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thegreeks · 9 months ago

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A Fevered Return

Warnings: illness, fever

Synopsis: Mr. Darcy returns home to Pemberley to find his wife has taken sickly

The fog lingered in the cool morning air as Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy rode his sturdy steed through the grand gates of Pemberley. The woodlands around him, vibrant with the deep hues of autumn, seemed to welcome him back with a warm embrace. Yet, an unwelcome tension was woven into the very fabric of the day.

Mr. Darcy had spent the last fortnight in London on business matters that had been pressing for some time. Though he had enjoyed the company of his sister, Georgiana, and the vibrant world of the city, his thoughts were perpetually preoccupied with one person: you, his beloved wife.

Darcy found himself straining to catch a glimpse of the familiar figures on the lawn, but he saw only a few servants going about their evening chores. As he dismounted and handed the reins to a waiting stable hand, he noticed something amiss.

The usual peaceful atmosphere was disturbed by a murmur of anxious whispers among the household staff, their glances flicking toward the upper windows. Darcy’s chest tightened as he approached the house, and his suspicions deepened when Mrs. Reynolds, his trusted housekeeper, met him at the door, her face drawn with worry.

“Mrs. Reynolds,” he greeted, trying to keep his voice steady, though unease was rising within him, “is all well at Pemberley?”

The older woman hesitated, her hands clasping and unclasping as she searched for the right words.

“Is my wife in? Where is she?” His voice was steadier than he felt, but inside, the worry clawed at him.

“Master Darcy,” Mrs. Reynolds began hesitantly, “It is Mistress Darcy, sir. She was taken ill quite suddenly… I am afraid she has been confined to her chamber since."

Darcy’s blood ran cold, his heart hammering painfully in his chest. “And the doctor?” he demanded, his voice sharper than intended. He saw her wince slightly but couldn’t bring himself to apologize. The mere thought of you suffering was unbearable.

"We sent for the physician at first light, but he has not yet arrived. Her fever...it has worsened,” a tremor in her usually steady voice.

Without another moment’s delay, he rushed upstairs, the echo of his footsteps reverberating through the elegant corridors of Pemberley. He moved swiftly, his mind solely focused on reaching you.

When he entered your chamber, the sight that met him struck a blow deep within. He was met with the sight of you lying upon the bed, pale and frail beneath a thick layer of blankets, your hair fanned around you like a halo. Your usually rosy cheeks were flushed with fever, and your soft, closed eyelids showed no sign of the gentle awareness that always warmed his soul. He stopped just short of your bedside, his own heart shattering at the sight. The sight was more than he could bear.

The maid, who had been dutifully tending to you, dipped into a curtsy. “Master Darcy, sir.”

He waved her off with a brief nod. “Thank you. I will watch over her myself now.”

The maid slipped away, leaving Darcy alone with you in the quiet, the faint flicker of a candle illuminating a face that was all at once beloved and fragile. Without a thought, Darcy crossed to your side, pulling a chair closer as he knelt beside you.

His usually calm, controlled demeanor was then replaced by a fierce protectiveness he could barely contain. Gently, he reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from your fevered brow. The sight of you—his dear, precious wife, the love of his life—lying helplessly ill stirred a deep sorrow within him.

“Dearest,” he murmured, barely recognizing his own voice. His thumb traced along the delicate line of your cheek, his touch featherlight for fear of disturbing you, heart lurching at how cold you felt against his skin.

He sat with you in a vigil of silence, his heart aching as he watched the slight rise and fall of your chest, praying it would steady and strengthen. He could recall every laugh, every quiet word you had ever shared with him, and the way your presence alone brought peace to his restless heart. The thought of losing you, of being without that comfort, was unfathomable.

As the hours passed, Darcy’s gaze never wavered from you, his fingers entwined gently with yours. He found himself murmuring softly, words of love and reassurances that you could not hear, yet he could not help but hope would reach you somehow. “You must fight this, my love,” he whispered, voice breaking. “Pemberley is no home without you. I am no man without you.”

With every passing hour, his protectiveness only deepened. The responsibilities he bore for Pemberley, the Darcy lineage, and the family name had always been heavy, but tonight they were nothing compared to the weight of his love for you. If he could have taken your illness upon himself, he would have done so without hesitation.

As dawn broke, a soft light filled the room, casting a warm glow over your face. With it came a slight change—your breathing, still labored, grew a touch stronger. You stirred slightly, your eyelids fluttering open, your expression softened with the gentleness he had fallen so deeply in love with.

The moment your gaze met his, a faint smile curved your lips as recognition dawned in your fever-brightened eyes, though nonetheless overshadowed by weariness. “Fitzwilliam,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper but unmistakably filled with affection. “You are home.”

Relief washed over him as Darcy swallowed hard, his heart nearly bursting at the sound of his name on your lips. “Yes, my love,” he murmured, bringing your hand to his lips. “Rest. I am here.”

In an instant, it was replaced by an overwhelming need to protect you. He moved quickly, sitting on the edge of the bed, his fingers brushing your forehead to check for fever. He looked to Mrs. Reynolds, who hovered nearby, her face shadowed with concern. “Where is the doctor?” he called out, his voice strained, “has he not yet arrived?

Mrs. Reynolds shook her head, an apology in her expression. “He was delayed, sir, though I have sent word again. I expect he shall arrive soon.”

Darcy nodded tersely, suppressing his mounting frustration. To think that the well-being of his wife, her very life, might be vulnerable to the fickleness of fate was more than he could bear. Turning back to her, he leaned close, his thumb tracing soft circles over the back of her hand. “We must call once more. Is there anything at all you need?” he said, his voice low, as if speaking the words to her alone might fortify her. “I cannot—” His voice faltered. “I cannot imagine a world without you.”

You shook your head gently, stifling a cough that had begun to rise in your throat. “It’s but a fever,” you managed. “I will be well, in time." Your gaze softening despite the fever which clouded your eyes. “Fitzwilliam,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, “I am sorry to worry you so.”

Darcy’s heart broke at your courage. “No,” he retorted, his expression turning fierce with determination. “Do not speak of such things, I cannot allow you to suffer, my love. If the doctor is not here, we shall fetch the finest in Derbyshire. I cannot see you in this state.”

You looked at him, the strength of his presence overwhelming in the room. “Fitzwilliam, please. It is only the flu.”

“Only the flu?” The incredulity in his voice made your brow knit together. “You do not understand. I cannot bear to see you like this. You are everything to me.”

Your heart swelled at his passionate declaration. You reached for his hand with a newfound determination. “And you are my everything. But I promise, I shall recover. You have returned, and that is what I needed most.”

With a heavy sigh, Darcy surveyed your delicate form, every instinct screaming at him to do whatever it took to get you well again. “I cannot relinquish my worry. I must care for you.”

As if sensing his turmoil, you squeezed his hand with what little strength you had. “Then stay with me. Just stay.”

The sincerity in your plea made everything else fade away. Darcy nodded, his worries lingering but overridden by the need to be near you. “I shall not leave your side,” he vowed, a protective resolve building within him.

Through the night, he remained there, propped in that chair beside you, reading passages from his favorite novels to you, weaving stories of adventure and love that enveloped the room. He watched you closely, wiping your brow, and coaxing you to take sips of water, as the nurse had instructed, watching the gentle rise and fall of your breathing a rhythm that calmed him. He remained steady and resolute, each moment strengthening his resolve to guard your happiness, to cherish you, to protect you for as long as he drew breath.

Footsteps echoed in the hall, and the physician finally entered, his face lined with the haste of his journey. Darcy stood, his gaze steely as he turned to the man. “You are here to ensure her recovery,” he said quietly, his tone resolute. “Do whatever is necessary.”

The doctor nodded, moving to examine you as Darcy hovered nearby, his every muscle taut with tension. He watched, his heart in his throat, as the doctor murmured assurances, checked your pulse, and began the necessary ministrations. Time seemed to stretch unbearably, each passing second fraught with his own mounting dread.

“Mr. Darcy,” the doctor said at last, “have no cause for undue alarm. A nip of this fever you have contracted will take time, but with good care, I expect a swift recovery with rest and proper care.”

Though relieved, Darcy felt the weight of his fear only begin to lift. He knew he would not rest until he saw the color return to your cheeks, the light return to her eyes. “Thank you, Doctor,” he replied, his voice tempered, though the tension remained in his stance.

When the doctor had left, Darcy returned to your side, settling into a chair by the bed. He kept hold of your hand, kissing your knuckles softly. “You see? I will ensure you receive the best treatment, my love.”

You smiled faintly, your heart warmed by his fierce protectiveness. “You are a steadfast soul, Fitzwilliam.”

“Always for you,” he whispered, gazing into your eyes with an intensity that promised no matter the trial ahead, he would remain your unwavering partner, your shield against anything life might bring.

By evening, your fever began to break, and with it, Darcy allowed himself to exhale, a weight lifting from his shoulders as he watched the color slowly return to your cheeks. He felt an overwhelming gratitude fill his heart, knowing that you were strong, resilient, and, most importantly, still his.

As you drifted back into a peaceful slumber, he brushed a tender kiss upon your forehead. “Rest well, my love,” he whispered. “For as long as I am able, I shall be your strength.”

And so, in the heart of Pemberley, amidst the echoes of love and devotion, you began to recover, surrounded by the man who cherished you above all things—a reminder that even in the darkest of times, love would always light the way home.

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thegreeks · 10 months ago

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Love and Tenderness

Warnings: wedding night, implication of consummation (not descriptive/SFW) Synopsis: your gentle, intimate wedding night with Mr. Darcy.

It was a night bathed in moonlight, the cool air carrying the gentle scent of blooming jasmine from the gardens of Pemberley. You found yourself standing at the threshold of your new life, butterflies dancing in your stomach as you recalled the whirlwind of emotions that had led to this very moment.

The day had been a whirlwind of emotions—the grand ceremony, the joy of your family, and the overwhelming happiness of marrying the man you had come to love with all your heart: Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy.

Soft flickers of candles illuminated the lavishly appointed chamber, casting a warm glow over the silk sheets and finely crafted furnishings. The opulence felt unreal, yet it was the coziness of the room, imbued with love and promise, that made it feel like home.

The delicate lace of your wedding gown whispered against the floor, and your fingers, trembling slightly, played with the edge of the sleeve. Tonight was your wedding night, and the thought of it made your cheeks flush with warmth.

A gentle knock at the door snapped you from your musing, and your heart raced as Mr. Darcy stepped inside. He looked every bit the gentleman: tall, with a refined air and a warm glow radiating from his usually reserved demeanor. The sight of him sent a rush of happiness through you, the man you had once deemed proud now wholly vulnerable and just as enamored.

“Good evening, my love” he said softly, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. His dark eyes sparkled with a mix of affection and sincerity that made your breath catch.

The moment the door closed behind him, an air of intimacy enveloped the space. "Are you well?" His voice brought warmth and reassurance, grounding you amidst the whirlwind that was this day.

You nodded, though your voice seemed to elude you for a moment. "Yes… only a little nervous," you admitted shyly, your gaze dropping to your hands as you fidgeted with the lace of your gown.

“Today was a momentous occasion,” he began, his voice deep and earnest. “To have you by my side… I still cannot quite believe that you are now truly my wife.”

A shy smile tugged at your lips as you recalled the vows exchanged beneath the soft bloom of spring flowers, surrounded by the laughter and joy of your closest friends and family. “Nor I, Mr. Darcy. It all seems like a beautiful dream.”

“I assure you, it is very much real,” he said, his voice laced with tenderness. “And I would not trade it for anything in the world.”

An unspoken understanding passed between you, a shared admission that neither of you had ever anticipated finding such completeness in another. The weight of the evening melted away as his gaze held yours captive, his admiration evident.

Darcy crossed the threshold through the grandeur of the room, taking your hands in his, his touch firm yet gentle, his fingers gently untangling your own as he lifted your hands to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to each.

His musky scent of cedar and leather comforting as he whispered, “How fortunate I am to have you in my life. You’ve changed everything for me.

You leaned back to meet his gaze, your heart swelling at his sincerity. “And you have changed my world, Mr. Darcy. I once thought you were insurmountable…and now, you are my greatest support.”

"You need not dwell on nerves," he said quietly, his voice filled with affection. "We have all the time in the world, and tonight is not a night for haste, but for tenderness." His gaze held yours, and you could see the care, the love, in his eyes—a love that had grown over time, deep and steadfast.

“I have waited for this moment for what feels like a lifetime,” he whispered, “and yet, now that it is here, I find myself wanting nothing more than to make you feel safe, cherished.”

You blushed deeply, overwhelmed by his words, by the tenderness with which they held you. You had never imagined that such a proud and composed man could be so gentle, so considerate. You felt the weight of his love in every touch, every glance.

“I do feel safe,” you whispered back, your voice barely above a breath. “With you, I always do.”

Darcy’s hand moved to cup your cheek, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. There was a quiet reverence in his eyes as he leaned down, brushing his lips softly against yours. The kiss was slow, tentative—an expression of the deep emotions felt deep within your bosom. You felt the warmth of his breath, the softness of his lips, and all the nervousness that had been knotted in your chest began to unwind.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested gently against yours. “I love you,” he whispered, his voice hoarse with emotion. “More than I can ever say.”

Your heart swelled with love for him. “And I love you,” you replied softly, your shyness melting away in the presence of his affection.

“Then allow me to show you just how much you mean to me,” he said, slowly guiding you to the lavishly embroidered settee that had been prepared for you both for this special night.

“May I?” he inquired softly, his voice a velvet caress as he brushed your hair away from your face. You nodded, breath hitching at the intimate nature of the moment.

With tender care, Darcy helped you out of your wedding gown, his touch never rushed or demanding. He treated you as though you were the most precious thing in the world, his every movement thoughtful and gentle. When you were finally settled on the soft sheets, he joined you, his arms wrapping around you in a protective embrace.

As the evening unfolded, you followed his lead, allowing him to guide you patiently and with a grace that soothed your nervous heart. Each tentative touch ignited sparks that coursed through you. The intimacy was profound, transcending the physical, as your connection deepened.

In the quiet stillness of the night, you rested your head against his chest, feeling the warmth of his body next to yours. His fingers traced soothing patterns along your back, and you felt a deep sense of contentment wash over you.

“There is no need for fear,” Darcy murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “We have all our lives ahead of us, my dearest.”

Underneath the canopy of stars that blanketed the Pemberley skies, you sensed that this was where you were meant to be, by Darcy’s side, writing the first chapter of a tale that neither of you would ever want to end. In that moment, the world outside disappeared; it was just the two of you, united as one, ready to face whatever came next—together.

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