Chapter 8
Darcy tightened his grip on the reins of the sluggish mare under him and relaxed his left leg. His ankle was throbbing with pain and he was eager to attain the safety of Netherfield Park.
To his right, Miss Elizabeth Bennet was riding her filly with skilled ease. Darcy suppressed a grim chuckle. Of all the people to rescue him from his ridiculous accident, naturally it had to be Miss Elizabeth of Longbourn.
“How is your leg, Mr. Darcy?” she asked suddenly, turning her lovely countenance toward him.
No, not lovely, surely! Yes, she was moderately attractive, but not lovely! Her eyes were quite incredible but her nose was slightly aquiline and ...
“It pains me considerably,” Darcy admitted, breaking loose from his thoughts, “but I will be well enough. I must thank you for your assistance. I am surprised that you were out so early in the day, but very grateful.”
“I am glad that I happened upon you as well, sir. I am not generally on the road this early, but one of the wheels of our carriage broke last night in a mud hole and Jane, as I assume you know, had to spend the night at Netherfield. Since the weather has cleared, I decided to ride over with Buttercup so that Jane could return home.”
“Surely a servant could have done that?” Darcy inquired.
Elizabeth turned her head to gaze directly into his face, her expression frigid. Belatedly, the man realized his tone had been critical.
“As it happens, Mr. Darcy, I enjoy riding Daisy on a fine day. The fresh air is most invigorating.”
“I understand completely,” Darcy replied, laboring to suffuse warmth into his tone. “I meant no disrespect.”
“Did you not?” the lady inquired with an arch of her right eyebrow.
Really, this woman was like no other, to challenge him in such a way!
“No, I did not,” he averred, before plunging forward with an apology, “I feel I must apologize, Miss Elizabeth, not just for my tone now, but for insulting your sister Miss Catherine at the assembly in Meryton. It was very poorly done of me.”
Elizabeth, in turn, was completely astonished. An apology? From Mr. Darcy?
“It was poorly done of you,” she responded with a lift of her chin. “Dear Kitty was very distressed.”
Darcy winced openly, “It had nothing at all to do with her, I assure you. I was tired and do not enjoy dancing with strangers. I am quite willing to apologize to her directly if you will allow me.”
Elizabeth considered the injured gentleman with a modicum of warmth. Given how proud he was, this was a handsome offer.
“I will convey your apologies,” she declared. “Kitty is a shy creature and would no doubt be quite as embarrassed at receiving your apology as you would be to offer it.”
He sighed and nodded, “I understand. My own dear sister, Miss Darcy, is the same way.”
“How old is Miss Darcy?”
“She has recently turned sixteen.”
“Oh, then she is very close in age to my youngest sister Lydia ...”
Elizabeth broke off, her gaze fixed on a wooden cart exiting the drive to Netherfield, which turned toward them on the road. Darcy gazed on the occupant with curiosity; he had never met the middle aged man, dressed in sober brown garb, who was sitting behind two staid white horses, but he had obviously just left Netherfield Hall.
“Mr. Jones!” Elizabeth called out, causing the man to rein in his horses when he drew abreast to them.
“Miss Elizabeth! How did you get here so quickly? Surely the servant from Netherfield could not have reached Longbourn yet?”
Elizabeth frowned at this, “Of what are you speaking, Mr. Jones? I am here to fetch my sister, who spent the night in Netherfield after our carriage wheel broke in a morass of mud.”
“Oh, I see! Well, I have just returned after seeing Miss Bennet; sadly, she came down with an illness last night, and I was called early this morning to treat her.”
Elizabeth shot an outraged glance at Darcy, who shook his head, “I did not know, Miss Elizabeth. I left Netherfield very early this morning.”
Her face smoothed, and she gave him an apologetic grimace before turning back to the apothecary, “Is Jane very ill?”
“No, no,” the man replied soothingly. “It is merely a cold of some sort, though she ought not to return home yet. She has a fever, a cough and a sore throat, but she is a strong woman. She will be well in time.”
Elizabeth pulled in a deep breath of the fresh November air and forced herself to calm. Jane was not Matthew; her brother’s last illness had begun with a “mere cold”, but he had always been sickly.
“Oh!” she exclaimed, “I do apologize, Mr. Darcy. I quite forgot. Mr. Darcy, Mr. Jones, the local apothecary. Mr. Jones, Mr. Darcy took a fall on the road and has harmed his ankle. Would you have time to return to Netherfield to inspect his injury?”
Darcy shot her a startled glance. An apothecary was not a physician; would this man truly have anything useful to say about his ankle?
The apothecary’s expression turned from sympathetic to interested, “Did you fall from your horse, Mr. Darcy?”
“No, I tripped over the dog,” he admitted shamefacedly, gesturing toward Maxwell, who was nosing happily along the edge of the road, his muddy red tail waving with enthusiasm. “Miss Elizabeth fortunately happened along with this mare for her sister, and I took advantage of her offer of a steed so I could return to Netherfield.”
“Such injuries happen all too often,” Jones replied with a chuckle. “I do have time, Mr. Darcy, if you would care to have me inspect your wounded leg. Do you think it broken?”
“I do not know,” Darcy admitted. “I hope it is merely sprained, though I confess it is paining me a great deal.”
“Then come, let us return to Netherfield as quickly as possible,” the apothecary advised.
/
“Oh Jane!” Elizabeth murmured softly, taking in the sight of her sister lying languidly in bed. Not surprisingly, the arrival of an injured Mr. Darcy on horseback had provoked a storm of concern and distress from Miss Bingley and, to a lesser degree, Mrs. Hurst. Elizabeth was glad to have Mr. Jones cope with Netherfield’s residents while she followed a maid up to the bedchamber where Jane was installed.
“You arrived so quickly,” Jane said in a hoarse voice, her eyes drifting toward the window where the November sun’s slanted rays showed it was still only mid-morning.
Elizabeth sat down and ran a worried hand over her sister’s brow. Thankfully, though Jane was overly warm she was not blazing hot.
“I left early with Buttercup so that I could fetch you home, Jane. We met Mr. Jones on the road outside Netherfield after he ministered to you.”
“We?” Jane croaked in a puzzled tone, her fetching eyes partially closed with fatigue.
“Oh, I met Mr. Darcy on the way,” Elizabeth explained nonchalantly, “He had an accident while walking and injured his leg, so he mounted Buttercup and we all came here. Mr. Jones is downstairs examining Mr. Darcy’s ankle.”
“Oh, poor Mr. Darcy!” Jane said with her usual sympathy. “I do hope it is not broken.”
“So do I, my dear. In the meantime, we must consider what is to be done with you. Are you well enough to return home by carriage?”
Jane looked, and felt, unsure, “I feel very poorly, to be truthful, but I suppose I would be well enough. But is the carriage wheel repaired?”
“It is not,” her sister admitted. “I daresay Mr. Bingley would be willing to lend us his carriage, but if you are not well enough to be moved, then we will stay here.”
“Oh, I suppose I will not come to much harm if …”
Jane broke off her statement with a cough, which led to further coughing, until Elizabeth hastily poured a cup of water from a nearby pitcher and held the cup to her sister’s lips. Jane took a hasty sip and put a hand up to her heaving bosom. That hurt!
“Oh Jane, of course you must stay here,” Elizabeth announced apologetically. “You are clearly not well enough to go home yet.”
The eldest Miss Bennet opened her mouth, only to close it as Elizabeth waved a furious finger at her.
“No, do not talk. I know that kind of cough is exacerbated by speaking. There is no reason for us to go, really; I just do not wish for Miss Bingley to think we are overstaying our welcome.”
Jane frowned in bewilderment at this, though she did not speak. Lizzy was right; talking would only make her chest and throat feel worse.
“I know you consider her a friend,” Elizabeth continued softly, “but it is clear to me that she rather despises us. I also suspect that Mr. Darcy’s injury will be the main focus of everyone’s attentions. But do not worry, dear one. Mr. Bingley is a pleasant host, and we will manage.”
Jane grimaced. She well knew that everyone at Longbourn depended on Elizabeth, who was the only one able to manage their father, who kept her slender fingers on every aspect of the well-being of the estate and her inhabitants.
She took another sip of water and spoke cautiously, “You must go home now, Lizzy. I will be well here.”
“No, I will not. I can send instructions home with a servant, and Mary can give orders for meals if Mother is not able to do so. I will not leave you here alone, especially now when everyone is doubtless in a dither over Mr. Darcy’s leg.”
Jane smiled sleepily at her dear Elizabeth, too tired to protest. She truly did not care to be alone here in an unfamiliar house while she felt so weary and ill. She was too exhausted to berate herself much, but she had been feeling slightly unwell yesterday. It had been foolish to come to Netherfield, but she hoped to strengthen her friendship with Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst, who were the sisters of Charles Bingley, whom she admired very much indeed …
Jane leaned back on her pillow, vaguely aware of Elizabeth pulling her blankets up to her chin with a firm hand. A minute later, she drifted off to sleep.
/
Darcy’s concerns over Mr. Jones’s competence died a quick and relieved death. The man was obviously very experienced and knowledgeable about human anatomy; Jones had assisted in carefully removing his left boot and sock (a most unpleasant and painful experience) and then regarded Darcy’s naked foot for a long minute before placing his gloved hands cautiously on the offending limb.
The subsequent examination was extremely uncomfortable, but Darcy knew from the careful movements and creased brow that Mr. Jones was doing his best to be gentle while also thorough.
When the apothecary was finished, he leaned back in his chair and gazed at Darcy, who was seated on a couch in the drawing room with his injured leg on a comfortable, if rather garish, red floral-patterned stool.
“I believe, Mr. Darcy, that you either have suffered a significant sprain, or you have broken a small bone in your ankle, or both.”
Darcy groaned dismally in spite of himself. A broken bone? How could he have been so stupid as to trip over a dog!
“Now do not despair, sir,” the man continued reassuringly. “I do not believe it is misplaced in any way if it is broken, and will heal naturally enough in aboutsix weeks. If it is merely sprained, it will heal more quickly.”
Darcy groaned again. The thought of being off his foot for more than a month was a horrifying one.
“You say it might well not be broken?” he asked rather pathetically.
Jones gazed down at the ankle, which, now freed from the boot, was swelling larger by the minute and turning a series of exciting colors ranging from dark gray to purple; “If you have not broken it, you have sprained it severely, Mr. Darcy. I am going to wrap your foot carefully, and I strongly advise that you stay off of it. You are, of course, welcome to summon your private physician from London. I would understand that completely. But I recommend that for now, you do not put any weight on it as you might damage it more.”
“Thank you, Mr. Jones,” Darcy replied, reaching up his hand to grip the other man’s. “I appreciate your treatment and your counsel.”
In truth, the very thought of moving his ankle was unnerving; the pain, even when he held himself motionless, was annoying but not terrible. When he did move, well ...
“You are quite welcome, Mr. Darcy. Please do summon me if you wish me to check the foot again, though I would recommend waiting at least two days to see how the swelling is going down.”
“Thank you, Mr. Jones.”