by Leenie Brown
Again, Richard chuckled. “I wish I had been that clever.”
Elizabeth inclined her head in acceptance of the compliment. “He should not travel,” Elizabeth said before taking another sip of her tea.
“I would agree,” said Richard. “I can send a message to Father letting him know we will arrive later than expected.”
“I must go,” Darcy insisted.
Elizabeth raised a brow and looked at Richard.
“Not if you have a fever,” Richard said.
Darcy cast a displeased look at Elizabeth.
“I must go check on Jane,” she said. “I think she is planning to spend a bit longer in company today. We may even be able to return home soon if she keeps progressing.” She paused. “If going home were as necessary for Jane as your trip is for you, Mr. Darcy, she would be well enough to travel already – not that my mother would hear of it — but in my estimation, she would be. And it has only been two days. Be patient.”
Her plea was met with a resigned sigh and a shrug, but it was progress.
“Broth and tea,” she said as she dipped a curtsey. “And sleep,” she added as she left the room.
“I can send for the apothecary.” She heard the colonel suggesting.
She could only imagine the refusal with which such a suggestion must have been met. Mr. Darcy did not strike her as the sort that wished to be coddled and fed potions. In that way, they were much the same. Elizabeth disliked being wrapped in over many blankets with a poultice around her throat and a horrid tasting draught to take. However, there were times when even she had to admit that it was necessary.
She climbed the stairs and slowly wandered down the hall toward Jane’s room. She ran her finger along the smooth mahogany top of a table which stood in the hall and smiled at the chair with its leafy brocade standing dutifully beside it. It was strange to be wandering these halls once again after so many years. Parts of it felt very familiar, yet none of it felt as welcoming and happy as it once had when Celia slept in the room Jane now used.
Elizabeth tapped lightly on Jane’s door before opening it. “How are you this morning?” she asked as she crossed to take a seat next to the bed where Jane was propped up with a tray, bearing tea and dry toast as well as an egg, sitting next to her.
Jane’s smile was relaxed and natural, a sure sign that she was indeed recovering. “Not even the toast hurts this morning, and my stomach actually rumbled.”
Elizabeth placed a hand on her sister’s forehead. “You are still delightfully cool, but not chilled?”
Jane shook her head. “No, not at all. I shall be well enough to go home very soon.” She leaned toward where her sister sat. “Though I must admit I would rather stay.”
“And why is that?” Elizabeth already knew the answer but would not stop her sister from voicing it. Jane’s happiness was always contagious, and, at the moment, Elizabeth felt as if she could use a bit of cheering up.
Jane’s eyes sparkled and, after coughing softly into her handkerchief, she picked up her cup of tea and sighed. “Mr. Bingley.”
“You truly like him?”
Jane nodded. “Very much.” She sighed once again. “I would almost dare to say I love him, but it is too soon for such things. I have had so very little time in company with him that I am certain it is only presently infatuation. However, I am certain, and nearly set on the idea, that I could very easily come to love him with a slightly longer acquaintance.”
Elizabeth pulled her feet up and tucked them under her dress. “Even with sisters such as he has?”
The teacup that was just about to touch Jane’s lips lowered, and she gave Elizabeth a serious look. “It is not his sisters who I fear will cause me heartache. You do remember Lydia and Kitty, do you not?”
Elizabeth sighed. “And Mary.”
Jane shook her head as she swallowed. “Mary knows how to hold her tongue and does not flaunt herself as Lydia and Kitty do. If any of our sisters are to drive away possible matches, it is those two.”
“If our mother does not do it first.”
The comment was met with a small sigh of resigned agreement. “If he were to ask,” Jane’s eyes studied the content of her cup carefully as she spoke, “I would accept even though I do not, as of yet, love him.”
“You would consider marriage without love?” Elizabeth asked in surprise.
“I do not think it would remain so,” Jane answered. “Mr. Bingley is kind. He has been very respectful and solicitous. I would not fear being treated ill. And he is not poor. I would want for nothing.” She paused as she ate a small bite of egg. “I am not getting any younger. Gentlemen such as Mr. Bingley do not arrive in Hertfordshire daily, and our sisters are not growing less silly. I fear they and our mother will drive away all the sensible men. Therefore, if a sensible and amiable gentleman such as Mr. Bingley were to offer, I would accept with alacrity.”
Elizabeth traced the outline of a flower on the arm of her chair. What Jane said made sense. “Do you think there will ever be another such gentleman who might take on your slightly less pretty, decidedly less patient sister?”
“Oh, Lizzy!” Jane cried. “I shall see to it that you are presented with the best gentlemen in all of England when I am married. You shall be only slightly less happy than I.” She winked as she took a sip from her cup.
Elizabeth shook her head and chuckled, but she knew it was true. Jane would do whatever she could to see that Elizabeth was happy. She always had. Nurturing was just part of who Jane was.
“There is Mr. Darcy.” Jane brushed a few wayward crumbs from her toast off the blanket. “He is no longer betrothed.”
Elizabeth’s eyes grew wide. “Jane!”
“In time. Not now.” She took a sip of her tea. “I think you would suit.”
“No, we would not.”
Jane shrugged. “I think you would. He is intelligent and well-read. He does not shy away from a debate – that is what you said, is it not?”
Elizabeth nodded slowly. She had not shared that fact with Jane to recommend Mr. Darcy as a candidate for marriage. She had said it because she had found it delightful to torment both him and Miss Bingley by refusing to agree with him on all points.
“He is wealthy, and from how he spoke of his cousin, he is a man capable of deep attachment.”
“He might wish for a handsome wife,” Elizabeth protested. She found it particularly annoying when Jane was being sensible about something with which she herself did not agree. Arguing was enjoyable. Losing an argument was far less so.
“You are handsome,” Jane retorted. “He said not handsome enough, and that does not mean you are not handsome.”
“He said I was tolerable. Tolerable.”
“He was betrothed. He was not supposed to find you anything more than tolerable.”
Oh, Jane was impossible at times!
“But he is no longer betrothed, and in time, when he is ready to begin his search for a wife anew, he will find you more than tolerable because he can,” Jane continued.
Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “You are as bad as Mama!” she scolded.
“No,” Jane replied with an impertinent grin. “Mama would never think a gentleman could find you and your love of books to be anything more than merely tolerable.” Jane reached over and placed a hand on Elizabeth’s knee. “Just one of her many foolish notions,” she added softly. “You are handsome and intelligent. Precisely the sort of lady I could see someone like Mr. Darcy finding irresistible.”
“Jane!”
“And now you know how I feel when Mama begins praising me.”
“You poor dear.”
“Precisely,” Jane replied. “It shall be a relief when I am finally married and can no longer be pushed forward at every gentleman to whom we are introduced.”
The room fell silent for a few moments as Jane finished eating her breakfast, allowing Elizabeth’s mind to wander back to the gentleman in the breakfast room, whom, though she would never admit such to h
er sister, she found to be nearly as fascinating as he was disagreeable.
“He is ill,” she blurted.
“Who is ill?” Jane asked.
“Mr. Darcy. I saw him in the breakfast room before I came to see you. Colonel Fitzwilliam was there, too. Not at first, but before I left.”
Jane tilted her head and studied Elizabeth in a way that made Elizabeth feel uneasy.
“You will like Colonel Fitzwilliam,” Elizabeth continued. “I met him last night after you had gone to sleep.”
“Is he handsome?”
Elizabeth shrugged. “I suppose he is, though not so pleasing to look at as Mr. Bingley, nor so tall as Mr. Darcy. He is, however, the second son of an earl.”
“An earl?” Jane repeated. There was a bit too much eagerness in Jane’s tone. It reminded Elizabeth a bit of her mother when it came to prospects of worthy gentlemen.
“Lord Matlock is Mr. Darcy’s uncle and Colonel Fitzwilliam’s father.”
“A colonel would not be a bad match,” she gave Elizabeth a pointed look as she said it.
“Jane!”
“What?”
“You are as bad as Mama!”
“I only wish to see you well-settled.”
Both girls dissolved into laughter as each knew that Jane’s response was precisely what Mrs. Bennet’s argument would have been.
“Perhaps I am a bit too much like her,” Jane said once they had sobered. “Now, tell me about Mr. Darcy being ill.”
“He has a fever, a cough, and a sore throat. There is not much else to tell.” She leaned her head back on the chair and allowed her eyes to follow the bit of carved trim that ran around the edge of the ceiling for as far as she could see it without turning her head. “He will not be leaving today.” Her eyes filled with tears as she thought about him being confined to Netherfield instead of travelling as she knew he wished to do.
“What is wrong?” Jane asked.
Elizabeth shook her head. “I was merely thinking about Celia and being at Aunt Gardiner’s.”
Jane once again reached over and laid a hand on her sister’s knee. “You would not have been allowed to attend the funeral.”
“I know, but I wish I had been near.”
“We will visit the churchyard as soon as I am able,” Jane assured her.
Elizabeth nodded and brushed a tear from her cheek. “It is odd being here. Even after all this time, I still expect to see her.”
“She is here,” Jane replied. “In your memories, she is here and always will be. We must remember the past as it gives us pleasure. Celia would not wish for it any other way.”
Elizabeth brushed another tear from her cheek. “I know, and I shall try. I truly shall.”
Chapter 3
For the fifth time in fewer than twenty minutes, Darcy bemoaned having to lie in bed when he should be halfway to Kent. He had never liked lying about doing nothing, and presently, he disliked, even more, the way such idleness gave time for reflection upon morose things.
He pushed back the blankets and swung his feet over the edge of the bed and into his slippers. He paused a moment to allow the room to stop spinning before he rose like a creaky old man with rheumatism. It took him a full minute to decide if pulling on enough clothing to be proper and escaping the confines of this room was worth the whole-being aching effort it would likely be. Finally, as his legs began to protest that they must either find rest or movement, he pulled on his breeches and tied a robe snugly around himself, making sure that the collar was pulled up his neck as high as it could go. There was no way he was going to make an effort to don a cravat. Frankly, he did not care if someone saw his bare neck as long as he could find a chair in the library in which to sit and read, but, despite his rather apathetic attitude, he would attempt to keep himself covered.
“Where are you going?”
Darcy groaned as Richard met him in the hallway before he could reach the servants’ stairs. “To the library.”
Richard crossed his arms and stood in his path.
“I cannot stay in bed.”
Richard remained stoically blocking his path.
“I will not stay in bed,” Darcy amended.
“There is a chair near the hearth in your room. You may sit in that.”
“I do not want to remain in my room.”
“You sound very much like a recalcitrant child.” Richard smiled as Darcy growled and then coughed.
“There is too much to think about in there.” If he were in the library, there would be numerous books through which he could page as he attempted not to think of how his future had changed so drastically from what it was to what it was now to be.
“There will be too much to think about in every room of this house, as well as every acre of its fields and surrounding park.” Richard grasped him by the shoulders and spun him toward his room. “You shall keep your diseased person to your room.”
There was not enough strength left in Darcy’s diseased person to protest, and so, he dutifully allowed himself to be directed back to his room.
“I shall go to the library and procure you a stack of distraction. Miss Elizabeth,” he said as Elizabeth stepped into the hall, “do you have a maid with you?”
“There is one in Jane’s room,” she answered in confusion. “Does Mr. Darcy need something?”
“Yes,” Richard replied with a grin, “he needs someone to ensure he stays in his room until I return.”
“Would not a footman be better than a maid?”
“The maid is not for Darcy,” Richard replied. “The maid is for you. He will stay put much better if a lady such as yourself is watching rather than a footman whom he can order about.”
“I would not…” Darcy began only to be cut off by his cousin.
“You have already attempted an escape. I will not risk a further attempt.” Richard turned back toward Miss Elizabeth. “You proved yourself adept at being cunning this morning in the breakfast room. He shall have to work hard to outwit you, especially with his fever-addled brain.”
Elizabeth looked from the colonel to his cousin and back as she shook her head. “I am certain it is not proper. I may not be from town, but even here in the wilds of Hertfordshire there are rules of propriety which must be followed, and entering a gentleman’s bedchamber, even accompanied by a maid, is not on the list of acceptable activities.”
“I will leave the door open, and I promise I will not be long. Your reputation will not be damaged. You may simply stand at the door. My cousin is going to sit near the hearth and attempt to be patient while I fetch him a book.”
“And where are Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst?” Elizabeth asked as she followed Richard toward Darcy’s room.
“Your maid,” Richard said with a tilt of his head back toward Jane’s room.
“Right.” Elizabeth turned, hurried back to Jane’s room, and popped her head inside to call the maid.
“Good,” Richard declared as he saw the maid approaching with Elizabeth. “Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst are gossiping in the sitting room. I think you will be safe from them.” He followed Darcy into his room and, taking a blanket from the bed, draped it across his cousin when Darcy sat down. “Now,” he said turning to the maid, “I have asked Miss Elizabeth to ensure that Mr. Darcy is well while I dash down to the library and fetch a few books.”
“I could go to the library,” Elizabeth offered.
Richard shook his head. “I know which books he will find most distracting.”
Elizabeth’s brows furrowed.
“Truly, I would send you if I were certain you would bring what he needs…”
Elizabeth’s mouth dropped open, and a small huff escaped her cutting off his words.
“It is not that I do not find you clever –”
She crossed her arms and leveled a stern glare at him, which seemed to fluster him quite a bit.
“I am not wearing a dress and can go faster.”
She bit back a laugh. “I think you would fin
d yourself mistaken if we were to put that to the test, but I will allow it to remain unproven.”
Laughter followed by coughing erupted from the room.
“I shall bring some port,” Richard added with a smug look.
“I would have chosen brandy,” Elizabeth replied with a lift of her chin.
Richard shook his head and chuckled. “Not just clever,” he muttered as he turned to leave, “you are also indomitable.”
“Do not forget it,” she called after him. Then, she took a position leaning against the doorframe.
“He is not easily flustered,” Darcy said to her. “I must thank you for the entertainment.”
Elizabeth curtseyed.
“I will remain right here until he returns. You do not have to stand guard.”
Elizabeth shook her head. “And allow your cousin to think I am incapable of doing as instructed? I think not, sir.”
Darcy grinned. Miss Elizabeth was delightfully refreshing compared to the ladies of the ton. Not one of them would have protested being asked to attend him to his room, where, after his cousin had vacated the hall, they would have sent the maid scurrying and affected a compromise. But Miss Elizabeth would not. She would stand just there at the door, keeping watch.
“Have you slept yet?” she asked.
He shook his head. “I have tried.”
Elizabeth nodded. “You see her face when you close your eyes.”
“How do you know?”
“How much do you know about the owner of this estate, Mr. Darcy?”
Her response caused him to pull back in surprise. “I know his family has owned it for many years. It is not entailed, and he has no male heir. However, he does have a daughter who is married, and he would rather spend his days near her than here.”
“He is a widower.”
“Yes, I had heard that.”
“He used to have two daughters. Ava is the one who is married. She is six and twenty. Celia would have been twenty last month on the twenty-third, but she died with her mother in a carriage accident five years ago.”
He watched her close her eyes and shake her head as if not wishing to continue. “She was your friend?” he asked softly.