Bingley, oblivious to my inner turmoil, kept going. “And besides,” he added with far too much enthusiasm, “I’ve just had word that Miss Elizabeth Bennet has arrived to visit her sister.”
Miss Elizabeth.The very last person on this earth I wanted to face again.
I felt my face pale, the trembling in my hands worsening. “Miss Elizabeth?” I croaked.
“Yes!” Bingley said brightly, either ignoring or missing the absolute horror in my voice. “You must join us in greeting her. It would be most improper not to.”
Most improper. How about mostinsane? I was about to have a complete collapse, and he wanted to stand around exchanging pleasantries withElizabeth Bennet?
“Surely… surely that’s not necessary,” I stammered. “After all, Miss Bennet has come to see her sister, not us. We wouldn’t want to disturb them.”
“Disturb them?” Bingley laughed. “Nonsense. She’ll be pleased to see us. Come, we’ll make a day of it. Some shooting, a pleasant visit with Miss Bennet. It’ll be just the thing to lift your spirits!”
Lift my spirits? The only thing that would lift my spirits was getting as far away from Netherfield as humanly possible. But I couldn’t leave without making myself look even more ridiculous than I already had.
“Right,” I said weakly, my voice barely holding together. “A day of it.”
Bingley beamed. “Excellent! I’ll have the footmen bring down your things, and we’ll head out to the lawn in just a bit. Miss Elizabeth is with her sister now, but we shall greet her in the drawing room after she has satisfied herself. I do hope she will find Miss Bennet somewhat recovered since last evening.”
I nodded, my stomach twisting into knots.Elizabeth Bennet.Again.I’d barely survived the last encounter, and now I had to face heragain.
But at least that wretched Scotsman was nowhere to be seen. For now.
Elizabeth
Idescended the stairswith a knot in my stomach. Facing Mr. Bingley’s sisters wasn’t high on my list of enjoyable activities, but Jane needed me to play messenger, and unfortunately, these were the people I had to deliver the news to. My brief meeting with them at the Assembly had been enough to assure me that the warmest thing about them was the fireplace they were sitting next to.
As I stepped into the drawing room, there they were—Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst, sitting like two finely dressed sphinxes, looking as if the greatest effort they’d made that morning was lifting their teacups. Mr. Hurst was there too, slumped in a chair, presumably pretending to be asleep so no one would ask him anything too taxing. He had all the air of a man who contributed absolutely nothing to the world except snoring.
“Miss Bennet,” Miss Bingley said, her voice a careful mix of civility and complete disinterest, “how is your sister this morning?”
I smiled as politely as I could manage. “Not well, I’m afraid.”
Miss Bingley’s eyebrows rose just enough to suggest she was mildly interested, but not so much that it would wrinkle her perfectly powdered forehead. “Oh dear,” she said with the kindof concern one might express for a misplaced glove. “I do hope she recovers swiftly.”
“I’m sure she will,” Mrs. Hurst added, although she didn’t look sure of anything, least of all Jane’s fate. “And, of course, if her condition worsens, we’ll send for the local apothecary. I trust there is one?”
I clasped my hands behind my back, trying to ignore their not-so-veiled slight about our village. “Ah, yes. His name is Mr. Jones. He is quite competent.”
“Yes, Mr. Jones,” Miss Bingley echoed, her fingers gliding delicately along the rim of her teacup. “We wouldn’t want her to suffer unnecessarily.”
The word “unnecessarily” hung in the air, and I couldn’t help but wonder what level of suffering would qualify as “necessary” for these women. I smiled again, tighter this time, and nodded.
“Thank you,” I said, fully aware that their offer to call the apothecary was about as heartfelt as a garden statue. The way they spoke, you’d think they were offering to save the nation.
I shifted uncomfortably, glancing toward the door as if some magical rescue might appear. It was clear they weren’t planning to offer anything more helpful than that. They looked perfectly content to sip their tea and hope Jane either recovered or discreetly perished without disturbing their breakfast.
The thought left me feeling rather cold, and worse—there was something else on my mind, something much stranger and far more unsettling.
Mr. Darcy.
The sight of him earlier, sprinting across the lawn like a man possessed, still made the hair on the back of my neck prickle. Was he mad? That was the most logical conclusion, given how he’d behaved. And yet… there he was, upstairs, presumably roaming the halls in his usual brooding manner. If Jane wasn’talready feverish, I’d worry she might catch madness simply from being under the same roof as that man.
Just as I was contemplating this disturbing possibility, the door opened, and in walked Mr. Bingley, smiling as brightly as ever. He was a walking sunbeam, all charm and ease.
“Miss Elizabeth,” he said warmly, “how is your sister this morning?”
I gave him the same report I had given his sisters. “Not well at all, I’m afraid.”
