Page 16 of To Love And To Cherish (Pride And Prejudice Variation #3)

The following morning, Elizabeth stirred early and asked the maid tending the fire to send up a breakfast tray for herself and her sister. Then, she turned her attention to the pen she was repairing.

She had composed a note to her mother, hoping to forestall what she feared would be an ill-timed visit.

Mother,

Jane has taken ill with a head cold brought on, I presume, by our arrival in the midst of last evening’s storm.

We have been invited to remain at Netherfield until she recovers.

I beg you not to make the journey to see her, as Miss Bingley has expressed a desire for tranquility in the household and may seize any excuse to hasten us from under her roof.

I fear that, should you come, she would insist upon Jane returning home with you.

I will send for you should Jane’s condition worsen, but for the present, I am confident she will mend quickly.

Please send clothing and night gear for at least three, perhaps four days.

I have sent for Dr. Edgerton to bring saline draughts and willow bark tea. Her fever is modest, and I am using cool cloths to relieve it.

Elizabeth

Satisfied with the contents, Elizabeth sealed both letters, one for her mother, the other for Dr. Edgerton, and handed them to the maid with instructions that the Bennet’s coachman was to deliver them at once and return the Bennet carriage without delay.

By the time the tray arrived, Jane was awake, still feverish, and her headache had worsened.

Elizabeth coaxed her into taking a few bites of toast and strawberries, but she declined, murmuring that she had no appetite.

Elizabeth, however, ate her eggs and bacon with relish, for she was quite hungry.

When Jane fell back into a light sleep, Elizabeth left the chamber and made her way softly to the library, hoping for solitude and the comfort of a book. The house was hushed.

She began scanning the shelves, searching for something that would occupy her mind while she sat at her sister’s side.

But the quiet was soon disturbed by the sound of heavy steps approaching in the corridor.

Elizabeth, guessing the identity of the newcomer and wishing to avoid any encounter with Mr. Darcy, whose recent words still stung, glanced quickly around the room.

Seeing an isolated corner, she slipped into a deep armchair tucked beside one of the larger bookcases. Drawing her legs under her and letting her head rest against the back, she closed her eyes and willed herself to be invisible.

The door creaked as it was opened wider. She heard the rustling of papers, the scrape of a chair, and then silence. She waited.

At length, believing herself alone once more, she shifted to ease her cramped legs, only to open her eyes and find Mr. Darcy standing over her.

Startled, she rose. His tall frame always seemed more imposing indoors and up close.

“Miss Elizabeth,” he said, his voice neutral, “you are up and about very early.”

Elizabeth lifted her chin. “Is there an appointed hour when ladies may rise, sir? I was inclined to read.”

His mouth curved slightly. “Yet I find you without a book. Were you reading dreams, perhaps?”

“Possibly,” she returned, her tone light but guarded. “Or deliberating what I might best enjoy. I shall leave you now, that you may resume your solitude.”

“Come now, Miss Elizabeth,” he said, with a flicker of amusement. “You came for a book. I daresay nursing your sister affords few entertainments. Please, do take your time.”

He moved to the writing desk. Elizabeth turned toward the shelves, eager to select a volume and be gone.

“I imagine,” Darcy said idly, “that a woman your age would be inclined toward literary works by Mrs. Radcliffe. If one can call those novels ‘literary works.’ They border on the ridiculous, in my view.”

His condescension nettled her. “Indeed, I do enjoy Mrs. Radcliffe, though I also read Homer and Petrarch. Odio decepcionarlo senor, pero las mujeres son criaturas racionales.”

He blinked. “Spanish?”

She arched a brow. “You do not speak it, sir? I had thought surely you would have picked up the language during your years on the Continent.”

She continued, her voice lilting in Italian. “Mi dispiace deluderla, signore, ma le donne sono creature razionali.”

Darcy squinted. “‘Rational creatures’?”

She gave him a look of mock pity. “Has your Italian gone the way of your Spanish? Shall we try German? Ich mochte Sie leider entt?uschen, Sir, aber Frauen sind rationale Wesen.”

He tilted his head. “‘Disappoint?’”

“Perhaps French, then, to restore your confidence. Je déteste vous décevoir, monsieur, mais les femmes sont des créatures rationnelles.”

His expression cleared. “Ah, yes, you hate to disappoint me, with the notion that women are rational creatures. It returns to me now, Miss Elizabeth, your flair for striking down vanity wherever you find it, particularly mine. How could I have forgotten?”

She walked toward the door and withdrew a familiar volume from the shelf.

“Perhaps I, too, will be so fortunate as to forget,” she said, voice steady, “that my beauty is so questionable you would sooner call my mother a wit.”

She regretted the words at once, for her throat thickened and tears threatened. She turned before he might see her eyes and left the room in silence.

At a quarter to eight, Elizabeth slipped softly down the staircase, careful upon the polished wood lest her footsteps should echo and betray her.

The household remained hushed at that early hour.

She took up her position within a shadowed alcove just beyond the library, where she could observe the approach to the main hall while remaining unseen.

Moments later, Georgiana’s familiar figure appeared at the end of the corridor.

Elizabeth stepped forward from concealment and raised a finger to her lips.

With a conspiratorial smile, she beckoned her friend.

They tiptoed down the passage to a modest parlor at the rear of the house, evidently a seldom-used room, for the air was chill and the furnishings bore a faint film of dust.

“Elizabeth,” Georgiana whispered with amusement, “what are we doing here? The library ought to have a good fire lit by now.”

“Indeed, it does,” Elizabeth replied in a low voice, “but your brother was already there when I passed by. He had his arms full of ledgers and correspondence, so I must presume he has claimed it for his temporary study. I thought it best not to intrude.”

Georgiana nodded with understanding. “Of course. Shall we go up to my room, then? It is warm, and the fire is banked. We can easily add more wood. I shall ring for breakfast on a tray. Would you like anything?”

“Strawberries and cream, I served ours to Jane, but she only picked at them,” said Elizabeth with a hopeful smile.

They ascended together and soon found themselves curled into two generously stuffed chairs near the window in Georgiana’s bedchamber.

The breakfast tray was soon delivered, and Elizabeth was delighted to find a small bowl of strawberries covered in clotted cream.

While they indulged in the fruit, Elizabeth read aloud from the third volume of The Mysteries of Udolpho , her voice rising and falling with dramatic flair.

“I have never even heard of Mrs. Radcliffe or her mysteries,” Georgiana admitted with a wry laugh. “My father’s notions of amusement never extended beyond Greek epics and sermons. I suppose that is why I became so accomplished at the pianoforte, pure self-preservation from the depths of tedium.”

Elizabeth chuckled, her mouth full of strawberry. “A most exemplary past time.”

Just then, the door silently swung open. Both girls started upright as Mr. Darcy stepped into the room. He stopped short upon seeing them nestled in their chairs, the novel splayed across Elizabeth’s lap, and the remnants of their feast still upon the tray.

Georgiana flushed with surprise. “Fitzwilliam!”

“I beg your pardon,” he said quickly, raising his hands. “You did not appear at breakfast, and when Hodgins informed me you had ordered a tray, I feared you were unwell. I meant only to assure myself of your condition. I shall not fail to knock again. Next time, I shall send the maid.”

His gaze landed on the book Elizabeth had dropped, and a flicker of amusement lit his features. “ Udolpho , Miss Bennet? Must I fear that my sister’s literary sensibilities are now in peril?”

Elizabeth did not answer at once, choosing instead to pick up the book and place it on the table with exaggerated care before looking up with a serene expression.

“If a woman must suffer inferior schooling, limited freedom, and constant lectures on propriety,” she began, her voice smooth, “then surely she may be granted a few hours of escape into fiction. And if she must endure the endless expectation of refinement, modesty, and marriage without choice, I cannot think Udolpho the worst rebellion.”

Darcy raised a brow, his grin deepening. “Ah, so novels are now a subversive act. I shall be cautious of ever crossing a woman with a well-worn volume of Gothic fiction under her arm. Who knows what mischief she might inspire?”

Seeing that she was unlikely to best him and feeling conscious of neglecting Jane, Elizabeth picked up her shawl, preparing to leave the room.

“I must see to my sister,” she said coolly. “She was feverish this morning.”

Darcy gestured toward the volume. “You forget your Udolpho .”

Elizabeth turned and retrieved the book with deliberate grace. “Thank you. I shall take it with me. Georgiana, you would do well to begin with the first volume. These tales are best enjoyed in order.”

She swept toward the door with her chin held high, only to be stopped once more by Darcy’s voice.

“Miss Bennet, you left your shoes behind.”

She paused. Her slippers, abandoned beneath the chair, lay in plain sight.

Without replying, she stepped out into the corridor in her stockinged feet and closed the door behind her.

Later that morning, Elizabeth was seated in the window embrasure, her slippered feet tucked beneath her, wholly absorbed in the third volume of The Mysteries of Udolpho . The morning had been long, and Jane’s fever showed no sign of abating.

A gentle tap at the door startled her, and before she could rise, the door was already opening. Dr. Edgerton stepped quietly into the room, his black bag in hand.

Mr. Darcy was walking down the corridor at that very moment, and upon seeing the physician enter without proper announcement or invitation, he halted, affronted by what he perceived as a breach of decorum. In three long strides, he was beside the open door.

“I did not hear you knock, sir,” Darcy said sharply, his voice low but edged with reproof.

Within the bedchamber, Elizabeth heard the exchange and rose to calm the tension that had arisen between the two men.

“Mr. Darcy,” she said with composed authority, “Dr. Edgerton is our family physician. I summoned him, and I have been awaiting his arrival for some time. Had I known he was already in the house, I would have left the door ajar to spare him the necessity of knocking. As it is, he is most welcome.”

Darcy met her steady gaze, color rising faintly in his cheeks, and gave a brief, stiff bow.

“Of course. I shall not detain you further.”

Without another word, he strode down the corridor.

Elizabeth stepped aside to admit the physician more fully. “Sir, Jane has taken a sudden turn. Her fever has risen alarmingly, and her mind wanders. Could it be rheumatic fever?”

Dr. Edgerton placed his bag on the small side table and approached the bed, his manner brisk but gentle. He took Jane’s wrist, counting her pulse, then examined her throat and asked her a few simple questions, to which she responded with slow, barely coherent murmurs.

After a few moments, he turned to Elizabeth.

“I do not believe it is rheumatic fever, Miss Bennet. Her throat is not inflamed, and her heart sounds untroubled. It is more likely an intense head cold exacerbated by fatigue and damp. I have the willow bark infusion you requested. It will reduce her fever and ease the pain behind her eyes.”

Elizabeth exhaled, relieved.

“That is very reassuring. I began to fear the worst.”

Mr. Darcy descended the stairs, his ire cooled.

The physician’s competence and Elizabeth’s evident trust in the man led him to believe there was no cause for concern.

Finding Bingley already in the front hall, the two gentlemen soon mounted their horses and rode out together to inspect the far paddocks and outbuildings, leaving Elizabeth and Georgiana free to read together in peace.