“That is one of my faults.”
Susie folded the towel with more care than any towel had ever required. “He was very civil. Asked after my aunt. Said he was glad to see someone from home.”
“And you are pleased?”
A soft, unguarded smile touched Susie’s mouth before she could hide it. “Yes. Though none of the others are from Pemberley, which is a pity. I had hoped perhaps to see more familiar faces.”
“One familiar face may be enough to begin with.”
Susie’s blush answered more than words could have done. Elizabeth laughed quietly, then immediately glanced toward Jane, but her sister had drifted again into a light doze.
“Go, before I tease you into forgetting my nightgown,” Elizabeth whispered.
Susie curtsied, still pink-cheeked, and left on her errand. Elizabeth returned to Jane’s bedside, but the exchange had unsettled a very different part of her mind. Bates below-stairs meant another connection between Netherfield and Pemberley, between her secret and Mr. Darcy’s world. Yet instead of fear rising as it had that morning, she felt something much more inconvenient.
Anticipation.
She was to remain at Netherfield.
Under the same roof as Mr. Darcy.
The thought was improper enough that Elizabeth immediately scolded herself for it. She was staying because Jane was ill. Her first concern must be Jane, and it was. Yet beneath all the anxiety, beneath the practical arrangements and sisterly care, a small traitorous gladness kept stirring. She would see him at dinner. Perhaps in the drawing room. Perhaps in the passage. Perhaps he would look at her again as he had at Lucas Lodge, not with disdain but with that careful, wondering attention that made her feel as though a secret door had opened somewhere inside her.
It was very foolish.
She was far too pleased.
By the time Elizabeth allowed Susie to help her dress for dinner, exhaustion had settled into her bones. The gown Susie chose was simple but fresh, a soft muslin with a narrow ribbon at the waist. It was not new, nor fashionable enough to impress Miss Bingley, but it was clean, becoming, and entirely respectable.
Susie arranged Elizabeth’s hair with deft fingers. “There. You look very well.”
Elizabeth studied her reflection. Her cheeks were a little pale from the day’s worry, and her eyes seemed brighter than usual, though whether from fatigue or anticipation she would not admit.
“I look like a woman who has spent the day arguing with illness and propriety.”
“You look like a lady going down to dinner.”
“With mud removed.”
“That generally helps.”
Elizabeth smiled, then sobered as Susie fastened the final pin. “How is my sister?”
“Asleep, miss.”
Elizabeth drew one breath, then another. Beyond the door lay Miss Bingley’s cold civility, Mr. Bingley’s anxious kindness, Mrs. Hurst’s indolent curiosity, and Mr. Darcy.
Especially Mr. Darcy.
She ought not to care that she would see him again within moments.
She cared very much.
With that inconvenient truth pressing warmly beneath her ribs, Elizabeth lifted her chin and went down to dinner.
∞∞∞
Dinner ought to have been a trial.
