“Well,” Miss Bingley continued briskly, as though tidying the moment she had just unpicked, “that is excellent news. Nothing is so fatiguing as prolonged confinement. One does begin to long for one’s own comforts again.”
Elizabeth heard it clearly enough. Jane met her eye with a look of anxious questioning.
Bingley, who had been hovering near the card table with a deck already half-shuffled, brightened at once. “If Miss Elizabeth is feeling better, we must celebrate it properly. A little loo, perhaps? Or commerce? Though I confess my enthusiasm for cards wanes without sufficient competition.”
Mrs Hurst murmured something agreeable without conviction.
“I doubt Miss Elizabeth should be overstimulated,” Miss Bingley said, with a quick glance toward the sofa she had so carefully selected for her. “Recovery must be managed sensibly. A short visit to the drawing room is one thing. An evening of play quite another.”
Elizabeth inclined her head. “I should not wish to exhaust anyone.”
Bingley laughed. “You could hardly do that, I assure you. Well, perhaps a bit of conversation?” He glanced toward Darcy. “You were out this afternoon, were you not? Did you find anything of interest? Any new coverts worth our attention?”
Darcy, who had remained near the escritoire with his hand resting on its edge, did not answer at once.
His very silence struck Elizabeth’s notice, and she turned her head. He was not distracted—he was too still for that. While Bingley waited and Miss Bingley arranged her patience into something decorative, Darcy’s attention had slipped elsewhere, downward somehow, as though the question had missed him entirely and landed beneath the room instead.
“Nothing conclusive,” he said at last.
Elizabeth smiled faintly. “That suggests youexpectedsomething conclusive. May I ask what you were looking for?”
Darcy seemed to catch himself. “I was verifying something I had read,” he said, then stopped. “Which proved unnecessary.”
Miss Bingley waved a hand lightly. “There, you see. Nothing to detain us, save to prove it was a fine day for walking. Which is why I think it would be wisest for Miss Elizabeth to return home tomorrow, while the weather holds. She is in such excellent spirits now,but would it not be a pity if we delayed and her carriage were caught out in a storm? One recovers best among one’s own things, I always say.”
Jane opened her mouth, then closed it again.
Elizabeth felt the pull of the idea keenly.Longbourn. Familiar rooms. Her father’s library. Chaos and noise and expectations, to be sure. But no need to interpret the meaning of staircases or dogs or glances that lingered longer than courtesy required.
“Yes,” she said slowly, glancing at the dog who was still ignoring her. “Home would bemostwelcome. If I am… able.”
Darcy looked at her then with an attention that made the word “able” feel provisional, as though it had been placed upon the table for examination rather than accepted at face value.
Miss Bingley saw the look and moved at once to claim the moment. “Excellent. Then it is settled. We shall send word to Mrs Bennet first thing tomorrow and arrange—”
“Perhaps,” Darcy said quietly, “it need not be decided this evening.”
The interruption was mild. Perfectly civil. And utterly unexpected.
Miss Bingley turned toward him, her smile intact but strained at the edges. “I merely meant—”
“I know what you meant.” His tone remained even. “I only suggest that Miss Elizabeth’s comfort be considered without haste. She has done very well today. There is no need to undo that by hasty provisions.”
Bingley glanced between them, clearly uncertain whether a decision had been made or avoided. “Indeed! There’s sense in that. No reason to rush anything. We may leave it till morning, when everyone is refreshed.”
Miss Bingley’s smile had failed utterly. “Well! There we have it.” She rose at once, smoothing her sleeves as she turned toward the bell. “Shall we have tea brought in? The room has grown quite dull without it.”
Brutus, who had moved to settle himself some minutes earlier near the hearth, rose and crossed the room with unhurried purpose. He did not return to Darcy. He did not go to Elizabeth.
Instead, he moved toward the door, then glanced back with a look that somehow encompassed them both.
Elizabeth glanced away swiftly, her gaze accidentally blundering across Darcy’s as she did so. “I think,” she said, rising, “that I shall go upstairs again. This has been… quite enough for one evening.”
Jane was on her feet at once. “Of course, Lizzy. I will come with you.”
A chorus of polite dismay met their ears, with Mr Bingley rising in offer of escort, Miss Bingley promising to send up tea.
But it was Darcy who stepped across her path with a simple bow. “Good night, Miss Elizabeth.”
