“She is not in danger yet,” Mr. Jones replied, “so long as she is kept quiet and comfortable. The next day or two will tell us more.”
There was a long pause.
Elizabeth watched Bingley closely. He stood with his back half-turned, fingers splayed across the sideboard, his complexion blanched. Then slowly—visibly—he drew a breath and turned back.
“I will have the blue room aired at once,” he said hoarsely. “It has a better fireplace and is nearer the front stairs. She must be moved there immediately, as soon as it is warm enough. I cannot believe— Good God, I cannot believe this happened under my roof.”
Darcy placed a steadying hand on his friend’s shoulder. “You did not know.”
“I should have,” Bingley said, voice low and taut with shame. “How could I not? She was a guest in my home.”
Elizabeth studied his face—open, anguished, remorseful—and felt something in her own chest ease. No evasion. No excuses. Just honest contrition.
He looked at her then. “Miss Elizabeth, I am so deeply sorry. I… I cannot express—”
She held up a hand. “Please, Mr. Bingley. The time for apologies will come later. For now, my sister’s comfort is the only concern.”
Bingley nodded quickly, then turned to ring the bell with such force the rope shuddered. “I shall see to the arrangements myself,” he said.
Mr. Jones glanced at Elizabeth and gave a short nod. “My work here is done, for now. I shall see myself out.”
Elizabeth murmured her thanks. Once he was gone, she looked back at the two gentlemen. “I should return to Jane. Could someone please send some paper to my room? I will need to write a note to Longbourn. That is, if Iamallowed to stay with my sister?”
Bingley blanched. “Of course, Miss Elizabeth. Absolutely. Please feel free to remain at Netherfield for as long as your sister remains unwell.”
She nodded once, then turned her back and left the room. It was only when the door closed behind her that she allowed herself a small smile.Poor Mr. Bingley is most genuine in his remorse—as he should be. Now we will see what he does about his harpy of a sister.
∞∞∞
Darcy watched as the door closed behind Elizabeth. He did not move. The final image of her—shoulders erect, chin high, that sharp little smile playing at her lips just as she turned away—was one he would not soon forget.
He let out a breath and turned toward Bingley. His friend had slumped into his chair like a marionette with cut strings, his face pale and drawn. Darcy opened his mouth to offer some encouragement, but before he could speak, a shrill, unmistakable voice rang down the corridor.
“What areyoudoing here?”
The two men froze. Bingley’s eyes widened as he gasped out “Caroline” in a whisper.
Darcy rose to his feet, already heading for the door. Together they crossed the room in long strides, and when they reached the entry to the stair hall, they saw the tableau in full.
Miss Bingley stood rigid, her cheeks splotched with pink and her fingers clenched into fists at her sides. Elizabeth faced her with evident incredulity, one dark brow arched high as though the entire scene amused her more than it surprised.
The contrast between them could not have been starker: Elizabeth in her plain morning gown, a shawl wrapped hastily about her shoulders, her hair unkempt and still damp at the ends from her efforts with Jane upstairs.
“I am here,” she said coolly, “to tend to my ill sister.”
“Nonsense,” Miss Bingley snapped. “I sent your sister home last night. This is some scheme, is it not? You helped her sneak back in before dawn to compromise my brother, is that it?”
Elizabeth stiffened. A flush crept up her neck. Her mouth parted in disbelief.
“Youarehere to trap him! I knew it. I knew the moment I saw the way your sister looked at him at the assembly—do not think I did not see it.”
Darcy watched as Elizabeth’s eyes darted over to them, her mouth hanging open in incredulity.
Miss Bingley’s voice rose in triumph. “Did you think that you would not be caught? Did you imagine you could worm your way into a respectable house, hoping the master might overlook your lack of fashion and your country airs? You and your sisters are nothing more than fortune-seekinghussies.”
Gasps echoed from the servants in the hall—Mrs. Nicholls, who had just rounded the corner; the second housemaid, halfway up the main stairs; even a footman, frozen mid-stride with a tray in hand.
Elizabeth turned slowly back to her, her breath unsteady. Her lips parted to respond.
