FOURTEEN
Netherfield.
Elizabeth
Jane ate a little breakfast the following morning.
Not much. A small portion of broth, half a slice of toast, and five reluctant spoonfuls of porridge before declaring herself entirely satisfied and refusing another bite. Elizabeth accepted the victory nevertheless with gratitude considerably out of proportion to the quantity consumed.
Jane remained weak still, but her eyes had regained a clarity absent for the better part of two days.
After breakfast she slept once more, quietly and without distress, and Elizabeth sat beside the bed watching the steady rise and fall of her breathing with the peculiar relief belonging to a danger not entirely passed, but no longer immediate.
Breakfast for Elizabeth had likewise been sent upstairs, since Jane could not go downstairs. She ate near the window overlooking the grounds of Netherfield, still dark with light rain from the previous evening, whilst the house gradually stirred itself awake around her.
She could hear preparations for church beginning, carriage wheels upon gravel, servants crossing passages, doors opening and closing, the ordered bustle belonging particularly to Sunday mornings.
The Bennets attended the same parish as the Netherfield party, which rendered a note to Longbourn both possible and convenient. Elizabeth wrote accordingly.
The note itself was brief.
Dear Mama,
Jane is considerably improved this morning and has taken some breakfast. If she continues as she is now, I believe we may reasonably hope to bring her home tomorrow or Tuesday at the latest. I shall write again this evening should there be further change.
Your affectionate daughter, Lizzy Bennet.
Elizabeth folded the letter and sent it downstairs with a request that Miss Bingley convey it.
Not long afterward the household departed for church. Elizabeth listened absently to the carriages leaving one by one until the sound faded altogether and Netherfield settled into an almost startling quiet.
Jane slept on.
Elizabeth remained beside her for some time, spent an hour or two reading the book she had borrowed from the library the previous day, returned to the window, sat again, rose once more, and finally admitted to herself that two days confined indoors required some remedy.
She glanced once more toward the bed. Jane did not stir.
Elizabeth reached for her pelisse and left the room.
* * *
The grounds smelled of rain.
The morning air retained a pleasant sharpness which coloured Elizabeth’s cheeks almost immediately as she descended the south path beside the house.
Moisture still clung to the hedgerows and darkened the gravel beneath her feet, whilst the lawns beyond shone faintly silver where the clouds permitted occasional light through.
After two days almost entirely confined indoors, the walk felt wonderfully restorative.
She had wandered perhaps five minutes without particular direction before turning the corner near the eastern gardens and stopping altogether.
Mr. Darcy was outside.
His bath chair stood near the lower path not far from the gardens. Marsh remained some distance away beside the stone wall. At Elizabeth’s appearance he inclined his head politely.
“Miss Bennet.”
“Mr. Marsh.”
The brief exchange drew Darcy’s attention. He turned a moment later, surprise flickering briefly across his expression before composure reclaimed it once again.
“Miss Bennet,” he said.
“Mr. Darcy.” She paused a little way from him. “I beg your pardon. I did not realise anyone else had escaped church this morning.”
Something very near amusement touched his expression before disappearing again.
“Nor I,” he replied.
Elizabeth smiled faintly and made as though to continue along the path.
Darcy watched her a moment before saying, with an abruptness suggesting his next words had formed only after he spoke them, “If you do not object to slower company, Marsh and I may accompany you a little way.”
Elizabeth glanced toward him in mild surprise.
“I should be very glad of the company.”
Darcy inclined his head slightly, and a moment later Marsh, with the unobtrusive attentiveness of long practice, moved the chair gradually forward beside her.
“The whole household has abandoned Netherfield entirely,” she observed.
“So it would appear.”
“I thought I would come out and enjoy the fresh air for a little while.” Elizabeth said.
“So did I,” Darcy said. “Though I confess I prefer days such as this, when the house is nearly empty. I am not especially fond of an audience.”
Elizabeth only nodded. Every response she considered seemed either intrusive or unnecessary. Deciding instead to shift the conversation elsewhere, she said, “Did the knight survive?”
Darcy looked momentarily puzzled.
“The chess game,” she clarified. “You seemed rather unwilling yesterday to surrender the position.”
Understanding appeared almost imperceptibly in his expression.
“It survived tolerably well,” he said. “Though only after following your advice regarding the rook.”
“Then my interference was justified.”
“I do not believe I admitted so much.”
“You implied it.”
One corner of his mouth moved slightly.
“Perhaps.”
Elizabeth looked ahead again, smiling despite herself.
“You ought to have an actual opponent,” she said after a moment. “Playing alone must become tiresome eventually.”
“I manage tolerably well.”
“I am sure you do. Though victory against oneself cannot be especially satisfying.”
Darcy was quiet a moment before saying, “Perhaps you may have an opportunity to test the strategy properly before Miss Bennet leaves Netherfield.”
“I should like that very much,” said Elizabeth, her surprise not entirely concealed.
They continued slowly along the path in a silence which felt far more companionable than awkward.
Elizabeth’s attention drifted then toward the closed volume resting across his lap. Red leather binding, slightly worn along one edge. She was almost certain it was the same book she had noticed beside the chessboard in the library the previous morning.
“You brought reading with you this morning, I see.”
Darcy followed her gaze briefly to the red-bound volume upon his lap, and for the first time since Elizabeth joined him, a faint reserve returned immediately to his expression.
“A habit,” he said.
Elizabeth tilted her head slightly. “I believe I saw you with the same book yesterday in the library.”
For a moment Darcy said nothing. His hand rested almost protectively against the cover before the tension eased again, slight enough that another person might not have observed it.
“You observe a great deal, Miss Bennet.”
Something in his tone made Elizabeth realise suddenly that she had wandered, without intention, into more personal territory.
“I am afraid I do.”
“That seems a dangerous tendency.”
Elizabeth smiled faintly. “And occasionally a useful one.”
Something very near a chuckle escaped him then, brief enough that Elizabeth almost believed she had imagined it. Darcy appeared to realise it the same instant, for he returned his attention toward the grounds with suspicious composure.
Elizabeth walked beside him quietly for a moment longer before she spoke again.
“Forgive me for being forward,” she said, “but I find myself wondering why you did not go to church this morning. My reason is Jane. May I ask yours?”
Darcy said nothing immediately.
Elizabeth waited, prepared to withdraw the question entirely if his expression required it.
“I do not attend church,” said Darcy.
He said it without irritation. Simply as a fact, with the finality of a man who has said it before and expects it to end there.
Elizabeth waited still.
“I do not imagine the circumstances of my accident remain entirely unknown in Hertfordshire.”
Elizabeth glanced toward him briefly but offered no interruption.
“I found afterward,” he continued, “that I could not in good conscience offer devotion to a God who permitted what occurred. Not with any sincerity. And I have never managed insincerity with much success.”
He spoke plainly. His tone suggesting that the matter had long been settled within him, though not necessarily long accepted.
Elizabeth did not argue. She did not offer comfort he had not requested.
“I am sorry for what you suffered, sir,” she said after a moment. “My cousin mentioned something of it.”
“Word does travel, then.”
“My cousin, Mr. Collins, resides at Rosings as rector under Lady Catherine de Bourgh’s patronage. I understand she is your aunt.”
Darcy looked at her properly then.
“Mr. Collins of Hunsford?”
“Yes. He arrived in Meryton recently. He was very eager to discuss the connection once he discovered you were in the neighbourhood.”
Something almost weary entered Darcy’s expression.
“I do not know him personally.”
“He mentioned as much.”
“Georgiana met him once at Rosings.” He paused briefly. “She found him very...”
“Thorough?” Elizabeth suggested.
Darcy glanced toward her with something very near appreciation. “To put it lightly.”
Elizabeth laughed quietly. “He means very well.”
“I do not doubt it.”
They walked on for a moment in easy quiet.
“Your sister,” said Elizabeth. “Miss Darcy. Is she well?”
The change in Darcy was immediate and entirely unguarded. Something warmed in his expression that had not been there a moment before.
“She is well,” he said. “She is in London at present. She will come to Pemberley for Christmas.” He paused. “She worries about me considerably more than is necessary or welcome.”
“That sounds very like a sister,” said Elizabeth.
“It does,” said Darcy. And then, more quietly, “She is the best of us.”
Elizabeth inclined her head slightly in quiet agreement.
Her thoughts drifted instead to Wickham’s account. Proud, reserved, not inclined to easy acquaintance, were the words he had used to describe Miss Darcy. The warmth in Darcy’s expression when he spoke of his sister sat uneasily beside such a description.