Colonel Fitzwilliam and the bulk of his men remained behind to deal with the mess. One rider voluntarily risked life and limb to carry an express message to Darcy House, the occupants informed of the rescue and Lizzy’s condition. Colonel Artois insisted on acting as armed guard to the Darcys, riding ahead of the carriage confiscated from Orman’s lodge.

They encountered no obstacles, but the late hour with limited natural illumination and potential road hazards meant great speed was not a possibility. Therefore the ride took twice as long as it would have during the day. Heart pounding painfully and anxiety barely kept at bay, Darcy sat in the dark interior unable to see his wife’s face except for brief seconds when the crescent moon’s pale glow pierced through the trees. He was comforted by the press of Lizzy and Alexander’s bodies, but the stretches of absolute silence from Lizzy when only the steady pulse palpated in her neck assured him of her life followed by interludes of nonsensical mutterings and thrashing escalated his anguish. The lights of London and finally Grosvenor Square had never been so appreciated.

The carriage was greeted with expectancy but subdued fuss. Mrs. Hanford plucked Alexander from Darcy’s arms, managing to control her emotions until inside the foyer whereupon she squeezed his body and wept so uncontrollably that it was Alexander who ended up soothing the distraught nanny with gentle pats and murmured assurances. Before they reached the nursery he was recounting the adventure and his bravery in matter-of-fact tones that allayed the worst of her fears. After a warm bath and hot soup, the toddler was tucked into bed with Dog nestled tight and Miss Lisa curled beside for added security. He swiftly fell asleep and the atmosphere within the chamber was no different than on any other night.

Not so within the master’s chambers. Darcy carried Lizzy into the house blazing with lit candles and lamps, ignoring everyone in his haste to safely deposit her onto their bed, where within seconds the examination by Dr. Darcy was underway. George was in full physician-in-command mode with the staff bustling about to implement his barked instructions.

“It is as I suspected from your scrawled descriptions, William,” he said after a rapid evaluation. “She has developed a case of puerperal mastitis. The lingering effects of the ether may be contributing to her fever and delirium, but I believe it is the inflammation. We must reduce the redness and swelling, pray there is no infection, and control her fever. Marguerite”—he turned to Lizzy’s waiting maid—“please assist Mr. Darcy in cleaning your mistress and providing comfort. I will see to those poultices I ordered.”

He rose from the edge of the bed by Lizzy’s inert side, reaching to clasp Darcy’s hands. “Do not fear, my boy. She is healthy and astoundingly stubborn. A simple breast inflammation will not overwhelm her. However, I do pray there is not an infection brewing. I do not think it has gone to that degree but cannot be sure. I know of several herbs, most of which I have in my supplies. What I do not have I can obtain from the apothecary on the morrow. For now our greatest priority is to lower the fever and relieve her pain. For the first I have ice being chipped from the ice-cellar, and for the latter we need Michael.”

“Michael?” Darcy glanced away from his wife’s face to look at his uncle, brow raised in question.

“Indeed. A hungry infant will be best able to alleviate the engorgement, that causing the mastitis in the first place. Now, help Marguerite while I obtain a few supplies. But first, I am assuming Colonel Fitzwilliam is fine or you would have stated otherwise, but I am sure his wife would appreciate an update.”

“Lady Simone is still here?”

“She rightly figured this was the best place to wait for her husband, but also would not abandon Georgiana, who has been distressed.” He did not mention Mr. Butler, who had also refused to leave and was in the parlor still, saving that information for a more opportune moment.

“Of course.” Darcy pinched the bridge of his nose wearily, nodding in agreement. “That is to be expected. Assure Lady Simone that Richard is fine. He is handling the aftermath. It may take a while so she may as well return home. Where is Georgie?”

“Georgiana is assisting with the poultices and will be along momentarily. Let me talk to Lady Simone and I will return.” He patted Darcy’s shoulder, squeezing once, and turned to leave.

Darcy sighed, closing his eyes and taking a minute to silently say a prayer, and then stepped to join Marguerite.

Lizzy’s devoted maid was wringing cool water from a cloth, moving to apply the soothing and cleansing lave to her mistress, but Darcy gently took the swab from her hand. “I shall do this, Marguerite. Will you please remove her soiled clothing?”

Lizzy moaned frequently and murmured incoherently. Her eyelids fluttered, opening to slits several times, but she did not waken. Her fiery, flushed skin responded to the tepid bath with gooseflesh and shivering. Darcy examined her bosom, encouraged to note that the inflamed patch was not worsened and there were no additional erythematic areas. The hard, turgid milk-sacs were obviously painful when touched, but her nipples were of normal appearance. Darcy was hopeful that the latter was a positive sign.

Midway through the cleansing Georgiana marched into the room carrying a wailing Michael. Behind her came two maids, their arms burdened with towels, laden trays, and a bucket of ice.

“He was not too fond of being woken up in the middle of his night and only a few hours after feeding, but Uncle insisted.” She spoke over the din to her brother, who approached with a frown etched between his brows. “Fortunately, your son has a tremendous appetite. Cannot imagine where he attains that character trait.”

She attempted a warm smile but her eyes were red-rimmed and cheeks blotchy. Georgiana tiptoed to bestow a tender kiss to his cheek, speaking in a feigned casual tone. “It seems odd to me as well, letting him nurse when Lizzy is unaware. But it does make sense, Brother, when you consider the logic. Besides, Uncle knows what he is about.” She glanced to Lizzy, whose reddened left breast was exposed as Marguerite applied one of the poultices Dr. Darcy had concocted. “It looks so painful. Here, take him to his mother. You know what to do better than I.”

“Thank you, Georgie. Are you…?”

“I am fine now so do not fret over me. Just take care of Lizzy.”

“Very well. Come, sweetheart, let us get you fed. Your mama needs you.”

Normally, Michael latched onto the nipple instantly, quiet falling, never to be distracted until forced to relinquish one nipple for the other or when utterly sated. This time, however, his native volatility was compounded by being woken precipitously and then expected to nurse from an engorged breast with stale milk. Darcy patiently persisted through Michael’s fit of temper until the infant settled in for serious sucking.

Darcy sat on the bed’s edge, softly stroking his back with one hand while holding Lizzy’s slack right hand to his lips. Georgiana knelt on the wide bed behind Lizzy placing the compress of crushed mint, ginger, and pepper paste to her forehead and rotated the tied bundles of chipped ice over her neck and shoulders. George entered the room minutes later, handing the poultice of fenugreek seed and dandelion to Marguerite.

“Give this to Mr. Darcy to smear on Mrs. Darcy’s inflamed breast,” he directed Lizzy’s maid. “The smell is not too foul, William, so it should not disturb Michael, but for now apply it conservatively.” He sat down in a corner chair, discreetly positioning himself so he could instruct without witnessing Lizzy’s nakedness. “Once he is finished we will slather more on and wrap with a cloth. Keep moving the packs along her back, Georgie. We do not want her to become chilled. The fever should subside gradually. If there is an infection process fomenting, an elevated temperature is partially beneficial. William, rub the congested milk sacs, gingerly mind you, as Michael nurses. It will aid the release and press the herbal salve into the skin. Once Michael is finished, we will rouse her and force her to drink those teas.”

He seemingly rambled without purpose, but his orotund tones with words falling in a lilting cadence were soothing. Darcy watched his wife’s face, noting the occasional flashes of pain that crossed her brow as he massaged her softening breast. But he also noted the regular rhythm of her breathing, the lessening blotched pallor and ruddiness of her skin, and the increasing coolness of the hand pressed against his mouth. Together the signs were encouraging.

Michael finished his meal, his chubby body limp as Darcy nestled him against his left chest for burping. He kissed the infant’s forehead, turning to look at his uncle.

“I doubt if I can wake him to eat more. This is his time of extended sleep with hunger well abated.”

“No matter. He will make up for lost time tomorrow. For tonight I can instruct you how to alleviate some of the pressure in the other breast manually. First we must get Elizabeth to drink some fluids. Georgie, will you return Michael to Mrs. Hanford? Thank you, dear. Sit Elizabeth up, William.”

Darcy was required to lend his entire body as support, Lizzy’s flaccid form melding to the contours of his torso. He sat behind her, arms securing and broad chest a firm resting place for her back, and the bend of his neck and shoulder a solid prop for her head.

“Elizabeth,” he voice lovingly commanded into her ear. “We need you to wake up and drink. I need to hear your voice. Please, Elizabeth, look at me. Squeeze my hand, anything to let me know you hear me.”