“If you offer such assistance again, you would do well to consider every possible outcome.”
Thomas nodded. “We shall.”
“We are still learning,” Toby added.
Darcy regarded them steadily.
They ran off soon thereafter.
Darcy remained where he was, his thoughts settling into a clarity that had eluded him for days. The situation, though altered by thoroughly unexpected means, had resolved into something undeniable.
Miss Elizabeth was here.
She would remain.
Time and opportunity had been placed before him.
And this time, he would make full use of both.
The sitting room at Netherfield had assumed that peculiar arrangement which often followed dinner, when the party was too small to divide with success and too little acquainted to be perfectly at ease.
Miss Bennet remained upstairs, her fever still too pronounced to admit company. Miss Elizabeth had spent the greater part of the day at her sister’s side, descending only after Bingley repeatedly assured her that Jane was sleeping and would be carefully attended by the maid.
She entered the room with more composure than color, and Darcy perceived the fatigue beneath that composure. A few curls near her temple had loosened, almost certainly from long hours spent in the sickroom, and the gown she wore was unfamiliar. Miss Bingley had supplied it, and though it suited Elizabeth less well than her own clothing would have done, she wore it with complete unconcern.
That alone recommended her.
Miss Bingley, who possessed the unfortunate talent of making generosity feel like condescension, had already remarked twice upon the inconvenience of unexpected guests and once upon the difficulty of fitting another lady from one’s own wardrobe. MissElizabeth had answered each observation with civility and no gratitude beyond what was deserved.
Darcy admired her restraint.
Bingley, with genuine concern, rose when she entered. “Miss Elizabeth, I hope Miss Bennet is easier.”
“She sleeps,” Elizabeth replied. “Mr. Jones’s draught has done some good, I think, though I shall not claim too much too soon.”
“You must tell me if anything is wanted.” Bingley was in earnest; his expression was one that bespoke the desire to be useful.
“I shall. You have already been most kind.” Miss Elizabeth’s smile was warm and genuine.
Miss Bingley’s fan opened with a flick. “Charles is always kind. Sometimes to the point of imprudence.”
Bingley chuckled. “Then I hope never to be cured of it.”
Elizabeth smiled at him again, and Darcy found himself unreasonably aware that the expression was not directed at him.
She took a chair near the worktable, not close enough to invite conversation, but not so far as to appear rude. Darcy had intended to speak to her before the evening ended, but the arrangement of the room opposed him. Miss Bingley had chosen a place that allowed her to observe every exchange, Mrs. Hurst reclined with languid interest, and Bingley, though well-meaning, seemed incapable of leaving any silence unfilled.
Darcy remained by the mantel, waiting.
Miss Bingley set down her fan. “Miss Elizabeth, you must find the country fatiguing after London. Though I suppose one may become accustomed to anything.”
Elizabeth looked up from the edge of the handkerchief she had taken up, more to occupy her fingers than from any real commitment to needlework. “I found London confining. I was but a child when we lived there.”
“Confining?” Mrs. Hurst repeated.
“Yes. There are too many walls and too few paths.”
Bingley smiled. “That is well said.”
