Chapter 12
Never before, as far as he could remember, had Darcy found it difficult to rise from his bed.
He pulled out his pocket watch; he had for slept less than two hours, so the annoying headache was no surprise, he mused, ringing for his valet.
He needed a good shave, and a hot bath would be ideal; however, with the extra guests in the house, such a request would be a presumptuous arrogance.
Pacing the room, his headache increased, and he wondered whether he had caught a cold, as Miss Elizabeth had anticipated.
If he had, he would be forced to admit his error and to bear her admonishment a hundred times, as had been their deal.
While he smiled to himself, recollecting their little conversation, he worried about her health and prayed she felt less ill than she had looked the previous day.
Was she well enough to join them for breakfast?
Probably not — but had she at least eaten something?
Her bravery and determination to help everyone else had exceeded her physical capabilities, and she had disregarded her own evident suffering.
Memories of a spirited and brave girl he had met in Brighton who had helped him in a dangerous circumstance faded when faced with the reality of a young woman who had battled through a storm and her own pain in order to save her sister and their loyal servant.
For almost three years, Darcy had been curious about and grateful to that girl and had longed to meet and thank her.
But once he had met her, spoken to her, and danced with her, his curiosity had developed into a peculiar interest that puzzled and disconcerted him.
He thought of her more than he had thought of any other woman before, and he struggled to understand the reason.
Yes, Miss Elizabeth Bennet deserved his gratitude for her help in Brighton.
Yes, she was charming in every possible way, even when her teasing became sharp.
Yes, she was brave and kind and selfless.
He had every reason to admire her as he did, and still, there was something in his thoughts, in his response to her that troubled him because he was completely unused to such sentiments.
He was confident that he knew his heart and his mind well enough.
However, in the last few days, he had doubted and questioned himself several times, all in regard to Miss Elizabeth Bennet.
He admitted he admired her, he admitted he was attracted to her, but it was by no means simply just a physical attraction or lust, not by far!
He was mortified to even consider such a possibility.
But then what drew him towards this young woman, who was almost a stranger to him, after only being in her company a few times?
The moment she had fainted, he had been more frightened than when he had been stabbed and was bleeding. He had eventually fallen asleep with the distressing image of her, weak and powerless, in his mind.
“Stevens, no news from Gilroy?” he asked his valet. “I expect him back from London this morning with Dr Gardiner.”
“No, sir. But I was asked to inform you that breakfast will be served shortly. And, sir, I beg your forgiveness for mentioning it, but I think you are a little feverish…”
“You think so, do you? Well, you might be right. I shall ask Mr Jones for that medicine.”
“I shall ask him immediately, sir.”
“No, let him be. He must be exhausted taking care of three ill people already. I am nothing but another nuisance. I shall not die from a trifling cold.”
“As you wish, sir,” the servant replied.
Darcy hesitated in regard to breakfast. He was in no disposition for company, even less for the conversation of Caroline Bingley.
But attending breakfast might be the easiest way to hear news about Elizabeth.
Perhaps she would join them. Unless her leg was too sore.
He remembered the nasty cut bleeding through her ripped stockings, and his poor attempt to tie his neckcloth around the wound.
He shook his head to remove the recollection and put his coat on, leaving the room. Perhaps the irritating attentions of Miss Bingley would clear his mind of other distressing thoughts.
The moment he entered the parlour where the family had gathered, he regretted his decision.
“Mr Darcy, what a pleasure to see you! And a relief! Come and sit. Breakfast will be ready soon. I am sure you must be starving.”
“Thank you, Miss Bingley. In truth, I am not very hungry.”
“Well, you should eat in any case. You look truly ill!”
“Nonsense, Caroline, he looks the same as he usually does,” Bingley interjected. “Perhaps a little red in the face. Are you feverish, Darcy?”
“I am not. Have you spoken to Mr Jones? How is Felton? Miss Bennet? Miss Elizabeth?”
“Mr Jones was just examining them. I invited him to join us for breakfast afterwards. But I also spoke to Martin. He said Felton fell into a deep sleep around dawn — probably the effect of all that herbal tea.”
“This is a very peculiar situation, Charles,” Miss Bingley said.
“How long will Netherfield be a hospital? I hope everyone will return home today. And was it really necessary to place the Bennets’ servant in a guest room?
Who knows what sort of illnesses these people carry?
I can never put a guest in that room ever again! ”
“Felton was placed in the guest room at my request,” Darcy interjected. “I shall replace the furniture once he is recovered, if that satisfies you, Miss Bingley.”
“Do not mind Caroline, Darcy. We all slept little and poorly, but she is the only one whose reasoning seems to have been addled by it.”
“Charles!”
“No ‘Charles’, Caroline! What kind of question is how long will Netherfield be a hospital? For as long as necessary — until everyone who has been injured completely recovers! I hope Dr Gardiner, Mrs Bennet’s brother, will arrive today.
He will stay here too, of course, and will decide if and when everyone can return home safely. ”
“But Charles—”
“Anyone who is displeased with the arrangement is free to leave, Caroline!”
“Upon my word, these Bennets seem to be causing the most astonishing things to happen. First Mr Darcy danced at that country assembly with one of the them, and now you are willing to throw your own sisters out to accommodate one of their relatives. How gentlemanly, indeed,” Mrs Hurst huffed.
“You are wrong, Louisa. I am not doing it because they are Bennets but because they were injured in close proximity to my house. I dare say that can very much be described as gentlemanly behaviour.”
“May I ask what you would have done, Miss Bingley?” Darcy enquired, fixing the lady with a sharp stare. “If we had not returned when we did, what would you have done with Miss Bennet and the injured servant? Left them to lie there, in the rain, risking their lives?”
She turned pale instantly.
“I am not sure what you are implying, Mr Darcy.”
“I am not implying anything. It was a simple question. I have to say I was stunned by your calmness while Miss Elizabeth was in such a state of panic and turmoil.”
“I sent a servant to gather some men and help them,” Miss Bingley replied. “You are unfairly reprimanding me and assuming the worst, which is most offensive!”
“I apologise for any offence given,” Darcy said. “Now, please excuse me, I have some letters to finish before breakfast.” With that, he left the room — a rude gesture, justified only by his vexation.
He went to the library, but he could not concentrate his mind on completing any task. His valet entered, bringing him a cup of Mr Jones’s herbal tea, which he gulped without opposition or delay.
His headache had increased, as well as his concern about Miss Elizabeth. The conversation with Miss Bingley had failed in its purpose entirely.
Gazing through the window absently, he spotted a carriage and almost ran to the front door. In the entrance hall, he met Bingley, who looked confused.
“Darcy?”
“Dr Gardiner is here. I recognised his carriage,” Darcy said as the butler opened the door to welcome the long-awaited guest.
∞∞∞
“Miss Elizabeth? How are you feeling?”
Elizabeth startled and needed a moment to look around and realise where she was.
“I am well, Mr Jones. A little bit sore, but well.”
“Are you in any pain?”
“A little, but nothing too grave. How is Jane? And Felton?”
“Miss Bennet’s fever has dropped. She has some bruising and some pain when breathing. She has slept a little. I gave her some more medicine just now. The servant is in a great deal of pain…I hope his leg will eventually heal.”
“You look very tired, sir. I shall rise and take care of them, and you must rest for a few hours.”
“Do not mind me, Miss Elizabeth. I am glad to see you in good spirits. But you have not eaten. You must feed yourself. Have you at least slept?”
“I have. Quite well, considering the circumstances. I shall be ready for the day soon. Just let me know how I may help you.”
“First, let me see your leg — you have a nasty injury, too, and it requires proper care. Yes, the cut is deep. I shall change the bandage and apply more ointment to it.”
Elizabeth bit back several grimaces as the apothecary worked, fighting to keep her expression neutral.
Out of nowhere, she recollected again Mr Darcy bandaging her wound; at the time, she had felt no pain, only the touch of his fingers on her skin.
Dear Lord, what was happening to her to think of such things in those trying circumstances?
Had she hit her head in the accident too?
“Sir, may I ask…I remember fainting in your room. How did I get into my bed?”
“Mr Darcy carried you. You gave us a fright, Miss Elizabeth.”