Page 1 of The Briar Bargain (The Rom Com Collection #3)

B y breakfast, Elizabeth had already rehearsed her farewell speech, re-packed her trunk, and imagined Miss Bingley's delighted expression no fewer than five times.

The sun had finally returned to the sky. Mr. Bingley’s carriage was scheduled to be ready by noon, and Jane was sitting up in bed having breakfast, her complexion restored to something recognisably healthy. She had even joined the company after dinner last night.

All signs pointed to a clean escape.

What remained was for Elizabeth to endure one final breakfast with the Netherfield party without flinging herself—or anyone else—through a window, no matter how sorely she was tempted.

As she made her way to the breakfast room, a distant rumble of thunder caught her attention. Glancing back at the window, she saw dark clouds gathering on the horizon. Hopefully she and Jane would already be home before they arrived.

The men stood as Elizabeth entered, then sat again at her polite nod.

Miss Bingley looked up from her tea. "Miss Elizabeth," she said sweetly, "how lovely to see you joining us so early. I confess I expected you to linger upstairs a bit longer. I understand it takes time to collect oneself after a week of such devoted bedside duty."

Never had “devoted duty” sounded so much like an accusation.

In fact, Elizabeth was exhausted, but she would never allow it to show. "Indeed. Though as welcoming as you have been, Miss Bingley, I shall be pleased to return home."

Mr. Bingley looked up from his toast. "Are you certain the bridge is safe?"

Elizabeth nodded. Mrs. Nicholls had spoken to the coachman that morning and relayed the news. "Evidently the river has risen, but not high enough to impede our passage."

Mr. Bingley beamed. "Splendid. Though I shall be very sorry to lose your company, of course."

"You are too kind, sir."

At the far end of the table, Mr. Hurst grunted without bothering to look up from his heaping plate of eggs and ham. He shovelled another forkful into his mouth, chewing with such concentrated effort one might think he was engaged in labour rather than leisure.

Mrs. Hurst idly adjusted the lace at her wrist. "I must say, Miss Eliza, your fortitude in the face of such trying circumstances has been remarkable. Not many young ladies would venture out in such dirty weather, much less remain for days on end to tend a sick relation."

"When one's sister is ill, Mrs. Hurst, my own comfort becomes a secondary concern," Elizabeth replied pleasantly. “I am sure it is the same for you and Miss Bingley.”

"Yes, of course," Mrs. Hurst said with a wave of her hand. "Dedication to family is everything admirable. Though I confess I would have dispatched a servant rather than risk my health and appearance. "

Miss Bingley buttered her toast with what Elizabeth thought was more force than necessary. "I do hope your sister has recovered enough to endure such a journey. But then, I suppose country girls are accustomed to such inconveniences."

"Jane is much improved, and she has never been inclined to complain." If Elizabeth leaned on the word “she” just a tiny bit more than was usual, she could not be blamed for it.

"That is just what I would have suspected of her," Mr. Bingley said cheerfully.

Miss Bingley's nostrils flared slightly, reminding Elizabeth of a horse. "Indeed.”

There was a rustling at the far end of the table as Mr. Darcy shook out his newspaper, the quick view of his expression before the paper rose to hide it proving him to be as indecipherable as ever. His posture even at the breakfast table was almost painfully correct.

Elizabeth tried not to stare at him. It was a habit she had recently acquired because he always seemed to be staring at her, and she always wanted to catch him at it. She only occasionally did, though, and had tried to remind herself to watch him out of the corner of her eye.

Mr. Darcy's presence at Netherfield had been a constant source of discomfort. Not because he was unpleasant, precisely. It was only that one moment he seemed almost approachable, the next he was as distant as the cat who prowled the halls. Unmovable, inscrutable, judgemental.

It was a shame, really. He was a handsome man and rather clever. But he was also haughty in the worst sense, and Elizabeth would never forget how his disdain had been shot at her before they had even been introduced. Not handsome enough to tempt him , he had said while looking directly at her .

She had understood his purpose at once. He had been warning her against harbouring any hopes where he was concerned, as if she had formed some sort of design on the man the moment he stepped into the assembly.

Her mother had, perhaps, but then, every mother in attendance with unmarried daughters had likely done the same. That was not her fault.

"Mr. Darcy," Miss Bingley said with a bright smile. "Have you heard from your sister of late? I long to know how dear Georgiana progresses with that delightful new sonata."

He turned the page of his paper without looking up. "I wrote to her only a few days past, Miss Bingley, and have not yet received a reply. In her last letter, Georgiana wrote that she practises daily."

"How very devoted she is. I always say there is nothing so elegant as a lady who is accomplished in both music and manners. Soothing, familiar airs, played by accomplished hands, are such a comfort."

Mr. Darcy made a sound that might have been agreement. It might also have been a sneeze he was too disciplined to permit. Elizabeth could not tell.

Miss Bingley, who had been stirring her tea with exaggerated elegance, tilted her head towards Elizabeth with a smile that never reached her eyes. “Your sister is a lovely girl,” she said smoothly. “It is always charming to see such unaffected sweetness, especially in one so eager to please.”

It was clear to Elizabeth, though the men at the table seemed not to notice, that Miss Bingley thought Jane rather too eager to please.

Elizabeth was weary. She did not wish to play this pernicious woman’s games.

“Yes,” she replied lightly. “Those who are truly sincere rarely trouble themselves over how that sincerity is perceived. It is a quiet strength and, I think you will agree”—she held Miss Bingley’ s gaze—“a rare one.”

Miss Bingley frowned and set down her spoon with a touch more care than usual. Her eyes never left Elizabeth’s. "Charles, you really must speak to Mrs. Nicholls about the tea. It is too strong this morning. Too . . . bold."

Miss Bingley had not taken a single sip.

Mrs. Hurst's fan appeared from nowhere, fluttering before her face as though to dispel an unpleasant odour.

"The tea is excellent," Mr. Hurst muttered into his cup.

"You would drink pond water if it had enough sugar in it," his wife replied in a low voice.

After this, Elizabeth was allowed to eat in what passed for peace. She had nearly finished when the door opened and a footman entered with a furrow in his brow.

"Begging your pardon, sir," he addressed Bingley in a low voice, "but the coachman has just been to the bridge to Longbourn, and it is entirely flooded over."

A collective stillness fell across the room.

"I beg your pardon?" Elizabeth asked, her heart sinking into her shoes.

"The river's breached the east bank, miss. The driver said it were rising still. He feared the horses would founder."

Miss Bingley gasped, her hand held to her heart in a perfect picture of theatrical horror. "Flooded? Are we trapped?"

Mr. Hurst paused mid-bite, a rare look of concern crossing his features as he glanced at the brandy decanter on the sideboard, as if calculating whether the house's supply would last through a prolonged confinement.

“This is precisely why we keep a house in London, Charles.” Mrs. Hurst waved her fan twice as quickly as before. “The Thames is always properly managed, not left to the whims of nature like these rural waterways."

Elizabeth was nearly as dismayed as Miss Bingley, though she knew they were not in a dangerous situation. Both Longbourn and Netherfield were built on higher ground for this very reason. The low-lying eastern fields where several of the tenant cottages sat were much closer to the river.

When her father inherited, he had relocated the tenant cottages that he thought too near the river. But with the river rising so high as to impede travel, she expected that even the tenants nearest the river at Longbourn would now be seeking shelter with other families.

They would certainly be moving the women, children, and any valuables out of the potential flood plain.

If the situation worsened, the displaced families would be taken in at Longbourn.

Mamma had managed such a crisis before and done well, but that had been nearly fifteen years ago.

It was frustrating to be confined here when she and Jane ought to be home, helping.

Mr. Bingley stood. "Darcy, you saw the river yesterday—was it rising then?"

"It was not nearly so high," Mr. Darcy said grimly, folding his paper and setting it down on the table. "But with this much rain it would not take long."

"Dear heavens," Miss Bingley breathed. "How unfortunate that this should happen today, just when the house was beginning to recover from the strain of illness."

Mr. Darcy stood and placed his napkin beside his plate before moving to the window.

Mr. Bingley did the same. "It seems your departure shall be delayed, Miss Elizabeth," he said as he stared out at the weather. He was the only one in the room who did not appear in the least distressed by this fact.

Well, Mr. Hurst might not mind. It was difficult to say.

Miss Bingley's eyes flashed with indignation. "How very unexpected. "

For heaven’s sake, did the woman expect her to control the weather? Not even the miraculous Mr. Darcy had that sort of power. Elizabeth inclined her head. "I fear we must trespass upon your good will a little longer."

"How long does it generally take for such waters to recede?" Mrs. Hurst asked sharply.