CHAPTER TWO #3
"You have done nothing except become wet," Elizabeth said, wringing cool water from a cloth. "Mama has done that in company more often than I can count."
Jane smiled weakly. "Is she very anxious?"
"Very. Papa will bring her when the carriage is safe. Mary wished to come. Kitty coughed. Lydia offered to ride Dancer and was removed from the discussion."
"Poor Lydia."
"You are ill indeed if you pity her restraint."
Near noon, Bingley appeared with broth and an expression suggesting that he had personally negotiated its ingredients. Jane brightened when he entered. Elizabeth saw it. Bingley saw it too, and nearly dropped the tray.
He remained only a few minutes, speaking gently and asking no question that required effort. When he left, Jane watched the door.
"He is kind," she said.
"He is."
"His sisters have also been attentive."
Elizabeth did not mention that the broth had been carried upstairs by Bingley while Miss Bingley sent her compliments from the drawing room.
In the afternoon Jane slept again, and Elizabeth was persuaded to change her stockings and eat.
She entered the drawing room in a borrowed gown that belonged to Caroline.
It was too long, too narrow through the shoulders, and chosen—Elizabeth suspected—to make the difference between their figures as obvious as possible.
Darcy rose when she entered.
His gaze moved from the damp curls at her temples to the hem hidden beneath Caroline's elaborate silk. For one alarming instant, admiration showed without disguise.
Elizabeth remembered the assembly.
"Miss Eliza," Caroline said, "we have been marveling at your walk. Three miles in such mud!"
"Considerably less across the fields."
"But alone."
"My maid is recovering in the kitchen and would be sorry to learn she has vanished."
Mr Hurst laughed into his wine.
Darcy said, "The path near the footbridge floods quickly. You were fortunate not to fall."
"I have crossed it in worse weather."
"That does not make it prudent."
Elizabeth sat opposite him. "No. It makes it practiced."
His eyes held hers. "You believe practice transforms risk into wisdom?"
"Sometimes. Otherwise no one would ever mount a horse twice."
Bingley entered and insisted she take tea. Conversation turned to Jane, then to the country, then—through Caroline's determination—to accomplishments.
"A woman must have a thorough knowledge of music, singing, drawing, dancing, and the modern languages," Caroline said. "She must possess a certain manner in her walk, the tone of her voice, her address and expressions—or the word will be but half deserved."
"And to all this she must yet add something more substantial," Darcy said, "in the improvement of her mind by extensive reading."
Elizabeth lifted her cup. "I am no longer surprised at your knowing only half a dozen accomplished women. I wonder at your knowing any."
Bingley smiled. Caroline did not.
Darcy's expression sharpened with interest. "You consider the standard unreasonable?"
"I consider it assembled by people who require women to perform six arts at once while appearing unconscious of effort. My sister Mary practices three hours each day. If she plays well, it is because she works, not because perfection descended with her gloves."
"Miss Mary plays?"
"Very well," Bingley answered. "She played at Netherfield after dinner."
Darcy had been speaking with Sir Thomas and had heard only the end. "Then I hope to hear her properly. My sister is devoted to music."
Something softened in his voice at the mention of his sister. Elizabeth noticed against her will.
Caroline leaned forward. "Dear Georgiana is accomplished in everything. Her figure, her taste, her execution—"
"She is sixteen," Darcy said, and the quiet correction ended the catalogue.
Elizabeth looked at him anew. A brother capable of protecting a girl from praise too heavy to bear was not entirely the man she had decided him to be.
That evening Sir Thomas and Lady Bennet arrived in the repaired carriage. Lady Bennet's anxiety filled the hall but did not escape it. She went directly to Jane, kissed her brow, whispered over her improvement, and thanked Bingley with genuine warmth.
"You have been very good to her. I shall remember it."
Bingley reddened to the ears.
Sir Thomas remained after his wife departed. The roads had darkened again, and Bingley would not hear of Elizabeth leaving while Jane needed her.
"Two nights," Sir Thomas said privately to Elizabeth. "If Jane is not fit to return, we shall move half of Netherfield down the hill and defeat Mr Bingley's hospitality by force."
"Papa, you are not uneasy?"
"Jones is not. Your mother is, enough for us all. I reserve judgment."
He glanced toward the drawing-room door, where Darcy stood speaking with Bingley.
"And you?"
"I am perfectly easy."
"Then I am uneasy enough for two."
Elizabeth narrowed her eyes. "What have you observed?"
"That Mr Darcy has looked toward this passage four times in six minutes."
"Perhaps he fears I shall track mud upon another carpet."
"Perhaps. Longbourn's carpets are very fine."
Sir Thomas kissed her forehead and departed before she could answer.
Darcy looked toward the passage a fifth time.