“You see?” said Lady Catherine. “He is not in his right mind. He is never usually this obdurate.”
“Not to you, mayhap,” Ladbroke muttered from his spot at the near end of the sofa. “But to everybody else he bally well is.”
“Do you not think you ought to go back to bed, Brother?” Georgiana enquired, having crept nearer to him under the cover of the debate. “You look tired.”
He smiled at her but did not reply.
“She has a point, Darcy,” Ladbroke said.
On Ladbroke’s other side sat Fitzwilliam, whither the campaign to banish Darcy back to bed spread like the plague. “Aye, get some rest. You cannot wish to listen to all of us when you are only just out of your stupor.”
“What is this? Is he unwell?” demanded Lord Matlock from the armchair at the other end of the sofa. From him, the contagion jumped across the room to his wife.
“Nephew, if you are unwell, you must go to bed. Obstinacy never cured a person of anything.”
The spread of dissension completed its circuit of the parlour when it reached Lady Catherine. “Ring the bell, Georgiana. Let somebody come to take him to bed before he collapses.”
Darcy indicated to his sister with a small gesture that she was to do no such thing. He was on the verge of evicting them all on the premise of their unanimous opinion that peace and quiet were in his best interests when the door opened, and a footman entered to announce that Bingley had arrived back to see him. Apprehension erupted behind his breastbone, myriad crackling detonations that hastened his pulse and sent his mind reeling in a hundred different directions. He gestured for Bingley to be shown in.
“It is good that you are out of bed, Darcy, for—” His friend stopped in the doorway and looked about the room. “I beg your pardon. I did not realise you had company.”
Darcy put both hands out to indicate that it mattered not and mouthed urgently, “Did you call?”
“If you just asked whether I called, the answer is yes, I did indeed.”
“Are you going to introduce this gentleman, Darcy?” enquired Lady Matlock indignantly.
Darcy clenched his teeth and indicated with a curt gesture to his throat that he could not.
“This is Mr Bingley, Mother. Darcy’s friend,” Fitzwilliam said for him. Indicating each by turn, he then introduced the rest of the party to Bingley.
“You have met him before, Mother,” Ladbroke declared, towhich Lady Matlock objected, prompting something of a debate that Fitzwilliam and Lady Catherine wasted no time joining in.
Darcy ignored them all and mouthed a question to Bingley. “Miss Bennet?”
“Regrettably, she was not there,” he replied beneath the commotion. The sting of Darcy’s disappointment was sharp, but lasted only until Bingley added, “She returned to Longbourn before Miss Elizabeth was found, but I have been assured a visit would be welcome. My cause is not lost!”
“And her sister?”
A boyish grin overspread Bingley’s countenance. “Oh yes, Miss Elizabeth was there.”
“And? Any message?”
“Well, that is the thing, Darcy. I decided I did not care for being your messenger. I thought it would be easier to cut out the middleman.” He stepped further into the room and gestured to somebody beyond the door to come forward. The room fell silent but for the almighty thud of Darcy’s heart.
“Miss Bennet!” He lurched to his feet then was forced to take hold of the back of the chair to keep from falling over. “Are you well?”
Her smile was small, subdued but sublime. “Very well, sir, thank you. You look better.”
As did she. Darcy had not appreciated how weary she looked at the inn until he saw her now, rested, bathed, and dressed once more in her own clothes. As one might expect, they showed her to far better advantage than Mrs Stratton’s loaned gown. Her hair was handsomely arranged, too, though he missed the way it had used to hang loose about her face.
“Better?” cried Lady Catherine. “Upon my word, Miss Bennet, you cannot be looking properly.”
Elizabeth’s smile vanished as she took in the array ofpeople filling the parlour, all of whom she had met on Monday evening, but few of whom were presently betraying any greater warmth than they had shown her on that occasion. It amazed Darcy how rapidly his relations, who moments ago had been at each other’s throats, could unite in the face of a perceived threat. He rejoiced to observe Elizabeth’s courage visibly rise. With no discernible movement, she yet seemed to stand a little straighter, hold her head a little higher, and assume such a look of penetration as might alarm a person unused to it.
The woman with whom she had come appeared considerably less assured and looked uneasily at Bingley.
“Darcy,” said his friend with unperturbed ebullience, “allow me to introduce Miss Bennet’s aunt, Mrs Gardiner.”
