She would not think of him now, of how his gaze had searched her face with evident concern, as though wishing to assure himself she was well. No, for now, Jane required her attention.
Elizabeth settled once more beside the bed, drawing the coverlet more closely about Jane’s shoulders. The warmth of the room had deepened since the fire was stirred, but Jane’s hands remained cooler than they ought.
“You are more feverish,” Elizabeth said, touching her wrist.
Jane stirred slightly. “It will pass.”
“It must,” Elizabeth replied, though her tone held more resolve than certainty.
Jane’s eyes opened briefly. “You should not remain constantly above stairs. They will expect you below.”
“I have no desire for their expectations.”
Jane’s lips curved. “You cannot escape them forever.”
Elizabeth allowed a small sigh to leave her. “I have managed tolerably well thus far.”
The word lingered between them, unspoken in its meaning.
Jane regarded her. “Did Mr. Darcy wish to speak with you again?”
“You noticed at Lucas Lodge?” She had thought Jane far too preoccupied with Mr. Bingley.
“I did. And I noted how you avoided him.”
She made no effort to deny it.
Jane’s gaze remained steady. “Will you continue to do so?”
Elizabeth hesitated. “I do not know.”
Jane’s eyes closed again, though her expression relaxed. “He appeared sincere. Perhaps he wishes to make amends for his poorly chosen words.”
Elizabeth peered down at her sister’s hand. “Perhaps. Sincerity, after such a beginning, is not easily credited.”
“No,” Jane said. “But it may be proven.”
Elizabeth did not answer.
The fire shifted, casting a steadier light across the room. Outside, the rain continued, its rhythm constant against thewindows. The evening had settled in fully now, and with it a sense of enclosure that left little room for escape.
Below, voices rose and fell—faint, indistinct, though present enough to remind her of what she had left behind.
Elizabeth drew her chair closer to the bed.
“Rest,” she said.
Jane obeyed.
Left to her own thoughts, Elizabeth found they did not wander far. They returned, as they had throughout the day, to the same point—an unfinished conversation, an apology not given, and the uneasy awareness that she had, in some manner, prevented it.
She could not decide whether she was justified in doing so.
That, more than anything, troubled her.
Rain and Hospitality
The consequences of the previous evening made themselves known with a degree of certainty that left little room for doubt or hope.
