Chapter Twenty-One
London
Elizabeth was reclined on the sofa she had scarcely left in the last two days and nights.
It was pushed up against Jane’s bed in such a way that on the rare occasion Elizabeth did leave her sister’s side, she was obliged to scramble indecorously over the arm or back of the sofa.
At present, however, Elizabeth was comfortable amongst the plush pillows and blankets that she had made a sort of nest of, grinning drowsily at the sight of her sister.
Jane was sitting up, her back resting against a heap of pillows, a cool cloth draped across her forehead and a tray of breakfast in her lap.
She gave a weak smile and held up the last bite of buttered toast before popping it into her mouth and letting out a contented hum.
She took a few sips of tea, then laid the damp towel across the tray, and Elizabeth set it all on the bedside table to be cleared away later.
“How do you feel, Jane?”
“Still tired, somehow,” Jane said softly, and at this Elizabeth gave an involuntary yawn, causing her sister to laugh softly. “I feel as though I am coming out of a cloud.”
Elizabeth still felt hazy herself, and she gave her sister a knowing nod. “Doctor Post says you will require a few more days of rest before we travel home.”
Jane studied Elizabeth serenely. “Oh, Lizzy, you look so tired!”
She was; Elizabeth had only slept a few hours at a time since Jane had returned home from Hatchard’s in clothes so frozen they had to cut her day dress off of her to get her in the hot bath.
Elizabeth felt herself always on the verge of drifting off to sleep, and yet any time her aunt forced her to lay down, her mind was awhirl with fear for her sister, and any respite proved impossible.
After a day and a half of sweating and shivering in restless delirium, Jane’s fever had broken in the wee hours of the morning.
Elizabeth had been sitting in anguished vigil as Mrs. Gardiner and the physician’s apprentice both dozed in chairs across the room, when at last Jane returned to some semblance of lucidity.
By dawn, Doctor Post had examined Jane and declared her out of danger, and Elizabeth had wept with relief.
“I am stout enough,” she told Jane, attempting to look convincing.
“You are stubborn enough for anything,” Jane said. “Where is Aunt Madeline? And Mrs. Gardiner?”
“We have been resting in shifts, and it is their turn,” Elizabeth said, failing to mention it was two hours past the time she was meant to wake her aunt.
She surveyed her sister and hoped that a little salacious gossip might energize her, rather than cause any detriment.
“Mrs. Jennings was obliged to take Lucy Steele back to her uncle in Plymouth in disgrace, for Miss Bingley cast her off without hesitation, and Mr. Palmer has forbidden his wife from harboring such a creature. Mrs. Jennings fears for the elder Miss Steele, who is lately engaged – the betrothal may be in some jeopardy if the younger sister’s reputation is ruined.
She means to travel to Barton Park after she has divested herself of certain baggage, and she shall make herself useful there.
She was very sorry to leave you at such a time, Jane. ”
“That is kind of her,” Jane said meekly.
“I feel such an imposition, for we were to be gone home already. But of course she must wish to help the eldest Miss Steele – I am very sorry for her, and even a little for Lucy. Edward Ferrars is not a good man, nor are any of his relations. He said such horrid things to me!”
“Oh! I ought not to have distressed you,” Elizabeth cried. “I had thought Lucy Steele’s fate a bit amusing, and certainly well-deserved, but then I have not your goodness.”
“I had thought the friendship of Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst punishment enough for her,” Jane sighed, closing her eyes as she laid back against the pillows.
Elizabeth gave a breathy laugh. Jane had said a great many queer things in her delirium, but nothing so witty as this.
She had mostly uttered puzzling and fragmented phrases, though there had been enough for Elizabeth to discern that her sister was as disappointed in Mr. Willoughby as she was disgusted with Edward Ferrars.
“I shall let you rest, Jane – your sleep has been so fitful.”
“I hardly wish to sleep another day away,” Jane feebly protested. “Will you read to me?”
“Certainly,” Elizabeth said, pulling one of her newly acquired books from the tangled heap of blankets that swaddled her on the sofa. “I have a very fascinating history of the Plantagenets, which Mr. Darcy recommended to me.”
Jane groaned. “I said I do not wish to sleep, Lizzy. One of the books Mr. Willoughby gave me – Gulliver’s Travels sounds very interesting.”
Elizabeth was surprised that Jane should desire any reminder of the man, but she was willing to oblige any desire of Jane’s after two days of fearing for her sister’s life.
“It is downstairs – I shall go and retrieve it, but I must warn you that if you are asleep when I return, I have no intention of waking you.”
Downstairs in the front parlor, Elizabeth had just located the book in question when she glanced toward the window and caught sight of a caller approaching.
Her ire rose at the sight of Mr. Willoughby, and she threw the book down on the table with a loud thump, and hastened to the front door before he could ring the bell.
She opened it furiously, drawing her shawl around her shoulders, for though it was a clear day, it was still quite cold.
“Mr. Willoughby.”
He recoiled a little from her uncivil tone. “Good morning, Miss Elizabeth. My sister had it from Miss Darcy that Jane is gravely ill – I came as soon as I heard.”
“Did it not occur to you that she ought not walk home from your shop alone in the freezing rain and snow?” Elizabeth had no intention of inviting the man inside, and smiled a little at the sight of him wincing against a cold gust of wind.
“I did think of it, once I realized that it had begun to snow – I was delayed, when first she left the shop.”
“Delayed? I have no interest in hearing whatever excuse you have at the ready – I am sure you think to explain away everything, as you always do.”
“I was weeping….”
“I have been weeping for two days, sir, for fear my sister would die after arriving home half frozen,” Elizabeth snarled. “I have hardly slept nor eaten for fear of losing her.”
“I… I thought her lost to me, already,” he stammered.
Elizabeth glared at him, her lip curling with contempt. “Perhaps you mistake my sister for our cousin Marianne.”
“Marianne burned my letters, Miss Elizabeth. Jane….”
“Jane? How dare you!” Out of her mind from exhaustion, and certainly out of patience, Elizabeth placed both hands upon Mr. Willoughby’s chest and shoved him backward; he landed on his backside in the snow, a bewildered look on his face.
“Marianne wanted you, and not your stupid, deuced letters, but you could not be bothered to even go to her. All Jane wanted was to help you – or rather, to help our cousins. Why must every man who has ever used them ill now plague us?”
She stopped herself as she was on the verge of delivering a scolding meant for Edwards Ferrars, and a sudden swell of feelings she could not name told her that she was moments away from tears.
She slammed the front door, and then turned and leaned her back against it, weeping at…
she knew not what. She slowly sank to the floor, her face buried in her hands as a wave of unbearable wretchedness poured out of her.
***
Darcy had business to attend to that morning, closing Darcy House after opening it so briefly for his feckless friend.
He seldom stayed there himself, preferring the companionship of his relations at Matlock House, but he had hired a small amount of staff for Edward’s benefit, imagining his friend might stay six months or more.
Darcy paid each of the servants two months’ wages, composed letters of recommendation for all of them, and dismissed them all with a promise that they should be the first candidates considered when next he opened his house in town, should they still desire a place there.
It occurred to him that by such a time as that, it may well be Elizabeth who oversaw such household manners, but he believed his generosity would please her.
When Darcy returned home, Lady Matilda informed him that she had received word from Mrs. Gardiner – a note had been delivered very early that morning, hours before the countess awoke.
“Thank the Lord, Miss Bennet’s fever has finally broken,” she cried, displaying the letter for Phillip and Georgiana to examine. “Doctor Post told Madeline that dear Jane is past the greatest danger, though Miss Elizabeth is still beside herself – the poor girl!”
“Her affection for Miss Bennet is most endearing,” Phillip said, giving the letter a nod of approbation. “I hope my daughters show one another half so much devotion. Shall we call again?”
Lady Matilda surveyed the viscount curiously. “So you still wish to visit Berkeley Street daily, though Miss Bennet has given you the brush off?”
“It was done for the best,” Phillip said, giving his step-mother a wink and a bright smile. “I think you are well aware of my reason.”
Georgiana gave her cousin a shy but knowing smile. “Perhaps another lady of the house is better suited to you, Phillip.”
The viscount laid a hand on his heart as he gave the ladies a dazzling smile. “What tears I have shed that Mrs. Jennings has gone away!” And then he turned to fix Darcy with a slow, deliberate, and wicked grin.
Darcy stiffened, trying not to sneer as he was struck by countless recollections of his cousin praising Elizabeth, teasing her, and charming her with his good humor.
Since the day of their absurd artwork – since it had become apparent that Miss Bennet’s interest in Phillip was cordial at best – he had shown Elizabeth a greater degree of attention.