Even her mother—flighty, foolish, and vain—would never have treated another person so coldly. Fanny Bennet might be absurd, but she had never in her life allowed a guest, however unexpected, to go without dry clothing or a warm fire. Not even a tenant. Not even a maid. There were certain standards of decency one did not abandon.
But Miss Bingley had not merely neglected those standards; she had, by all accounts, entirely rejected them. She had known that Jane was ill and had offered nothing—not even a spare gown to sleep in, not even the smallest gesture of care. Would she have let her die of fever rather than be made uncomfortable?
And what of the gentlemen?Elizabeth stared into the fire, her jaw tight.
Darcy had looked astonished. Furious, even. He had promised to speak with Bingley. But how could they not have known? The servants must have noticed. Gossip traveled faster than carriages. Had the gentlemen’s valets said nothing? Or had they assumed—what? That Jane was being properly attended? That the women of the house would manage it?
Or did they simply not care?
Were they so removed from the realities of illness, of kindness, of discomfort, that it had not even occurred to them?
Or—more unsettling still—had the servants kept silent because they knew exactly what sort of masters they served?
Elizabeth swallowed hard. The questions tumbled through her mind, one after another, tightening her throat and setting her teeth on edge. She could not believe that anyone would be so indifferent. And yet—
No gown. No fire. No proper attendant. Just a borrowed maid’s shift and a scullery girl to sit through the night.
Her hands balled into fists against the edge of the coverlet.
A sharp knock on the door broke through her spiraling thoughts. Mrs. Nicholls re-entered, followed by a maid carrying a tray with a teapot, a bowl of broth, clean cloths, and a pitcher of cool water.
Elizabeth exhaled, blinking as if waking from a trance, and rose at once to receive them.
There would be time to consider all this later. For now, Jane needed her.
Chapter 13
Darcy stood by the hearth in the drawing room, one hand braced against the mantel, the other resting on the cool marble edge. He had only just begun to replay in his mind the conversation with Elizabeth—the fire in her eyes, the measured fury in her voice—when the door opened abruptly.
Bingley entered, half-dressed and wholly disheveled. His cravat hung loosely about his neck, his waistcoat was unbuttoned, and his hair looked as though he had run his fingers through it three times in different directions.
“What on earth is going on?” he asked, eyes wide with confusion.
Darcy took in his friend’s expression. “I take it your question means you are unaware that Miss Bennet is here?”
Bingley blinked. “Miss Bennet? Jane?” He took a step forward, face brightening. “No, I—what do you mean,here? Where is she?”
“Apparently she stayed the night here at Netherfield after having dinner yesterday evening with your sisters whilst we were out with the officers,” Darcy said. “She took ill after being caught in the rain, and her sister came this morning to inquire after her.”
Bingley’s expression clouded. “But why did no one tell me?”
Darcy pressed his lips together. “I wondered the same thing myself. Your sister said nothing to you of this?”
“No, she did not.” Bingley paused, his brow furrowing. “I had no idea she came to dine, let alone that she was still here. Did she tellyou?”
“It was Mrs. Nicholls who explained the situation,” Darcy replied. “She said Miss Bennet had not been invited to remain, even though it was clear she was feverish. Instead, she was to ride her horse back home, still soaked from getting caught in it on her way over.”
Bingley gaped. “Excuse me?”
Darcy nodded. “Apparently your sister did not even offer a dry gown to wear for dinner. Had Mrs. Nicholls not taken pity on Miss Bennet, she would have been sent out into the dark night.”
“Youmustbe joking.”
“I am afraid not,” Darcy said, his voice grim. “Mrs. Nicholls prevailed upon a maid to share one of her own gowns to wear for the night. Miss Bennet slept in the farthest room of the guest wing, with only a scullery maid to sit up with her.”
Bingley’s jaw slackened slightly. “In the maid’s gown?”
Darcy nodded once.
