Itappedgentlyonthe door to Charlotte’s bedroom, inhaling deeply before entering. The room’s muted gloom struck me immediately, the sun’s timid rays fighting a losing battle against the oppressive drapes. There was Charlotte, a fragile figure swathed in blankets, her face a ghostly shade even in the embrace of dreams.
“Charlotte?” I laid a hand on her trembling shoulder.
Her eyelids fluttered open, revealing pools of exhaustion. “What time is it?” she murmured.
“Almost noon.” I brushed a mop of hair off her cheeks. “I’m sorry to wake you, but I had to see how you were.”
She tried to sit up, a grimace betraying the pain of the effort, her light brown curls cascading in disarray. “My heart was fluttering all night, and my stomach is quite undone, I’m afraid. But I shall be ready by evening, I assure you.”
I bit my lip, skepticism rising within me. “Perhaps you ought to stay in bed today.”
She looked taken aback, determination replacing her fatigue. “And miss the Christmas singing at the chapel? Never. I shan’t let a mere headache hold me back.”
I sighed, scrutinizing her pale face and the dark circles under her eyes. “Charlotte, it’s not just a headache. You’ve barely eaten. Maybe some broth or porridge might help?”
She waved my suggestion away with a languid hand, her tone almost playful. “Lizzy, I’ve had my fill of bland food since the beginning of Advent. I swear I will fade away without a proper meal.”
“But you said your stomach—“
“Oh, my stomach isn’t trustworthy, anyway. Give me something to sink my teeth into. What I wouldn’t give for a plateful of roast beef!”
I couldn’t help but chuckle at her theatrics, even though her usual vibrant energy was conspicuously absent. Grasping her hand, I tried to impart some of my strength into her. “I won’t have you sickening yourself and making matters worse. Promise me, just rest today. No pushing yourself.”
She looked as if she wanted to argue, but the weariness won. “I wish things were different,” she murmured, her voice trembling.
Drawing her close, I whispered, “So do I.” My heart ached to see her, once so lively, reduced to this frail state. I wished I could shoulder her burdens. But for now, all I could offer was my company.
St.Helen’sChurchbuzzedwith eager anticipation for the evening’s musical celebrations. Despite Charlotte’s wan appearance, she was here, brimming with a stubborn determination only she could muster. Frankly, it was both impressive and a touch exasperating.
Mr. Van der Meer had accompanied us this evening, lending one arm to Charlotte and one to Jane—that was, when he was not greeting someone he knew, and he seemed to know everyone. As we settled into our pew, I couldn’t help but let my gaze wander to the faces in the church.
And I almost fell over at the sight of some familiar figures. Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley, with their sisters! What were they doing on this side of London? Were there not churches enough in Mayfair? Before I could ponder further, they took their seats in the pew behind us, and a little off to the side. I snatched a look over my shoulder, but I just felt silly trying to gawk at them. I wasn’t even certain they had seen me. Everyone else was looking forward with an attitude of reverent enjoyment, and the choir was already lifting their voices in a soulful chorus.
“Really, Charles,” Miss Bingley’s voice hissed, piercing through the veil of the choir’s harmonized voices, “why could we not have attended St. James’s? Why did you insist on cominghereto sit amid the warehouses and tradesmen?”
I never heard Mr. Bingley’s voice in reply, but from the corner of my vision, I saw his hand come up in a gesture for silence.Bravo!I’d no notion the gentleman had ever checked her in his life, but he did just now. I couldn’t help turning slightly, my curiosity more powerful than my sense of propriety.
The moment I shifted, I grazed Miss Darcy’s eye. Was she already watching me? Her lips puckered into a little bow of laughter, though the rest of her features were perfectly composed. I offered her a knowing smirk and raised my brows toward Miss Bingley’s pouting face, and she nearly lost her countenance. Then, however, my attention was suddenly caught by Mr. Darcy’s penetrating stare. His eyes glowed with an intensity that could have melted stone and sent my heart racing. Quickly averting my gaze, I attempted to mask the heat flooding my cheeks.
Why was he even here? Mr. Bingley—now, that I understood. But Mr. Darcy had never hidden his disdain for our family’s connections in trade, so why would he have followed? And with his sister! Well, no matter. My primary concern was Charlotte, her fragile state pulling my focus. I clasped her hand, tightening my grip as the familiar notes of “Adeste, Fideles” enveloped us.
The melody grew louder, capturing my attention momentarily before my spine prickled again. Casting a discreet glance over my shoulder, I found Mr. Darcy’s eyes moving rapidly to stare intently ahead. His sister, however, darted a quick look at me when I turned, before redirecting her attention forward.
Charlotte’s eyes were closed, and her body swayed gently. Was it the music that moved her, or was she growing faint? I leaned closer to her, whispering, “Are you sure you are well?”
She nodded subtly. “I couldn’t bear missing this, Lizzy.”
I patted her hand. She did not like me clucking over her like a mother hen, and I hated to mar her enjoyment, but we should have stayed in tonight. What matter if she were having a splendid moment or two here if it depleted her too much to get out of bed tomorrow? I was already having visions of the letter I would have to write to her mother if she collapsed here in the church.
As the music reached its emotional peak, I noticed many in the audience wiping away tears. My gaze wandered the church again, and I caught a quick sight of Mr. Bingley offering a handkerchief to his sister. She only cocked him a dull glare and rolled her eyes, so he put it back in his pocket. A pity that was not Jane standing beside him, for she would have known how to appreciate the gesture.
I snickered under my breath, turning back to face forward again, but not before my gaze fell upon the stern visage of Mr. Darcy. His eyes pierced mine, but... what was that sheen in them? Was he, too, affected by the emotion of the music? Impossible! A flush rose unbidden to my cheeks at being caught staring, though in truth it was happenstance, not intention, that led my eyes to meet his.
I turned my attention hastily back to the makeshift stage and the row of choristers, garbed all in white, their voices raised in joyful praise. Try as I might to focus on the lofty soprano leading the refrain, I found my mind wandering back to the dark, imposing figure seated behind.
Again, my head stewed with the question—what could have brought them all here? There were churches and musical services all over London. Yet here Mr. Darcy sat, with Mr. Bingley and their sisters. My lips quirked in a private smile. The more I glanced back atthatgentleman, the surer I was that at least Mr. Bingley’s presence could be explained in one breath: Jane. As for Mr. Darcy, I suspected he could not refuse his friend, though I should not have thought he would find this humble entertainment scarcely worth his time.
At that moment, as if he sensed my private speculations, Mr. Darcy leaned forward to whisper in my ear. “I hope you find the performance pleasing, Miss Elizabeth,” he murmured, sending an involuntary shiver down my spine. “Music has charms to soothe the most savage soul, or so ‘tis said.” His warm breath warmed my neck, and it took all my composure not to tremble at his sudden proximity.
