Darcy paused, leaning heavily against the mantel. He should not have confided in her. That much was certain. His concerns for Georgiana were his alone to bear, and sharing them with Elizabeth Bennet—no matter how innocently done—had been a mistake. She was nearly a stranger, barely more than an acquaintance, and yet, in that moment, she had felt like the only person who might understand. The thought made a rush of heat scald his face. Egad, he had told her so much!
He had been reckless. Foolish. To allow a woman like Elizabeth Bennet—sharp-tongued, unpredictable, wholly unsuitable—to occupy so much of his thoughts was unforgivable. He was a man of reason, of discipline, and yet he had spent the day entirely undone by her presence. Worse still, he knew this had been building for weeks. Ever since that first encounter in Meryton, she had lingered at the edges of his mind, challenging every expectation, every judgment.
His jaw clenched as he turned back toward the window. She was nothing like the women he had known, and that was precisely the problem. He had always valued order, predictability. Elizabeth was chaos—beautiful, compelling chaos—and she had no place in his carefully constructed life. To even entertain the thought of her was absurd. She had neither fortune nor connections, and her family—he grimaced at the memory of Mrs. Bennet’s cloying chatter—was an embarrassment.
And yet…
Darcy’s hands tightened into fists at his sides. He could not ignore the truth, no matter how much he wished to suppress it. Her wit, her courage, her refusal to defer to him—they both frustrated and fascinated him. But fascination was a dangerous thing. It clouded judgment, bred mistakes. He could not afford mistakes.
The moon hung high in the sky, its pale light spilling over the garden paths and illuminating the shadows of the trees. Darcy’s gaze lingered there, his thoughts as tumultuous as the clouds drifting across the horizon. He had resolved long ago that his life would be dictated by duty, by responsibility—not by passion. He would not deviate from that path, no matter the temptation.
And Elizabeth Bennet was temptation itself.
Straightening, Darcy drew a deep breath, forcing himself to still the chaos within. Tomorrow, he would be better. Tomorrow,he would redouble his efforts to maintain his distance. She would not unsettle him again. She could not.
And yet, as he extinguished the lamp and climbed into bed, the memory of her voice—soft and steady, cutting through his doubt like a lifeline—lingered in his mind, refusing to be banished.
Ten
Elizabeth perched on theedge of Jane’s bed, her arms crossed and her expression equal parts affectionate and exasperated. “Jane, you are the most stubborn patient I have ever met.”
Jane smiled faintly, her cheeks still pale but no longer fevered. “That is a fine thing to say, Lizzy, considering I am trying to follow your orders.”
“By insisting you are well enough to march to the drawing room tonight?” Elizabeth arched a brow. “I would hardly call that obedience.”
“I feel much improved. And it would be ungrateful to leave without expressing my appreciation for all their kindness.”
Elizabeth groaned, throwing herself back on the bed. “You are too good, Jane. No one will think ill of you for escaping back to Longbourn the moment you are able to stand upright. I would think it a triumph.”
Jane laughed softly. “You would. But I must show them I am better before we leave. It would feel ungracious otherwise.”
Elizabeth propped herself up on one elbow, eyeing her sister critically. “You could nearly have it in your power to determine the fortunes of every house in Meryton, you know.”
Jane blinked, confused. “What do you mean?”
“I mean,” Elizabeth said with a grin, “that half the town has wagered on how long it will take for you to recover.”
Jane’s eyes widened in alarm. “Surely not.”
“Surely yes.” Elizabeth sat up, counting on her fingers with mock solemnity. “The Lucases, the Philipses, even Mr. Long himself has joined in. Mama pretends to be scandalized, but not so scandalized as to prevent her from placing her own wager. Papa said as much in the note he sent with my trunk when it was brought.”
Jane pressed a hand to her cheek, her laugh faint but horrified. “Lizzy, that is dreadful!”
“It is,” Elizabeth agreed cheerfully. “And entirely within character for our neighbors. And so, if you mean to go home tomorrow, would you like to know who is favored to win? I suppose it would help if we named a time…”
“Certainly not! I would rather not think of myself as the subject of such... frivolity.”
Elizabeth cast a hand over her heart. “They wager because they care.”
Jane snorted, then crumbled into a reluctant laugh as she cupped a hand around her mouth. “And am I supposed to believe you have no stake in this yourself?”
“Me? No, no, I lost two days ago.”
Jane doubled over, holding her stomach. “Oh, Lizzy, do not make me laugh! I will start coughing again.”
Elizabeth sighed. “And yet, you insist on going downstairs tonight. I shall repeat myself—you are always too gracious for your own good. Truly, you are not required to sit with them tonight if you are not ready. No one will think you unkind.”
“I feel ready to try. If I can sit with them for an hour, then we will leave in the morning. That is my plan.”
