T he following day passed in much the same way as the one before, with Elizabeth doing her best to entertain Jane and alleviate her boredom. Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst joined them for a time in the afternoon, and Elizabeth almost began to like them when she saw how much affection and solicitude they showed Jane.
The two ladies were in possession of considerable powers of conversation, and they endeavored to make themselves agreeable to the bed-ridden Miss Bennet. Elizabeth was surprised at how well they could describe an entertainment with accuracy and relate an anecdote with humor and laughter.
When the dinner bell rang, Jane begged to be allowed to come downstairs after the meal. Upon promising faithfully that she would keep her injured ankle elevated in the parlor and not attempt to walk, she was given reluctant permission.
“We shall send a footman to carry you down,” Miss Bingley promised.
Elizabeth, remembering Bingley’s avowal to be the one to carry Jane, simply bit her lip, resolving to hint at the matter when the gentleman was present at dinner.
The opportunity arrived upon completion of the meal. As Elizabeth rose from her seat, she turned to her hostess. “Miss Bingley, Jane is still desirous of coming downstairs for the evening. Could you please assign a footman to attend her?”
Before Miss Bingley could respond, Bingley’s head snapped up, his easygoing demeanor sharpening into resolve. “A footman? Nonsense! I will go myself.”
Miss Bingley let out a dramatic gasp. “Charles, you cannot be serious! You cannot mean to enter her bedchamber—”
Bingley waved off her protest. “Miss Bennet’s sister will go with her, as will you and Louisa, if you would like. There could be no impropriety in assisting an injured friend, especially to ensure that she receives only the most careful of conveyance.”
Elizabeth bit back a smile as Miss Bingley’s mouth snapped shut in frustration. Mrs. Hurst merely sighed and exchanged a look with her sister, but neither argued further.
Darcy, who had been silent throughout the exchange, lifted his wineglass to his lips. Elizabeth’s eyes flicked to him, expecting to find some disapproving expression, but instead, his gaze was unreadable—though she thought she caught the faintest twitch of amusement.
Miss Bingley, clearly realizing that further protest would be futile, pursed her lips. “Well, if you insist, brother,” she said with a haughty sniff. “Do try to be careful.”
Bingley grinned and clapped his hands together. “Excellent! I shall collect Miss Bennet at once.” With that, he strode from the room, his enthusiasm evident.
Elizabeth followed at a more measured pace, but as she stepped into the hall, she allowed herself a small, satisfied smirk. Bingley’s devotion to Jane was becoming more and more apparent, much to Miss Bingley’s frustration.
And, she could not deny, it pleased her greatly.
Jane’s face was a becoming shade of pink as Bingley carried her down to the stairs and into the drawing room. He gently placed her on a settee near the fire, then courteously stepped back and averted his eyes as she arranged her skirts to cover her elevated ankle and foot.
“Are you in need of anything, Miss Bennet?” he asked eagerly, bouncing a bit on his feet “A pillow, perhaps, or a rug?”
“I am quite well, Mr. Bingley, thank you.” Jane’s voice was soft and slightly breathless.
Bingley dragged a chair over from another part of the room and sat at Jane’s side, engaging her in quiet, earnest conversation.
The remainder of the party, all of whom had followed Bingley upstairs to fetch Jane, trailed into the room after them. Elizabeth sat on a comfortable chair where she could observe the goings-on, while Darcy took a seat at a writing desk. Hurst stretched out on a sofa and quickly fell asleep, and Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst sat together near the tea tray, their faces pinched in identical expressions of pique.
Elizabeth took up some needlework, though her eyes strayed more often to her sister and Mr. Bingley than to her stitches. It was impossible not to be pleased at how attentively he listened to Jane, how he seemed to hang onto her every word as though nothing in the world could be of greater importance.
Miss Bingley, meanwhile, stirred her tea with increasing agitation. At last, she could hold her tongue no longer. “It is such a shame that you must endure such an injury, Miss Bennet,” she said with saccharine sympathy. “Had I known how treacherous our steps were, I would have warned you before you left.”
Jane, ever gracious, smiled. “You are too kind, Miss Bingley. It was entirely my own misstep.”
Bingley, however, frowned. “The steps are not treacherous at all. We have had no trouble with them before.”
Miss Bingley shot her brother an exasperated look before returning her attention to Jane. “Perhaps the damp weather made them more slippery than usual. One can never be too careful.”
“Indeed,” Elizabeth murmured, arching a brow. “And yet, I cannot recall hearing you offer the same warning to anyone else who has come or gone these past two days.”
Darcy, who had been engrossed in his writing, glanced up briefly at Elizabeth’s words. There was an unmistakable flicker of amusement in his dark eyes before he returned his attention to his correspondence.
Miss Bingley’s lips pressed together in irritation. “Regardless,” she said stiffly, “I am sure you will be most relieved when you are finally able to return home, Miss Bennet.”
Bingley, startled, turned sharply toward his sister. “Miss Bennet shall not go before she is fully recovered! She must not risk further injury.”
Jane looked at him with wide, luminous eyes. “You are very kind, Mr. Bingley.”
Elizabeth bit her lip to keep from laughing. Miss Bingley’s expression was nothing short of murderous.
Mrs. Hurst, clearly sensing the need for intervention, cleared her throat. “It is a fortunate thing that the gentlemen returned when they did last night,” she remarked, her gaze sliding toward Darcy. “I do not think Miss Bennet could have been persuaded to remain otherwise.”
Darcy, though still writing, nodded slightly. “I daresay Bingley would not have allowed her to leave, regardless.”
Bingley grinned. “Of course not!”
Miss Bingley gave an exaggerated sigh. “Oh, Charles, you are far too obliging.”
Elizabeth smirked. “I, for one, find it quite admirable.”
Miss Bingley, desperate for a change in conversation, looked frantically around the room, and her eyes latched on to the paper on which Darcy wrote.
“And what, pray tell, are you writing so secretly, Mr. Darcy?” she purred, rising from her seat and crossing the room to stand at his shoulder.
“It is no secret. I am writing a letter.”
“A letter? Oh, I do hope it is not another tedious matter of estate business—how dreadfully dull those must be.”
Darcy glanced at her briefly before responding. “No, this is to my sister.”
At this, Miss Bingley’s entire demeanor shifted into one of affected warmth. “Oh, dear Georgiana! How I long to see her again. I do hope she is well?”
“She is,” Darcy replied simply.
“And how did she enjoy your summer together at Ramsgate?” Elizabeth did her best to hide a smile at Miss Bingley’s clearly unwelcome perseverance.
“We both enjoyed it.”
Miss Bingley clapped her hands together. “Oh, what a delightful holiday that must have been! I daresay nothing compares to the seaside in the summer.”
“It was pleasant enough,” Darcy allowed, though his expression remained unreadable.
“And how is she enjoying her masters in town?”
Goodness, how oblivious can one woman be? Elizabeth thought with exasperation.
“She is at Pemberley. With the current state of London, I thought it best for her to return to the country.”
Elizabeth tilted her head. “Because of the fire?” she asked, entering the conversation for the first time.
Miss Bingley’s face grew even more sour when Darcy’s eyes finally rose from his letter to focus on Elizabeth instead of herself.
“In part,” he responded, “but even more so because of the aftermath. Many have lost their homes and livelihoods. There are too many wandering the streets without work, without shelter. Crime is on the rise.”
Elizabeth frowned. “Yes… my uncle has mentioned as much. And the insurance companies have been slow to provide compensation.”
“Precisely,” Darcy agreed. “It is not a safe place for a young lady, nor is it an easy time for many.”
Miss Bingley pursed her lips. “How unfortunate,” she murmured, though it was evident that she had little true concern for the plight of the displaced. “But surely, with your wealth and influence, you could ensure her safety in town?”
Darcy’s mouth pressed into a firm line. “There are some risks I am unwilling to take.”
Miss Bingley tittered, laying a hand lightly on his arm. “You are quite right, of course. And how devoted you are as a brother! Georgiana is very fortunate indeed.”
Darcy shifted slightly, smoothly reclaiming his arm as he reached for his letter. “If you will excuse me, I must see this sent off.”
With a nod to the group, he strode from the room, leaving Miss Bingley pouting and Elizabeth struggling to conceal her amusement.
∞∞∞
The following afternoon, all four ladies were in the drawing room when a footman appeared at the open door. “Mrs. Bennet and Mrs. Gardiner,” he announced, standing to the side and allowing the two guests two enter.
Miss Bingley’s face tightened, and she turned to a maid who had been waiting quietly in the corner. “You there, fetch some tea and send for the gentlemen.” Rising to her feet, Miss Bingley then greeted her guests with a polite smile
Elizabeth had also risen to her feet, setting aside the embroidery she had been painfully working on. If I poke my finger one more time, I swear I am tossing the dratted thing into the fire!
Her bloodstained needlework was quickly forgotten, however, when she saw her aunt. Mrs. Gardiner’s face was pale, her composed expression lined with fatigue.
“My dear Jane, Elizabeth!” Mrs. Bennet trilled, sweeping into the room with a flourish. “How charming you both look—though Jane, my dear, I must say you are still far too pale. How your poor ankle must be paining you!”
“I am improving, Mama,” Jane said from her place on the settee, where she reclined with her ankle elevated on several pillows. “My friends are taking excellent care of me.”
“Of course, of course!” Mrs. Bennet sank onto an overstuffed chair. “It is so very good of you to be caring for my dear girl.”
This last bit was directed towards Bingley, who entered the room with Darcy and Mr. Hurst behind him. “It is my absolute pleasure to ensure Miss Bennet heals properly,” the host of Netherfield said.
Mrs. Bennet beamed, then looked around at everyone. “Oh! This room is quite lovely, is it not? A very pretty chamber, though I daresay a bit outdated.” Mrs. Bennet turned a shrewd eye to Miss Bingley. “Netherfield will be much improved when it has a proper mistress.”
Miss Bingley stiffened. “Netherfield does have a mistress, Mrs. Bennet— myself.”
“Oh, but a sister can never care for a house in quite the same way as a wife.” She cast a meaningful glance toward Jane, who flushed and lowered her gaze.
Miss Bingley’s expression soured, though she managed to keep her tone civil. “I assure you, Mrs. Bennet, my brother is perfectly content with the way Netherfield is kept.”
Mrs. Bennet fluttered her handkerchief. “Oh, I have no doubt you do your best, Miss Bingley. But a house of this size—well! It requires a lady of the house, not just a sister, to see to all the details.” She turned to Bingley with an indulgent smile. “A wife would naturally take greater care, ensuring everything is maintained properly—especially when she has a vested interest in its future.”
Bingley coughed into his fist and darted an uncertain glance toward Jane, whose cheeks were now a delicate shade of pink.
Miss Bingley, on the other hand, looked positively murderous. “I believe Netherfield is kept to a standard that is more than acceptable, Mrs. Bennet.”
Mrs. Bennet nodded agreeably. “Oh, certainly, my dear. But there is always room for improvement, is there not?” She sighed, her eyes taking on a dreamy cast. “And how delightful it will be to see the improvements made by the right mistress, once she is installed.”
Miss Bingley opened her mouth, no doubt to offer a scathing retort. Elizabeth, who had been distracted by how worn Mrs. Gardiner looked, now joined in the conversation in an attempt to change the topic.
“We have been more than comfortable here, Miss Bingley. You are a gracious hostess in caring for my sister. Speaking of sisters—Mama, how is everyone at Longbourn?”
“Oh, who cares about Longbourn?” Mrs. Bennet snapped, annoyed at having been denied her favorite pastime of forwarding Jane to handsome gentlemen.
“And Stoke House?” Elizabeth asked Mrs. Gardiner hastily. “Are you quite well, Aunt?”
Mrs. Gardiner, who had thus far been silent, let out a slow breath, as if only now realizing how tense she had become. “I am well, Lizzy. Merely… fatigued.”
Elizabeth frowned. “Has something happened?”
Mrs. Gardiner hesitated, her eyes flickering toward the assembled company before she replied in a measured voice, “The insurance adjuster arrived earlier than expected.”
Elizabeth sat up straighter. “So soon?”
“Yes. And he has been taking very detailed notes. More detailed than I anticipated.”
“What is this?” Miss Bingley’s face, eager for gossip and scandal, reminded Elizabeth a bit of her father’s favorite bloodhound.
“Our house in London burned down during the fire,” Mrs. Gardiner explained, “and insurance has been slow in approving our claim.”
“That is to be expected, given the magnitude of destruction.”
Elizabeth looked around at Darcy, startled at his joining the conversation. Mrs. Gardiner nodded but did not seem reassured. “He nearly insisted on accompanying me here. I refused, of course, but he was quite determined to speak with you, Lizzy.”
Elizabeth’s stomach twisted.
“Why would he wish to speak with you, Miss Eliza?” Miss Bingley’s eyes were wide with anticipation, her voice smug.
Before Elizabeth could explain, the footman returned and cleared his throat. “Mr. Smithson.”
Miss Bingley blinked in confusion. “Mr. Smithson?”
Mrs. Gardiner inhaled sharply. “It would seem he did not take my refusal well—he must have followed us here.”
Elizabeth turned just as a tall, thin man entered the drawing room. His eyes were sharp, his gaze sweeping across the assembled party. “Forgive my intrusion,” he said, though his tone betrayed no real remorse. “I am here to speak with Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”
Raising an eyebrow and refusing to be intimidated, Elizabeth said, “I believe my aunt said I was unavailable right now?”
The adjuster, however, seemed wholly unrepentant. “My apologies, madam, but I am on a tight schedule.” He nodded toward Elizabeth. “Miss Bennet, if I could trouble you for a few moments of your time? I have some questions regarding your recollections of the fire.”
A thick silence fell over the room.
Bingley, ever the polite host, glanced hesitantly at Elizabeth, then at the adjuster. “Surely, sir, this can wait until after our guests have had tea?”
Mr. Smithson offered a thin smile. “I do not mean to impose, but my business is rather pressing.”
“I have nothing to hide, Aunt,” Elizabeth said. “I do not mind speaking to Mr. Smithson about what occurred in London during the fire.”
Mrs. Gardiner sighed in resignation. “Very well. Miss Bingley, might we be troubled for a private room?”
As she rose to stand, Mr. Smithson shook his head. “Your presence is not required, Mrs. Gardiner. I will speak with Miss Elizabeth alone.”
A ripple of protest went through the room.
“Alone?” Mrs. Gardiner’s eyes flashed. “Sir, that is most inappropriate!”
“I quite agree,” Darcy said suddenly, his voice cold and unwavering. “Miss Bennet is a lady and will not be subjected to such a discussion without proper company.”
“I cannot have her account of the incident being influenced by a person who was also present in the house at the time.”
Darcy’s voice cut through the tension like a blade. “If Miss Bennet is to be questioned, then I will be present.”
Elizabeth’s head snapped toward him in surprise.
Mrs. Gardiner exhaled in clear relief. “I would have expected nothing less from Lady Anne’s son,” she murmured.
Darcy’s brows lifted slightly, and he gave Mrs. Gardiner a searching look. After a beat, he inclined his head. “I would like to speak more with you at another time,” he said, stifling a cough.
Mrs. Gardiner’s lips twitched, but she simply nodded.
Elizabeth, thrown by the turn of events, hesitated only a moment before nodding. “Very well. Let us get this over with.”
As she rose to follow Mr. Smithson from the room, she could feel Darcy’s steady presence beside her. Despite herself, she was grateful for it.
∞∞∞
Darcy did his best to keep his eyes from watching Elizabeth’s hips sway as she walked in front of him down the hall at Netherfield to the music room.
It was growing more dangerous by the day—this attraction to her. What had started as reluctant admiration had deepened into something far more. Every moment in her presence sheared away the carefully constructed walls he had spent years erecting.
She was unlike any woman of his acquaintance—quick-witted, warm-hearted, and completely unintimidated by him.
He had spent the last five years being treated with deference—or, at the very least, with cautious respect. But this mere slip of a woman did not seem to think of him as someone to be feared or flattered.
No, she simply treated him as a man.
And that was the most dangerous part of all.
He reluctantly tore his eyes away, searching desperately for something else to occupy his thoughts. As he did so, he stifled a cough.
But even thoughts of his health pulled him back to her.
His cough had improved significantly since the night of the assembly—something that had surprised him more than he cared to admit. The herbs she had given him had worked better than any remedy he had tried before. The tickling pressure in his lungs, once a near-constant affliction, had been reduced to a mere annoyance at night or upon exertion. He could speak more easily, breathe more freely.
For that, he owed her a debt.
And it was one he could repay, in part, by protecting her from this stranger.
Mr. Smithson.
Something about the man sat ill with him. Insurance adjusters were not uncommon in the wake of such devastation, but this one… He was too precise, too shrewd. His eyes were calculating, not merely assessing damages but searching for something.
Or someone.
Darcy’s instincts had been honed over years of navigating both business and society. He had encountered enough men of questionable intentions to recognize when one was standing in front of him.
And now, this man had insisted on speaking with Elizabeth alone.
Darcy’s jaw tightened.
That would not happen.
He had no illusions that Elizabeth required his protection—she had more than demonstrated her ability to take care of herself. But that did not mean he would allow her to be subjected to unjust scrutiny without an advocate present.
His mother had once told him that a gentleman’s duty was not only to act with honor but to ensure that others were treated honorably in his presence.
Lady Anne Darcy would not have stood idly by while a woman of integrity was questioned alone by a man who did not deserve such trust.
And neither shall I.
Darcy followed Elizabeth into the music room, bracing himself for the battle ahead.