“What’s that?” his friend replied from the floor.
Darcy showed him; Bingley’s face flushed beetroot red.
“Dare we enquire what is going on here?”
Elizabeth’s interruption came from the doorway, where she stood with her sister, her arms folded, and one exquisite eyebrow arched high in amusement. Darcy bowed a formal greeting. At his side, Bingley scrambled to his feet and gave some kind of absurd wave.
“Bingley is…” he glanced at the disordered bundle of papers his friend clutched to his chest. “Filing.”
“Thank heavens. I thought for a moment he was asking for your hand.”
“I should have said no if he had. I could never marry a person who draws even more poorly than I do.” Ignoring Bingley’s embarrassed groan, he held up the pitiable scribble for the ladies to see.
“Oh! That is Anna’s sketch of me!” Elizabeth exclaimed.
“Yes,” Bingley said. “You dropped it here at my picnic in the summer. I meant to return it to you. But forgot. Obviously.”
“You are very good, sir, but I have a hundred others like it. You need not have troubled yourself.”
She then informed them—because Jane did not—that tea was to be served in the morning room and suggested, if the gentlemen had completed their business, they all remove there. Before anyone could agree or disagree, Bingley proceeded to drop most of the papers in his arms again whilst attempting to shuffle them into a neat pile. Darcy watched Elizabeth press her lips together. Her eyes, when they met his, shone with laughter.
“Blast!” Bingley grumbled again. “Go ahead. I shall join you all directly.”
Darcy crossed the room and gave Elizabeth his arm. It was only as he held out the other for Jane that he spared any thought for the factshehad not spoken a word since coming into the study. She observed Bingley in silence with an inscrutable expression, though the spots of colour pinking her cheeks might be indicative of some pique. It was a few heartbeats before she removed her gaze from her husband and, without a word, accepted Darcy’s arm.
It was not his business. On that point, he was painfully clear.With a determined effort to draw no conclusion whatsoever about his new sister’s demeanour, Darcy led the two women from the room.
Saturday 3 October 1812, Hertfordshire
The gentlemen left early for a ride the next morning with the agreement that they would all convene in the dining room to breakfast together at ten. Thus, Elizabeth descended the stairs alone. Her feelings were so different from the last time she trod the same path that she could not help but smile. It had been the last morning of her stay to nurse Jane to health, almost a year ago, and she had never been so eager to leave behind a place or a certain person. Presently, she begrudged every moment apart from him.
That her relationship with Jane had soured to a similar point of acrimony as hers and Darcy’s at its worst pained her deeply. They had not explicitly argued at Pemberley, but neither had they properly recovered from their quarrel in London, and the new coldness in Jane’s manner continued to dissuade Elizabeth from sharing her happy news. She had come here without expectation of a revival of intimacy, only the desire for matters to deteriorate no further, which was the sum of what she had thus far achieved.
A footman opened the door as she approached the breakfast room, revealing her husband already seated at the table. He stood immediately upon seeing her, giving an almost imperceptible shake of his head. She slowed to a halt and waited while he disappeared from view around the table, then appeared again in the door, striding towards her.
“Whatever is the matter?”
“Eggs,” he replied in a low voice.
“Oh! Yes, that might have proved embarrassing. Though everybody will just as soon thinkyouare unwell now. What reason did you give for leaving so abruptly?”
Much to her amusement, he looked somewhat confused by her enquiry.
“I am not in the habit of explaining myself to people.”
She bit back a smile. That was precisely the sort of behaviour she had previously considered proud and uncivil, but in light of his generous motivations, she had not the heart to point it out to him. “Well, I am very grateful to you, Fitzwilliam, but your forethought does not solve the problem of my being hungry.”
“Which is why I brought you these.” He presented her with a napkin containing two buttered muffins. “Would you care for an impromptu picnic?”
She nodded eagerly, and they continued on, arm in arm, towards the front of the house but got no farther than the study before their progress was interrupted. The door was torn open and through it swept Jane in a terrible agitation of spirits. She almost ran directly into them, let out an enfeebled cry and staggered backwards. She would have fallen had Darcy not caught her and helped her into a nearby chair.
“Jane!” Elizabeth cried, kneeling before her.
“Shall I fetch Bingley?” Darcy enquired.
“Yes, quickly!”
“No!” Jane’s protest was firmer than Elizabeth’s plea. Darcy hesitated.
