Jane’s blush deepened, but she did not deny the implication. “Mr. Bingley has been most attentive. Though the circumstances are hardly conventional.”
“Love rarely respects convention,” Elizabeth observed, then immediately regretted her choice of words. “Not that I am suggesting—that is, I merely meant that your renewed acquaintance with Mr. Bingley seems to have progressed despite the unusual circumstances.”
“As has yours with Mr. Darcy.”
Elizabeth’s heart fluttered, and heat crept to her face. “That is entirely different. Mr. Darcy and I are not—we have no understanding. I am merely his nurse.”
“I think,” Jane said softly, “that you are afraid of what you might be beginning to feel.”
The accusation struck like an arrow finding its mark. Elizabeth turned away, unwilling to let her sister see her confusion.
“It would be madness,” she said. “To develop an attachment to a man whose proposal I rejected so decisively. Whose denial of that proposal caused such a scandal. Whose recovery is still far from certain.”
“The heart does not always consult reason before choosing its path,” Jane said.
“I cannot allow myself to expect anything beyond his recovery. To do so would be foolish in the extreme.”
“Perhaps,” Jane agreed. “But I have never known you to guard your heart out of fear of being thought foolish.”
“It is not fear,” Elizabeth protested. “It is simple pragmatism.”
Jane’s smile was gentle but knowing. “If you say so, dear sister.”
A sharp knock at their chamber door startled them both.
“Miss Bennet, Miss Elizabeth,” a housemaid gasped. “Mr. Bingley asks that you come at once. It’s Mr. Darcy. His fever has returned something fierce.”
The tray clattered as Elizabeth leaped up, tea sloshing onto Jane’s gown. “When did this happen?”
“This past half-hour, miss. Mr. Darcy’s valet went to check on him and found him burning up and talking out of his head. Mr. Bingley said to fetch you immediately.”
Elizabeth tucked a single hyacinth into her apron pocket before rushing out. “I should not have left him.”
Jane squeezed her arm reassuringly. “Mr. Darcy is strong, Lizzy. And he has excellent care.”
They reached the door to Darcy’s chamber, where Bingley stood in anxious conversation with the valet. His expression lightened with visible relief at their approach.
“Miss Bennet, Miss Elizabeth, thank you for coming so quickly. I fear Mr. Darcy’s condition has taken a turn for the worse.”
“Has Mr. Johnson been sent for?” Elizabeth asked.
“Yes, though it may be some time before he arrives. He was called to a case in Meryton late last evening.”
Elizabeth nodded, her mind already shifting to what needed to be done. “We’ll need cold water, fresh cloths, and willow bark tea if the kitchen has any prepared.”
“I’ll see to it,” Jane offered immediately.
With a brief squeeze of Jane’s hand in silent thanks, Elizabeth entered the sickroom.
The curtains were drawn, and the chamber was dimly lit. Mr. Darcy’s fevered gaze beckoned to her. His face was flushed, and sweat plastered his hair against his brow.
“I’m here.” She approached the bed, pressing a cool hand to his burning forehead. “I understand you now, and I should not have left your side.”
“Elizabeth… my wife.” Darcy’s eyes were glazed, fixed on her. “I’m dying now. Pemberley is half yours… Take care of Georgiana.”
“No… no…” Elizabeth dipped a cloth into cool water. “You must live. Georgiana is coming.”
“Keep her away… from… Wickham…” The words were more of an exhalation. “He tried to…”
