Chapter Ten
Darcy prepared for dinner after spending most of the afternoon at his writing desk.
He had written to his uncle asking for the names of any London physicians he might recommend should Miss Bennet fail to improve.
Then he wrote to his steward regarding a matter that could easily have waited, followed by his solicitor, his sister and finally two of his larger tenants.
He had come very close to writing to his dragon of an aunt merely for the relief of composing something that would keep his mind distracted.
Anything was preferable to dwelling upon the fact that Elizabeth Bennet was in the house.
Even the thought of her nearness made his chest constrict.
She was somewhere beneath the same roof, tending to her sister, moving through the passages and rooms of Netherfield as gracefully as a forest nymph.
He had heard footsteps outside his chamber several times that afternoon and found himself looking up each time, listening like a fool in the hope of recognising her voice.
He needed to pull himself together. A forest nymph indeed!
He was the master of Pemberley and accustomed to holding his own among some of the most powerful men in England.
What’s more, he spent a good portion of the year being hunted by the worst matchmaking mamas of the ton.
He was not easily intimidated or overwhelmed, but even the thought of her—a woman of no birth or fortune at that—caused him to want to fall to his knees.
When he had seen her in the field that morning, caked in mud and shivering beneath her damp clothes, every sensible thought had deserted him.
For one alarming moment, he had wanted to lift her onto his horse and carry her straight to the house, straight to his room and wrap himself around her until she was warm.
She had looked pale with cold, but so beautiful that it had been painful to look at her.
Her eyes were bright from the exercise, loose damp curls clung to her cheeks and her whole expression burned with fierce concern for her sister.
Then Caroline Bingley had begun sniping at her.
Darcy had felt some sympathy for Miss Bingley when he overheard her quarrel with Bingley a few days earlier.
He had heard enough to realise there was perhaps more beneath her disagreeable manner than he had previously understood.
At that moment, however, he would gladly have carried her outside and thrown her into the duck pond.
He remained in his chamber until he could delay no longer, then rang for his valet and quickly changed for dinner before stepping into the passage.
Bingley was walking back and forth outside the bedchamber assigned to Miss Jane Bennet.
He was decidedly not dressed for dinner.
He looked a fright. His coat was missing, his waistcoat hung open and his cravat fell limply about his neck.
His fair hair stood up on one side where he had plainly driven his fingers through it repeatedly.
He paced from the window to the bedroom door, paused as though listening and then turned back again.
Darcy stopped several yards away. "Bingley," he said quietly.
His friend spun around so quickly that Darcy might have startled him from a guilty act. "There you are, Darcy. Have you seen Caroline?"
"Not since this morning, I’m afraid," Darcy said, taking in Bingley’s agitated appearance and trying to decide how best to calm him.
Bingley looked towards the closed door. "She is in there with Miss Bennet. Or she was. Miss Elizabeth is with her now, I think. No one tells me anything."
Darcy moved closer and placed a hand on Bingley’s shoulder to still his movements. "What has happened?"
"Nothing. That is the problem. They keep saying there has been no change, as though that ought to comfort me."
"When did Jones last attend her?"
"This afternoon. He says the fever is no worse and that her lungs remain clear." Bingley repeated the words quickly, as if he had repeated them many times to himself. "He says she needs rest and warmth, but she has barely eaten and she is still feverish. Caroline tells me that is to be expected."
"It is. With a bad cold or influenza, it is."
Bingley stared at him. "How can you possibly know?"
Darcy paused. "I do not. Not for certain. But Jones would have said if he believed there was cause for alarm."
Bingley shrugged off Darcy’s hand and resumed pacing. He was very pale, and every few steps his gaze returned to the closed door. Once, he stopped as though he had heard something from within, then moved on when the passage remained silent.
"Have you been standing here long?" Darcy asked for want of anything more sensible to say. Even when Bingley faced troubles, he was usually relentlessly optimistic—often when he had no cause to be so.
"I am not standing. I am walking."
"Have you been walking here long?"
Bingley glanced towards the window as though the fading light might answer for him. "Perhaps an hour, maybe two."
Darcy looked at the closed door. "You cannot remain outside Miss Bennet’s chamber forever."
"I know that."
"It is hardly proper."
"I know that too."
"Then why are you here?"
Bingley turned upon him with sudden force. "Because she is ill in my house and I cannot do a damned thing about it." The words rang through the passage. He looked almost as shocked by them as Darcy was and lowered his voice at once.
"I cannot sit downstairs while she lies here with a fever. I have tried. Hurst is snoring, Louisa keeps telling me not to worry and Caroline is nowhere to be seen. Miss Elizabeth comes out every so often and says her sister is resting, then disappears again before I can do anything useful."
"Come downstairs, Bingley."
Bingley did not move. "I cannot sit through dinner pretending nothing is wrong."
Darcy stepped forwards and caught him firmly by the shoulders. "Go and dress, Bingley. By the time we wake tomorrow, Miss Bennet will very likely be much improved, and you can do absolutely no good standing here tonight."
Bingley looked towards the door once more.
"Go," Darcy said, more gently. "You will be sent for at once if anything changes."
After a moment, Bingley nodded. He had taken only a few reluctant steps towards his chamber when the bedchamber door opened behind them.
Elizabeth stepped into the passage and closed it carefully, one hand remaining upon the knob.
She had changed out of her ruined gown, though the pale blue dress she now wore was plainly borrowed and sat a little loosely across her shoulders.
Her hair had been simply arranged, with several curls escaping around her face, and there was a tiredness in her expression that made Darcy's chest tighten all over again.
Bingley turned at once and crossed towards her eagerly. "How is she?"
"Sleeping at last," Elizabeth said softly. "Her fever has eased a little, and she has taken some broth. She spoke of you too. She asked whether you had enjoyed your time with the officers."
The relief that passed over his face was so immediate that Elizabeth's expression brightened.
He seemed unable to answer directly, his eyes glassy, but he bowed to her with unusual gravity and looked once more towards the closed door before turning away.
He went towards his room with rather more purpose than before, though Darcy noticed that he still glanced back before disappearing around the corner.
When the passage had fallen quiet again, Elizabeth looked towards Darcy. "He has been very anxious. Jane would feel terrible if she had known that she had caused him a moment's worry."
"He has spent the better part of the afternoon wearing out the carpet outside your sister's door," Darcy said. "I believe he would have remained there all night if it was down to him."
A small smile touched her mouth, but it faded almost at once.
The strain of the day remained plain in her face, and Darcy suddenly felt an overwhelming urge to take her in his arms and share just a little of her burden.
"I am very sorry Miss Bennet is unwell," he said.
"And I hope you will believe that I mean it, though I have given you little reason to think well of anything I say. "
Elizabeth's gaze lifted to his and he paused, caught by the pleasure of her looking at him with something other than distaste.
Darcy forced himself to continue. "I have thought often of what passed at the assembly.
My apology was hurried, and I do not believe I said what I ought to have said.
The remark was unkind, and the fact that I believed you could not hear it only makes it worse.
You had every right to be angry with me.
You must know, you must know, that I did not mean any of it. "
For several moments, she said nothing. Her fingers tightened slightly around the knob, and when she looked away he feared he had only added to her distress. At last she drew a slow breath. "It did wound me," she said, "but I knew even then that you were ashamed of it."
"I was more than ashamed. I was horrified. You are… you are anything but…"
She looked back at him, and the steadiness of her expression faltered. Her eyes shone suddenly, though whether from exhaustion or fear for her sister he could not tell.
Darcy took one instinctive step towards her before stopping himself. "Forgive me. This is not the time to burden you with my regret."
"No," she said, her voice unsteady. "It is not that. I am only tired, and I have been so worried." She looked down at the floor, blinking quickly. "Her fever has eased, and I know I ought to be grateful for that, but I cannot seem to stop imagining how much worse it could have been."
"She is improving," Darcy said gently. "She has eaten, her fever has fallen and she is resting peacefully. Those are all substantial reasons for hope."
Elizabeth nodded, though her eyes still shone. "Yes. They are." At the assembly she had faced humiliation with her head high and her eyes blazing, but this quiet distress affected him far more deeply. The urge to reach for her came with such force that he clasped his hands behind his back.
"I wish there were something more I could do."
She looked at him then, and the warmth in her expression caught him entirely unprepared. "You have been very kind."
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Then Elizabeth drew a steadying breath and glanced towards the room behind her. "I should return to Jane before dinner."
"Of course."
She opened the door, but paused before stepping inside. "I shall see you downstairs, Mr Darcy."
Darcy inclined his head. "Miss Elizabeth."
The door closed softly behind her. He remained upon the landing for several seconds, staring at the place where she had stood, then turned towards the stairs with the uncomfortable knowledge that dinner would offer him no refuge from her at all.
She was not for him. Her family was unsuitable, her connections offered nothing and a marriage between them would bring no advantage to Pemberley.
He could summon and classify every objection easily when she was absent.
The moment she stood before him, with those bright eyes filled with intelligence and kindness and those perfect expressive lips curved in a smile, they lost their force.
Her nearness unsettled every careful resolution he made.
If she was wrong for him, it was becoming increasingly difficult to remember why.