Jane glanced between them, smiling faintly. “I suppose he has decided you are presentable at last.”
Elizabeth did not answer at once. She took one step toward the door. Brutus pricked his ears, and his tail fanned slowly in welcome.
Jane put a hand on her arm. “Wait… Lizzy, are you quite sure you are well enough?”
Elizabeth nodded, very carefully. “I am.”
The dog rose again, tail moving once, then turned down the corridor; unhurried, confident they would follow when ready.
The drawing room was warm with lamplight and conversation. Bingley, who had been standing near the hearth with his back half-turned, looked up first and brightened as though someone had struck a match behind his eyes.
“Miss Elizabeth!” he exclaimed. “Well! This is a victory indeed. I had nearly resigned myself to another evening of worrying in silence.” He crossed the room at once, all animation and concern. “You look vastly improved—vastly. Pray, sit—do sit. Caroline, will you not—?”
Miss Bingley had already risen. “Miss Elizabeth, how very glad I am to see you,” she said, advancing with hands lightly extended. “You quite astonish us. I hope you have not been persuaded downstairs against your better judgment?”
Elizabeth returned the smile. “I persuaded myself. Which I find generally answers better.”
Bingley laughed outright. “Spoken like a woman restored! Come, be seated. You must tell us how you feel.”
“I feel,” Elizabeth said, as she was guided forward, “remarkably surrounded.”
Brutus entered last.
He did not bound, nor linger uncertainly at the threshold. He walked in with purpose, paused just inside the room, and sat—not near Elizabeth, but near Darcy, who had been standing by the writing desk with one hand resting upon it, as though he had been about to take his leave.
He inclined his head to Elizabeth, but his eyes moved—not to her face, but briefly, to the dog, then back again. He was staring, nearly open-mouthed, before he clamped his jaw.
“Well,” he said, in a tone of dry civility, “it appears Brutus has decided we all require supervision.”
Elizabeth glanced at the dog, then back at Darcy. “I had not realised I was in need of it, but he is a very gallant companion.”
His mouth firmed as he gave a very slight inclination of his head. “I am very glad you were able to join us, Miss Elizabeth.”
Miss Bingley laughed lightly. “Your dog is quite devoted tonight, Mr Darcy. One would think Miss Elizabeth had secured a noble escort.”
Darcy’s mouth curved—barely. “He has been known to choose his own company.”
Elizabeth nodded and chose her seat. Or rather, she was about to when Miss Bingley intervened with graceful urgency, one hand already extended.
“Here, Miss Elizabeth—by me,” she said, indicating the chair nearest her own, angled carefully towards the hearth and away from the writing desk beyond. “You must not be exposed to drafts, and I insist you be comfortable. Louisa, you will agree—this seat is far better for one who has been unwell.” She cast a look over her shoulder towards Mrs Hurst, one that plainly requested reinforcement.
Mrs Hurst, however, had sunk back into her chair with a look of placid detachment, her attention apparently fixed on the fire. If she noticed her sister’s appeal, she gave no sign of it.
Bingley, meanwhile, had already pulled forward another chair—this one even nearer the hearth—and was ushering the elder sister into it with cheerful solicitude. “Here, Miss Bennet—this will be very comfortable. Darcy, do move that table, will you? There. We shall all be quite snug.”
Miss Bingley’s smile tightened by a degree almost too small to be seen.
Elizabeth accepted the seat offered her, because refusal would have turned courtesy into contest. She settled herself with an air of obedience that concealed amusement, noting the careful distance Miss Bingley had achieved—not merely from the hearth, but from Darcy as well.
Brutus remained where he was, seated near Darcy, his broad back angled toward the room, as though the arrangement of persons required no further comment.
“Truly, how are you feeling this evening, Miss Elizabeth?” Miss Bingley asked. “You look remarkably restored. I trust the quiet upstairs has done you good.”
“I am much improved, thank you. The house has been very obliging.”
Miss Bingley gave a light, musical laugh at once. “Obliging! The house? Such an enchanting turn of phrase, Miss Elizabeth. Netherfield prides itself on being comfortable, but I did not know the walls had cultivated manners as well.”
There was a polite ripple of amusement. Elizabeth smiled, neither apologetic nor corrected.
