Page 8 of Mr. Darcy and the Mysterious “Miss B”

Elizabeth

S unlight streamed through the bedchamber’s windows, casting gentle patterns across the coverlet where Jane lay propped against a mountain of pillows. Her face was pale but peaceful, a stark contrast to the previous evening’s distress when she had tumbled down Netherfield’s stairs.

Elizabeth adjusted the cushion behind her sister’s back with careful hands. “How does that feel?”

“Much better, thank you. Though I confess I feel rather foolish for causing such a commotion.”

“Foolish? You fell down a flight of stairs, Jane. That hardly makes you foolish.”

“It was most embarrassing. And the way Mr Bingley…” she trailed off, her fingers plucking at the blanket.

Elizabeth settled into the chair beside the bed. Despite the obvious discomfort from her injuries, there was something else in Jane’s face—a soft glow that had not been there in months.

“What about Mr Bingley?” Elizabeth prompted.

“He was so gentle,” Jane said, a dreamy tinge to her words. “When he carried me up here, I felt so safe in his arms. He was careful not to jostle me, and his voice was so kind when he spoke to the surgeon. He insisted on staying until Mr Morrison pronounced my condition stable.”

Elizabeth smiled. “He cares for you, Jane. Anyone with eyes can see it.”

“Do you think so?”

“Of course. He paced up and down the hall outside your chamber last night for at least an hour. I know because I saw the candlelight flicker past my door time and again.”

“He brought me tea this morning, you know. And asked the cook to prepare a tray with all my favourite foods. He remembered that I mentioned liking strawberry preserves at the assembly.”

“Of course he remembered. The man is besotted with you.”

Jane’s smile was radiant despite her pain. “I find myself quite taken with him as well. When he speaks to me, I feel as though I am the only person in the world who matters to him.” Her smile faded then. “I do wish I had met him sooner.”

The mention of their circumstances brought Elizabeth sharply back to reality. James Morton’s proposal hung over them like dark clouds threatening a storm, the time until the ultimatum ticking away.

“Jane, you cannot seriously mean to accept James’s offer.”

“What choice do I have?” Jane’s voice cracked. “If I refuse James, we lose Longbourn. Mama and our sisters will have nowhere to go.”

“There must be another way—Surely if Mr Bingley knew…”

“He cannot know about James,” she said, wincing as she moved. “I do not want him to believe I see him as a way out. Indeed, as lovely as the day was, I ought not to have come at all. And now I am here for days perhaps.”

“Days during which wonderful things can happen,” Elizabeth insisted. “Please, promise me you will not push him away. Promise me to give the possibility of something good coming of this a chance?”

A soft knock interrupted them before Jane could reply, and Mr Bingley appeared in the doorway with a tea tray. His face brightened when he saw Jane was awake. Elizabeth smirked at the sight of the master of the house bringing a tray of tea to a guest.

No, she was certain, if Jane allowed herself to, she and Mr Bingley might yet find happiness—and Jane’s future might be entirely different from the one they had feared.

***

Later on, that morning, after Jane had rested and Mr Bingley returned to his correspondence, a familiar rapping sounded at the door. The clack of nails against wood was unmistakable. And when the door opened and her sister Lydia appeared, neither Jane nor Elizabeth were surprised.

“Jane!” Lydia rushed to the bedside with all her old enthusiasm. “Mama sent me to check on you the moment she received word. How dreadful that you should fall! Though I must say, this chamber is quite grand. Much nicer than your room at home.”

“Lydia,” Elizabeth said, “how did you get here?”

“I walked. Dreadful. I do not know why you adore it so,” Lydia settled herself on the edge of the bed, careful not to jostle Jane. “Now, tell me everything. Does it hurt terribly? Have you been taking laudanum for the pain?”

Elizabeth marvelled at the change in her sister. This was more animation than Lydia had shown since Papa’s death, her natural vivacity breaking through the veil of grief that had shrouded her for so long.

“I am much better today,” Jane assured her. “But I am afraid I have taken up rather a lot of Elizabth’s time.”

“Well, I am here to help,” Lydia declared. “I shall read to you, or we can play cards, or I can tell you all the gossip from Meryton. Did you know Mrs Long’s nephew has returned from India? He is quite handsome, though nowhere near as fine as Mr Bingley.”

“Lydia,” Jane chastised but her cheeks reddened.

“It is true. I confess, he is not even as handsome as Mr Darcy but he would do,” Lydia chuckled. “Now, Lizzy, why not take the air? You look pale. If I know a thing about you, you have not left Jane’s side.”

“Only to sleep but even then, she was gone all of five hours,” Jane informed her.

“Very well,” Elizabeth said and smiled. “If I am not needed, then I shall take a turn about the garden. Lydia, will you stay with Jane?”

“Of course! We have so much to discuss.” Lydia was already settling herself more comfortably, clearly prepared for a lengthy conversation.

Elizabeth retrieved her pelisse and made her way outside.

As she stepped onto the stone steps, she gasped for standing there, in the process of turning up his collar, was none other than Mr Darcy.

The sight of him sent an unexpected flutter through her chest—when had she begun to find his presence appealing rather than irritating?

“Miss Elizabeth,” Darcy bowed. “I beg your pardon for startling you. I was about to take a walk.”

“As was I,” she said.

“Ah, well, would you mind company? That way it will not be peculiar when we run into one another again during our walk.”

She had not considered it but couldn’t deny the offer was pleasant. Thus, she smiled and gave a nod.

“Not at all,” she replied, though she wondered what they would find to discuss.

The garden paths were indeed pleasant, winding between the evergreen shrubs that provided structure even in the coldest months. For several minutes they walked in companionable silence, twittering of birds the only sound.

“Your sister seems much improved today, at least that is what Bingley said.” Darcy observed. “And Lydia arrived. I saw her briefly. She appeared in better spirits.”

“She does. Lydia has been struggling since Papa’s death, but today she appears more like her old self.”

“Grief affects people differently. Some retreat inward, others lash out. There are always good day and bad, but in due course, she will find her way.”

Elizabeth glanced at him with surprise. “You sound as though you speak from experience.”

“I lost both my parents before I reached five and twenty. I was a mere lad when my mother died and not quite a man when my father followed her. Each loss changed me in ways I did not expect.”

“I am sorry for your losses. That must have been very difficult, especially losing your mother so young.”

“It was. Though perhaps harder still was suddenly becoming responsible for Georgiana. She was only twelve when our father died, and I…” he paused, his jaw working as though the words caused him physical pain. “I fear I have not acquitted myself well in the matter.”

“Why would you think such a thing?”

“Last summer, she made a rather foolish mistake that could have cost her her reputation. If I had been more attentive, more aware of her feelings, I might have prevented the entire disaster.”

Elizabeth’s steps slowed. She wanted to ask for details but knew it was not her place. “But you did prevent it, did you not? She is safe and well.”

“Only by chance. I shudder to think what might have happened.” The pain in his voice was unmistakable, and a surge of sympathy for her sisters overcame her.

“You cannot blame yourself for the actions of a practiced deceiver. Such men are expert at manipulation.”

“Perhaps. But I was her guardian. Her protection was my responsibility, and I failed her. I work too much, travel too much. Even now, she is with her attendant in London instead of with me. At least for the time being. It is difficult, tending to the young when a parent dies.”

“It is. And you ought not to blame yourself. You were barely more than a boy yourself when your father died. To take responsibility for a twelve-year-old girl whilst managing an estate and all the other burdens of your position. I think you have done admirably.”

“As have you,” his voice was quiet. “I watched you do your very best to comfort your sister when she was hurt yesterday. Tending to her until the early hours, and again this morning.”

A strange thrill ran through her. “We do what we must for those we love.”

“Indeed, we do.” They resumed walking, but the atmosphere between them had changed, grown easier somehow. “Though I confess I sometimes wonder if my protection has been too much. Georgiana is sixteen now, but I still see her as that frightened twelve-year-old who wept for our father.”

“Perhaps that is natural. I still think of Lydia as the spirited ten-year-old who used to chase chickens around our yard, despite evidence to the contrary.” Elizabeth smiled at the memory.

“Ah yes, I do not see Georgiana much differently. But perhaps seeing her among present company will change that.”

“She is coming here?” Elizabeth asked, surprised somehow.

“Yes. She will be joining us here tomorrow. Charles extended the invitation, and I thought… well, she is of an age with your sister Lydia. Perhaps they might get along well.”

“You may be right,” she admitted. “It will do Lydia good to have someone her own age to keep her company. Particularly if that person has experienced what Lydia is experiencing now.”

“That is my hope.” Darcy paused beside a stone bench. “She has always been around people of refinement; it will do her good to have a different scene.”