease the inflammation and swelling, menthol and camphor primarily, so the odor will not be pleasant. Mrs. Darcy, you will need to massage a generous amount in each night, deeply into the tissue, as firmly as William can handle it. Keep the area wrapped and immobilized. Raul is very good at constructing comfortable straps if you have any extra fabric about, my dear, and will demonstrate how it must be. William, you are required to be a complacent patient and do all I say. Once the swelling is reduced adequately—as I deem it, not you—then I will show you some exercises to strengthen the muscles.”

“How long?” Darcy asked.

“A week, perhaps two. If you comply, the recovery will be swift. Loving care is the key, and I think you have that in abundance,” he finished with an affectionate smile to Lizzy, who had yet to relinquish Darcy's hand.

Lizzy accepted her nursing responsibilities seriously. Dr. Penaflor mixed the foul-smelling unguent and concocted several cushiony arm slings, instructing an avidly absorbed Lizzy in their use. Darcy, now recovered from his uncle's exploration, observed his wife's anxious study with a fond smile. Fortunately, his adoration was immense, because Lizzy so intensely enforced her duties she burst in on the gentlemen's revelry much later that evening, declaring with a firm voice and tapping foot that it was time for her husband to retire for his medicine. The three of them were more than slightly intoxicated, George winking broadly at Lizzy as he sent Darcy on his way with several observations about henpecked spouses.

Darcy submitted blearily to the massage, essentially feeling little pain. This mild anesthesia was to Lizzy's advantage, since she pressed harshly with strong hands, kneading deeply as instructed, the only deterrent to her treatment being the need to constantly slap her husband's seeking right hand. However, by the time she had him slathered and wrapped as a mummy, he gratefully sank onto the pillows and fell immediately asleep.

Lizzy lovingly observed his restful face for a time, eventually curling up alone on the far side of the bed. The combination of his pungent aroma and rumbling snores, activated, as always, when he imbibed excessively, precluded any snuggling—for this night at least.

Chapter Fifteen

A Soiree of Surprises

Darcy woke late, confused and with heart pounding from a troublesome dream: He was bound to a post with thick ropes, unable to control any of his limbs, and having extreme difficulty inhaling deeply, with spasms pounding through his head and entire left side blazing. Meanwhile, his luscious wife performed an erotic, disrobing dance far across the room. His dream self was obscenely aroused, throbbing in agony with the need to join with her, yet he could not move and any effort to do so caused her to slip further away. The mingled torments of frustration, desire, and physical pain jolted him awake.

He was alone in their bed, sunlight streaming through the crack in the curtained window, marked physical arousal evident while his bound shoulder and arm weighed him down. “Elizabeth?” His voice cracked oddly with a note of hysteria, the unsettling dream still lingering about the edges of his consciousness and the combined pains a reality. “Elizabeth!” he called again, attempting awkwardly to rise without success. During the night, the carefully wrapped bandage had constricted further, preventing even the slightest mobility.

“Beloved, I am here,” she replied, her voice floating through the sitting room door mere moments before she entered bearing a coffee-laden tray. “Stay still, love. I will help you up.” Then she laughed at his appearance. “Apparently I was mistaken. You obviously need no assistance from me as you appear fairly ‘up’ already.”

“Most amusing, Mrs. Darcy. Suffering from grievous injuries and hideous nightmares, yet she teases me. What happened to the doctor's prescribed tender loving care?”

“If nightmares elicit this response, I cannot fathom what sensual dreams inspire.” She threw his robe off her shoulders, exposing her nakedness to greedy eyes with bed sheets fluttering from the response.

“Elizabeth, please do not toy with me! I need you, now!” Forcefully hurling the blanket aside so she could access his body, Lizzy straddled his thighs and attacked.

“Oh God!” he cried with an arch, moaning blissfully as his perfect wife worked magic. Quite adept after their months of experimenting with all aspects of lovemaking, Lizzy knew precisely how to stimulate her fabulous spouse. Her own passion escalated at the taste, aroma, sight, and sound of him. Even his fabric-swathed body with its lingering medicinal scent was insufficient to quench her excitement. It was crazy morning loving, their fiery passion rising to indescribable levels as Darcy's hurting miraculously dissolved.

All medicinal treatments unified over the following days, with Darcy healing rapidly as a young man vigorously in the bloom of health can do. He argued the prescribed trammeling of his arm fruitlessly but with minimal cogency, as the truth was it did help the pain.

The atmosphere inundating the house escalated dramatically with the arrival of George Darcy. His naturally extroverted and loquacious personality was on full display, heightened by the parade of visitors suddenly flooding the place in a desire to see him. Darcy attempted to concentrate on estate business, but rapidly gave up. He happily relinquished the endeavor for the time being in order to delight in his uncle's company.

The dinner party planned by the Darcys for the following evening was greatly anticipated. Darcy had sent a formal invitation to his Aunt Catherine and Anne, but had not received a reply. He and Lizzy had mixed emotions on their possible attendance, although primarily they discovered, to their mutual surprise, that they hoped for an appearance. Their desire was to place the rift in the past. Perhaps aspiring for a close relationship was misguided; however, they could seek relative peace.

Nonetheless, with the sudden addition of a gregarious and eccentric Uncle George, further speculation or worry over the de Bourgh situation was forgotten. Darcy hired an orchestra for an informal ball and ordered the polishing of the long disused ballroom until it gleamed from the hundreds of lights gracing the three chandeliers. Lizzy planned an exotic menu of unusual cuisines, augmented with enthusiasm by George and Dr. Penaflor, both of whom marched into the kitchen amid cries of dismay from the cook to whip up a couple Indian and Spanish dishes.

The guest list was small, or at least small compared to most London society soirees. Naturally, the Bingleys, Miss Bingley, the Gardiners, Colonel Fitzwilliam, and Lord and Lady Matlock attended. Also invited were the Drurys, both Vernor couples, Miss Bertha Vernor, the Lathrops, Fitzherberts, Sitwells, and Hugheses. Darcy had added a few of his other close friends from Town, along with Mr. and Mrs. Andrew Daniels and Mr. Joshua Daniels.