Elizabeth was too exhausted to face anyone, so she returned to her rooms. To her delight, Jane was awake and eager to visit.
“Mr. Bingley is back!” Elizabeth informed her elder sister, who beamed with delight.
“Might I see him?” Jane asked.
“I believe he is quite tired from his travels,” Elizabeth said. “Perhaps this evening, you and I will take a tray in our rooms for dinner. Tomorrow, we can go downstairs for a time together, and you can visit with him.”
Jane—always eager to please and be pleased—readily agreed to this plan. The two sisters spent the remainder of the day in one another’s company. Elizabeth, ever the attentive sister, positioned herself near Jane’s bed, a small book of poetry in hand. She read aloud in soft, soothing tones, hoping to offer some distraction from Jane’s ailment. Every now and then, she would pause to adjust the blankets or offer Jane a sip of water.
Jane, for her part, listened with a gentle appreciation, her eyes reflecting gratitude and a touch of weariness. The simple act of being together, sharing this quiet evening, seemed to ease some of her discomfort, even if just for a moment. The room around them, filled with the subtle scent of lavender and the softrustling of pages, became a sanctuary from the concerns of the outside world.
As the evening wore on, their conversation turned to lighter topics, reminiscences of their childhood, and shared laughter over past follies. Even in her weakened state, Jane’s simplicity and goodness shone through, her spirit undimmed by her illness. Elizabeth fought to savor every moment; Jane’s pale face and blue lips were an ever-present reminder that it would be one of the last times it would be just the two of them.
The night deepened, and Elizabeth, sensing Jane’s growing fatigue, set aside the book. She leaned in for a gentle embrace, whispering words of encouragement and love. Jane, in response, offered a weak but genuine smile, the kind that Elizabeth cherished most.
“I’ll see Mr. Bingley tomorrow, Lizzy,” she said, a happy smile gracing her lips.
“You missed him, then?”
“Oh, yes! I wish I could see him every day. Wouldn’t that be wonderful?”
“Indeed it would,” Elizabeth replied softly.
With a final check to ensure her sister was comfortable, Elizabeth retired to her own room. Sleep was quick to overtake her, and she slipped into dreams of happily ever after with a handsome gentleman whose face she couldn’t see.
∞∞∞
The next morning, Elizabeth awoke with the sun and a restless urge to stretch her legs, pushing her out of bed and into the cold room. She dressed quickly and made her way downstairs, bypassing the breakfast room in favor of quietly escaping into the fresh air without disturbing anyone.
To her great surprise, she was no more than five minutes into her path towards Oakham Mount—the large hill between Netherfield and Longbourn—when she came across Darcy.
“Miss Elizabeth!” he exclaimed with surprise. “I had not expected to see you awake so early, what with the strains of the last few days.”
She curtsied. “I could say the same for yourself.”
He gave a belated bow. “I supposed all the time in town and on horseback left me somewhat in need of a brisk walk. Before breakfast seemed to be the most appropriate time, as I anticipate there will be much to do today.” At Elizabeth’s quizzical look, he added, “Now that Bingley has returned with the special license, I imagine he will be making preparations for the wedding.”
“Oh! I had not… that is, with Mr. Hurst being injured, I didn’t think…”
“Perhaps a conversation with Mrs. Hurst is in order,” Darcy suggested.
“I will do that, thank you.”
He extended his arm, and she reluctantly took it, resigning herself to his company for the foreseeable future. The pair fell into silence as they walked along the path, each lost in their own thoughts.
For her part, Elizabeth was trying to understand why, exactly, Darcy had returned to Netherfield with Bingley. The man’s words and actions varied so frequently, she had no more idea of his character than she had of a total stranger’s. At least with a stranger, she might have the luxury of starting from the beginning. With Darcy, she had witnessed and heard so many varying reports so as to trouble her exceedingly.
Making out Darcy’s character was beginning to wear on her nerves.
The thought, sounding so reminiscent of her mother, caused Elizabeth to let out a small giggle. Darcy looked at her askance. “Did I miss something amusing?”
“Oh, just a stray thought,” she said with a faint blush.
“Ah.”
They fell back into an awkward silence before Elizabeth finally said, “Come, Mr. Darcy, we must have some conversation!”
“Do you talk as a rule, then, while you are walking?”
