Chapter 18
Utterly and Completely Speechless
“He should come to Rosings with me. Mr O’Neill would be delighted to oversee his recovery. He was invaluable when Sir Lewis was indisposed.”
“I should be far better persuaded by your recommendation had your husband survived his indisposition, Sister. There are plenty more reliable physicians here in town.”
“It is not the physicians to which I object, but the air. The pollution will do his airways no good in his present state. He would do much better nearer the sea.”
“I daresay the air at Pemberley would do just as well for him, and he would have his own staff—”
“But at Rosings, Anne could keep him company.”
“If Anne were in any way concerned for him, she would be here, not cavorting around Rosings Park in her phaeton.”
Darcy closed his eyes and attempted not to hear any of them.
His entire family had descended upon the house upon learning of his revival—excepting Anne, which was no great loss.
How they all thought their incessant and clamorous bickering was in any way conducive to his recovery, he knew not, but they showed no sign of desisting, despite his every attempt to interject.
None of them had the patience to read his lips or await his laboriously written notes.
The conversation of so many people flowed too fast for him to keep pace, and though he would not usually tolerate the discourtesy of being ignored, he was presently too tired to object and had given up attempting to make himself understood, or indeed noticed at all, a good half an hour earlier.
He ought probably to have stayed abed, but he could no longer bear the unceasing whir of his thoughts as he envisaged, over and again, Elizabeth’s surprise when Bingley arrived at her door.
Would she be grateful for news? Would she be unwelcoming?
Would she even still be there? Thoughts of it consumed him.
He had slept, bathed, shaved, eaten, and slept again, all with limited relief from the torment of suspense, before getting dressed and coming downstairs to seek a more effective distraction.
He wished now that he had not, for it had in no way diminished his desperate wish to know all that was being said and felt at one particular address in Gracechurch Street—only now he must endure his relations’ quarrelling whilst he waited.
“I think we can all agree that he ought not to remain here.”
“If by all, you mean you, then yes. And by the same token, we may celebrate never disagreeing about anything ever again.”
“You have grown too used to yours being the only opinion you ever hear down in Kent, Catherine. I rather think Darcy might have something to say on the matter.”
“Darcy is incapable of saying anything on any matter at present.”
“That very obviously does not disqualify him from possessing opinions.”
“Aye. You betray a profound misunderstanding of my cousin if you mistake this silence for docility.”
Everybody looked in Darcy’s direction. He looked back at them all with ill-concealed distaste.
“Well, nephew? What is your wish?”
Assured that nobody would comprehend him, he mouthed, “That I had asked Miss Bennet for her hand two months ago and done more to earn it, thereby assuring myself of a positive answer and avoiding all this misery.”
It was almost comical to observe everybody’s utter bemusement.
“He cannot possibly stay here if he cannot be understood. How is anybody to know what he is saying?”
“I am perfectly capable of making myself understood,” he mouthed, knowing full well this was not the way. “Whether anybody is willing to take the time to understand me is less certain.”
“Darcy, you are not even trying, and it is not helping,” Fitzwilliam complained.
“You see?” said Lady Catherine. “He is not in his right mind. He is never usually this obdurate.”
“Not to you, mayhap,” Ladbroke muttered from his spot at the near end of the sofa. “But to everybody else he bally well is.”
“Do you not think you ought to go back to bed, Brother?” Georgiana enquired, having crept nearer to him under the cover of the debate. “You look tired.”
He smiled at her but did not reply.
“She has a point, Darcy,” Ladbroke said.
On Ladbroke’s other side sat Fitzwilliam, whither the campaign to banish Darcy back to bed spread like the plague. “Aye, get some rest. You cannot wish to listen to all of us when you are only just out of your stupor.”
“What is this? Is he unwell?” demanded Lord Matlock from the armchair at the other end of the sofa. From him, the contagion jumped across the room to his wife.
“Nephew, if you are unwell, you must go to bed. Obstinacy never cured a person of anything.”
The spread of dissension completed its circuit of the parlour when it reached Lady Catherine. “Ring the bell, Georgiana. Let somebody come to take him to bed before he collapses.”
Darcy indicated to his sister with a small gesture that she was to do no such thing.
He was on the verge of evicting them all on the premise of their unanimous opinion that peace and quiet were in his best interests when the door opened, and a footman entered to announce that Bingley had arrived back to see him.
Apprehension erupted behind his breastbone, myriad crackling detonations that hastened his pulse and sent his mind reeling in a hundred different directions. He gestured for Bingley to be shown in.
“It is good that you are out of bed, Darcy, for—” His friend stopped in the doorway and looked about the room. “I beg your pardon. I did not realise you had company.”
Darcy put both hands out to indicate that it mattered not and mouthed urgently, “Did you call?”
“If you just asked whether I called, the answer is yes, I did indeed.”
“Are you going to introduce this gentleman, Darcy?” enquired Lady Matlock indignantly.
Darcy clenched his teeth and indicated with a curt gesture to his throat that he could not.
“This is Mr Bingley, Mother. Darcy’s friend,” Fitzwilliam said for him. Indicating each by turn, he then introduced the rest of the party to Bingley.
“You have met him before, Mother,” Ladbroke declared, to which Lady Matlock objected, prompting something of a debate that Fitzwilliam and Lady Catherine wasted no time joining in.
Darcy ignored them all and mouthed a question to Bingley. “Miss Bennet?”
“Regrettably, she was not there,” he replied beneath the commotion. The sting of Darcy’s disappointment was sharp, but lasted only until Bingley added, “She returned to Longbourn before Miss Elizabeth was found, but I have been assured a visit would be welcome. My cause is not lost!”
“And her sister?”
A boyish grin overspread Bingley’s countenance. “Oh yes, Miss Elizabeth was there.”
“And? Any message?”
“Well, that is the thing, Darcy. I decided I did not care for being your messenger. I thought it would be easier to cut out the middleman.” He stepped further into the room and gestured to somebody beyond the door to come forward. The room fell silent but for the almighty thud of Darcy’s heart.
“Miss Bennet!” He lurched to his feet then was forced to take hold of the back of the chair to keep from falling over. “Are you well?”
Her smile was small, subdued but sublime. “Very well, sir, thank you. You look better.”
As did she. Darcy had not appreciated how weary she looked at the inn until he saw her now, rested, bathed, and dressed once more in her own clothes.
As one might expect, they showed her to far better advantage than Mrs Stratton’s loaned gown.
Her hair was handsomely arranged, too, though he missed the way it had used to hang loose about her face.
“Better?” cried Lady Catherine. “Upon my word, Miss Bennet, you cannot be looking properly.”
Elizabeth’s smile vanished as she took in the array of people filling the parlour, all of whom she had met on Monday evening, but few of whom were presently betraying any greater warmth than they had shown her on that occasion.
It amazed Darcy how rapidly his relations, who moments ago had been at each other’s throats, could unite in the face of a perceived threat.
He rejoiced to observe Elizabeth’s courage visibly rise.
With no discernible movement, she yet seemed to stand a little straighter, hold her head a little higher, and assume such a look of penetration as might alarm a person unused to it.
The woman with whom she had come appeared considerably less assured and looked uneasily at Bingley.
“Darcy,” said his friend with unperturbed ebullience, “allow me to introduce Miss Bennet’s aunt, Mrs Gardiner.”
To Darcy’s dismay, a look of contempt passed amongst his relatives, for despite her appearance as a woman of fashion, they were all well aware from whence Mrs Gardiner had come.
Determined to mitigate the slight, he bowed deeply.
It was excruciating, but he did his best to ignore the way his stomach knotted in revolt. “An honour to meet you, madam.”
Mrs Gardiner looked anxiously at her niece.
“He said it is an honour to meet you,” Elizabeth said quietly, sending Darcy a look of gratitude.
“Miss Bennet, it is a pleasure to see you again,” Fitzwilliam said, adding his voice to Bingley’s attempt to smooth the waters, for which Darcy was inordinately grateful.
“I did not have the time on Monday evening to thank you for your kindness towards my cousin. I imagine he does look a good deal better than he did this time last week, for which we are all vastly grateful to you.”
Lord Matlock cleared his throat loudly, his eyebrows drawn together in disapprobation. “Let us not deny the physician his due. I am sure Miss Bennet did her best, but we have Farnham to thank for Darcy’s recovery.”
“Indeed,” his wife agreed. “As I told your uncle on Tuesday, Miss Bennet, we are all most obliged for your troubles, but there is no need to concern yourself any further with Mr Darcy’s well-being.”