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Chapter Seventeen

November 16, 1811 Netherfield Park Elizabeth

“R eally, Lizzy, I promise I am well enough to come downstairs this morning! I kept down my dinner last evening, and it was heartier than toast and broth.” Jane mock-scowled at Elizabeth, who merely shook her head and chuckled in reply.

“I can do naught but concede in the face of your insistence. I shall call for a maid and order a bath prepared if you wish.” She turned to do just that at her sister’s urging.

“Will we be able to return home today?” she asked once Jane had bathed and dressed. She ran a comb through her sister’s long blond hair, admiring how it glistened in the firelight as it dried.

Jane gave her sister a small pout. “Is it terrible to admit I wish to stay until tomorrow? I know I have been ill, and that is the primary reason for our presence here, but I wish to see Mr. Bingley—and speak with him.”

“It would indeed be pleasant to further your intimacy away from the prying eyes of our neighbors,” Elizabeth replied. “I caution you, however, that Mrs. Hurst does not appear pleased by our presence. Mrs. Hurst has scarcely spoken to me during my entire stay, and when she does, her words are condescending and judgmental.”

“That is a harsh assessment, Lizzy. I have never heard you speak so bitingly of someone with whom you are so slightlyacquainted.” Jane frowned in disapproval.

“You will see for yourself in time, dear sister.” Elizabeth set the brush beside Jane and rose, turning away to pace the room. “I confess, I do not find her company pleasant at all. But it is you whom Mr. Bingley admires, and you who will have to manage her when you are sisters-in-law.”

“Nothing is certain with Mr. Bingley.”

“Some things are certain, and your imminent marriage is one of them!” Elizabeth rolled her eyes and dropped back into her chair. “You will have your extra day. I daresay Mr. Bingley will insist upon it. You still appear a bit pale.”

Jane nodded and stood. Her now dry hair hung in a silken sheet past her waist. “Will you help me arrange my hair? I do not wish to call for a maid.”

Clad in a gown of cornflower-blue muslin, a shawl draped over her shoulders and her hair styled in a simple, yet elegant chignon, Jane left her bedchamber for the first time in three days. Elizabeth followed, filled with equal parts dread and anticipation at the thought of seeing Mr. Darcy after their midnight encounter in the library.

She had not slept a wink after returning to her bed. Nor had she read any of the books Mr. Darcy had so graciously lent her. They had remained in her lap as she curled by the fire, her heart refusing to slow. The image of the handsome gentleman from Derbyshire lingered in her waking thoughts as vividly as in her dreams.

The breakfast room was surprisingly empty, and the look of disappointment on Jane’s face made Elizabeth grin. They approached the sideboard, filled their plates, and took their seats at the round table.

Their solitude was soon interrupted by the arrival of the gentlemen. Mr. Bingley’s face broke into a broad smile the moment his gaze fell upon Jane. She blushed and returned the smile, her eyes drifting meaningfully to the seat beside her in silent invitation.

Elizabeth observed the exchange with great amusement before turning to meet Mr. Darcy’s eyes. They shared a weighty glance, and he inclined his head in greeting before moving to the sideboard to fill his plate. She longed to do as Jane—to invite him to sit at her side—but she dared not. They were not courting, and he had given no indication that his interest in her extended in that direction.

“I am very pleased to see you restored to health, Miss Bennet,” said Mr. Bingley. Elizabeth waited, and sure enough, he added, “Though you are still quite pale. Pray, tell me you will remain another day. I must be certain you are entirely well.”

Elizabeth nearly choked in an attempt to smother her glee. Jane stepped on her foot beneath the table, which only increased her mirth.

“I believe my sister and I shall accept your kind invitation, sir,” Jane replied. “I confess, I do not yet feel equal to the motion of a carriage.”

“Wonderful! Excellent. Is there anything you desire that will aid your recovery? Anything in particular that I can request from my cook?” Mr. Bingley looked at her adoringly, his expression earnest and eager to please.

If he delays a full month complete, I shall eat my bonnet, Elizabeth thought with wry amusement.

Jane demurred, assuring Mr. Bingley that the fare already provided would more than suffice for her recovery. The happy couple soon fell into easy conversation, leaving Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth largely to themselves.

He made no effort to speak to her, and she wondered whether their encounter the night before had unsettled him. Perhaps he thinks ill of me now, she mused with a pang of regret. Though I did nothing improper beyond leaving my chambers in less than full attire. Still, I cannot understand why he does not speak to me as he has before.

The meal continued thus, and Elizabeth turned her attention to Jane and Bingley’s lively exchange. They were entirely absorbed in one another, and even had she wished to interject, their spirited conversation would scarcely have allowed it. The topics meandered from literature to local society, and with each new turn, their compatibility became more apparent. They shared similar likes and dislikes, and their temperaments—his buoyant, hers composed—seemed to balance one another charmingly. Elizabeth could not help but think they would do very well as husband and wife. Their pleasant breakfast came to an abrupt halt when Mr. and Mrs. Hurst swept into the room.

“Charles, you asked me to be your hostess. Is it not my right to dictate when breakfast is served?” She scowled at her brother as she swept toward the sideboard.

“This is my house, Louisa,” Mr. Bingley replied evenly. “If you wish for a later meal, you may call for a tray. It did not seem to vex you these past two days.”

“Yes, well…” Her gaze drifted to Jane, and she narrowed her eyes, lips pursed in displeasure.

Jane shifted in her seat, her discomfort evident. Even she understood the meaning behind Mrs. Hurst’s glare. The lady did not approve of her brother’s attentions to a country nobody, nor would she welcome the idea of a proposal. She had come to breakfast for precisely this reason—to interrupt the growing intimacy between the enamored pair.

Elizabeth looked at Jane and gave a very subtle roll of her eyes. Mrs. Hurst would have very little success if she meant to separate the lovers. Does she truly believe her influence over her brother so great as to accomplish it? Elizabeth doubted it very much. Mr. Bingley did not appear in the least concerned by his sister’s opinion.

“Will there be any sport today?” Mr. Hurst asked, breaking the tension between the brother and sister.

“I had no such plans,” Mr. Bingley replied. “I believe I shall be perfectly content to remain indoors, where it is warm. Perhaps we might enjoy a cup of chocolate later.”

“Charles, you ought to go shooting! It is a fine activity for gentlemen. Take Mr. Darcy with you. If you are successful, we might have your birds for dinner.”

Mr. Bingley shook his head. “I think not, Louisa. If Hurst wishes to go shooting, he may inform the stables. They will ready the dogs and prepare a mount for him.”

“Blasted bore you are turning out to be, Bingley.” Hurst deposited a heaping plate upon the table and sank heavily into his chair. “What is the point of having an estate if you do not take advantage of the sport?”

“We have guests, brother.” Mr. Bingley said stiffly, his growing impatience betrayed by the tight grip on his utensils.

Ever the peacemaker, Jane rose. “I believe I shall rest for an hour or so,” she said with calm grace. “Thank you for the pleasant breakfast.” She left the room without a backward glance.

Elizabeth smothered a smile as Mr. Bingley shot his sister a poisonous look. Mrs. Hurst, goal achieved, did not respond—she merely stabbed delicately at a piece of fruit with her fork.

“Will you walk this morning, Miss Elizabeth?”

Mr. Darcy’s address startled her, and she jumped. “I had not considered it, but with Jane resting, I believe I shall.”

“Pray, allow me to accompany you.” Together they rose and left the room, leaving the squabbling brother and sister behind.

They retrieved their outerwear quickly and once more exited the house through the side door. In silence, they followed the main path until they had drawn some distance from the house.

Elizabeth turned to face him. “Forgive me for last night, sir,” she said hastily. “I had not meant to intrude upon your privacy.”

“There is nothing to forgive,” he murmured, his gaze softening as it rested upon her. “You were restless and sought reading material. It is only natural for a devoted reader such as yourself to do so when sleep proves elusive.”

“My mother has always encouraged me to stay abed. ‘Your body is resting, even if your mind is not,’ she often says. But I cannot lie upon my pillows and do nothing when my thoughts are awhirl. I am not one to sit idle during the day, and I cannot do so at night either.”

“Your mother’s advice may suit some,” Darcy replied. “Reading often settles my mind and prepares me for rest. Still, last night, sleep was more elusive than usual.”

Elizabeth nodded in sympathy. “May I ask, though I hope it is not too forward, what kept you wakeful?”

A flicker of unease crossed his countenance before it vanished. “My sister,” he said at last. “She endured an ordeal this summer. Someone she cared for abused her trust most cruelly. Georgiana has not been the same since. My aunt thought it best to send me away, in hopes that my sister would recover her spirits more swiftly in my absence.”

“I would think her most beloved brother’s presence would comfort her during such a difficult time.” Elizabeth could not be parted from those she loved whilst enduring pain.

“She fears she has disappointed me with her actions,” he said softly. “I have assured her that such a thing is not possible, but she does not believe me.”

“I am sorry to hear it.” Elizabeth moved to a bench and sat, gratified when Mr. Darcy took the place beside her. “We have discussed this trying age. My youngest sister is nearly of an age with yours. She, too, struggles against the norms of life.”

“When does it end?” he asked, with something close to desperation.

Chuckling, she patted his arm. “I am afraid your sister will become something of a mix of who she was and who she is now. You will have to learn to know her all over again.”

“That does not sound pleasant at all.” He pouted, his brow furrowing and his lower lip pushing forward ever so slightly. Elizabeth could picture him as a child with that very expression. She would wager his mother granted him his every desire when he looked so.

“I am pleased that your sister has recovered.”

Elizabeth welcomed the change of subject. “Jane has always enjoyed robust health. I do wonder if the fish served the night that she fell ill had been too long out of the water. I have heard one might die from eating improperly aged aquatic vertebrates.”

Mr. Darcy raised a brow, a flicker of admiration tugging at the corner of his mouth. At least he appears amused. As Mr. Bennet would say, only Elizabeth Bennet would describe spoiled fish in such a manner—and make it sound perfectly natural. “It has been known to happen. I am glad that your sister came through her ordeal with no lasting harm.” He paused, then glanced down at her. “It will not be long, I think, before she is no longer Miss Bennet.”

Grinning, Elizabeth nodded, her pleasure evident. “Jane is the most deserving person in the entire world. I could not be happier that she has found someone to love who is her match in every way.”

“They do seem to share many similarities.”

“With just enough differences to keep things…interesting.” She tilted her head and smiled. “It is my hope to find the same felicity someday.”

Too bold, Lizzy, she scolded herself silently.

But he did not draw away in discomfort or disdain. Instead, his gaze dropped to her lips. “I, too, wish to marry for reasons beyond fortune and connection,” he murmured.

He is going to kiss me, she thought as his head inclined. Her eyes fluttered closed, and she angled her head toward his.

A loud crack echoed across the grounds. Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy pulled apart at once, both turning away. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment. Sanity returned, and she began mentally chastising herself for her foolishness.

“Forgive me,” Mr. Darcy said quietly. “Shall we return to the house?”

Is that all he is going to say? She felt strangely hurt, a sharp pang of disappointment catching her off guard. He did not appear flustered in the least as he stood and extended his hand to assist her. His eyes, however, twinkled with something she could not name.

She accepted his hand, rising even as she wondered whether the near-kiss had affected him as deeply as it had her. Could she deny the evidence seen in his expression?

They did not speak as they walked back toward the house. Elizabeth kept a proper distance, her arm looped lightly through his, her hand resting gently on his coat, hoping to ease any discomfort he might find in her touch. Not that she understood his feelings, but she dared not risk offending him.

They parted just inside the doors. Elizabeth shed her outerwear with haste, eager for the privacy of her chamber. Once safely within, she chastised herself once more—for daring to hope that a man of Mr. Darcy’s standing could ever be hers. Despite the affection that now bloomed in her heart, she had lied to him by omission. He believed her to be the second daughter of a respectable gentleman. He did not know the truth—and she was not at liberty to correct him.

Did she trust him enough to share her secret? Her heart answered with a resounding yes, even as her head protested. Todisclose the truth would be foolish—dangerous. It could ruin her reputation entirely.

Perhaps she was destined never to marry, for who could ever want a lady with no past?