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D arcy kept his gaze away from the ladies in the coach going back to Netherfield. Miss Bingley’s loud complaining voice warred with the thoughts he wished to recall of his conversation with Miss Elizabeth, however brief it had been.

He was puzzled. She’d thanked him for his apology, but hadn’t seemed flattered by his comment on her looks. Then she’d seemed suspicious. He could not imagine why that would be true. Perhaps he had misjudged her feelings.

“Darcy!” Bingley’s voice intruded, and he drew his attention back to the coach.

“I am sorry, I was distracted.”

Bingley’s smile was knowing. “So I could see.” But there was a warning in his voice, and Darcy decided to keep his attention in the present, and ask Bingley later what he had missed.

Miss Bingley seemed triumphant as she continued complaining about the common, unmannerly behaviour of the local people, and he noticed she was concentrating on the Bennet sisters. He would not agree with her out loud, but he could hardly avoid thinking the same, at least of the younger ones.

But Bingley looked uncomfortable, and Darcy exerted himself to intervene. “I do think there is nothing to complain about regarding the two eldest Miss Bennets’ behaviour.”

It was too dark to see the expression on the Bingley sisters’ faces, but Miss Bingley at least sounded grudging. “Well, dear Jane is all that is delightful, of course. But such an unfortunate family!”

Darcy sighed, and sank back against the seat. It was a long hour to Netherfield at this time of night. Servants walked before the coach, carrying the flaming torches, so the coach was limited to their pace. What would be twenty minutes in daylight was increased to an hour after this gathering.

He glared out into the darkness. Why couldn’t they be quiet? He added to his unwritten list of desirable qualities in a wife: the ability to be silent when he was.

At the thought of his list, the vision of Miss Elizabeth Bennet swam before his eyes, and he made an exclamation of annoyance.

“What is it, my friend?” Bingley had been uncharacteristically quiet, too, Darcy recalled. He tried to think of something to say.

“It is nothing, Bingley. I have just recalled a letter I have omitted to write today. I must remember to write it before I retire.”

He tightened his jaw as Miss Bingley broke into raptures of his dedication to estate and business. In the darkness, he smiled wryly. She was trying much too hard — and was the cause of his tiredness.

He would not ever permit himself to be in a position where he might be compromised by her.

He was making his servant sleep on a cot in his chamber while he was staying here, but Maunder snored abominably, and only the nightmare of waking with Miss Bingley standing at his bedside wearing little but a triumphant smile would make him lose more sleep.

He shuddered at the thought, hoping they would soon arrive.

On Tuesday, the gentlemen of the Netherfield party had dined with the officers, and while it was not as uncomfortable as fielding Miss Bingley’s constant presence, Darcy had a headache as they drove home.

He’d been here six weeks, and began to think he must take a few days in London before returning.

The chance to sleep in silence would be welcome.

And perhaps he need not return. It would be well to separate his friend from Miss Bennet, and he himself ought not to see any more of Miss Elizabeth, either.

But as they entered the house, he was surprised to find that the ladies were still downstairs, awaiting their arrival.

He crossed to the drinks tray and poured himself and Bingley a nightcap while he listened to Miss Bingley.

“You know, of course, brother, that we engaged Miss Bennet to dine with us as you were out,” Miss Bingley prepared to tell the story.

“Yes, I was aware of that, Caroline.” Bingley was tired, Darcy thought, and rather out of temper, or he might have asked after Miss Bennet. Darcy nudged him and handed over his drink.

“Thanks, Darcy.” Bingley took the glass and turned his attention back to his sister.

“What of it?”

“Well, she came on horseback. In this terrible weather!” Miss Bingley exchanged a sneering smile with her sister. “Perhaps they do not have enough carriages. Anyway, she became unwell during dinner and has had to stay the night.”

Bingley’s attention was quite caught. Darcy watched as he rounded on his sister. “How unwell? Did you summon the apothecary at once? What did he say?”

Miss Bingley waved her hand languidly. “No, of course not, Charles. It is only a trifling cold, if that. My belief is that she wanted to stay so she could get her claws into you.”

Bingley looked quite dangerously at her, and Darcy wondered that she did not seem to notice that she ought to be careful.

“I suppose it is quite beyond you to understand that any hostess worth the name would always see to the comfort of her guests.” Bingley turned and rang the bell.

“Ask the housekeeper to see me,” he told the footman tersely.

Darcy sipped at his drink, watching Miss Bingley’s heightened colour at her brother’s implication she was not a good hostess, and tried not to smile.

He decided he was not inclined to listen to them any longer. He might as well retire.

He bowed his goodnight as Bingley was instructing the apothecary be sent for early in the morning, and hurried up the stairs.

He washed hastily and sat back in the comfortable chair while his servant assisted him off with his boots, and took his clothes to hang up.

“Thank you, Mr. Maunder. I’ll ride early, as usual. Please arrange for a bath before breakfast.”

“Of course, Mr. Darcy.”

His bed was warm from the warming pans, and Darcy rolled over in the dimness of the banked fire, and shut his eyes.

With Miss Bennet staying in the house, Bingley ought not to be left alone here with only his sisters; Darcy would have to delay his foray back to town.

He frowned. Perhaps she was not too ill, and would be able to return home in the morning.

There were several carriages here, so sending her home would not pose any difficulty.

It wasn’t long before Maunder was snoring, and Darcy buried his head under the pillow. He must sleep, or the bewitching smile of Miss Elizabeth would torment him again.

The next morning, ride completed, and bathed, shaved and neat, he was downstairs, standing by the window of the breakfast room as the others conversed at the table, gloomily wondering whether the apothecary would say Miss Bennet could go home, when the door opened.

“Miss Elizabeth Bennet,” announced the footman, and Darcy spun round in shock.