“I should think it best to take this opportunity for reflection,” he said evenly. “For nothing has been said here that is not entirely true.”
There was a heavy silence, broken only by a snort from one of the maids, hastily stifled.
The sound seemed to shatter Miss Bingley. Her gaze swept the room wildly, then turned, skirts swishing like waves in retreat, and fled up the stairs. The servants scattered before her like geese before a storm.
And Elizabeth, trembling slightly from the force of her own restraint, drew a slow breath before turning to the gentlemen and curtsying. “Thank you, sirs. I will return to my sister now.”
∞∞∞
Darcy remained motionless as Miss Elizabeth Bennet turned from them, her steps steady as she walked up the stairs. The sound of the door closing behind her as she entered his sister’sroom echoed through the foyer like a gavel of judgment falling on the scene they had just witnessed.
Bingley exhaled as though emerging from deep water. Then, as if something inside him snapped into place, he strode toward the nearest maid.
“The blue room,” he said crisply. “Have it readied at once—linens aired, fire laid, windows opened and shut again. Bring in extra pillows. And send to the kitchen for broth—real broth, mind you, not the thin dishwater usually served to invalids.”
The maid dipped a curtsy and scrambled away. Bingley turned toward a footman and said, “See that fresh bedclothes are prepared for Miss Bennet, should she need them, and ask the housekeeper to come find me directly. And make sure someone is sent to Longbourn for whatever the ladies may require.”
The man bowed and fled to carry out the orders, and still Bingley muttered to himself, pacing. “What else? New linens. A maid stationed at her door—no, two maids, rotating. I will not have her unattended again. And—”
“You are doing splendidly,” Darcy said, his voice quiet.
Bingley paused, his eyes slightly wide. “I nearly let my sister kill her.”
Darcy crossed the room to place a steadying hand on his friend’s shoulder. “You did not know. And now that you do, you are doing all that can be done. More than many would.”
Bingley gave a shaky nod and resumed giving instructions to the returning footman. Darcy watched him with quiet admiration. For all his friend’s easy temper and careless charm, there was steel in Bingley when it was roused.
And the presence of the two Miss Bennets had certainly awoken it.
The memory of Elizabeth from moments before came unbidden to his mind. She had stood with her back straightand her head high, enduring an unjust tirade with dignity and responding with a restraint that, in its very civility, had cut to the bone. She had not begged, wept, or pleaded. She had not needed to. Her presence had spoken for itself.
He had seen her angry now. Righteously, gloriously angry. And yet she had wielded her indignation like a blade honed to civility—not a single word wasted, not a single one spoken in spite. He could picture her now standing before the tenants at Pemberley, or in the drawing room at Darcy House, meeting cold glares or whispered slights with that same calm self-possession.
And how gently she cared for her sister—rushing across muddy roads and into enemy territory, not for appearances, not for show, but simply out of love. Fierce, stubborn, loyal love.
Elizabeth Bennet would be a fierce protector of all who belonged to her.
Think of what she could do for Georgiana, a voice whispered in his head.
He froze, then exhaled slowly. It was too soon, too sudden—but it was also not nothing.
This admiration could easily turn into love. The conviction took root in his chest, steady and certain. He turned abruptly and made for the hallway.
“Where are you off to?” Bingley asked, halfway through issuing orders about firewood.
“I have a letter to write,” Darcy replied.
Bingley waved a distracted hand. “Of course. I am not done shouting orders anyway. Go on.”
Darcy did not need to be told twice. He passed through the corridors, boot heels firm against the wood, and headed for the small writing study he had claimed during his visit.
He would write to Lady Anne and Georgiana and tell them about the impressive woman he had met: Miss Elizabeth Bennet.
∞∞∞
Elizabeth entered Jane’s room and closed the door behind her. Leaning back against the frame, she closed her eyes and took deep, deliberate breaths, willing her hands to stop trembling.
The confrontation in the hallway had left her breathless—not from fear or embarrassment, but sheer disbelief. That Miss Bingley would speak to her in such a way, in the middle of the house, before servants and gentlemen alike… it was beyond anything she could have expected.
