“What do you mean? Who is so foolish as to not see the obvious, Brother?”
“Let us not speak of that now, dearest. Porter will return with the family soon, and I want to talk to Mrs Crawford as soon as they are settled. Would you like to join the conversation? I imagine it might be painful, but you are free to decide.”
“Yes, I would like to hear what Mrs Crawford has to say. I only wish to add one more thing. People who do not see your worthiness are not worth your attention.”
“Sometimes, dearest, it is worth waiting for someone who has the wisdom to see you in a different light from others and who dares to reveal your faults. This is something I have only recently learnt.”
“I do not understand your meaning, Brother, but I shall not insist on you telling me more than you want to.”
“There is nothing more to tell at this moment, Georgiana. When there is, I promise you will be the first to know.”
The discussion, as difficult as it had been, had gone better than Darcy had expected. He was pleased to note Georgiana’s obvious growth in judgment and her self-confidence in expressing her opinion. He wondered whether his sister and Elizabeth would enjoy each other’s company. He believed so, and surely Georgiana would benefit from Elizabeth’s friendship. If Bingley and Miss Bennet were reunited, he would cross paths with Elizabeth rather often. She might even become friends with Georgiana — a prospect equally frightening and desirable.
Since the day of his failed proposal, Darcy had refused to ponder his intentions in regard to Elizabeth. His wishes meant nothing since they were so different from hers. Was he still angry with her? Was he still carrying a grudge against her for refusing him? No; he was certain that was not the case. Not from the moment they had met to discuss the letter. At that time, he had also noticed a slight change in her behaviour towards him, but he had lost all confidence in judging her and assuming anything.
He quickly put aside such speculations since they could bring him nothing but pain and disappointment. If he and Elizabeth were to be in each other’s company ever again, the best he could hope for was a polite friendship.
***
In the afternoon, the family — Mrs Crawford, her thirteen-year-old daughter Libby, her sixteen-year-old daughter Janey, and the latter’s son of two months old — arrived, and Dr Taylor called to examine the mother and child.
“I was quite surprised to hear you had brought them here, Mr Darcy,” Dr Taylor said later over a glass of brandy. “It was a generous gesture and certainly increased their chances of survival. May I ask whether you were previously acquainted with them?”
“No, I was not. However, their situation was caused by one of my acquaintances, and I could not be indifferent to their ordeal.”
“You are exceedingly generous, Mr Darcy. Very few gentlemen of your standing would bring sick strangers under their roof.”
“There were enough free rooms here. Besides, as I said, I feel responsible for them. Will they survive?”
“The mother is very young and probably had to bear a complicated birth. The child is weak. I have not much hope that he will survive.”
“I trust you will do everything you can to save them, Doctor.”
“I certainly shall, sir, but I suggest you pray, as a miracle is required.”
***
A whole week passed before Janey and her son showed the first signs of improvement. The mother became well enough to feed her baby, and with some help from a wet nurse, the child grew stronger too. Dr Taylor was still reluctant to proclaim good news, but the changes for the better were obvious. Georgiana visited them daily, if only briefly, while Mrs Crawford requested that she and Libby be allowed to work in the kitchen to repay the master’s kindness.
Darcy’s main concern was finding the appropriate punishment for Wickham. He confided in Colonel Fitzwilliam, who insisted upon throwing the scoundrel in prison immediately, regardless of the scandal that might arise.
Bingley had more pleasant ways of employing his time, as he called on Miss Bennet and the Gardiners every other day and even dined there once.
“Darcy, there is something important I must tell you,” Bingley said one day. “Jane…I mean Miss Bennet insists I should deliver the message immediately.”
“What message, Bingley?”
“This one,” his friend replied, handing him a letter.
“What is this?” Darcy enquired, alarmed by a strange feeling.
“A letter, of course. From Miss Elizabeth — for you. She put it inside a letter for Jane, and I was asked to deliver it. Do not worry, Mr and Mrs Gardiner know about it, and they have no objections to you receiving it.”
Darcy took the piece of paper carefully, as if it might burn him. He held it a moment, staring at it. Elizabeth had written to him? Why would she do that after almost a fortnight? The gesture was not entirely proper, and her uncle and aunt were entitled to open and read it. What could be in it that was worth taking the risk?
“Well? Are you not going to read it? If you wish to reply, I could take your answer to Gracechurch Street tomorrow.”
“Are you visiting again? So often?”
