“You are awake. How do you feel?”
Elizabeth considered the truth, then set it carefully aside.
“Tired,” she said instead. “Not ill. Just… heavy.”
“That is to be expected, I’m sure.”
Elizabeth opened her eyes at last and managed a faint smile. “You make it sound official.”
Jane returned it, though her gaze searched Elizabeth’s face closely. “Mr Jones said you might find the mornings the most difficult.”
Elizabeth turned her head slightly, as if the light were too bright. It was not. But the gesture cost her nothing, and Jane noticed everything.
“I had the oddest dreams,” Elizabeth added, lightly, before Jane could ask more. “They have left me feeling as though I have been awake all night.”
Jane reached for her hand, fingers warm and familiar. “You need not trouble yourself about anything today. We can read, if you like. Or simply rest.”
Elizabeth’s pulse ticked up—not with fear, but calculation. If Jane stayed, Elizabeth would have to be careful. Jane noticed too much. She listened too well.
“I should like that,” Elizabeth said. “Though every time I attempt it, the words seem determined to climb off the page.”
Jane smiled. “Then you shall not read.”
Elizabeth let her eyes close again, trusting Jane to interpret the gesture as fatigue rather than choice. In the darkness behind her lids, her thoughts sharpened.
At Longbourn, she would be expected to recover briskly. Mama would fuss and prod and pronounce her cured within hours, and Papa—Papa would watch her too closely, his humour edged with something quieter and more unnerving.
Here, she was permitted to linger. Here, she could build herself time to think.
Jane adjusted the blanket at her shoulder. “Mr Bingley asked after you before breakfast,” she said. “He was quite earnest.”
Elizabeth hummed, noncommittal.
“And Mr Darcy—” Jane stopped herself. “He asked whether you had slept.”
Elizabeth kept her eyes closed. “Did he?”
“Yes.” Jane hesitated. “He seemed… concerned.”
Elizabeth made a small, incredulous sound. “Mr Darcy? Concerned?”
Jane smiled despite herself. “He did.”
“Well, I am gratified to have inspired such unprecedented feeling,” Elizabeth said. “Do assure him that I slept most soundly—at least in the sense that I was horizontal for several hours.”
Jane laughed softly. “Lizzy—”
“I am quite serious,” Elizabeth added, opening one eye. “If Mr Darcy begins taking an interest in my rest, we shall have to alert the neighbourhood. Do you think Miss Bingley will send out a notice?”
“Very funny, Lizzy,” Jane rose with a chuckle. “I will bring you some tea. Do not move until I return. No overtaxing yourself.”
“I promise,” Elizabeth said.
There was the briefest of knocks, then before Jane could even rise to answer, the door opened again upon a small procession.
Miss Bingley entered first, all gracious concern and elegant composure, and Mrs Hurst, who paused just inside the threshold to survey the room with mild curiosity before taking a seat without waiting to be asked.
“My dear Miss Elizabeth,” Miss Bingley said, crossing the room with a smile so perfectly arranged it might have been styled in the mirror. “How pleased I am to see you sitting up! Miss Bennet told us you were feeling quite yourself again, and I declared we must bring tea at once. One cannot recover properly without it.”
