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An angel! Pah! Now I sounded like Bingley. Simply because I had enjoyed her company each time I saw her did not mean there was anything more to it. She was friendly when I met her out riding because she was a kind lady. Nothing more. She ignored Miss Bingley’s barbs when she said something awful because Elizabeth was well bred, unlike Bingley’s sister.
That was all. She knew as well as I did that we could only ever have a brief flirtation. I was safe.
I would marry an heiress or a titled lady or both. My mother had been Lady Anne Fitzwilliam. My uncle was the earl of Matlock! The Darcys were the oldest family in Derbyshire and the richest by several degrees. My lineage was impeccable. I could not marry an unknown girl from the country, no matter how bright her smile or how fine her seat.
I should go back to thinking about Bingley. Thinking of Miss Elizabeth gave me a headache. Well,shedid not, but talking myself out of thinking about her did. I would focus on Bingley and his constant need to have an object for his affection. Did he pursue such connections because he was bursting with love and it needed an object? His family were certainly not the affectionate sort.
Perhaps I would speak to him, make sure he was not chasing after Miss Bennet for the wrong reasons. But would I steer him the wrong direction? Better to leave it alone entirely. I was tired and thinking in circles. Bingley’s love life was none of my affair.
I scoffed at myself as I thought how only a few months ago, I felt quite differently about that. But a few months ago, I was confident in my decisions as a landlord, a brother, and a gentleman. After Georgiana’s disastrous trip to Ramsgate this last summer, I did not trust my own judgment. I was the one who hired Mrs. Younge. I gave her access to my young, impressionable sister. I paid her wages and trusted her, agreed to her request to go to the seaside, and sent them off with my blessing.
What a fool I had been! Even with perfect references, I should never have trusted a woman so completely when I had known her so short a time. Mrs. Younge had been with us less than six months when I sent her to Ramsgate with the most important person in my world. I entrusted her with my baby sister, my innocent, sweet Georgiana, who may never be the same after the perfidy she had witnessed.
I could never forgive myself for my stupidity in allowing such a travesty to occur. Was it any wonder my confidence was shaken? That I did not wish to make any more mistakes? That the idea of advising my friend on such a big decision left me feeling utterly inept and ill-equipped?
Despite his sometimes childish behavior, Bingley was his own man. And while his sister was a harridan of the first order, he had not sent her off with an unsuitable companion, had he?
Bingley did not need me to tell him what to do or who to marry. If he asked, I would counsel him to go slowly and get to know the lady thoroughly before committing himself. It was the only advice I could give my closest friend in good conscience. Otherwise, it was none of my affair.
Bingley could worry about his own love interests. I had nothing of value to add.
11
Elizabeth
MymotherandIhad spent the last few days nursing tenants. A sickness was making its way through the families, and we spent all of Saturday and Sunday visiting and healing. Some had been surprised to see us on the sabbath, but we could not let them suffer when we knew I could heal them.
My mother would talk to the parents and distract them while I ministered to the children. We brought preserves and fresh bread from Longbourn’s kitchen, and we tried to make it look like a normal visit to an ill family. We carried with us an entire crate of Hill’s special tonic—elderberry syrup and a little wine. It helped, but it was nothing compared to what I could do. Each family was given a bottle and I personally dispensed it to the children. Thankfully, most thought it was the tonic working and nothing more suspicious.
It was mostly children who were ill, but there were a few elderly as well. I would sit and hold the grandparents’ hands, talking to them of silly nothings. Their bodies always took the longest to heal and depleted me of my energy more quickly. Sunday night, I stayed with Mrs. Stokes for two hours before I was satisfied she would be well. My mother drove me home to Longbourn and I collapsed in my bed, sleeping until ten the next morning when we got up to do it all again.
Monday evening, a sudden storm burst open over Hertfordshire. Mother and I were driving home in her gig and were drenched through by the time we stumbled into Longbourn’s back door.
“Oh, mistress! Miss Lizzy!”
The maids fussed over us and removed our wet things, and soon Hill had packed us off to bed with a dose of her tonic and a warm brick. I followed my mother into her room and she looked at me strangely.
“What are you doing, Lizzy?”
“I shall sleep with you. We will be warmer, and you will be well.”
Her gaze softened and she stroked my cheek. “You are a very good girl, Elizabeth. Always so thoughtful of others. But I am perfectly well. You need to rest.”
“You are wellnow. You have spent the day surrounded by ill people and then were soaked through while out in the cold. You could wake up ill tomorrow.”
She sighed, but she knew I was right. “Very well. But I insist you eat something. I will not have you exhausting yourself because of me.”
“Hill is sending up a tray.”
I smiled at my mother who looked at me with soft eyes. I knew she was grateful for my gift—it had given her sons and kept her entire family alive through a variety of accidents and illnesses. But in these moments, I felt she was grateful forme. The essence of who I was as a person.
“Come my dear. Let’s get you warm.”
She bundled me into her bed and tucked the blankets around me like I was a child of ten and not a young woman of twenty. When the tray of food arrived, she settled it over my knees and made sure I had everything I needed before changing into her nightrail. I had become so accustomed to tending to others, I had forgotten I needed tending myself sometimes. It was surprisingly soothing.
After the tray had been taken away and my mother had drunk her nightly cup of tea—she said it helped her sleep—we snuggled under the counterpane. I made sure I was pressed against her enough to ward off any illness that would try to take root. She wrapped her arm about me and pulled me close, pressing a kiss to my hair.
“Good night, my sweet Lizzy.”
