All in all, Elizabeth could not deny that it was in every way particular.
Three daysafter the fifth piece was received, a note from Netherfield Park invited Jane for tea with Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst while the gentlemen dined with the regiment’s commanding officer.
Their mother insisted Jane go on horseback despite threatening skies. Elizabeth observed the storm clouds gathering with growing unease. From experience, she knew how often her mother’s plans went awry.
Late that evening, a message from Netherfield was delivered with news that Jane was unwell. By the next morning, Elizabeth’s fears were confirmed. Jane had caught cold in the rain and was too ill to return to Longbourn. She remained at Netherfield, and she wanted Elizabeth.
Without hesitation, Elizabeth donned her coat and walking boots, gathered her bonnet, gloves, and a scarf, and departed on foot. Three miles passed in a blur of worry for Jane and feelings she refused to examine too closely.
She deliberately would not allow herself to think about who else would be at Netherfield. She would not allow herself to acknowledge the flutter of anticipation beneath her concern for Jane. She was going only for her sister.
It was, perhaps, the least convincing lie she had told herself in weeks.
Darcy lookedup from breaking his fast as the door opened.
“Miss Elizabeth Bennet,” the butler announced.
His heart stopped.
She stood in the doorway, breathless and glowing. Her hem and petticoat were muddy. Hair escaped its pins, dark curls framing flushed cheeks. Her eyes were bright with exertion and worry for her sister.
She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.
“Good heavens, Miss Eliza,” Miss Bingley’s voice disturbed his thoughts. “Did you walk here?”
“I did. I came as quickly as I could. My sister’s note said she is unwell.”
Three miles? She walked three miles down muddy lanes because her beloved sister needed her. While Miss Bingley andthe Hursts concerned themselves only with their own interests, Elizabeth acted.
“How very…devoted,” Miss Bingley said, her tone dripping disdain.
Bingley readily agreed. “Your kindness to your sister is exemplary, Miss Elizabeth.”
Devoted. Kind. Yes, that perfectly described Elizabeth Bennet.
He saw the anxiety for her sister as Bingley explained Miss Bennet’s fever. Elizabeth cared nothing for her appearance, nothing for Miss Bingley’s thinly veiled contempt. Nothing mattered except her sister.
This fierce, loyal, compassionate woman would weather any storm for those she loved.
Georgiana, shy and wounded, still recovering from Wickham’s treachery, needed someone like her. Elizabeth would be exactly this sort of sister to her—protective, devoted, unflinching. She would sacrifice for Georgiana as fiercely as she did for her eldest sister.
Pemberley’s tenants needed a mistress who would care for them as people, not obligations. He knew as certainly as he knew his name that she would not hesitate to walk the same distance to reach a sick child or a woman in need.
His heart thumped loud enough that he feared the others could hear. She was everything.
“Allow me,” he heard himself say. “I know which room Miss Bennet occupies. I will show Miss Elizabeth the way.”
Miss Bingley’s objection was swift, but he ignored it. This gift, her presence here, was not anything he intended to waste. If he was fortunate, if he was careful, if he was patient—she might come to see that this was where she belonged.
With him.
7
Elizabeth sat beside Jane’s bed, pressing a cool cloth to her sister’s forehead. The fever had broken during the night, leaving Jane weak but lucid.
“I wanted you here so desperately, Lizzy.” Jane’s voice was still hoarse.
“My pleasure.” Elizabeth refreshed the cloth in the basin. “Seeing you so ill frightens me terribly.”
