She huffed out the seed of a laugh. “It is difficult to be honest without being insulting when answering such a statement, Mr Darcy, but you have managed it most adroitly.” She turned fully towards him and smiled, her expression tinged with sadness but no less genuine for it. “I thank you sir, sincerely, for your care today. You have been a most excellent friend to me since my sister fell ill.”
“It has been my great pleasure to be of service to you and your family,” he answered softly.
“I wish I had done as you offered, gone to Longbourn to see my family. Even if I could not have entered the house, I could have—” she broke off, fresh tears springing from her eyes.
“Your father and sisters are there and would wish to see you,” he urged her. “At your word, I will hitch a horse to the curricle.”
Darcy would recall the sorrowful beauty in her expression till the end of his days. “I thank you for your kindness,” she murmured.
“I am at your service.”
He pressed her hand, and for a moment they sat together in silence. He heard a tremulous sigh and then she spoke in a stronger voice.
“I believe that little tempest has cleared my head, and I am ready to return to Jane, and to share this news with her if she is awake.”
Darcy took that as his cue to stand, and offered his hand to assist her from her seat. She accepted it gracefully. He escorted her to the door and bade her farewell, and folded into his heart the brave smile she turned upon him before slipping through the portal and closing it between them.
Darcy stood motionless, staring at the thick oak door, his heart aching for what Miss Elizabeth faced. But he now had a problem of his own.
If she, occupied with the care of her sister and the calamity which had befallen her family and her neighbours, had neither the time nor the energy to go falling in love at present,hehad no such constraints on his emotions. Sitting beside her while she sobbed, in a position he would have voluntarily assumed for very few people in all the world, Darcy had allowed himself to acknowledge that his admiration of her was not simply an appreciation of the qualities she possessed, which it might be possible to find in another, more highly-born lady, but was a real and steady affection for her alone.
He turned and paced slowly towards the family wing where his own chambers lay, his brow furrowed as he wondered just what he was supposed to do aboutthat.
* * *
At Longbourn, the day passed, as even the worst day will. Mr Bennet and his daughters spoke to each other in hushed voices, as though they might disturb she who lay beyond hearing in the room at the end of the corridor. The Reverend Mr Edwards—excellent man!—had sent a simple coffin and a note proposing that the funeral take place the morning after next. Mrs Bennet would pass the intervening time laid out within the pine box atop the dining room table. There would be none but the residents of Longbourn to see her so, but still, they would observe the forms as much as they might.
Lydia, who had been the closest of them all to the departed, occasionally fell into a quiet fit of tears, but lacked the vitality to do more. Mary continued to devote herself to Lydia’s care, while Kitty grew more restless as the hours passed. Mr Bennet realised, in a flash of understanding, that Kitty required occupation to be contented, and that the fretfulness he had disliked (and yes, mocked) in her was the fruit of idleness and lack of purpose.
“Kitty,” he said, without stopping to think upon it further, “I wondered if you might assist me with a task?”
She turned to him eagerly. “Yes, Papa, what is it?”
“You girls, and your sisters at Netherfield, will require mourning clothes, and I will need armbands. I had thought Mrs Traynor would likely have all your measurements, but you would be able to give much better instructions for such things than I, if you would not mind writing to her?”
“Oh, certainly, nothing could be easier,” she replied with unusual confidence. “How many ought we to get?”
He considered that for a moment. “Two for each of you now, one nicer than the other, and after you have each decided what of your wardrobe might be sacrificed to the dye bath, we may require more.”
He held up a finger as a thought occurred to him, which he pondered for a few seconds. “And no bombazine. We shall all, I think, be unhappy enough without you girls chafing in that horrid stuff.”
Mary insisted upon reading Kitty’s instruction to the dressmaker before it was sealed, having learnt long ago not to allow anyone else the last word on her own clothing. Upon concluding her examination of the order, she handed it back and remarked that Kitty had done very well, though a plain fichu, rather than one edged in discreet beads as Kitty had requested for her, was all that was required. Kitty and her father exchanged a glance, and when her father slyly winked, Kitty had no qualms about sealing the letter without revisions.
CHAPTERTHIRTEEN
Jane had takenthe news as well as could be expected of someone with such a tender heart; she had wept, and fallen into an exhausted slumber with tears still wet upon her cheeks, and wept a little more when she awoke, but then exerted herself to be calm and very nearly serene for her sister’s sake, as Elizabeth had done for her.
Elizabeth had slept poorly, her mind overrun with feelings of regret, sorrow, and guilt. Much as Jane had needed her at Netherfield, could she not have stolen away to visit Longbourn and offer words of hope and encouragement?
Mr Darcy had made his offer earlier and she had dismissed it, fearing not only leaving Jane, but endangering her sisters and parents. Yet Longbourn was already infected, so what had she done by staying away but refuse them her advice, her support, her love? Her mother, who had often mortified her, but always loved her, was dead. They had exchanged no letters since Elizabeth walked to Netherfield to nurse Jane; thinking on her mother’s final words to her on that day elicited both a smile and a sob.
‘How can you be so silly as to think of walking such a distance, in all this dirt! You will not be fit to be seen when you get there.’
Elizabeth came to a decision: she would find a way to visit her family, and soon.
Mr Darcy arrived as usual in the middle of the afternoon with letters for Elizabeth. As he handed her a letter from Mary, he kindly asked after her and Jane. When he turned to leave her to her correspondence, Elizabeth called out, “Please, sir. At your convenience, I would very much like to go to Longbourn.”
He startled, but quickly nodded. “Would tomorrow suit? Bingley and I are to attend the service for your mother. We would need to take the curricle for propriety, but could follow the carriage as far as Longbourn, and you might stay with your sisters while we are at the church with your father. They will not, of course, have the usual visitors,” he concluded sadly.
