Page 26 of Companions of Their Youth (Pride and Prejudice “What if?” Variations #9)

“M iss Bennet,” Miss Bingley said, her tone sharp and falsely sweet, “are you not joining us for tea?”

Elizabeth blinked, startled to find her plate empty and the table nearly cleared. In her reverie, she had scarcely noticed the footmen removing the last of the dessert dishes. Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst were already standing, trailing silks and satin as they swept toward the parlor.

“Of course,” she said, rising hastily. “Forgive me—I was woolgathering.”

Miss Bingley arched a delicate brow. “So it would seem.”

Elizabeth offered a polite smile, ignoring the undercurrent of mockery, and excused herself. “Jane said she was feeling well enough to come down this evening. I shall go fetch her.”

This elicited an eager exclamation from Bingley, who was just standing to follow his sisters. “Is she truly? What excellent news!”

She grinned at his enthusiasm and curtsied before making her way upstairs. Jane had dressed and was standing in front of a mirror, her cheeks still pale but eyes alert.

“Do you still feel equal to it?” she asked gently.

Jane nodded. “If I remain up here much longer, I shall start thinking myself a prisoner—although no prison could be so fine. Only for a half hour or so, I think.”

Elizabeth wrapped a shawl around Jane’s shoulders before leading her sister carefully down the stairs. Bingley met them with a boyish grin, stopping short at the sight of Jane.

“Miss Bennet! It is such a delight to see that you are out of bed!” he declared with enthusiasm.

Jane’s smile was soft. “Only briefly. I am told the company below stairs is too good to be missed.”

He offered his arm at once, and she took it with a quiet laugh. “Steady now,” he said. “You are not to exert yourself.”

Elizabeth followed close behind as they entered the drawing room.

Bingley helped Jane into a chair by the fire with such tenderness that Elizabeth had to look away for fear of intruding.

Miss Bingley, seated at the card table with her sister and Mr. Hurst, barely glanced up.

Darcy stood at their entrance, offering a slight bow.

Mr. Hurst, halfway into what was clearly his second glass of port, gave only a perfunctory grunt of acknowledgment before returning his attention to his hand.

Elizabeth seated herself on a nearby chair and cast a brief glance toward Darcy, who had returned to his armchair with a book in hand. Her eyes lingered a moment too long on the volume’s gilded spine, and when she met his gaze, she flushed slightly.

“Do you enjoy reading, Miss Elizabeth?” he asked, his voice low and pleasant.

“Very much so,” she replied with a smile. “It is the best way to pass the time when one has little else to do, such as sitting quietly while one’s sister sleeps.”

“Indeed,” he said. “I find it far more tolerable than most social amusements.”

Miss Bingley gave a brittle laugh. “Oh, yes—Miss Eliza is a great reader. She despises cards and other pursuits altogether.”

“I protest!” Elizabeth said lightly. “I only prefer books when the alternative is to watch others lose at cards.”

From across the room, Jane giggled softly at something Bingley said, causing him to beam.

Elizabeth continued speaking, eager to prevent the man’s sisters from intruding on her sister’s joy.

“I was fortunate that Mark’s note included a request that a servant tuck two into my trunk before it was sent here from Longbourn. ”

Darcy’s eyes glinted. “Then he must be the ideal brother.”

Elizabeth laughed. “He would be even more ideal had he asked for a half dozen. I have already read both books since yesterday morning.”

“You read quickly,” Darcy said, clearly impressed. “I brought an entire trunk of books with me—though I suspect that makes me sound rather eccentric.”

She gave him a teasing look. “Not at all. Only suspicious. Was it a scheme to injure the footmen, or do you travel with your own burly library porter?”

He smiled faintly. “It was a small trunk, I will have you know. Only my valet and two additional men were required.”

“Such necessity for a traveling library?” she gasped in mock outrage. “Sir, you astonish me.”

He lifted a hand in mock defense. “Bingley reads very little and I feared Netherfield’s library would be sadly neglected.”

“Ah,” she said, grinning, “so your plan was to endear yourself to the staff through fractured spines.”

Darcy chuckled quietly. “I confess, I had only myself in mind. I am an intolerable fellow on a Sunday afternoon with nothing to read. It truly was a kindness to my hosts.”

Miss Bingley, not to be outdone, interjected with a sigh. “Indeed, Charles has done nothing with the family library. It is a dreadful oversight in this day and age.”

Darcy nodded. “Quite so.”

“But Pemberley,” she continued with transparent pride, “boasts one of the finest collections in the country. Mr. Darcy has spent years curating and expanding it.”

Darcy shifted slightly, seeming discomfited by the praise. “It has been the work of several generations, not solely my own.”

“Still,” Elizabeth said with sincerity, “to maintain such a collection and value it enough to carry books with you—well, that is no small praise in my eyes.”

He met her gaze and, to her surprise, offered, “If you would care to borrow any, Miss Bennet, I would be honored to share them.”

Her eyes lit with genuine delight. “I should like that very much. That is most generous of you.”

“I shall send a servant with something tonight. Do you prefer any particular type of book?”

Elizabeth bit her lip. “I ought not to say. It may shock you.”

“I suppose the classics are lost on country tastes.” Miss Bingley sniffed. “Not everyone has had the benefit of seminary schooling. I am quite devoted to Shakespeare and the poetry of Cowper. My admiration for the bard is boundless.”

“I do enjoy a good comedy,” Elizabeth replied lightly. “ Much Ado About Nothing is a favorite of mine. But I also enjoy treatises on land management, and”—she lowered her voice with playful solemnity— “the occasional gothic novel. Though I shall not ask whether you brought any of those.”

Miss Bingley gave a scandalized gasp. “Surely Mr. Darcy would never have such vulgar reading material!”

“I did, in fact,” Darcy said, lifting an eyebrow. “Two, to be precise. My sister wished to read them, and I thought it wise to review them first.”

Miss Bingley colored. “Oh! Well… I daresay dear Georgiana would never wish for anything truly improper. Not all novels are vulgar, of course. I have read several, and I should be delighted to recommend a few in my next letter. For Georgiana’s sake.”

Darcy inclined his head politely, though his expression was unreadable.

Just then, Elizabeth noticed Jane shifting wearily in her chair. Her color had faded a little.

“I believe we must say goodnight,” Elizabeth said, rising at once. “Jane is fading.”

Jane opened her mouth to protest, then clearly thought better of it. “Yes, I think so.”

Bingley leaped to his feet. “Allow me to escort you both upstairs.”

“Oh Charles, what nonsense!” Miss Bingley snapped, “I daresay Miss Eliza is perfectly capable of assisting her sister. All her walking surely means that she is a strong, sturdy country girl.”

Jane spoke before Elizabeth could retort. “I should very much appreciate your arm, sir.” She gave Bingley a sweet smile. “I am afraid Elizabeth forgets herself, at times; her pace is much too quick for me to manage.”

Elizabeth stifled a giggle at the indecision on Miss Bingley’s face.

The poor woman looked torn on whether she should accuse Elizabeth of an unladylike gait or defend her rival in order to keep Bingley by her own side instead of allowing him to accompany Jane.

But before she could settle on an answer, Darcy stood and set his book aside.

“I shall join you as well,” he said calmly. “It will give me the chance to retrieve a volume for Miss Elizabeth.”

As the door shut behind the four of them, Miss Bingley’s voice—sharp and shrill—followed them up the stairs like a draft.

Elizabeth and Jane exchanged glances, and Bingley laughed quietly as they mounted the stairs. At the top, they said goodnight and parted company. Darcy promised to send the book shortly.

True to his word, a footman arrived within a quarter hour bearing two volumes.

Elizabeth smiled at the gift but did not open either.

The candle had already been blown out, and weariness tugged at her bones.

She placed them beside her bed, nestled under the glow of moonlight, and drifted off to sleep.

∞∞∞

Elizabeth stirred before dawn, her limbs still heavy with sleep but her mind already alert. For a moment she lay motionless, blinking toward the dim window, trying to remember where she was.

Then she remembered— the books!

Eagerly, she sat up and reached for the two books she had left on the table the night before.

Her fingers found the spines, and she read the titles.

The first was The Mysteries of Udolpho , which elicited a grin.

She had wanted to read the Radcliffe novel, but the Meryton lending library did not possess a copy of it.

The second volume was a thin treatise on crop rotation, its cover plain and worn. She let out a short burst of laughter, then clapped a hand to her mouth and glanced toward the adjoining door. Jane had not stirred.

He knows me well , she mused with amusement.

She had, in fact, read that particular tract just last year, when their steward had offered it to her brother.

Elizabeth had sneaked it from Mark’s room, then argued with him about the merits of fallow schedules for days.

She gently laid the pamphlet aside and turned back to the novel, curiosity and anticipation bubbling anew.