Chapter Twenty #2
He stared intently at her, and Jane leaned a little closer, silently willing him to understand that she no longer spoke of Marianne. His lips parted and something changed in his eyes – realization. And then Mr. Willoughby stood and offered her his hand.
“I should hardly shade your last day in London with my woes, when I ought to be telling you what a true pleasure it has been making your acquaintance, my dear friend. Will you permit me to walk to Berkeley Street with you?”
Jane rose unsteadily, balking at the notion of leaving, if it meant she would never see him again. “It is not so far; I would not trouble you. I should rather remember you as you are, here amongst the books.”
Mr. Willoughby began to protest but fell silent at a sullen shake of her head. He lifted her gloved hands to his lips and kissed it. “I hope you do remember me, even if that capricious neighbor of yours recaptures your heart.”
“He could never – I will,” Jane said, forcing a tight smile as she blinked back tears. She managed to bid Sophie and Mrs. Hatchard farewell and leave the shop before the tears spilled down her cheeks, blurring the afternoon chaos of Picadilly.
She had not walked a block when it began to rain.
She scarcely felt the cold drizzle at first, hugging herself not from the chill but the breaking of her heart.
A few minutes of walking was sufficient for her private distress to be put aside for reflection when she was at home, comfortable and dry.
The icy rain began to fall faster, and she was wet through by the time the slushy droplets turned to proper snowflakes.
She was nearly home when she heard her name called. She turned around in a panic, hardly wishing to meet with anybody while in such a state of misery. And striding toward her was the last person in the world she wished to see.
“Miss Bennet, it is you! Good Heavens, you are quite alone, and in such ghastly weather,” Edward Ferrars exclaimed.
Jane sniffled as she gestured down the lane. “I am in sight of Mrs. Jennings’s house,” she protested.
“Allow me to see you there safely,” he said, offering her his arm.
“I see no dangers in my path, sir,” Jane said, her voice uncommonly sharp. She began to walk away, but Mr. Ferrars was determined to walk alongside her.
“I have just returned from Kent a few hours ago. Darcy recommended me to his aunt – I believe you have heard of Lady Catherine de Bourgh. She has consented to assist me, and with the benefit of her connections, I expect the process to be expeditious.”
“I am very happy for you,” Jane said, quickening her pace.
“Thank you, Miss Bennet. Of course, upon my return, I find my circumstances may not be so dire – that perhaps all might be as was before.”
To this Jane made no reply, for her ears and nose felt frozen, and she cared for nothing but reaching Mrs. Jennings’s home and hearth.
Mr. Ferrars was not daunted by her silence. “My mother has had a row with John and Fanny, and now it seems my brother Robert may fall from her favor, for there are reports circulating that he has taken up with Miss Steele, after she ended our engagement.”
Jane could not help betraying some reaction to this astonishing news. “Lucy Steele, and your brother?”
“I believe she was under the impression that mother had settled everything irrevocably on Robert, as she surely meant to do. But they were too hasty, and my mother had not yet named Robert her heir, nor spoken with her solicitor of her intentions. When she discovered his treachery, which cost him the hand of Miss Morton, Mother suffered a terrible apoplexy. She has been abed, unable to speak or move at all for two days and nights.”
“Oh!” Jane might have remarked what an awful thing this was, had such a fate befallen a kinder person.
Mr. Ferrars seized Jane’s hand. “Do you not comprehend me, Miss Bennet? Perhaps I shall take orders, but it may be very soon that I can offer you far beyond what I formerly expected to. If my mother makes no efforts to the contrary, everything shall pass to me, and we might pay my relations no further heed.”
Jane withdrew her hand and attempted to hasten her steps away from him. “Sir, I beg you would importune me no further. Your mother’s condition and your plans to take orders can have little to do with my determination to sever our acquaintance.”
He pursued her to within a dozen paces from Mrs. Jennings’s door; Jane halted there, fearing that if she got any nearer to the house, she would be obliged – or forced – to grant him entry.
“So it is to be Bellamy, then? He has no need of Longbourn, and being so distant from his own holdings, it is likely you shall seldom see the place again. You shall be always at Matlock, mother to children that are not your own. Truly, Jane, can you really think yourself suited to being a countess?”
Jane staggered backward in astonishment.
She might have informed Mr. Ferrars that she had told the viscount in no uncertain terms that she felt no more than warm friendship for him, that she and her sister shared a private hope that he might direct his gallantry toward their Aunt Madeline – but her affairs were none of Mr. Ferrars’ concern.
Between the shock of his insolence and the discomfort of the cold, Jane made no reply at all, and gave a cry of relief when the door to Mrs. Jennings’s house was thrown open.
The lady herself appeared in the open doorway, hands on her hips. Behind her, Elizabeth looked murderous. “Mr. Ferrars, is that you? It cannot be, for no gentleman would importune Miss Bennet in the street, and in such foul weather! Get yourself in, child, before you catch your death!”
Jane rushed toward the house, and Mrs. Jennings moved aside to permit her entry, fussing and fretting over the state of her.
Mrs. Gardiner was there to drape a blanket around her shoulders, which were shaking from her exposure to the cold.
Elizabeth threw her arms around Jane, flinching a little at the cold touch of her sister.
“We should never have left you – but why did Mr. Willoughby and the Hatchards allow you to walk home alone?”
Jane shook her head, shrinking back a little from her sister’s rising temper. “I… I did not want….”
“Do not distress yourself,” Mrs. Gardiner murmured, drawing Jane into a comforting embrace. Mrs. Jennings was still giving Mr. Ferrars a thorough dressing down, but Elizabeth gave the woman a wicked grin before stepping forward and slamming the door in the gentleman’s face.
“I asked the housekeeper to arrange a hot bath for you the minute I noticed it snowing,” Mrs. Gardiner said with an encouraging smile. She and Elizabeth began to lead Jane upstairs. “We had better get you out of these wet, frozen clothes.”
Jane nodded, scarcely feeling anything but a strange sense of dread at her sister’s wild expression, fear and fury emanating from her. Before she reached the top of the stairs, Jane’s vision blurred, spun, and faded to a frigid black.
***
Darcy and the viscount called in Berkeley Street late that afternoon, having received a note from Mrs. Gardiner which informed them that the journey to Hertfordshire must be delayed.
Mrs. Jennings received them looking more forlorn than Darcy had ever seen the energetic matron, and he instantly recognized Elizabeth’s demeanor of seething fury.
He was taken aback; he could easily understand her being in some distress if her sister was ill, but he had not expected her to be so angered.
He soon learned the reason for it, though Elizabeth sat in raging silence as Mrs. Jennings explained what had happened in the several hours since they were all together at Hatchard’s.
But when Mrs. Jennings came to the crux of the matter, Elizabeth restrained herself no longer.
“The insufferable presumption of that odious man – your friend,” she hissed at Darcy.
“What sort of gentleman detains a lady in the thoroughfare, in the freezing rain and snow – and not even for a pleasant conversation, for when I espied them through the window, they had every appearance of quarrelling. She actually ran away from him, the moment Mrs. Jennings opened the door!”
“Aye, and looked as if she feared he might pursue her still,” Mrs. Jennings agreed, shaking her head as if disgusted by the recollection.
“If this does not finally discourage his unwanted addresses, I cannot imagine what will achieve it – I suppose I shall have to challenge him to pistols at dawn,” Elizabeth snarled. She crossed her arms in front of her chest and gave Darcy a sidelong grimace.
The viscount chuckled and shook his head, and then his expression turned serious. “I shall not deny I have contemplated the same. But as much as I might otherwise commend your courage and wish you good aim, I am sure Miss Bennet would prefer her beloved sister by her side at such a time.”
Elizabeth drew in a deep breath as if to calm herself and nodded her agreement. “Mrs. Gardiner is with her now, making a mustard plaster to help her breathing.”
Determined to say something useful, Darcy asked, “Have you sent for a physician to attend to her?”
“We sent for the same doctor who treated her ankle, but he is busy with other patients and cannot come until tomorrow morning.”
“Tomorrow morning – no indeed,” the viscount tutted. “Your sister deserves expedient care; and you should surely run mad if she is not treated directly, Miss Elizabeth. Allow me to fetch my own personal physician, he is a first-rate fellow.”
Darcy frowned, having intended to extend the very same offer in the hope of easing Elizabeth’s distress. “We will go at once. If Phillip’s physician cannot come to you immediately, mine surely will.”
“Excellent,” his cousin agreed. “We shall trespass no longer when you must all be wishing to be at Miss Bennet’s side, with dear Mrs. Gardiner. May we call again tomorrow?”