Once he was out of earshot, Bingley exploded.
“Why did you encourage him to return? The nincompoop ought to have been escorted to the door as soon as he reappeared on my doorstep! He is fortunate that we have cared for her, and he insults us with his distrust!”
“Bingley!” Darcy cut in sharply. “He is her husband.”
“It is plain she wishes he was not! I do not blame her!”
“What youwishis beside the point. They are married, and you sound as insensible as Collins at the moment. Gain control of yourself, please.”
Bingley glared at him fiercely before storming from the room.
Mrs Hurst gave Darcy a look. “I daresay it is a good thing she is already married, or I believe my brother would try for the office of husband.”
Darcy grimaced. “A very good thing.”
At that moment, the housekeeper, Mrs Miles, entered. “Excuse me sir, madam. A visitor here requesting to see Mrs Collins.” She handed him a card.
Mrs Hurst groaned. “Oh dear heavens, who can it be now?”
Darcy stared at the name printed on its smooth surface.
Mrs Elizabeth Ashwood.
“Show her in,” he said.
4
SOME VERY STRONG OBJECTIONS AGAINST THE LADY
Darcy was taken aback by the sight of the peculiar woman he had already spent far too much time thinking about. She was not the prettily dressed, handsome female of the assembly; rather, she was covered in road dust, the hems of her plain, serviceable frock damp and muddy—there was even a splatter of mud upon her cheek. What astonished him most was the urge to take his own clean handkerchief and wipe it away.
Her hair was escaping its confinement, her cheeks were pink with exertion, and he felt an undeniable attraction, a wanting deeper than any he had ever before experienced.
It was stupid. The last thing he needed in his life was a distraction from the things that mattered: getting Bingley settled and determining whether he ought to make an offer on Netherfield or keep searching for an estate that better suited. Darcy had firmly decided to ignore his niggling curiosity over an oddly behaved widow who lived in poverty.Besides which, she was also a known eccentric. Heaven only knew he had enough of those in his life already.
“Mr Darcy,” she said, curtseying, addressing him as though they had been officially introduced.
Close enough, he decided.
Stoke must be at least five or six miles away. There was a breach between herself and Mrs Collins. Everyone knew it—he had heard a great deal of conjecture from Sir William. Yet, her sister was ill, and here she was, her hems as muddy as though she hadwalkedhere. For some reason, he found he must know. After making the introductions to Mrs Hurst, he asked.
“I did not hear the approach of a carriage,” he said. “I do hope you did not walk from…Stoke, is it?”
“I had a ride for a good part of the way. I have learnt my sister is ill. May I see her?” She asked the question bluntly, her tone almost strident. From the amount of dust she bore upon her person, if shehadridden, it was not in any fine carriage.
“We shall ask her if she is up to receive—” Mrs Hurst began, but Darcy interrupted.
“Of course you may,” he said, overruling any hesitation in a voice of command. “Mrs Hurst, you will take her up?” His tone brooked no argument. Mrs Ashwood had come by farm cart and foot. She must be allowed toseeMrs Collins at least.
“Thank you,” she said softly, and to his surprise, her eyes filled with sudden tears. She did not allow them to fall, hiding them with a curtsey. By the time she stood again a second or two later, she had blinked them away.
She was not sure she would be permitted.She had come all this way without even being sure she would be allowed to see hersister—or perhaps whether Mrs Collins would allow it. Whatever the rumours or public opinion, he believed she had a right to try.
Mrs Hurst silently led Elizabeth up the stairs and into a fine, grand chamber at the end of the corridor. There, upon a massive four-poster, Jane looked small and pale against the bedclothing. A neat servant sat on a chair at the bedside. Jane appeared to be sleeping.
“Molly, Mrs Collins’s sister has come to sit with her for a time. You may return in an hour.” She turned to Elizabeth. “Or shall I have her bring a pitcher up, so that you may refresh yourself?”
Her meaning was clear—Elizabeth knew she must look a filthy fright, splattered in road dirt. Nevertheless, her relief at seeing Jane was substantial.
