“On Mr. Darcy’s chest,” Elizabeth admitted, the words rushing out. “I was monitoring his breathing after the fever broke, and exhaustion must have overcome me. When I woke, he was… awake. Watching me.”
She waited for Jane’s shock, her disapproval, her concern for propriety. Instead, her sister merely helped her unfasten the brown dress.
“You were exhausted,” Jane said reasonably. “It is hardly surprising that you succumbed to sleep wherever you happened to be.”
“But Jane,” Elizabeth protested, stepping out of the despised brown dress with relief, “it was entirely improper. The man found me sleeping against his person like some wanton creature.”
“Did he seem angry? Offended?”
“No,” Elizabeth admitted. “He seemed… I don’t know. Confused, perhaps. Or…” She trailed off, unwilling to name the tenderness she thought she had glimpsed. “It doesn’t matter. The situation was entirely improper, regardless of his reaction.”
“It seems to me,” Jane said gently, “that nothing about this situation has been proper from the beginning. Propriety was sacrificed the moment Father placed you in that role.”
Elizabeth had not considered it from that perspective. “I suppose that’s true. There is something else. Something I cannot quite explain.”
Jane waited patiently, her expression encouraging.
“When our eyes met, it felt as though… as though something had changed between us. Not forgiveness, exactly.Not understanding. But some kind of…” She shook her head, frustrated by her inability to articulate the sensation. “Recognition, perhaps? As though we were seeing each other clearly for the first time.”
A small smile curved Jane’s lips. “Perhaps you were.”
“What do you mean?”
“You have spent a night fighting for his life, Lizzy.” Jane helped Elizabeth into her blue dress. “Tending to him at his most vulnerable. And he has awakened to find you sacrificing your comfort for his survival. That would change anyone’s perspective, would it not?”
Elizabeth considered this. It was true that she had seen a different side of Darcy during his illness—not the proud, disdainful gentleman who had so offended her at Hunsford, but a man struggling against pain and fighting for his life. She had witnessed his vulnerability in ways few others had.
And he, in turn, had seen her at her least guarded—exhausted, disheveled, stripped of all pretense and social armor.
Elizabeth sighed as she adjusted her dress, grateful for its familiar comfort after the coarse servant’s garb. “I suppose you’re right. Though I cannot help but wonder what Mr. Darcy must think of me now.”
“I imagine he thinks you are extremely dedicated,” Jane said with a gentle smile.
Elizabeth laughed shortly. “Or that I have confirmed his worst suspicions about the impropriety of country manners.”
As Jane helped pin her hair into a simple but neat style, Elizabeth thought of Darcy’s words at Hunsford when she had so proudly declared she had never sought his good opinion. How circumstances had changed. Now, having lost his good opinion, she found herself oddly determined to regain it.
Not because she cared for him. Merely because she could not bear the thought of anyone—even Fitzwilliam Darcy—believing her to be without principle or dignity.
“How is everyone at Longbourn?” she asked, eager to change the subject.
“As well as can be expected,” Jane replied. “Papa has retreated to his library, Mary quotes Scripture about tribulation strengthening character, and Kitty and Lydia find the entire situation tremendously romantic.”
“Romantic,” Elizabeth repeated with a short laugh. “Yes, I suppose nursing a wounded gentleman through fever is the height of romance.”
“Charles has been very kind,” Jane said, a slight blush coloring her cheeks. “He calls at Longbourn daily, despite Caroline’s obvious disapproval.”
Elizabeth raised an eyebrow at the casual use of Bingley’s Christian name but chose not to comment. “Mr. Bingley proves himself a true friend to our family. I am glad for it—and for you, Jane.”
“I believe this situation has brought Charles and me closer together,” Jane admitted, her blush deepening. “He has stood by me—by our family—when many others have withdrawn their society.”
“Then perhaps some good has come of this disaster,” Elizabeth said, genuinely pleased for her sister. She linked her arm through Jane’s as they moved toward the door. “Now, shall we brave the breakfast room? I’m certain Miss Bingley is eager to inquire after my night with her beloved Mr. Darcy.”
As they made their way downstairs, Elizabeth braced herself for the inevitable confrontation with Miss Bingley. She had not eaten since yesterday afternoon, yet the prospect of facing Caroline’s malicious insinuations made food seem entirely unappealing.
“Do you know what has become of Lieutenant Wickham?” she asked Jane.
“He fled immediately after the duel. Colonel Forster sent men to search for him, but he seems to have disappeared entirely. They found his uniform abandoned at his lodgings, but no sign of the man himself.”
