The carriage went on its way, leaving his passenger behind.
Fifteen
A DRIVING FORCE
The instant he laid his eyes upon her, Darcy was conscious of a number of feelings, but the greatest one was also the most unexpected: relief. Until that moment he had not realised how much it weighed upon him, knowing how little she was protected, how few were her resources. Obviously, from her worried expression, she had heard about her sister’s illness; he knew he had done right in making this visit. But there were other feelings as well, inspired by seeing her, once again, with her hair down and flowing over her shoulders, and he could not ignore those, either; the urge to take her in his arms, to comfort her…and to do other things as well. Things he must never, ever do.
“Mr Darcy!” she cried. “Is it Jane? Is she worse?”
Too late, he realised she had assigned him a motive he had never meant—to be the bearer of bad news. But she allowed him inside, out of the wind, to give it, shutting the door behind him. Edward did not appear to notice his arrival; he did noteven look up from the line of bricks he was forming along the hearth.
“No, no. She is not worse. Mr Jones has been again to look in upon her and I wanted to wait to hear his opinion, else I would have come earlier. Her fever, while still present, has not intensified. She was able to keep down broth and barley water. At the time I left, Mrs Hurst informed me she was resting quietly. Jones feels strongly we will see an improvement within a day or two.”
Elizabeth slumped—there was no other word for it—against the wall at her back, closing her eyes, and taking a deep breath before opening them again. They were full of tears when she did.
“Thank you,” she whispered. One of those tears trickled down her cheek, and he could not resist reaching out, stopping it in its tracks with one gloved finger.
“Do not cry,” he murmured.
She looked up at him, those lovely eyes wet, shining, her pretty lips curving upwards now, and the urge to kiss her was nearly overpowering. He leant in closer.
Without warning, another chamber’s door opened, startling him into abruptly moving away; a lady, bent with age, soft grey curls nearly hidden in a cap, peered at them through her spectacles with some obvious surprise. “Excuse me,” she muttered, and reversing her direction, moved back into her room, shutting the door behind her.
He glanced at Elizabeth; her cheeks were faintly pink. “My, um, companion,” she said. “Mrs Finch.”
Not much of a companion, he gathered—one who retreated rather than providing any actual chaperonage. And while a selfish part of him appreciated that about the elderly woman, his better self gained a new worry.
To cover the awkwardness, he moved to the hearthside where the child played. “Edward,” he said, “what are you building?”
Edward glanced at him briefly, but that was his sole acknowledgement. “Duck-a-tuck-a-tuck-a,” he said—plainly speaking to his bricks or to himself, not addressing Darcy.
She walked over to join him, sitting upon an ancient settee. “Please, sit, Mr Darcy. Neddy, can you greet Mr Darcy?” Neddy ignored her.
“He inhabits his own little world,” Darcy murmured, echoing the statement she had made to him once.
She looked at him. “Yes. He does not mean to ignore you. He does not mean to be rude.”
He had known that, but he could see that she worried about it. “Is that what Mr Philips believes? That he is…impolite?”
“Yes. And my aunt. They invented a time limit, whereby Neddy was supposed to understand them. By the age of three, they insist, a child should be speaking and following rules and becoming a tiny gentleman.”
“They have no children of their own?”
“No. Do you truly believe Jane is recovering?”
Mr Jones had been worried, he knew; he had no intention of communicating that worry to her, but neither would he lie. “The fact that she has not worsened is a good sign.”
“How I wish I could go to her!”
He was glad she could not expose herself to whatever ailment Miss Bennet had contracted, but knew better than to say it. Nothing wiser occurred to him though, except to seat himself beside her on that flimsy settee and draw her close. He could not allow himself to sit; nor could he make himself do as he ought, and depart quickly.
The wind whistled through the door, reminding him of the weather beyond it. She had said she walked every day, or nearly so, with the child. Would she go out in it?
Another idea occurred to him, probably a better one than kissing her senseless. “Do you think Edward would enjoy a ride in my carriage? And you as well, of course. I instructed my coachman to circle the property—he will come by again in a few minutes.”
Her eyes widened in surprise. “He would love that above all things. He seldom sees the inside of a carriage.”
“A carriage ride it is. Bundle up—it is not warm out.”
