FIFTEEN
Netherfield.
Darcy
Marsh said nothing when Darcy informed him that he would be joining the household for dinner. He merely began the necessary preparations, which Darcy found considerably preferable to any expression of approval or surprise.
The drawing room was already assembled when Marsh wheeled him in. The conversation faltered almost immediately as every eye turned toward him in surprise.
“Darcy.” Bingley crossed the room with the unstudied warmth entirely particular to him. “This is unexpected. A very welcome unexpected.”
“I thought I would join you this evening,” said Darcy.
“We are very glad of it,” said Bingley. “I am glad to see you seem easier than you have been.”
“I am as I have always been,” said Darcy.
“If you say so, Darcy,” said Bingley agreeably. “I am simply glad to see you better.”
Caroline rolled her eyes slightly behind a smile.
“Mr. Darcy was taking the air this morning,” she observed lightly. “And now joining us for dinner.” She paused just long enough. “Something is certainly improving your spirits, Mr. Darcy.”
“Then consider my spirits improved,” said Darcy.
“Indeed, they are,” said Caroline smoothly.
Mrs. Hurst offered him a civil greeting from the sofa. Mr. Hurst raised his glass briefly from the far chair and appeared to consider the obligation sufficiently discharged.
Marsh settled Darcy at the table and withdrew quietly toward the doorway, remaining near enough to assist if required.
Darcy said little afterwards.
He became aware instead that one person was absent from the room.
Elizabeth Bennet had not yet come downstairs.
The observation ought not to have mattered. Yet he found himself listening for movement beyond the door with an attention he preferred not to examine too closely.
As though reading his thoughts entirely by accident, Mr. Hurst remarked from his chair, “Are the sisters still joining us for dinner? I confess I am already hungry.”
“The maid sent to call them said they would come,” replied Mrs. Hurst.
Bingley drew breath at once, clearly intending some eager reassurance, but stopped abruptly before speaking.
Darcy followed his gaze toward the open door.
The two Bennet sisters had entered the room.
His attention moved first, briefly and by obligation, to Jane Bennet.
She remained pale still, though considerably stronger than he had expected, carrying herself with the careful composure of a woman determined not to require assistance.
He observed all this in scarcely a moment before his attention settled, entirely of its own accord, upon the woman beside her.
Elizabeth’s hand rested lightly at her sister’s elbow, near enough to steady her if necessary.
She was not looking at the room, nor at any person within it, but entirely at Jane.
The quiet affection visible in her attentiveness softened her expression in a manner Darcy found dangerously easy to continue observing.
Darcy looked away almost immediately.
It proved entirely useless.
He remained aware of her nonetheless, in much the same involuntary manner he had ever since their conversations in the library the previous day and upon the grounds that morning.
Until now he had attributed the circumstance to novelty.
He continued attempting to attribute it to novelty still, without examining too closely the inconvenient reality that novelty generally diminished with repetition rather than strengthened by it.
“Miss Bennet,” said Bingley, rising at once with unconcealed pleasure. “I hope you are sufficiently recovered for the exertion. The cook can very easily have your dinner sent upstairs if you are not yet strong enough for company.”
“I am perfectly well,” said Jane with a gentle smile. “Well enough to survive dinner without being confined upstairs. Thank you, Mr. Bingley.”
Bingley laughed warmly and moved at once to assist Jane toward her chair despite the fact that she required very little assistance at all.
The remainder of the party offered their own expressions of pleasure at seeing Jane restored sufficiently to join them again, though with varying degrees of enthusiasm.
Darcy inclined his head toward Jane.
“I am very glad to see you improved, Miss Bennet.”
“Thank you, Mr. Darcy,” said Jane with a gentle smile.
His gaze shifted then, almost before he consciously intended it, toward Elizabeth.
“And I hope attending your sister so constantly has not exhausted you entirely, Miss Elizabeth.”
Elizabeth looked faintly surprised before amusement softened her expression.
“I assure you, sir, my constitution survived the trial remarkably well.”
“Oh, Miss Eliza came here willingly to nurse her sister,” said Caroline lightly. “I imagine devotion makes every hardship considerably easier to endure.”
Elizabeth smiled politely without appearing particularly interested in defending herself against the observation.
Dinner was announced a moment later.
Darcy spoke little.
He became aware after some time that Elizabeth likewise contributed very little to the conversation going on at the table.
Her attention remained chiefly upon Jane, though occasionally their eyes met briefly across the table before she looked away again with composure entirely too calm to steady him as much as it ought.
By the conclusion of dinner Jane’s colour had faded slightly again, though not enough to escape Bingley’s anxious notice.
“Perhaps cards would be quieter for Jane this evening,” suggested Caroline as they rose from table. “Unless you are too fatigued?”
“I should like cards very much,” said Jane gently.
Bingley looked relieved by the answer before anyone else had spoken.
As the party gradually returned toward the drawing room, Marsh wheeled Darcy out behind the others. After a brief moment’s consideration, Darcy said, “Miss Elizabeth, perhaps we ought finally to have that chess game, if you do not object.”
Elizabeth turned toward him in visible surprise.
Then, almost immediately, she glanced toward Jane.
Jane smiled faintly. “You need not remain guarding me every moment, Lizzy. I assure you I shall survive a single card game without supervision.”
Elizabeth laughed softly.
“In that case,” she said, looking back toward Darcy, “I do not object at all.”
Darcy said nothing further.
He did not miss, however, the brief tightening of Caroline Bingley’s expression before her smile returned once more.
* * *
Darcy watched whilst Elizabeth satisfied herself that Jane was comfortably settled at the card table beside Caroline before approaching the smaller table where the chessboard had been arranged.
Elizabeth had briefly excused herself earlier to fetch an additional shawl for her sister, whilst Darcy had instructed Marsh to bring the chessboard into the drawing room.
As she approached him now, Darcy observed the volume beneath her arm. It was the same book she had taken from the library the previous day.
She glanced briefly at the board, then toward him.
“Shall we?”
They settled themselves opposite one another. Elizabeth placed the book beside her within easy reach, as though she had not entirely determined whether she preferred reading or chess.
Darcy inclined his head slightly toward it.
“You have not yet finished the book, I see.”
“I had read it before, and I have already finished it once since taking it from the library,” said Elizabeth. “I merely find it easier to play chess when a book is nearby.”
“That is an unusual reason to carry one.”
“I possess several unusual reasons for most things I do.” She moved her pawn to open the game. “Have you read it?”
Darcy glanced at the spine.
Cowper.
The same collection he had first read at eighteen and returned to with some regularity ever since.
“Yes,” he said.
“And?”
“I find him honest,” said Darcy. “More honest than most poets trouble themselves to be.”
Elizabeth looked up with an attention which suggested the answer had not been the one she expected.
“How so?”
“Well, take for instance his writing on quiet living,” said Darcy. “Or the pleasures of ordinary life properly observed. Most poets labour to make such subjects grander than they are. Cowper never does.” He glanced briefly toward her. “He writes without concern for expectation or fashion.”
“That is precisely it,” she said. “He does not labour after grandeur. He merely observes what is before him and describes it faithfully.” She paused. “Most people consider such a quality considerably less interesting than lofty sentiment.”
“Most people prefer to be flattered by what they read,” said Darcy.
“Whereas you prefer truth?”
“I prefer,” said Darcy, “not to have my time wasted.”
Elizabeth studied him for a moment.
“That explains a great deal about you, I think.”
“Does it?”
“More than you perhaps intended.”
Darcy moved his knight without replying.
The room continued quietly around them. Mr. Hurst had long since retired to his chambers.
Bingley directed occasional cheerful remarks toward Jane across the card table whilst Mrs. Hurst commented intermittently upon the game.
Caroline, whose attention appeared increasingly divided between her cards and the chess game, soon declared cassino intolerably dull with only two players and suggested whist instead.
Bingley immediately offered himself and Mrs. Hurst as additional players should such a sacrifice prove necessary.
Several opening moves passed between Darcy and Elizabeth in easy quiet before Darcy spoke again.
“So. You read, and you play chess. What else occupies your interests, Miss Elizabeth?”
Elizabeth kept her attention upon the board as though considering her next move.
“I should hope my regard for the Lord is already established, since you appear determined to form your entire opinion of me from our previous conversations.”
Darcy smiled despite himself, and Elizabeth, observing it, smiled also.
“I would not say I was forming opinions,” said Darcy. “Merely observations.”
Elizabeth’s eyes lifted briefly.