Bingley looked thoughtful. “I really cannot leave her at the mercy of my sisters,” he said ruefully. “Caroline has nary a good thing to say about Miss Elizabeth, and I should not like her to feel unwelcome.”
Darcy stood. “I shall dress and come down to dine with you, though I will retire directly after, if I may. You will explain to your sister that I am still recovering and am not yet well enough for a long evening?”
“Thank you,” Bingley said with a grin. “I appreciate the reinforcements.” He paused. “You will be kind to Miss Elizabeth?”
The question shocked Darcy. “Of course. Why would I not?”
Bingley frowned. “Well, you have not been on the best of terms with her, you know. You insulted her, then snubbed her and Colonel Forster at Lucas Lodge. Of course, we know you were taken ill, but . . .”
“I will be polite, Bingley.” He glanced up to see Bingley glaring at him. “And kind.”
Elizabeth was in no mood to put up with the false manners of Caroline Bingley and Louisa Hurst. They had been telling humourous stories all afternoon, but the moment they heard Mr. Darcy was to come down to dinner, they had abandoned Jane without a single glance or polite farewell.
Miss Bingley had seated her next to Mr. Hurst, who quickly determined she preferred simple dishes to an elaborate ragout and therefore had nothing more to say. She had better company in Jane’s room even when her sister was asleep.
Mr. Darcy was across the table and down one position, next to Miss Bingley, of course.
Elizabeth wished she could speak with him.
Miss Bingley had complained this afternoon that Mr. Darcy had been injured and unable to rest the first week he was in residence, and then was taken ill again at Lucas Lodge.
He had been in his chambers all week. She had blamed the rustic environs.
Mr. Darcy, she assured her guests, was normally a rather hale and hearty young man.
Elizabeth forgave Mr. Darcy everything when she heard about his troubles, for not only was she was sure Mildread was at the root of them, Miss Bingley had been dreadfully indiscreet with his private matters.
When Mr. Darcy lifted his head halfway through the second remove and offered her a brief smile, she struggled not to react with surprise. What in the world did he mean by that? After a moment, she nodded.
Every time she forgot, he reminded her how handsome he was. No wonder Miss Bingley was smitten. Well, they would make a compatible couple, both believing themselves above their company. Miss Bingley was welcome to him.
Elizabeth glanced briefly at Mr. Hurst who was shovelling his food into his mouth, stopping only to tuck a napkin over his cravat to protect his jacket from the sauce dripping from his spoon.
As he flipped out the corners of the napkin so that it covered his ample girth, she pressed her lips together and turned back to the table.
Mr. Darcy was watching her, and if she was not mistaken, was also holding in a laugh.
His eyes were a dark blue in the candlelight, but she detected a twinkle there.
Well. That was unexpected. Interesting, too. She would not have thought him to have much of a sense of the absurd.
“How does your sister fare, Miss Elizabeth?” Mr. Bingley inquired.
“Oh, she is well, Charles,” Miss Bingley replied before Elizabeth could answer. “Louisa and I were with her all afternoon.”
Yes. Telling their amusing stories long after they ought to have left Jane to her rest. But Jane was too polite to sleep while her new friends were expending such an effort to amuse her.
“She is resting, Mr. Bingley, thank you. I believe it is the best remedy for her now.”
“Excellent. It did wonders for my friend here,” Mr. Bingley said with a grin and a nod towards Mr. Darcy. “I am sure your sister will soon be well again, in no small measure because of your care for her, Miss Elizabeth.”
Elizabeth thanked him. What a delightful man he was.
Jane had continued to meet Mr. Bingley in the neighbourhood on the few occasions he could be convinced to leave his friend at home, and she was increasingly happy with him.
Priscilla had done a marvelous job. If they did wed, perhaps one day Jane would introduce her to a friend of Mr. Bingley’s who might find her a tolerably suitable prospect—it did not seem Mildread was likely to do so, focused as she was on punishing Mr. Darcy.
She nearly laughed at herself, then. My goodness, she was beginning to echo Mamma, convinced that Jane would marry Mr. Bingley because he had spoken amiably to her a few times and danced with her once.
Yet Jane had never shown this much interest in a man before, and Mr. Bingley had made it a point to ask after her.
Elizabeth supposed she wished it to be true.
Priscilla must have guided Mr. Bingley here, for when had there ever been such an eligible man in the neighbourhood, and one so well suited to Jane in every way?
No, she had reason to hope, and hope she would.
“Miss Elizabeth,” Mr. Darcy said, making an effort to speak clearly enough to be heard. Her heart went out to him. “I understand that your family has been at Longbourn for many generations.”
A smile curled her lips. He was offering her an opportunity to inform Miss Bingley of her heritage.
Perhaps he was more teasing than she had believed.
Or perhaps he wished to hear her admit that they had not long been gentry.
She would disabuse him of that notion. “The land where Longbourn sits has been in Bennet hands since before the Normans arrived. Those in residence at the time were, shall we say, amenable to their visitors from abroad and were allowed to keep their property.”
“I had no idea the history of the estate went back so far,” Mr. Bingley said admiringly.
“What a shame, then, that it is entailed away from your family,” Miss Bingley added, nearly before her brother had finished his thought.
Elizabeth shook her head. “Longbourn, or any estate, really, is not truly owned by the family who lives on it. We are merely stewards of the property, Miss Bingley.”
Mr. Darcy nodded in agreement.
Miss Bingley lifted an incredulous eyebrow. “You compare yourself to a steward, Miss Eliza? How . . . interesting.”
Mrs. Hurst tittered and lifted a spoonful of soup to her mouth.
Elizabeth nodded thoughtfully. “I do think it is difficult for those who have never been landowners to understand, Miss Bingley. It is a different way of life, but those of us fortunate enough to have grown up on an estate are aware of our duty to it.”
She pretended not to see Miss Bingley’s nostrils flare, but she could not help but see Mr. Darcy’s intense gaze upon her. There was just enough warmth in it to convey his approbation.
“It is about continuity, you see,” she added.
“The land will be here long after we are gone. It is the obligation and privilege of the gentry to pass it on intact, even improved, if possible, to the next generation.” Her father had maintained the estate rather than improved it, but he met all his obligations without complaint.
Elizabeth met Miss Bingley’s eye with what she hoped was an innocent gaze.
“My grandfather passed away after an accident in London, but the three Bennet men who inherited Longbourn before him all lived into their nineties. While no one can predict the future, it is reasonable to assume that my father will be in charge of the estate for many years to come. You need not be anxious for us.”
Mr. Bingley’s face was alight with mirth. Mr. Darcy returned his attention to his food, but when Mrs. Hurst leaned over to say something quietly to her sister, he shot Elizabeth a look that told her he had found the exchange entertaining.
They finished the meal with less pointed conversation. When it was time for the women to separate from the men, Elizabeth begged to be excused, as she wished to return to her sister. Miss Bingley nodded imperiously, and Elizabeth retired.
She was joined in the hall by Mr. Darcy, who explained in a raspy voice that he was only recently recovered and was attempting to be prudent by cutting his evening short.
“I hope that you are feeling better,” she said.
“I am, thank you,” he replied quietly.
“Mr. Darcy,” she asked him abruptly as they reached the stairs, “do you believe in fairy godmothers?”
He chuckled. “No. I am afraid they are merely the stuff of legend. There is no magic in this world, Miss Elizabeth, but what we conjure for ourselves.”
An eminently sensible response. If only it was also a correct one.
“Do you believe in fairy godmothers?” He coughed a little and reached into his pocket for a handkerchief. “Forgive me.”
“Not at all,” Elizabeth reassured him. She meant that she forgave him, but he took it as an answer to his question. Just as well. There was no way she could answer it and remain both truthful and in Mr. Darcy’s good books.
“I for one am glad of it,” Mr. Darcy continued. “For I should rather choose a wife myself than have one magically foisted upon me. I do not believe that would be desirable, for either party.”
“Are you a romantic, Mr. Darcy?” Elizabeth inquired, raising her eyebrows.
He grinned wryly. “Does that surprise you?”
“I must admit that it does. Most gentlemen are not, and those who are do not confess it.”
“I trust you with my secret,” he assured her with only a gentle tease in the words. They arrived at her door, and he bowed. “I do hope you find your sister in better health tonight. Good evening, Miss Elizabeth.”
What a confusing gentleman!
She entered Jane’s room. Her sister was sleeping soundly, but she was still too warm.
Mildread and Priscilla were working on their embroidery. They lit a candle so she could see.
“Mildread,” Elizabeth said haltingly, “I would be glad for Mamma to see Jane. She will be anxious if she does not. Would you be able to keep her from saying anything to Mr. Bingley or . . .”
“Or Mr. Darcy?” Mildread inquired coolly. “I am sure she has nothing to say that he should not hear.”
Elizabeth dipped a cool rag in the water and placed it on Jane’s forehead.
She knew the fairies would not allow Jane to become seriously ill, but it seemed to suit them to have Jane at Netherfield just now.
Mamma would be nervous, though, and despite the likelihood of her mother making a scene, Elizabeth would not feel right leaving her at home to fret.
Once she saw that Jane was not in any real danger, Mamma would return to Longbourn and happily await their return.
Perhaps she could get Mamma in and out of the house without an audience.
Were not the men meant to go out in the morning?