Chapter 5 #2
Darcy glanced towards the door, half-expecting, perhaps, to find his valet lurking there. He was not. "He takes little pleasure in agreements he did not personally arrange."
"Sarah claims they have retired from arranging things. Do you believe them?"
"I believe McKeever will obey the exact words I used. Nothing more, nothing less."
"That is not confidence."
"That is long acquaintance."
Elizabeth closed her book. "What did you say to Miss Bingley?"
"I asked her to repeat only the facts of the storm, and to stop treating your reputation as a subject for speculation. Bingley had already asked her the same, in gentler terms than I managed."
"She is his sister."
"She is responsible for what she says regardless."
The answer was severe — and fair, which made it harder to argue with than severity alone would have been.
"Thank you."
"You should not have needed my defence in the first place."
"No. But I am not too proud to value it now that I have it."
Darcy's gaze held hers, steady in a way that made the room seem to draw back around them.
Cards and firelight and Caroline's watchfulness all receded to some polite distance.
There was no privacy here to threaten Elizabeth's reputation.
Somehow that only made the intensity of the moment more dangerous, not less.
He looked away first.
"Bingley tells me your mother and younger sisters intend to call on Saturday."
Elizabeth's gratitude expired on the spot. "All of them?"
"Mr. Bennet remains at Longbourn."
"He has chosen wisdom."
"You are alarmed."
"I am prepared. There is a difference."
Darcy's mouth moved. Not quite a smile, but nearer to one than she had seen from him before. "How may I assist?"
The offer surprised her enough that she laughed, once, under her breath. She imagined Lydia loose in Netherfield's halls, Kitty echoing every word a half-second late, and her mother discussing Jane's marriage settlement before Jane had so much as left the sickroom.
"You may refrain from agreeing with Miss Bingley when my family gives her material to work with."
His expression turned grave. "I can promise fairness. I cannot promise blindness."
Elizabeth had wanted loyalty without deception, and had not quite realised until this moment that she had wanted it. He had offered exactly that, without her having to ask twice.
"Fairness will do."
The next morning proved the value of the promise.
Jane had slept well enough to sit in the small parlour after breakfast. Bingley read the newspaper near her sofa, though he turned no page for a full ten minutes.
Elizabeth watched him hold the same sheet up like a man guarding a secret.
She worked at a piece of plain sewing Sarah had found for her.
Darcy stood at the window, hands clasped behind his back.
Caroline occupied the best chair and managed, somehow, to dislike every person in the room simply for being content.
"The weather has cleared," Bingley said. "We might all take a short turn after luncheon. Jane need not go beyond the terrace."
"The terrace again," Caroline said. "It has become strangely fashionable of late."
Elizabeth kept her eyes on the seam. "Floods often improve a property's popularity. Everyone wishes to inspect the damage."
Darcy looked at her hands, at the needle moving in and out. "Some inspections are more cheerful than others."
"I have been told cheerfulness improves invalids."
Jane smiled. Bingley forgot the newspaper, and it slid half off his knee.
After luncheon, they went out as a party.
Jane walked between Bingley and Elizabeth, taking small careful steps.
Darcy followed with Caroline, Mrs. Hurst, and Hurst, who abandoned the whole exercise at the first bench with the relief of a man reprieved.
Sarah brought Jane's wrap. McKeever appeared with Bingley's cane, which Bingley had not, as far as anyone could recall, requested.
As the servants withdrew, Elizabeth murmured, "They have arranged the order."
Darcy heard. "McKeever claims he merely found the cane lying about."
"In your room?"
"Under Bingley's hat."
"An entirely innocent household."
Caroline moved between them with the smooth efficiency of a woman who had been planning her approach for several minutes. "Mr. Darcy, Louisa and I mean to walk towards the rose garden. You promised to advise us about the new planting."
"I made no such promise."
"Then I ask now."
Darcy glanced at Elizabeth — not for rescue, only acknowledgement, a small private look that said I see what this is. "I shall join you after Miss Bennet has returned to the house."
It was courteous, and limited, and Caroline could not object without revealing exactly what she was objecting to.
Elizabeth helped Jane to the bench. Bingley set the forgotten cane beside her and asked, for the eighth time that day, whether she was fatigued.
"A little," Jane admitted.
He immediately proposed returning indoors. Jane immediately protested. Their small dispute was gentle and repetitive. Elizabeth watched them and thought it deeply satisfying to both parties, like a dance they had already learned the steps to.
Darcy stood beside Elizabeth. "Do you still believe accuracy does not require affection?"
"You made that argument."
"I have revised it."
"Upon what evidence?"
He looked towards Bingley and Jane, at Bingley's cane forgotten again, at Jane's patient smile. "Sustained attention."
Elizabeth remembered her own claim in the library, tossed off so easily at the time. "You concede too easily."
"I conceded after observation. That should please you."
"It does. I would simply rather not reward you for it."
"Then I shall survive without praise."
Caroline called his name from the path, two sharp syllables.
Darcy excused himself and joined her, unhurried.
Elizabeth watched him go. He had kept his promise to Caroline only after making entirely clear what came first. No rescue required.
No insult offered. Just fairness, plain and unadorned.
He does exactly what he says he will do, no more, no less.
It is a strange thing to find so disarming.
Sarah stood at the terrace door with Jane's medicine. When Elizabeth approached, the maid's gaze flicked towards Darcy and Caroline on the path.
"Do not."
"I did not speak, miss."
"Your silence has become crowded."
Sarah lowered her eyes, though her mouth twitched. "Yes, miss."
Inside, Jane admitted fatigue at last and allowed Bingley to settle her near the fire with more cushions than any one invalid strictly required.
She rested with her eyes closed while Elizabeth returned to her sewing.
The seam was crooked — properly crooked, unmistakably so — and Elizabeth unpicked it rather than pretend otherwise.
A little later, Jane opened her eyes and asked to go upstairs. Elizabeth rose to help her.
"Until tomorrow, Mr. Darcy."
"Until tomorrow."
Upstairs, she settled Jane in bed, laid the blue shawl at her feet, and faced the uncomfortable conviction that tomorrow mattered rather more than it had any right to.
Darcy had not proposed again. He had done something far more persuasive.
He had listened.