Chapter Thirteen
Elizabeth woke before the house had fully agreed to morning.
The light lay pale and undecided upon the ceiling, caught between night’s retreat and day’s arrival. For a moment, she remained where she was, eyes open, breathing shallowly, taking stock not of her surroundings but of herself.
No dizziness. No trembling. No sense of wrongness darkening the corners of her thoughts. That was promising.
She sat up. The movement brought a brief rush of warmth to her face, a delay between intention and action that irritated her more than it alarmed her. Elizabeth waited it out, hands resting lightly upon the coverlet, gaze fixed on the far wall until the room settled back into proper proportion.
Very well, then.
She rose, crossed to the washstand, and splashed cool water upon her face. The mirror above it reflected a young woman pale enough to invite remark, but not so altered as to provoke alarm. Her eyes were clear. Her mouth firm. She would do.
Except, perhaps getting up was a mistake.
The thought had barely formed when sound reached her—footsteps, easy and unhurried, not the brisk purpose of a servant but the lighter, familiar tread she knew too well. Jane. Coming down the corridor, humming under her breath.
Elizabeth crossed the room in two quick strides, the hem of her nightgown brushing her ankles as she reached the bed and slipped beneath the coverlet, tugging it into place.
Her bare feet were still chilled when she turned onto her side, schooling her breath, softening her posture, letting the moment of motion drain from her limbs as though it had never occurred.
She had no wish to explain herself half-dressed and fully alert.
The door handle twisted.
Elizabeth wormed under the blankets, slowly, deliberately, letting her breath deepen as if drawn from sleep. She turned her face toward the pillows and allowed her shoulders to slacken a fraction. The door opened.
“Lizzy?”
Jane’s voice carried relief tempered with caution, as though she were afraid of startling something fragile back into breaking. Elizabeth waited a heartbeat longer before answering.
“Mmm?” she murmured, pitching it low and unguarded. “Is it morning already?”
Jane crossed the room at once. Elizabeth felt the mattress dip as her sister sat beside her, felt the familiar weight of Jane’s attention settle over her like a coverlet.
“You are awake. How do you feel?”
Elizabeth considered the truth, then set it carefully aside.
“Tired,” she said instead. “Not ill. Just… heavy.”
“That is to be expected, I’m sure.”
Elizabeth opened her eyes at last and managed a faint smile. “You make it sound official.”
Jane returned it, though her gaze searched Elizabeth’s face closely. “Mr Jones said you might find the mornings the most difficult.”
Elizabeth turned her head slightly, as if the light were too bright. It was not. But the gesture cost her nothing, and Jane noticed everything.
“I had the oddest dreams,” Elizabeth added, lightly, before Jane could ask more. “They have left me feeling as though I have been awake all night.”
Jane reached for her hand, fingers warm and familiar. “You need not trouble yourself about anything today. We can read, if you like. Or simply rest.”
Elizabeth’s pulse ticked up—not with fear, but calculation. If Jane stayed, Elizabeth would have to be careful. Jane noticed too much. She listened too well.
“I should like that,” Elizabeth said. “Though every time I attempt it, the words seem determined to climb off the page.”
Jane smiled. “Then you shall not read.”
Elizabeth let her eyes close again, trusting Jane to interpret the gesture as fatigue rather than choice. In the darkness behind her lids, her thoughts sharpened.
At Longbourn, she would be expected to recover briskly. Mama would fuss and prod and pronounce her cured within hours, and Papa—Papa would watch her too closely, his humour edged with something quieter and more unnerving.
Here, she was permitted to linger. Here, she could build herself time to think.
Jane adjusted the blanket at her shoulder. “Mr Bingley asked after you before breakfast,” she said. “He was quite earnest.”
Elizabeth hummed, noncommittal.
“And Mr Darcy—” Jane stopped herself. “He asked whether you had slept.”
Elizabeth kept her eyes closed. “Did he?”
“Yes.” Jane hesitated. “He seemed… concerned.”
Elizabeth made a small, incredulous sound. “Mr Darcy? Concerned?”
Jane smiled despite herself. “He did.”
“Well, I am gratified to have inspired such unprecedented feeling,” Elizabeth said. “Do assure him that I slept most soundly—at least in the sense that I was horizontal for several hours.”
Jane laughed softly. “Lizzy—”
“I am quite serious,” Elizabeth added, opening one eye. “If Mr Darcy begins taking an interest in my rest, we shall have to alert the neighbourhood. Do you think Miss Bingley will send out a notice?”
“Very funny, Lizzy,” Jane rose with a chuckle. “I will bring you some tea. Do not move until I return. No overtaxing yourself.”
“I promise,” Elizabeth said.
There was the briefest of knocks, then before Jane could even rise to answer, the door opened again upon a small procession.
Miss Bingley entered first, all gracious concern and elegant composure, and Mrs Hurst, who paused just inside the threshold to survey the room with mild curiosity before taking a seat without waiting to be asked.
“My dear Miss Elizabeth,” Miss Bingley said, crossing the room with a smile so perfectly arranged it might have been styled in the mirror.
“How pleased I am to see you sitting up! Miss Bennet told us you were feeling quite yourself again, and I declared we must bring tea at once. One cannot recover properly without it.”
Elizabeth blinked. Quite yourself was not the phrase she would have chosen.
“That was very kind of you, Miss Bingley.”
“Oh, but it is the very least we could do. Now, I do hope we are not disturbing you, my dear Miss Elizabeth. We shall not stay if you had better entertainments.” Her gaze slid pointedly to the stack of books beside the bed.
“Not at present,” Elizabeth said, unable to keep the regret from her voice. She rested her hand on the top book. “Papa sent these from Meryton, but I confess, my eyes are still not cooperating with the print.”
Miss Bingley clicked her tongue. “How thoughtful of him. Well, more is the pity. I have heard that you prefer reading above all things, and we want you perfectly content while you recover. Is that not right, Louisa?”
Mrs Hurst poured herself tea and stirred it lazily. “Truly. You are fortunate to have such an attentive family,” she observed. “Not everyone can rely on sisters to sit vigil.”
Jane flushed faintly and busied herself with the cups. “Elizabeth is much improved today. Truly. I think she might manage the drawing room later.”
Miss Bingley’s smile brightened. “How delightful! Then you must be nearly ready to return home. I am sure Mrs Bennet will be eager to have you back under her own care.”
Ah, Elizabeth thought. There it is.
She did not answer at once, reaching instead for her teacup. “I imagine Mama will have many opinions on the subject,” she said mildly.
Miss Bingley laughed—a light, approving sound. “A most sensible mother. Still, it must be a comfort to dear Jane to know she will not be required to remain away from home much longer.”
Jane looked up, startled. “Oh. I do not mind staying—”
“Nonsense,” Miss Bingley said quickly. “You have been exceedingly generous with your time. And my brother has been quite restless all day—walking the rooms, consulting the windows, asking every quarter hour whether Darcy has returned. It would do him good to have his house restored to its usual order.”
Elizabeth’s brows rose a fraction.
Mrs Hurst nodded. “Indeed. Charles is beside himself. And with Mr Darcy saying he will be out for the better part of the day—well, we have all been at loose ends.”
Elizabeth took a sip of tea she did not want and considered this new arrangement of facts. Jane, drawn upstairs and kept there. Mr Bingley pacing below. Miss Bingley managing the distribution of her brother’s attention like a puppet master.
“But you must not trouble yourself with any of that,” Miss Bingley continued. “The only thing that matters is your recovery. You look so much stronger already.”
Elizabeth smiled at her. Not brightly. Not weakly. With clarity. “Appearances,” she said, “are often very encouraging.”
Miss Bingley inclined her head, as though in agreement. “Indeed. Which is why one must be careful not to mistake improvement for strength.” She rose at once. “You must be eager for quiet again, Miss Elizabeth. Rest is quite essential.”
“Naturally,” she agreed.
“And yet,” Miss Bingley continued, already turning the matter to her liking, “it would be a shame for your sister to be drawn away to pointless amusements just when she is most useful to you. Nothing comforts an invalid like familiar company.” She smiled at Jane.
“I would not blame you if you chose to remain upstairs with her the rest of the day, Miss Bennet.”
Jane blinked, surprised—and then relieved. “If Lizzy wishes it, I should be glad to stay.”
Elizabeth met her sister’s eyes. There was no space here for protest, no graceful way to redirect without inviting exactly the attention she meant to avoid.
“Of course.” Miss Bingley was already moving. “Come, Louisa. We shall leave the sisters to their tea and see whether our brother has at last ceased his pacing.”
Mrs Hurst rose, scarcely glancing back at Elizabeth as she followed.
Miss Bingley paused only long enough to add, “Do ring if you require anything, Miss Elizabeth. Anything at all.”
When they were gone, Elizabeth glanced at the teacup cooling beside her, then at Jane.
“I was just beginning to understand that argument,” she said, with a rueful little smile.
Jane returned it, though her eyes were thoughtful. “Some arguments are clearer once one party has left the room.”
“Darcy, there you are.”