Bingley nodded, opened his mouth, closed his mouth.
“Thank you, Mrs Nicholls,” Darcy said. “You have done very well.”
Bingley only nodded, and Darcy was not certain that his friend was capable, at the moment, of everyday civility. He towed Bingley to the billiards room, where Hurst awaited them with glasses of brandy. Darcy was tired, and Bingley was not at his best, so after only one game, Darcy put down his glass still three-quarters full and retired to his rooms.
He hoped it would not be raining in the morning. Darcy looked forward to riding the estate with his friend—if the man could be coaxed into leaving the house with Miss Bennet inside.
As Darcy’s valet brushed and folded his waistcoat and laid out a fresh nightshirt, Darcy grinned. It was not as if Bingleywould be allowed into the sick room. He wouldneedthe distraction of a tour of the estate!
When Darcy woke, he saw that the sky was clear and the rising sun was already beginning to dry the mud. He still hoped to ride with Bingley, later, and he judged conditions too muddy at the moment, in any case, so he dressed simply and headed out to the gardens for a walk on the gravel paths.
Netherfield Park’s manor house was more box-shaped than Pemberley, but it seemed to be well built and maintained. The gardens were neatly prepared for winter, although they offered a few blossoms yet: mums, asters, and winter pansies. He was impressed with the care he saw throughout the estate, so far.
When he returned inside, traded his Hessian boots for slippers and washed up a bit, he wandered downstairs to find the breakfast room. A footman politely pointed the way without needing to be asked, and Darcy entered to find himself alone.
He tended to keep country hours even in London, and he supposed that the Bingley sisters might keep Town hours even in the country. Of course, Mrs Hurst and Miss Bingley might have taken the time to check on Miss Bennet, thus shorting their sleep.
Darcy took coffee, toast with marmalade, and a few paper-thin slices of ham, and as he sat down to eat, he read from hisCooke’s Pocket Edition of Select British Poets.
Bingley finally made an appearance. His hair was ruffled, as if he had been running his hands through it, and he said, “I just met with Mr Jones. We met him last night, at the dinner?—”
“I remember him. The apothecary.”
“Yes! Well, he assures me that Miss Bennet is doing well—I mean, she is quite ill, but given her illness, she is not succumbing, thus far at least, to any of the more serious strains of—of illness.”
“I am very glad to hear it.” Darcy watched Bingley run his hands through his hair yet again, striding up and down the breakfast room. After a minute, he sat down, but then he jumped to his feet once again. Darcy said, “Perhaps, given the fact that Miss Bennet seems to be in no danger, you should sit down and eat. And perhaps, after breakfast, we can ride out and see the park and the home farm, and maybe the nearest tenant cottages?”
Bingley stopped pacing and said, “Those are good ideas, Darcy. I will quickly refresh myself and then we can—” he waved his hand in the air and finished, “do all of that.”
He left the room.
Almost immediately, the butler entered, announcing, “Miss Elizabeth Bennet.” The man looked briefly surprised, and Darcy knew that he had expected Bingley to be there.
Darcy got to his feet and turned to the door to face what he assumed would be a sister of Bingley’s angel.
The young lady who entered had a light and pleasing figure, dark curls that were abundant and slightly disheveled, as if they had been blown about, escaping her hairpins, and beautiful dark eyes. She gave a brief, polite smile to accompany her curtsey, and she looked even more surprised than the butler. She had likely met the Hursts as well as the Bingleys and certainly would have every expectation of seeingsomeoneshe knew.
Darcy bowed, and as he did, he saw that her dress was a bit muddy. About six inches of it showed signs of mud that had splashed up and then dried; apparently the lady had made a careful attempt to brush the dried mud away, and yet it remained visible.
He looked up again, and seeing Miss Elizabeth Bennet’s sparkling eyes, rosy cheeks, and careful smile caused something inside him to shift.
“Good morning,” he said.
“Good morning. I have come to visit my sister,” she said.
There was nobody to introduce them. Should he dare to?—
His thought was interrupted as she asked, “Would you be so good as to show me to her?”
“Certainly,” he said. He took a single step towards the door that led to the stairway, but then he realised that he had no idea in what room Miss Bennet was convalescing. “Pardon me, but I do not actually know….” He walked in the opposite direction and pulled the bell rope.
“Bingley just stepped out,” he explained as he waited. “My name is Fitzwilliam Darcy.”
“Pleased to meet you,” she said. Her smile had changed a bit; she looked as if she was laughing internally at his awkwardness, and he supposed that his pride should be insulted by a stranger laughing at him. Instead, he was pleased and intrigued by her genuine expression of mirth.
Mrs Nicholls bustled in. “Oh, Miss Elizabeth, I had not been told that you were here. You will want to see your sister. This way, ma’am.”
Darcy bowed again as Miss Elizabeth left, and again he was treated to the view of her muddy skirts. As he resumed his seat, he thought,She must have walked from her home in order to attend to her sister. Who knows how far? Certainly, from what I saw from my carriage yesterday morning, she walked at least a few miles.
