Page 14 of Look on the Heart (Darcy and Elizabeth Variations #10)

Chapter Eight

Darcy’s thoughts were elsewhere as the gentlemen returned from dining with the officers.

The weather had turned as expected, and rain lashed the carriage windows.

He watched streams of water race down the glass as he pictured a pair of fine eyes dancing with merriment.

That morning’s encounter with Elizabeth on Oakham Mount had left him unusually unsettled.

His decision to pursue her in earnest had consumed him, yet he remained uncertain how best to proceed.

How did a man properly court a woman of worth?

He longed to do it aright but having never attempted such a pursuit before, he felt decidedly at sea.

“Ho there!” Bingley’s sudden exclamation drew Darcy’s attention, and he looked up to see what had prompted it.

A carriage lay mired in the muddy drive of Netherfield; it appeared the driver had ventured too near the edge and become stuck.

“That is Mr. Bennet’s carriage,” Bingley observed, his face lighting with anticipation. “Perhaps…”

Their own carriage navigated around the stranded conveyance and came to a halt beneath the portico.

Bingley was the first to disembark and ascend the stairs to the house, followed by Hurst. Darcy came last, silently hoping to find Elizabeth inside.

He was disappointed to discover only Miss Bennet.

Bingley, however, looked delighted to see his ‘angelic beauty’, and turned quickly in her direction.

“I had no notion you meant to call today!” he exclaimed, greeting her with unfeigned joy. “We saw your carriage outside.” He took the seat next to Miss Bennet and leaned forward in anticipation of her reply.

“Yes, I had just set out for home when the carriage wheel…well, you saw it,” Miss Bennet replied, her smile as serene and guileless as ever. Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst exchanged pointed glances. No doubt, they believed the entire event had been orchestrated.

“You must stay the night!” Bingley declared. “It is nearly dark—far too late to send you back to Longbourn. I trust your horses are safe in the stables?” He looked thoroughly pleased with the situation.

Miss Bennet confirmed that her father’s coachman had led the horses to the stables, and that her maid and footman had been received in the servants’ quarters.

To Darcy’s eyes, she looked fatigued, though she bore it with composure as she spoke quietly with Bingley.

He was eager to seek respite in his chambers, though propriety demanded he remain with the party.

Supper would be in a few hours, after which he might plead exhaustion and excuse himself for the night.

Miss Bingley kept close to Miss Bennet throughout the evening.

Bingley had no further opportunity to speak with his lady love, causing a scowl to linger on his brow until the hour grew late.

By the hour of nine, Miss Bennet’s cheeks were flushed, her eyes glassy.

Darcy began to suspect she had taken ill.

Before he could draw Bingley’s attention to it, she swooned in her chair beside Mrs. Hurst.

“Miss Bennet!” Bingley cried, leaping to his feet and rushing to her side. He placed a hand to her forehead. “She is very warm,” he murmured. “We must get her upstairs.”

“I shall call a footman,” said Miss Bingley, a note of urgency in her tone.

“Do not be ridiculous,” Bingley snapped, lifting Miss Bennet into his arms. “I have two perfectly sound limbs. Louisa, come with me.” Mrs. Hurst rose at once without comment, casting a sharp glance at her sister before following him from the room.

Miss Bingley stepped closer to Darcy and hissed, “This is surely a ploy to thrust herself into my brother’s notice. If their driver were competent, the carriage would not have become stuck.”

Darcy frowned but gave no immediate reply. He did not believe Miss Bennet capable of such calculation. “I think you do the lady an injustice,” he said at last. “She seemed truly unwell. I hope her malady is of short duration.”

Miss Bingley huffed but said no more. Hurst, oblivious to the commotion, snored in his corner. When Bingley and Mrs. Hurst returned, he roused with a start, blinking in confusion.

“A note has been sent to Longbourn regarding Miss Bennet’s need to stay,” Mrs. Hurst informed her brother. “We shall send another in the morning.”

“But what of the apothecary? Ought we not to send for him?” Bingley ran a hand through his hair, looking more distressed now than he had at the moment of Miss Bennet’s collapse. He paced the room in evident agitation.

“There is nothing more to be done for her tonight,” Mrs. Hurst assured him. “I shall have a maid sit with her. By morning, she may very well be recovered.”

Darcy retired soon after, weary from the long day. As he drifted to sleep, he realized that with Miss Bennet confined to bed just down the hall, it was exceedingly likely that her next younger sister would arrive at Netherfield on the morrow to tend her.

November 13, 1811 Longbourn Elizabeth

The note from Netherfield came as something of a surprise.

Jane was well enough, but the carriage had become mired in the mud.

Elizabeth suspected her mother’s hand in the matter, though she quickly dismissed the notion.

Beyond lamenting loudly when the carriage departed Longbourn, Mrs. Bennet had known nothing of Jane’s rebellion until it was time for her eldest daughter to depart.

It was a greater shock, when the following morning, a stableboy arrived with a note from Netherfield for Miss Elizabeth. She opened it at the breakfast table, a sudden panic gripping her as fear for Jane took hold.

Dear Lizzy,

Oh, I am dreadfully embarrassed. Dining with Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley was delightful.

They expressed great interest in me and in our family, asking all manner of questions as we dined.

Later, they bid me a fond farewell as I boarded the carriage.

It was nearing dusk , and I wished to be home before nightfall.

As we turned down the drive, however, we became stuck in the mud just off the gravel path.

Despite John Coachman’s efforts, and the aid of several footmen, the carriage would not budge, and I was obliged to return to the house and the hospitality of my friends.

The gentlemen returned, and we took supper.

I had begun to feel ill before then, but it was not until we were gathered in the parlor that I was overcome.

Oh, Lizzy! I swooned. When next I woke, I was upstairs in a guest chamber, with a maid seated beside me.

Do not be alarmed, dear sister, for there is nothing seriously amiss other than a sore throat and a headache.

I wish to return home so as not be a burden, but Mr. Bingley and his sisters will not hear of my being moved before I am fully recovered.

They have sent for the apothecary, but in truth, I long for you. Will you come?

Yours, Jane

“I must go to Jane at once,” Elizabeth said to her father. “She writes asking for my presence.”

Mr. Bennet looked up from his breakfast. “And what does your sister’s letter say? John Coachman is to return from Netherfield today with the carriage and horses. He can take you to your sister's side. Can Jane not wait until then to see you?”

“Jane has taken ill, sir.” She quickly explained how Jane had come to such a predicament. “I should like to see how she fares for myself,” she added firmly. “Have you any objection?”

“No, no, off you go.” Mr. Bennet waved a hand. “Though you had best be gone before your mother comes down and delays you with some foolishness.”

Elizabeth stood, thanked her father, and hurried from the room.

In a trice, she made herself ready, and left the house.

She knew she could reach Netherfield Park more quickly by traversing the fields.

The rains of the previous night had left the ground sodden, but she lifted her skirts and pressed forward, hoping for the best.

’Tis not as though I am going to see anyone but Jane. I shall be fit enough to attend her. Even as she thought it, she knew she deceived herself. Elizabeth very much hoped to see Mr. Darcy, despite having spoken with him only the day before.

An unfortunate misstep landed her squarely in a puddle, splattering her petticoats with mud.

With a sigh, she blew a damp curl from her face in an attempt to avoid further damage to her appearance and continued on.

Try as she might, by the time she reached Netherfield, she appeared decidedly disheveled.

As she approached the house, she caught sight of a solitary figure in the distance—a gentleman in a greatcoat, walking slowly down the path with his hands clasped tightly behind him.

In an instant, she knew it was Mr. Darcy.

He hailed her as she drew near, greeting her with a broad smile. A pleasant warmth filled her, and she returned his smile readily. “I have come to inquire after my sister,” she said. “Pray, sir, is she well?”

“I am pleased that I might predict your behavior with some accuracy,” he teased. “You see, I knew you would come the moment Miss Bennet’s note was dispatched. Come, I shall take you to her. The maid reported this morning that she had a restless night.”

“Jane is rarely ill, but when she is, it tends to be severe.” Elizabeth fell into step beside him, her skirts swishing about her ankles as she walked.

“And you, Miss Elizabeth? Are you likewise hale and hearty, and ill only on rare occasions?” He turned a quizzical gaze upon her, his scar stark against the otherwise smooth plane of his face.

There was something striking in the way he looked at her, and her heart fluttered once more.

“I despise being ill,” she informed him crisply, hoping to mask her emotions.

“I make a dreadful patient, you know. No one but Jane can tolerate my complaints. Sickness means being confined indoors, and that I cannot abide.”