Page 15 of Look on the Heart (Darcy and Elizabeth Variations #10)

He chuckled. “Yes, well do I know it! I feel likewise.” He opened the door for her, and she crossed the threshold into Netherfield’s antechamber.

Another door led to the manor’s entrance hall, but before they reached it, the housekeeper, Mrs. Nicholls, appeared and greeted them with a respectful curtsy.

“Miss Elizabeth,” she said with a pleasant smile, “if you will allow me, I shall see to your pelisse and boots.”

“Thank you,” Elizabeth replied, already unfastening the garment. She passed the pelisse to Mrs. Nicholls and bent to unlace her boots, exchanging them for a pair of house slippers she had carried with her.

“I shall have these dried and brushed for your return, miss,” the housekeeper promised, accepting the bundle and retreating through a side door.

Elizabeth straightened and smoothed her gown, far more presentable now, even though her hems were still splashed with mud. She looked up at Mr. Darcy and shrugged. He grinned and gave her a wink.

“Will you greet Bingley and his sisters now, or would you prefer to wait until you have seen your sister?”

His question gave her pause. In truth, she had no desire to see the superior sisters, but politeness—at least for Jane’s sake—required it.

“I suppose I ought to inform them of my presence,” she grumbled, which drew another quiet laugh from him.

He led her down the long entryway to a passage on the left. Two doors down, they reached the breakfast parlor, and within, the rest of the household.

“Darcy! And Miss Elizabeth.” Mr. Bingley rose at once and came forward. “How do you do?” The smiling gentleman turned to Elizabeth. “You have come to inquire after your sister, have you not?”

“If you please, sir, I should like to know how she fares.”

Across the room, the ladies had not stirred, but Elizabeth caught the whispered words hems and mud . Unperturbed, she gave them no notice, keeping her attention firmly on Mr. Bingley.

“I have sent for the apothecary,” Mr. Bingley informed her. “Come, I shall take you upstairs.”

They departed, Mr. Darcy following behind. Elizabeth was glad of it—his presence comforted her. She counted the stairs silently as they climbed. Twenty steps brought them to the first landing; fifteen more to the corridor above, and at its end, a door.

“Pray, let me know how she truly is after you have seen her. I have naught but the maid’s account. And while I do trust her word, in my experience, we as humans are often more truthful with family.”

Mr. Bingley looked so earnest in his concern that Elizabeth laughed in hopes of easing his anxiety.

“I believe you have the right of it, sir. I promise, I shall speak with you directly after I have spoken with Jane.” She exchanged a glance with Mr. Darcy, then opened the door and slipped inside without looking back.

Jane lay motionless in the bed, her face pale against the linens. Her head turned as Elizabeth entered, and she croaked out a greeting.

“I feel dreadful,” she rasped. “Oh, Lizzy, I began to feel unwell yesterday before I even departed. It was part of the reason I went to Papa to request the carriage. And yet, here I am, ill all the same.” Jane coughed and reached for Elizabeth’s hand.

“Mr. Bingley has sent for Mr. Jones,” Elizabeth murmured, pressing her sister’s fingers gently. “We shall have you to rights in no time. You do not seem well enough to return home.”

Jane sighed. “No, I am not. And I cannot even enjoy Mr. Bingley’s company from this bed.”

She sounded very put out, and Elizabeth smiled despite herself.

A short time later, she excused herself to find Mr. Bingley. Her concern for Jane had eased somewhat, though it was plain she was far too unwell to be moved. Mr. Jones would no doubt agree.

As Elizabeth neared the parlor, she heard voices coming from a nearby room—the ladies of the house, it seemed. She changed direction, her steps halting when she heard Mr. Darcy’s name. Unabashed and curious, she crept closer so she could hear.

“You must try harder, Caroline,” came Mrs. Hurst’s insistent tone. “He is everything you have ever wanted, and you have been given a rare gift. The man is under your brother’s roof, and you have his exclusive company!”

“It is not so simple. I have tried everything you advised—agreeing with him, complimenting his appearance—dreadful though it is, and still, nothing. He does not pay me the slightest attention! Why, he has stared more at Eliza Bennet than he has ever looked at me. A country bumpkin with no real beauty—’tis insulting!

I could have any man I wanted in London. ”

“But you want him . Or rather, you want what he can offer. No gentleman of the first circles has shown the slightest interest in you, Caroline.” A teacup rattled, and Mrs. Hurst fell silent.

A moment later, she spoke again. “Miss Elizabeth possesses nothing that you do not have in abundance. We have gathered enough from Jane to know she has connections to trade and no dowry to speak of. Mr. Darcy would never take such a… travesty for a wife. Beguile him. Draw him in. I did it with Hurst.”

“Yes, and we both know how well that turned out. This petty revenge we have pursued—is it worth it? Yes, you have placed yourself above those who tormented us, but are you happy?”

Miss Bingley sounded a little mournful, and Elizabeth felt pity for whatever pain she had suffered.

“Mr. Darcy is not at all handsome, Louisa. Even Mr. Hurst is better favored. And that dreadful scar makes it all worse. His nose—once his best feature, apart from his hair—is now ruined, too. How could you wish me condemned to look upon that face every day?”

Whatever flicker of pity Elizabeth had felt vanished in an instant, replaced by fury. She turned on her heel—and collided squarely with Mr. Darcy’s solid chest. Her cheeks, already flushed with indignation, deepened to crimson.

He placed a finger gently to his lips, then reached for her hand, and drew her silently away. Only once they entered the library did he speak.

“I can see you are angry,” he said kindly. “Pray, pay them no mind. I am used to it.”

“Being accustomed to cruelty does not make it excusable!” She folded her arms in a huff, her chin lifting slightly. “How despicable!”

“Miss Bingley never had any hope of becoming Mrs. Darcy,” he said, lifting a hand to trace her cheek with a single finger. “Her flattery is too transparent.”

Clearing his throat, he stepped back and restored a more proper distance between them. Elizabeth felt the loss of his proximity keenly.

“You deserve better.” Her hand rose of its own accord to touch the place he had brushed, then dropped back to her side.

“I thank you for your kindness. You speak with such understanding. Your words…they mean a great deal to me. Now, shall we go in search of Bingley?” He gestured to the door, and they left together in search of their host.

Mr. Bingley met the news of Jane’s condition with a concerned frown and promptly invited Elizabeth to stay at Netherfield until her sister recovered sufficiently to travel home.

She accepted with gratitude, as a small unbidden thrill rose within at the thought of being in close proximity to Mr. Darcy a little while longer.