Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
“Miss Bennet, are you certain you are well enough to return home?” Mr Bingley sat next to Jane at the breakfast table, concern written upon his countenance as he leaned forwards, elbows on the table, completely forgetting the toast cooling on his plate.
“Really, Charles, she has assured you of the fact multiple times.” Miss Bingley rolled her eyes and sighed dramatically, tapping her spoon against the edge of her untouched cup with a sharp clink. “It is obvious Miss Bennet wishes to be gone. Why do you persist?”
Jane, though pale and drawn from her restless night, flushed at Miss Bingley’s implications, delicately folding her napkin in her lap.
“On the contrary, Miss Bingley, I would like nothing more than to spend a pleasurable day in your brother’s company.
However, I know from experience that these megrims require rest and quiet.
I always do so better in my own bed. Our overnight stay was unexpected, and we are very grateful for your hospitality.
We will not impose upon you any longer.”
“If you are certain…” Mr Bingley moved his hand to cover Jane’s briefly before he realised himself and withdrew with a sheepish glance at his sister.
“Wonderful!” Miss Bingley clapped her hands, the lace at her wrist fluttering like pale wings. “I shall order the carriage made ready after breakfast.”
Elizabeth watched it all with amusement as she stirred a spoonful of sugar into her tea, inhaling the comforting scent of warm bread and the faint aroma of the orange marmalade Mrs Nicholls had set out.
Mr Bingley’s face darkened into a scowl as he glanced at his sister, who had resumed stirring her tea with unnecessary vigor, her lips pressed thin with disapproval.
He shook his head and offered to refresh Jane’s teacup, gently replacing the cup on its saucer and pouring with a care that spoke of his admiration.
The two then bent their heads together, conversing in low tones through the rest of the meal, Jane smiling shyly as Bingley whispered something that made her blush.
“Mr Darcy, I mean to take a turn in the garden after breakfast.” Miss Bingley turned a cloying smile on the gentleman, her fingers toying with the pearl buttons on her morning gown. “Would you care to join me?”
“I thank you, no,” he replied, buttering a piece of toast with deliberate precision. “I have a few matters of business to which I must attend. My cousin is to join us here soon—
“Oh yes, dear Mr Fitzwilliam! It has been an age since we last met. Tell me, how does he do at his estate?” Miss Bingley leaned forwards eagerly, her tea forgotten, her eyes glittering as she sought to capture Darcy’s attention.
“My cousin is very industrious.” Mr Darcy’s vague reply had Elizabeth smiling into her teacup, only to nearly choke when he turned his calm gaze upon her.
“Miss Elizabeth, I have yet to properly explore Meryton. What are your favourite shops?”
She blinked, teacup halfway to her lips, and opened her mouth, but Miss Bingley cut in with a sharp, dismissive laugh. “Surely, you are not interested in what little this village has to offer?” She scoffed, her fingers drumming on the polished table.
Elizabeth saw Mr Darcy's jaw tighten, though he hid his pique well. He waited a moment before replying.
“One often finds unique and memorable items in market towns and small villages.” Mr Darcy took a measured sip of tea, setting down the cup with quiet finality. “Local artisans and creators do not peddle their wares anywhere else. I mean to find gifts for my family. Christmas is approaching.”
Miss Bingley looked as though she had sucked on a lemon, her nostrils flaring. “How quaint,” was all the reply she could manage, turning her face away to hide her irritation.
“Miss Elizabeth?” Mr Darcy’s prompt came gently, his dark eyes fixed on her with polite expectation.
“Oh! Yes, well,” Elizabeth set down her cup, pressing her palms briefly to her skirts to still her nerves.
“There is the bookseller. It is my favourite shop. He has a section for lending—there are even sheets of music available. There is a local artisan shop, too, where villagers sell their wares. I often find unique treasures there. There is a widow near Meryton who makes her own perfumes and scented waters. Her scents are the best I have ever used.”
“Then you have not frequented London shops,” Miss Bingley interjected sharply, her tone heavy with derision as she examined her reflection in the silver teapot, adjusting a stray curl.
Mr Darcy ignored the snipe, his lips curving in a faint, genuine smile. “I shall be sure to visit when next I ride into Meryton.”
Elizabeth felt warmth bloom in her cheeks, quickly ducking her head as she busied herself with a piece of buttered toast, her appetite suddenly returning. She was aware of Darcy’s gaze lingering upon her, steady and unreadable, as Miss Bingley huffed softly into her teacup.
Outside, the morning sun had begun to pierce the clouds, glinting off the silverware and catching in the steam rising from the tea, whilst inside, the room brimmed with quiet tension and small, telling moments that left Elizabeth wondering, not for the first time, just what Mr Darcy saw when he looked at her.
The ride back to Longbourn reignited Jane’s headache.
By the time she was tucked into bed, she whimpered quietly in pain.
Elizabeth placed a cool cloth on her forehead and stroked her sister’s hair back, her eyes soft with concern.
“Try to rest, dearest,” she soothed, adjusting the curtains to keep the morning light from falling across Jane’s eyes.
Mrs Hill soon arrived with a cup of steaming chamomile tea, the gentle floral scent wafting into the air. Jane accepted it with trembling hands, taking small sips.
“Enough fussing, Lizzy,” Jane murmured with a weak smile. “I shall drink the tea and go to sleep. There is no need for you to remain by my side.”
Reluctantly, Elizabeth pressed a kiss to her sister’s forehead before quietly leaving the room, closing the door behind her.
She paused in the hallway, pressing her hand to her chest, the worry for Jane making her heart ache.
With a sigh, she turned and went directly to the nursery to look in on Tommy.
Inside, the soft glow of the afternoon sun streamed through the tall windows, lighting up the warm, cosy room.
Tommy sat at a small table with Miss Lane, a stack of papers before them.
The governess pointed to a word, named it, and then asked the boy to repeat it, her voice patient and kind.
A stack of books sat beside her, waiting for Tommy to read them aloud.
At the sound of the door, Tommy’s head snapped up, his eyes lighting, and his face split into a wide grin. “Lizzy!” he cried, springing to his feet and racing across the room. He threw his small arms around her legs, burying his face in her skirts.
Elizabeth laughed softly, hugging him back.
“I missed you, too, my darling.” She smoothed his hair back and knelt to look him in the eye.
“Jane was ill and had to stay at Netherfield,” she reminded him gently.
“I am here now, though, and we can play. That is, if Miss Lane is finished with your lesson.”
Tommy turned pleading eyes to the governess, who chuckled and nodded, dismissing him with a kind pat on the shoulder. Letting out a whoop of joy, Tommy ran to the shelf containing his toys and began pulling out the basket of wooden blocks, his excitement making his small hands clumsy.
“I want to build a castle!” he exclaimed, his cheeks flushed pink. “Papa read me a book about a castle.”
“Oh? What book was that?” Elizabeth settled onto the floor, smoothing her skirts so they would not wrinkle, and folding her legs beneath her comfortably.
Tommy screwed up his face, sticking out his tongue a little as he tried to remember. “A Tour through… I forget.”
“A Tour through the Island of Great Britain,” Elizabeth supplied, raising her brows. “By Daniel Defoe. Goodness, you are young for such heavy reading.” She ruffled his curls, making him giggle.
Tommy’s face lit up. “He also read one with pictures!”
Elizabeth’s eyes twinkled with fondness. “Was it by chance, The Antiquities of England and Wales?” She could almost see the weighty volume from her father’s library in her mind, its engraved illustrations of towers and ruins that had fascinated her as a child.
Tommy’s grin grew impossibly wider, and he nodded enthusiastically. “I want to build a castle like the ones in the books!”
Elizabeth helped him arrange the blocks, asking him questions about the walls and turrets as they worked. Together, they built sturdy towers with arched gateways, adding small toy horses to the courtyard.
A few minutes later, Lydia and Kitty swept in with youthful energy, bringing small treasures to add to the castle.
Kitty contributed a carved wooden cup, placing it solemnly in the courtyard and announcing, “It is the village well, of course.” Lydia, with a dramatic flourish, draped a blue shawl around the base and added a tiny wooden boat, declaring, “Behold the moat!” as she danced back to admire her work.
Tommy clapped with delight, his eyes sparkling as the “castle” came alive with the additions. “It is perfect!” he declared, moving the horses and wooden soldiers around the courtyard as he created stories of knights and dragons with the castle they had built.
Elizabeth felt a warmth fill her chest, a soft ache of love for her family and the simple joys they could still find even in times of uncertainty.
After a time, Elizabeth rose, brushing off her skirts and pressing a kiss to Tommy’s forehead. “I must go now, darling, but we shall play again later.”
Tommy beamed up at her, hugging her around the waist once more before returning to his castle with all the serious concentration of a young general planning his defences.