“And those relations in Cheapside, the ones in trade.” Miss Bingley continued her inquisition. “Do you often see them?”
“For Christmas. And usually once during the summer. I do like Mr. Gardiner and his wife. They always seem to be very much the gentleman and lady, and they are always kind to me.”
“You think that Mr. Gardiner is not much like his sister,” Mr. Darcy said confidently.
“Oh, not at all!” Elizabeth said. And then she flushed, realizing that her enthused tone smacked of a criticism of the one to whom she always swore gratitude.
Her expression fell again, and then as the round of play ended, she pushed herself away from the table, yawned, and said that she must go to sleep.
Chapter Six
That night Elizabeth was woken once when Jane groaned awake and needed help to get to the chamber pot.
Jane said several times to Elizabeth that she was being too good to her, and other such Janeisms. When Elizabeth settled back down into the armchair next to Jane’s bed, to try falling asleep in it again, Jane asked, “Lizzy, do you not have your own bed?”
“I am here to stay with you,” Elizabeth replied. That was why she had been sent here. Certainly not to talk openly with the Netherfield party in a manner that perhaps revealed much that Mrs. Bennet would rather hide.
“No, no. I just need to sleep.” Jane moaned. “You had much better go to your bed.”
“Mrs. Bennet would not like it if I deserted you,” Elizabeth said.
“Oh, you should not mind Mama so much. She is very kind at heart.” Jane shivered under her blankets. “I’ve more than enough strength to pull the bell if I need anything. You must sleep. I cannot rest if I do not thinkyouwill be able to sleep.”
With that demand Elizabeth gave up and did as she truly wished to. The room that she had was right next to Jane’s, she slipped into it, and then into the bed.
Elizabeth slept unsteadily, and she was woken by the roosters. She immediately returned to Jane’s room. Jane slept peacefully, and most beautifully. Elizabeth’s careful touch managed to not wake her. The fever was still present, but it was much less than before.
A look out the window at the Netherfield park allowed Elizabeth to see Mr. Darcy walking outside. He wasaccompanied by a fine spotted carriage dog, for whom he regularly threw a stick.
She suddenly felt a longing to go downstairs and speak with him.
Perhaps the way she rustled the curtains caught his attention. Mr. Darcy looked up directly at her. She felt suffused with a glow when their eyes met.
The two of them stared at each other for a long time. Then Mr. Darcy was distracted by a sound from the side, the games keeper came up to him, and Elizabeth watched the two converse before walking off into a collection of trees.
He looked back at her before the two of them went into the thicket, and she still stood there watching him.
Jane had a greater appetite this morning than she had shown at any point the previous day, and Elizabeth was able to give Mr. Bingley a happy report when she went downstairs to collect her own breakfast.
During each meal that day, Elizabeth was suffused with an awareness of Mr. Darcy. Exactly where he sat, how his hair looked. Everything he said. She often had to struggle to keep from staring at him as much as he stared at her.
He was always kind to her, he looked with those intense eyes, and he said at breakfast that he hoped she had slept well, but that he could see that she had not. He encouraged her to take a nap and promised to have a maid sent up to take her place.
Elizabeth of course refused the offer, saying that she left her post quite enough already.
Many times during the day beverages and small items of food were sent up to her, chocolate as well as coffee. The servant always had that look about her which suggested that it had been Mr. Darcy who reminded her to offer the service, and not Miss Bingley or Mrs. Hurst.
He was very much what a great gentleman should be, kind, considerate, and with an attention to the comfort of others.
One time their hands touched during dinner, and Elizabeth felt something shoot up her arm. There was a sort of unreality to that—herhand had touched Mr. Darcy’s.
It thus became the case that Miss Elizabeth Bennet began to have a small suspicion in her heart that she perhaps, maybe,possiblythought rather too much of Mr. Darcy.
Only, what could she do?
No, no. Thinking of Darcy was inevitable.
Mr. Bennet’s warning guaranteed that she would imagine Mr. Darcy kissing her, embracing her, and touching her in other intimate ways. She alreadyhadimagined it before, of course. But now such imaginations quite outran their proper bounds, and she often felt flushed and with an odd tightness in her breasts.
