“I have already written a letter to inquire about procuring more. I would not wish to continue taking from your household’s supply.”
She waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, that is entirely unnecessary. We have more than enough stored, and Mrs. Hill has been tending to the plants for some time now. It is no trouble in the least.”
Darcy’s lips pressed together, though not, she suspected, to suppress a cough this time. “I dislike relying on anyone.”
She arched a brow. “That can lead to a very lonely life, Mr. Darcy.”
He said nothing for a long moment. His eyes searched hers with such intensity that she almost stepped back—almost. But she stood her ground, heart pattering unexpectedly as his gaze dropped, just briefly, to her mouth. When he looked back up, something unreadable flickered in his expression—a hesitation, a longing, swiftly masked.
Then he gave the barest nod. “So I have come to understand.”
Elizabeth swallowed and glanced away, the strange tension between them tightening like a drawn bowstring. She refused to consider what that look meant, or why the room suddenly felt smaller than it had a moment before.
“I must see Jane,” she said at last, adjusting her shawl with a briskness that belied the tremor in her fingers.
Elizabeth did not linger on his reaction, nor did she allow herself to dwell on the strange shift in the air between them. “I must see Jane,” she said, adjusting her shawl.
“Please, allow me to escort you inside.”
Elizabeth nodded her thanks and took his arm, the contact causing her stomach to fill with butterflies. The warmth of the house was welcome after her muddy journey, though the moment she stepped foot inside the dining, she felt the weight of judgment settle upon her.
Miss Bingley was seated with her sister at the table, and she took in Elizabeth’s mud-streaked gown with barely concealed horror. “Miss Elizabeth, my goodness! We were… not expecting you. Did you…walkhere?”
“Yes, I wished to check on Jane as soon as I could. Tell me, has Mr. Jones arrived yet?”
Miss Bingley’s smile was thin. “Not yet, but I did not wish to disturb him if your sister were to have recovered over the night.”
Elizabeth frowned. “I beg your pardon?”
Mrs. Hurst gave a delicate shrug. “Well, my dear, you know how some ladies can be.” She exchanged a glance with her sister before turning her gaze back to Elizabeth, feigning sympathy. “Do you recall Miss Penrose, Caroline? She fell down the steps last spring and made such a fuss about her ankle, only for the doctor to arrive and declare there was nothing amiss at all?”
“Oh yes,” Miss Bingley said with a laugh. “She stayed abed for nearly a week, moaning about her suffering, only to be perfectly fine the moment an invitation to Lady Latham’s ball arrived.”
Elizabeth stiffened. The insinuation was clear. “I assure you, Jane is not feigning an injury,” she said coolly. “If you doubt it, I invite you to come upstairs and see for yourself.”
Miss Bingley hesitated, clearly weighing the prospect of entering a sickroom—however minor the ailment—against the opportunity to prove herself correct. At last, she tilted her chinand smoothed the front of her gown. “Very well. Let us see the patient.”
Elizabeth led the way up the stairs, her steps brisk with determination. When they reached Jane’s room, she pushed the door open to reveal her sister lying in bed, her face pale and her ankle propped on pillows. The moment Miss Bingley stepped inside, her eyes landed on the swollen, bruised skin peeking out from beneath Jane’s dressing gown.
The color drained from Miss Bingley’s face. “Oh,” she breathed, reaching out to grip the bedpost as she wobbled slightly.
“Might we call for Mr. Jones now, Miss Bingley?” Elizabeth crossed her arms.
“I… yes… allow me to send someone for him.”
Stupid woman, Elizabeth thought with disgust.As if Jane would ever behave in such an unladylike manner.
∞∞∞
Mr. Jones arrived in due course and declared Jane’s ankle to be badly sprained, though not broken. To Jane’s mortification and Miss Bingley’s horror, the apothecary insisted she not attempt to return to Longbourn for a week complete. “The jostling of the carriage could cause permanent damage,” he explained. “If the pain is not too much, she might be carried downstairs for meals or to enjoy the outdoors, but no more than that.”
“Absolutely,” Mr. Bingley agreed at once upon hearing the news, attempting to hide his pleasure at these words. “I will personally ensure that she is moved only with the greatest of care.”
It was with great reluctance that Miss Bingley also offered for Elizabeth to remain at Netherfield in order to help tend to her sister. Elizabeth gratefully accepted the invitation.Poor Miss Bingley looks torn between wishing my departure so as not to spar with her, or wishing my presence so her brother’s attentions will be lessened.
Elizabeth spent the remainder of the day at her sister’s side, ensuring that her ankle remained elevated getting them both settled into their rooms once their belongings arrived from Longbourn. She was annoyed to discover that their mother had sent dresses more fitting for an assembly rather than day gowns or dinner gowns.
By the time the dinner bell rang, Jane was in a significant amount of discomfort and did not feel equal to the task of dining downstairs. A tray was ordered, and Jane encouraged Elizabeth to join the others. “I already feel like I am being discourteous, Lizzy. I do not wish them to think that I am ungrateful for their kindness. It would be worse if you took a tray as well.”
