Chapter Six
It was an almost torturous sensation for Darcy to watch Elizabeth assiduously pursue his cousin’s attention in the drawing room that night.
Surely she did notadmirehim.
He… he hardly could expresswhy, but he had notimaginedthat Elizabeth might be the sort of woman who would be charmed by Colonel Fitzwilliam’s façade. Nor had he imagined that Colonel Fitzwilliam would pursue Miss Elizabeth.
The fire had been kept too warm all night, that must be why her cheeks often glowed red.
She was too clever, too sensible… too… passionate about listening to music for his cousin. And too prone to laughter. And too excellent at finding a perfect turn of phrase.
Sadly, Darcy could not wholly convince himself that there was no chance that Colonel Fitzwilliam would like Elizabeth. She was in fact precisely the sort of woman whoeveryman would like and admire. No matter who they were, no one could fail to be drawn by the liveliness of her bright eyes, the dancing expressions of her smiles, the way she laughed at Colonel Fitzwilliam’s quips, or the intently challenging way she sometimes argued with Darcy.
A flower.
Like those ridiculous scented flowers grown at too much expense that Miss Bingley littered the whole of Netherfield with — primarily, he knew, so that she could prove to him that she was perfectly capable of keeping a comfortable set of apartments.
If he had any interest in marrying, Darcy would begin to think himself in some danger from Miss Elizabeth. But, of course, he had no such plans. Not while matters with Georgiana were still so unsettled, and besides, Elizabeth’s family was too close to trade for it to be accounted a brilliant match.
Yes, yes. He could be in no danger of falling in love with Elizabeth, because twenty thousand pounds chiefly derived from trade was simply insufficient for his Darcy pretensions.
He still found himself irresistibly drawn to the conversations between Elizabeth and Colonel Fitzwilliam, even though Miss Bingley determinedly tried to distract him with her play of being the perfect host who would do anything for him.
He did not sleep well that night, and he woke with a gritty taste in his eyes.
The next morning found Miss Bennet to still be quite ill.
Feverish, having slept poorly, with sore throat, stuffed head, aches and chills.
Darcy quite hoped that he would not catch sick from her either, but he supposed he should not worry very much since the apothecary had been quite insistent that he saw no reason for alarm.
Not that apothecaries, physicians, philosophers or philanthropists understood the mysterious workings of the human body well enough for a sane or rational man to put much reliance on their judgement of the likely course of an illness. Darcy chiefly took his expectation that Miss Bennet would be well from the simple point that colds and flus were frequent — a necessary, if unfortunate part of experiencing civilized life and regular communion with other humans — but they were infrequently fatal or possessed of serious consequences.
Bingleyhowever was quite distracted, and he paced the drawing room for twenty minutes after the apothecary left, muttering, “Poor Janey! Poor Janey! I do hope she gets well quickly. Are you allreallysure that we should not call a physician from London?”
“Physicians make everything worse,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said decidedly. “Everything. Never call one if you do not mean to die.”
Bingley’s boots stamped loudly on the floor as he continued to pace. “But if there was something he might do, and he did not, I would—”
Colonel Fitzwilliam replied, “Jove, you are as flush as any gentleman I’ve ever seen with interest for that girl — for my part she is the prettiest creature I’ve ever seen. Excepting of course other equally pretty creatures. No wonder you wish to see her well cared for.”
“No, it is not that.”
“Come good fellow. You grew up with her, did you not? Can you not admit that she is pretty?” As he said that Colonel Fitzwilliam poured out a second cup of coffee for himself. The enticing aroma filled the room and drew Darcy to the table to make his own second cup.
Bingley flushed, paused, and paced again. “Do you both really think she will recover without a physician?”
“More likely without one than with one.” Colonel Fitzwilliam repeated his dictum about them. “I’d never trust any doctor who isn’t ready to saw my leg off at the drop of a hat.”
“Ugh.” Bingley shook and grimaced. “I do not wish to imagine Jane’s leg being sawed off.”
“But you do wish to imagine her legs?” Colonel Fitzwilliam waggled his eyebrow.
“I’ll not hear you say anything about Jane!”
Colonel Fitzwilliam raised his hands. “Greatest respect to her. But admit it. Youdothink she is pretty?”
“Jane is the most beautiful angel in the world! — and you’ll not bother her.”
