Elizabeth sank into the chair beside the bed, her hand tightening on Jane’s. “I must send word to my father. I will not leave her.”
“Nor should you,” Mr. Jones agreed. “I will carry the news to Mr. Bennet myself. Do not be surprised if he remains at Longbourn, knowing she has excellent care. As well, I will encourage your mother and sisters to remain away since itwould not do to expose them to her illness. Early tomorrow, I will return to check on her progress. In the meantime, cool compresses and rest.”
He departed, and Elizabeth settled in for her vigil. Throughout the evening, servants came and went. Mrs. Nicholls brought fresh water and linens. Someone sent up a tray that Elizabeth barely touched. And Mr. Darcy—Fitzwilliam—sent messages.
The housekeeper delivered them, each one quoted exactly as stated. “Please send word if you require anything at all.” “The apothecary has been instructed to spare no expense for anything that might aid Miss Bennet’s recovery.” “I am pleased to request my family physician from London, should you desire.” “Bingley is beside himself with worry. As am I. Please know that you both remain in our thoughts and prayers.”
Late that evening, when Elizabeth finally emerged for a brief respite, she found Darcy pacing in the corridor outside the sickroom door. He stopped as soon as he saw her.
“How is she?” His face was tight with concern.
“The fever persists, but Mr. Jones believes it will break before morning.” Elizabeth rubbed her temples, exhausted. “I pray he is correct.”
“You need rest yourself.”
“I cannot leave her.”
“I am not suggesting you should.” He gestured toward a chair in the corridor. “You might want to sit here while Mrs. Nicholls is with your sister. She will call if there is any change.”
Elizabeth was brimming with restless energy. “I have been sitting for hours, sir. Perhaps, if I do not ask too much…would you walk with me?”
He offered his arm, and they set a rapid pace the length of the guest wing and back multiple times.
“Bingley wanted to go in himself,” he said. “To see her, to reassure himself. I had to restrain him physically.”
Despite everything, Elizabeth almost smiled. “That would have been most improper, and Jane would not have been pleased. She is not at her best.”
“That is what I told him. Though he was not convinced propriety mattered when Miss Bennet’s health hung in the balance.” Mr. Darcy shrugged. “I understood the impulse.”
Their eyes met, and Elizabeth inherently knew what he was not saying: he had wanted to come to her as well, to see for himself that she was managing, and to help.
“Thank you for the messages. For caring.”
“How could I not care?” His face was unguarded in a way she had never seen.
Elizabeth’s throat tightened. “I should return to her.”
“Of course.” He stepped back. When she pulled her arm away from his sleeve, he covered her hand with his, halting her motion. “Elizabeth, I will be here if you need anything. Send Mrs. Nicholls for me at any hour.”
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak, before returning to Jane’s bedside.
True to his word, when she emerged at dawn to find fresh water, she glimpsed him at the end of the corridor, still dressed in yesterday’s clothes, his hair disheveled from running his hands through it. He kept vigil all night.
Her heart, already softening toward him, melted a little more.
Two days passedin a blur of fever and worry. Jane’s temperature spiked and fell, spiked and fell. Elizabeth slept in the chair beside her bed when she slept at all.
Darcy came regularly to Jane’s door. He brought books he suspected Elizabeth might enjoy. He ensured fresh flowers appeared daily. He sent the housekeeper with reports and offers of assistance every few hours.
On the third morning, as Jane finally slept peacefully, her fever at last broke for good. Mrs. Nicholls delivered a small package with a knowing smile. “From the gentleman, miss. He hopes it provides some comfort during your sister’s recovery.”
Elizabeth opened it with trembling fingers. The seventh piece.
This was the middle piece at the top of the chessboard. Visible were a few chess pieces and the edge of their hands. And more of their sleeves, the weave of his coat, the buttons at his cuff. Only one corner piece and the center section remained.
She pressed the drawing to her chest, tears pricking her eyes. She was exhausted. Overemotional. Touched beyond measure that he continued to show his devotion even when she had no time to spend in his company.
Jane stirred. “Lizzy? What is that?”
