E lizabeth spent the day worrying alternately about Jane and Mr. Darcy.
By the late afternoon, her sister was on the mend, and her focus turned from the two fairy godmothers with her in Jane’s room to Mr. Darcy’s precarious position with them.
Well, with one in particular. He and Mr. Bingley had left the house early to hunt, and she was relieved to have him well out of Mildread’s way.
Just as Mr. Darcy’s current occupation occurred to her, Mildread began to make the most alarming sounds of disapproval. She clucked. She grunted. She hmphed. When she pinched the bridge of her nose, Elizabeth hung her head. Something was coming. The signs were unmistakable.
“He is trying to ‘talk sense’ into Mr. Bingley about Jane,” Mildread explained while Jane slept.
“Certainly, he can have nothing to say against Jane,” Elizabeth replied, aghast. “How could he? He hardly knows her!”
“He is not insulting your sister,” Mildread replied. “He believes her a gentlewoman in every way, so I suppose he is not entirely stupid.” She sniffed. “He is, however, unimpressed by the rest of your family and your situation.”
Elizabeth glanced away. That was a different matter.
“He believes Mr. Bingley should return to London to think on what he should prefer to do.”
Well. There it was, then. Mr. Bingley would go to London, and his sisters and friend would try to keep him there.
Jane could always visit Aunt and Uncle Gardiner, but to what end?
They were well off, but their home was near Cheapside—in a respectable, wealthy neighbourhood to be sure, but one that was nothing to the more fashionable addresses in town.
Between their children and the business, the Gardiners would not be available to escort Jane to any parties or balls where she might see Mr. Bingley.
Even if they had the time, they did not have those sorts of connections.
While the men of the ton relied upon her uncle for their commerce, they did not invite him to their homes.
No, they lived in very different circles than the Darcy and Bingley families. For that matter, so did the Bennets.
Elizabeth had never really expected anything to come of her strange interest in deciphering Mr. Darcy’s character.
He was handsome and clever but also haughty and proud.
It was a foolish inclination from beginning to end.
She had thought herself more sensible, and she was determined to laugh herself out of it. No, there was no future there.
But she did have hope for Jane.
“We shall see, I suppose, how much influence his sisters and friend shall have,” Priscilla ventured to say from her seat near the window. She withdrew a little fairy dust, and Mildread shook her head. “You have overdone it, dear. Jane must return to Longbourn sometime.”
Priscilla nodded, returning the fairy dust to its silken bag, tightening the cords to secure it.
“Jane would be terribly unhappy if Mr. Bingley went away.” Elizabeth stood to stretch her back. She was sore from so many hours sitting in the sickroom.
“Would Jane truly want a man who does not know his own mind?” Mildread was distressingly unconcerned.
“Mr. Bingley relies on Mr. Darcy’s opinion because he is not entirely on his feet in society yet,” Priscilla added.
Elizabeth grasped the opportunity. “According to his sisters, Mr. Bingley was suddenly very popular last season because he had emerged from mourning but a few months earlier, just after he came into his inheritance. He is new to his position, that is all.”
“Mr. Darcy was not much older than Mr. Bingley when his father died,” Priscilla supplied from her perch near the window, where she was drawing shimmering pictures on the glass with her breath. “And he had much more to take on than Mr. Bingley.”
Elizabeth craned her neck to watch as a horse-drawn sleigh burst from the sketch on the windowpanes to circle above them. It dipped and swerved its way through lush, dense woods.
“Mr. Darcy was brought up to carry on with the family fortune—property, tenants, investments.” A strong stone house rose above a tree-covered hill, making the sleigh appear tiny in comparison.
“He has a great deal of responsibility, and he was very young when it fell to him. He does have a sister, but she lives most of the year in London for her education. He shares her guardianship with a cousin who is in the army and often away.” Priscilla tipped her head to one side and met Elizabeth’s eye. “It must be a rather lonely life.”
Elizabeth’s heart ached a little to think of Mr. Darcy being alone with so much weighing on him, but there was nothing in the world that could excuse him should he interfere with Jane and Mr. Bingley.
Should the couple themselves decide they did not suit, that was one thing, but if Mr. Darcy stooped to some disguise to separate the two, it would be unforgivable.
“Are you trying to make me feel sorry for him?” Elizabeth asked dryly.
Mildread sighed. “I believe it is your job to work on Jane and Mr. Bingley, Priscilla, and mine to see to Elizabeth.”
“And so it is, Mildread,” Priscilla said mildly. “I wish you luck.” Her eyes twinkled as she said it, and Elizabeth shuddered.
Yes, something was coming. Even Priscilla knew it.
Darcy lifted a forkful of partridge to his mouth and tried not to stare at Miss Elizabeth. It had become his routine whenever they were in the same room. He normally prided himself on his discipline, but without even trying, Miss Elizabeth was ruining all his vaunted self-control.
The meat was sharp, gamey, and made worse by the mealy texture.
He coughed a bit, then swallowed and reached for his wine to wash the rancid taste from his tongue.
As he recovered, he noticed that Miss Elizabeth was pushing her food around on her plate to make it appear as though she was eating it.
Everyone else appeared to be enjoying their meal.
Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst first inquired about the ruins where the men had been hunting.
Once he mentioned it was more picturesque than good grounds for hunting, Mrs. Hurst opined that they all might visit as it was not so very far off.
When the suggestion was met with tepid replies, she and her sister continued an extensive conversation mentioning several of their friends from town, behaving as though Miss Elizabeth was either an imposition or not present at all.
It would bother Darcy more if Miss Elizabeth had given any sign of noticing.
Hurst was only too happy to consume her share in the meal as well as his own.
It was more than that, though. Miss Elizabeth startled when Bingley spoke gently to her.
She gasped quietly when the footmen reached from behind to fill her glass.
Even her colour was off. He hoped she was not sickening.
She had spent nearly all of her few days here closed up in her sister’s room, and Cartwright had mentioned she had stayed up quite late seeing to her sister’s comfort.
It was admirable, and what Darcy had come to expect of her.
Despite the odd encounter in Bingley’s study, she had clearly not come to put herself in his way.
Still, such devotion might be unhealthy, for if she had not contracted Miss Bennet’s illness herself, then the lack of fresh air, exercise, and rest might have made her unwell.
This was not right. He should not be anxious for Miss Elizabeth’s health. She was not his relation, nor did he have any claim on her.
He snuck another glance and found that she was watching him surreptitiously, with an expression both wary and mournful. He could not look away.
Suddenly, he felt a bit warm. More than a bit, as if a summer sun was beating down on him. He took another sip of his wine and tried not to recall a similar feeling at the assembly.
As the end of dinner approached, Darcy’s attention wandered away from Miss Elizabeth and fixed on his aching head. A small tickle began in his nose, and all over his body, his skin began to itch. It was torture not to be able to scratch at it.
This was too much. Was he ill again ? Or still?
That settled it. He would leave Netherfield with Bingley and remain in London even were his friend to return.
Town might be generally considered less healthful than the country, but Hertfordshire was proving an exception to the prevailing wisdom.
Removing to town would also serve to separate him from Miss Elizabeth.
She was possessed of everything he wished for in a wife: wit, compassion, integrity, beauty.
Everything but wealthy and well connected.
He was in danger with her. If he returned to London, he would not have to examine why his reasonable objections to a marriage between Bingley and Miss Bennet did not apply to Miss Elizabeth. Because they did apply. He was simply beginning not to care.
Darcy touched his napkin to the corner of his mouth. He had to care.
His parents had been happy with one another, this he knew, but their marriage had not been about love.
In his father’s final days, the older man had grown introspective.
“Your mother and I were very fond of one another,” he had said to Darcy.
“She had a title, I had a fortune, and together we improved the position of the family in society. Find yourself a woman you can admire and respect, Fitzwilliam, and you will be better off. Be careful, though, not to look for her where you should not.”
Hertfordshire was a place he should not look. Against his sadly weakened will, Darcy’s eyes moved again to Miss Elizabeth. This time, she was staring directly back at him. Could she see his intentions to leave her behind? Her eyes were not admiring, but afraid. It made him shudder to see it.