Unlike the ladies, Bingley’s face immediately fell into genuine concern. “Not well? That won’t do at all,” he said, frowning. “I’ll send for the apothecary right away. Mrs. Nicholls will know whom to send for.”
Finally, someone with a pulse.
But before I could express my thanks, Bingley added, “And of course, you must stay with her, Miss Elizabeth. We wouldn’t want her to be bereft of the comfort of her family. I’ll have your things sent for at once. You should be by her side.”
I blinked. Stayhere?At Netherfield?
Before I could think of an appropriate response, my eyes drifted to the door—where, as if summoned by some dark force, Mr. Darcy appeared.
I tensed immediately. He was still pale, his eyes darting nervously around the room like he expected someone to leap out and throttle him. His pupils were blown wide, and he flinched every time someone so much as moved a teacup. If anything, he looked worse than before. The man was shaking, for heaven’s sake, and it wasn’t from cold.
I didn’t want to be anywhere near him.
But Jane needed me, and I couldn’t leave her here, sick and vulnerable, while I fled back to Longbourn. It was bad enough she had to endure Caroline Bingley’s tender mercies. The last thing she needed was to be stuck in a house with Mr. Darcy, whowas clearly on the verge of some kind of mental collapse. What if he snapped and went about murdering people in their beds?
Still, I forced a smile. “That’s very kind of you, Mr. Bingley,” I said, even as my insides screamed“Get out while you can!”
As I glanced around the room, I caught Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst exchanging a quick look as if they were silently communicating some unspoken dread. They weren’t the only ones.
Mr. Darcy, who had been standing in rigid silence, suddenly gasped. Yes,gasped—like a man who’d just been told he was going to be executed at dawn. His hand shot up to his cravat, yanking at it as if it had just turned into a hangman’s noose.
Without a word, he turned on his heel and fled the room.
Fled.
Mr. Darcy, the most composed, aloof man I had ever met—at least, he sure seemed that way at the Assembly—had just sprinted out of the drawing room as if the devil himself were after him.
I stood there, dumbfounded.
Bingley chuckled awkwardly, glancing after his retreating friend. “Darcy has been acting… rather distressed this morning. Quite a lot on his mind, I shouldn’t wonder. And a deal of travel, and… I’m sure he’ll be back to himself soon.”
“Distressed” didn’t begin to cover it. I wasn’t sure if I should be more concerned about Jane’s fever or for Mr. Darcy’s state of mind.
“Right,” Bingley continued, clearly trying to salvage the moment. “I’ll speak to Mrs. Nicholls about your things, Miss Elizabeth. You should be settled in no time.”
He gave me a polite bow and hurried after his friend, leaving me standing in the drawing room, staring at the door in complete disbelief.
What on earth had I just got myself into?
Seven
Darcy
The brooch sat onthe bedside table, taunting me. It was a cursed little thing, gleaming smugly like it knew what it had done. I stared at it, my pulse quickening—not with fear, I told myself, but with frustration. Yes, just frustration. That was all this was.
I picked it up gingerly, turning it over in my hands as if by examining it from every angle, I might convince myself that none of this had actually happened. Maybe I’d had more to drink than I remembered. Maybe I’d hit my head on the carriage ride back from London. That would be logical. Sensible. Not like the mania I thought I had seen earlier.
No, no. It was nonsense. I was overworked. Tired. Exhausted, really. What I needed was sleep, not to be obsessing over thisbrooch. I could feel my pulse in my throat—practically knocking my cravat loose with how hard it was hammering away, like I was some country schoolboy caught misbehaving.
And then, as if he had been waiting for me to give in to the absurdity of it all, he was there.
Out of nowhere. Again.
“Aye, there ye be,” Ewan drawled, propped up in my favorite chair like a king of nothing, bottle in hand, his legs crossed as if he had all the time in the world. He didn’t just appear—he materialized, casually, as though being summoned to haunt a man’s bedroom was the most natural thing in the world.
I dropped the brooch—flung it across the room, really—and backed up so fast I nearly tripped over my own feet. “You!” I blurted, choking on the words, pointing like a fool. “How did you—wheredid you—”
“Still twitchy as a cat in a thunderstorm, are ye?” he said, taking a long swig from his bottle and wiping his mouth with his sleeve. “Ye’d think ye’d be used tae it by now.”
